Anatomy of Woman -1

"I needed medical help desperately. As one of my lover had badly hurt me. I was bleeding profusely from my private parts. But no doc was willing to see me."
"I begged. I cried. I even offered them double the money they would take for consultation. But they would look at me and turn there face. I am just as human as you are. So why such discrimination?" The speaker spoke with urgency and pain in his voice.

There was pin drop silence in a small crowd of 30/35 people who were specially invited by my artist friend. I could not take eyes of the speaker as he narrated the woes of a woman in sex trade. Dressed in a richly brocade sari, with jewelry suitable for a bridal decor, Pandurang the speaker looked no less than a bride. A very dark tone of his skin complimented the glitter of the brocade. His raspy tone was the only give away of his gender.
Pandurang means Krishna , the dark god. Pandurang is a cross dresser male sex worker. Born to a sex worker mother, Pandurang grew up in the ghettos of red light area in Sangli village. “ My mother never wanted me to be a sex worker. But I chose to be one” He admitted to the crowd with a emphatic smile. At a very young age he experienced the discrimination of a woman and a sex worker's world. His mother toiled day in a day out to keep him in the school. But tired of discrimination,prejudice and humiliation being named as sex worker's child, Pandurang turned to the only world od sex trade to seek solace and comfort. But why he chose to be a woman and a sex worker? Asked a guest in the audience. “ I am a woman” pat came the answer.

An awkward silence spread in the audience . Every one seated had only one question in their mind. Is he or she? It was very evident he did not liked to be addressed as male. Pandurang was his birth name but operated by a female name( I have forgotten his female name).

A friend besides me just leaned on me and whispered “Isn't he more woman than us?” “Indeed” I retorted. I was still gawking at him to measure his feminine candor. Was he just pretending to act female like an actor? What makes him a woman?

I again scanned Pandurang from head to toe. His appearance was of an impeccably dressed Indian woman. A highly decorated bindi on the forehead matched the brocade of his sari. His nails were painted in bright red nail paint and so was his toes. He was tall at 5'8” inches and wore an inch high heeled sandals. “ I can walk with grace with heeled sandals” he had explained with a smile. He was fully aware that every gesture is being scrutinized judged and questioned. He did not feel offended by such questions as if he came fully prepared for such scrutiny. And he answered all the questions with all honesty.

“Well this is choice I have made. Because this is what I love to be. A woman and a sex worker. Government did try to change our ways and even gifted us with cows so can we can earn a living. But I don't want to be a farmer . I love all the pleasure of my trade. And I am proud of it. I don't want any sympathy from anyone. I am fighting for my right. I am protesting against the social stigma and discrimination that we face. Every section of the society tries to exploit us and that is what we are objecting. That is what we want you to make aware of her troubles. Not your pity or sympathy. I work for a living like all of you. So why does society treat us like dirt.” His voice did not have any air of apology, for being and doing what he did.
In fact he was proud to be in woman's skin . Happy to be in woman's skin. Suffering the pain in woman's skin.

Every story he told before audience, spoke of of pain and suffering he felt as a woman. There was no doubt in my mind at the end of the meeting SHE is a WOMAN; celebrating a woman's life not just by cross dressing but celebrating its joy and pains. Pandurang had summed the debate for the audience" You cannot learn be a woman because you Know it inside you if you are one or not. '.

well, well!
Simone de Beauvoir seems to be wrong when she said 'One is not born as a woman but made in one'

As I walked out of the building, I thought to myself do I know the anatomy of a woman?


Image courtesy
http://crossdresserindian.blogspot.in/2011/03/chamayavilakku-2010-all-are-males-only.html

(Images are only for a representational value and does not depict the character described in this blog)

Breath

Don't remember when I breathed last
between memories and forgetfulness
lies a life.

Inhale
a world
that was given to me.
that was never mine
repeated over and over
in space and time
that belonged to you

Delete/Erase/de-frag
one by one
erasing every
event
image
idea
emotion
and
belief
bit by bit
inch by inch
left to right
right to left.

Now exhale
till the last breath escapes lungs
you were not there

Forbidden world

There are some worlds you should not tread
There are some words you should not utter
There are some sounds you should not hear
There are some sights you should not see
There are some waters you should not drink
There are some foods you should not taste
There are some smells you should not inhale

But if you turn around for some reason
you will find me.
In the world,
forbidden by people.
feared, abused and forsaken
Trying hard to forget.
seeking oblivion of known
Pandora! Pandora!! they scream

Trust me I am as magical as you are
I am as humane as you are
and I am as knowledgeable you are.
still you fear me
fears you created and believed.
The longing never ceased
Magic , mystery for the Unknown
world I inhibit.

But if you turn around and see
you will see me once again
There is no Evil as they tell you
There are no Gods to believe in
there is no saviors out to suffer thy sins
there are no woman out to seduce
Diseases, hells, demons
as they write , paint and sing
And if you believed it all
You lived a lie

I am just a mirror you refuse to see
I am neither your ally nor a foe
And if you still think I am your nemesis
why not turn around and see

In defence of Dirty women!

