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A Ramachandran: Strokes Of Lines That Tell A Story
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A Ramachandran: Drawings across 6 decades
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Remembering Indiaâs First Modern Sculptor, Ramkinkar Baij
He broke free from the stultifying conformism of colonial and pre-modern studio sculpturing to encompass in his work the lives and struggles of plain, unremarkable human beings.
Ramkinkar Baij: (May 25, 1906 â August 2, 1980) Credit: Twitter
My memories of Ramkinkar Baij, such as they are, are interlaced with two things that one rarely associates with an artist. The first, curiously, is kerosene. And the second, somewhat less oddly, is summer, or rather, a hot summer day.
One afternoon in the middle of April, in 1973, my friend and I were walking around Santiniketanâs quiet Ratan Pally on some errand, when my friend nudged me and pointed at someone who was coming from the opposite direction. He was a bare-bodied, bare-footed man in a short dhoti and a wide straw topi, and slung from his right arm by a piece of rope was a green bottle that smelt strongly of kerosene as he passed by us.
Ninth Symphony, 1962, Print Collage
On his centenary, a look at how injustice and suffering were constant themes in Somnath Hore’s works
What I draw is the unfolding of my being which in my case is inscribed as ‘wounds’. Somnath Hore
Draupadi is a lonely old woman. The world marvelled at her tribulations and moved on, the storytellers killed her off once her narrative had served its purpose. But she seems to have one friend left, as she sits on the ground, supporting her head, supporting a lifetime of pain, on a thin bronze arm. There is someone who is faithfully recording her exhaustion.
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