"So tell me what kinda women I am" I asked my friend who boasted to have 'known' women on his back of his hands. "The kind of woman I would like to fall in love" came the answer from other end. OH God! I should have known what to expect before asking such stupid question in first place. "oh really! " I could utter only these words with a tinge of sarcasm in my tone. What I wanted to say" Man you know how to use these pick up line on women , but I ain't buying this".

But why am I asking this question in first place? Do I fear being called a 'dirty woman"(read slut or whore). I personally believe while society allows men to live in varied shades, women are stereotyped in black and white 'good woman ' or dirty woman- anything in between is frowned and unaccepted. Specially in India where tradition comes as noose around women's neck. The movie The Dirty Picture is one such movie that tries to break that mould and show a woman who tried to live her life outside the box.


Although the movie TDP claims that the main character in the movie called Reshma alias Silk is fictional character and has no resemblance any person in reality, fact is otherwise. It is fictional biopic of Silk Smitha. Silk Smitha born as Vijayalakshmi, in Andhra Pradesh, a controversial and sensational actress of 80s known as ' sex siren' said to have introduced a brand of erotic female sensuality on the screen ( read soft porn). Men loved her . Women hated her. But none could ignore her.

Movie, The Dirty Picture, traces the story of young ambitious girl from a poor family in village in south India has big dream of acting in movies. When she realizes her mother will not support her in achieving her dream she runs away from her home to come to big town to enter the film world. Plane looking but highly ambitious girl realizes she would not get an entry into film world unless she uses her buxom body. Realizing her acting talent cannot take her far, Reshma bears her body gyrating vigorously luring the male gaze and thus carving herself a space in the movie industry as the 'dirty woman'. Unabashed and unapologetic of her sexuality Reshma defines a new shade of feminine on silver screen to achieve fame, name and glory she always dreamt off. Fighting her way up single highhandedly to reach the top in a male dominated world she has to struggle with deceit, alcohol addition loneliness along with financial losses.

There nothing fictitious in story line as it echoes life of Silk Smitha in reality. Actor Vidya Balan has done a fabulous job in etching the character of Silk, and her personality lending all dignity to Smitha's character, making her more humane in spite of notoriety attached to her name. Script and the dialogues are crisp and tight which aids the pace of the film. For the first time the Dirty woman does not look that 'dirty' as it tries to show the shades woman,her vulnerability, her courage her weaknesses, her strength but above her ability to break rule by defining all norms of good woman.

Silk Smitha never got the due respect as an actress or a a woman of substance in her life time. She committed suicide at the age of 35 in 1996. Somewhere life reflects the life of Merylin Monroe. Although Silk was neither pretty or had sexy body like Merylin. Silk's sexuality was raw and rustic as compared to Merylin's sophistication and finesse. But both woman were fearlessly independent in man's world. They were proud to be woman and never feared to flaunt their sexuality. Character of Nayla, the editor of the film magazine, in the film somewhere represents every female in the audience . She hates Silk, but secretly admires her courage and independence.

Today most of the so called respectable female actors in Hindi cinema gyrate and seduce men with lewd gestures which is Smitha legacy. But no one is raising a finger at them as Dirty woman. Should we say the times are changing? The idea of women in India as 'Sati Savitri' or devotional woman is changing and so is the idea of dirty woman. If so then it is most welcome change.

Dirty Picture is a huge success at the box office in India. Every one is talking about Silk Smitha today. May be all those who grew up with idea of Smitha as a 'dirty woman' are re evaluating the idea of dirty today. The very acceptance of Smitha after 15 years of death suggests her life was not wasted after all.

For me Smitha represents archetypal character of Medusa, who was fiercely independent
unabashed of her ambition, sexuality and even revengeful when wronged. Unfortunately such women were feared and condemned by patriarchal systems as Dirty women.

But today, the Picture is no longer dirty Thanks to women like Smitha!




Image
Silk Smitha on the left and Vidya Balan in the movie The Dirty Picture on right

Related articles
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/life-style/people/Why-we-fear-Chikni-Chameli/articleshow/11885929.cms

"All works are made by artist personally"

Ladies and Gentleman 2012 is here..

Another New year.. another new resolutions and another new controversies..
we are just few days into 2012 and here we are with yet another new controversy in art world. First of all controversy is not only free publicity but benefits everyone who is in the middle of it. Yes, I am talking about the Hockney- Hirst controversy.

Tate and Royal Academy are hosting two major shows of Damien Hirst and David Hockney respectively , And I am sure they are thrilled by it and loving it. This will only generate more footfalls for their shows. So I am not a bit surprised that such a controversy is being 'planted' and 'nurtured' through social media platforms to benefit all the parties concerned,i.e. Tate, Royal Academy, Hockney and Hirst in this case.

The question is can it revive flagging art market of Briton and world art market in general? Considering the interest it has caught on the social media it seems the controversy has certainly touched a nerve of people( art world's) who has been questioning the ethical production of art work.

What's the Controversy?
The telegraph London reports, David Hockney's forthcoming exhibition at the Royal Academy contains a sly dig at another superstar artist about to launch a major exhibition. The note reads:
"All the works here were made by the artist himself, personally."

Hockney further retorts, "It's a little insulting to craftsmen," he said. "I used to point out, at art school you can teach the craft; it's the poetry you can't teach. But now they try to teach the poetry and not the craft."

What is the deal?

To begin David Hockney (b. 1937) and Damien Hirst (b. 1965) are two stalwarts of British Art world who have created their own place in history of contemporary art. David a leading figure of 60s and an ardent art historian and painter belonging to school of thought who believed " to paint you need eye, hand and heart. Two won't do". While Damien belongs to 90s era of artists who propagated artist as CEO who creates ideas and gets it executed through various skilled persons ( read crafts persons) and sells it under his brand name.

What David Hockney seems to object is how can an artist borrow skills of another person and sell as his own creation without ever touching it and without giving the people due credit for their contribution in his creation. How 'ethical' can this art be? Or can such art which were never touched by artist will have any value? Damien Hirst on the other hand, is L'Enfant terrible, who brought in a new era of installation of 90s under YBA and also mastered the practice of 'factory made art'. He has openly defended the practice of production through assistants and endorsed it as good as any master's work simply because it has been 'branded' under a famous name (like his).

These two views have clearly dogged the art world for years. But ever since collectors like Saatchi supported Hirst and his style of practice as it benefited their business sense. ( have addressed this in my older blog Shape of things NOT to come. )

Art word and critics remained divided on the issue. Robert Hughes for one has remained very bitter critic of Hirst's practice which he calls nothing but ' tacky commodity' lacking soul.

What now ?
Personally I have admired and despised both Hockney's and Hirst's art.

I agree with Hockney that painting is a fundamental object of art . Man has painted form Paleolithic times. And it is through paintings humans can communicate at much deeper level of consciousness. It is not mere skill, intellect or eye that is at work here but I believe a painting can transport you to the exact position of the human consciousness of primordial time. It is like Mozart's or Bach's music which can do the same magic on human consciousness. In that sense practice of painting is deeply embedded in magic and can communicate much more than what meets eye and intellect. And only a master painter with his skill ,intellect ,control over the technique can bring about magic through his art. Rembrandt is a case in point.

But what happens when artist gets a painting executed by his assistants?
Assisted paintings according to me fail to reach the magical ability because assistants are only imparting their skills but are unable to impart an intellectual, emotional rigor of the artists' vision. I have seen many works and they just remain pretty and soulless 'images' as Hughes classify. Subodh Guta's utensil paintings , Hirsts dot paintings, Murakami's flower beds,etc., and many more all can be classified under this categories.

I fully sympathize with Hockney's lament which is the loss of meaning and magic he has been searching in art which is precisely gone missing in new practice. Last thirty years of art practice and production has changed a lot about how we perceive art , how we practice art and what we collect as art.

Hirst belongs to this new era of art making . Hirst's art pushes the boundaries of notion of art beyond painting. But that does not mean he has lost poetry in art which Hockney is referring to.

To me( and many others) his shark work titled The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living is sheer poetry. The visceral quality of this work cuts across all doubts in mind of viewer, achieving awe and fear of impending death of every living being. Isn't this what we call art?




The question again here is Hirst just provided the idea and never did anything physically to execute this work of art. Here the medium of his art ( installation and not painting) allows the freedom for an artist to breach the ethical code of ' personally made by artist' . Therefore although untouched by artists hand it still proves to have artistic value. But same cannot be said about Hirst's paintings.
His exhibition at Wallace's museum, where he showed his paintings 'done by his own hands' only proved to be disastrous. Exhibiting along side master like Baccon, Hirst tried to salvage his prestige but truth was out there to see.

In that sense, Hockney's point that painting as an fundamental object of art making gets credence.





To me interesting factor of this whole Hockney – Hirst controversy lies in the fact Hockney had to proclaim "All works are made by artist personally" suggests that art making practice is divided clearly into two categories of artists. Those artists who make work with their own hands, and those who used some one's hands to make works.
Such declaration will not change anything much on the ground about art making/collecting practice of today.

Meantime controversy will die down.. like any other publicity stunt.


Happy 2012 and best wishes!

related links

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/news/david-hockney-vs-damien-hirst-the-queens-chosen-one-puts-king-of-the-ybas-on-the-spot-6284208.html

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/8989772/David-Hockney-is-always-right-and-always-wrong.html

www.telegraph.co.uk › Culture › Art › Art News

Wish, I had stayed home.

Wish, I had stayed home
is title of my recent show held at Mumbai, India.
I am sharing some of the images here.
I want to thank every one who made it possible for me.




































Finally, I want to quote lines from Pink Floyd

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

Walk Alone! Thou walk Alone!!

While conversing with an astute art collector, he bragged, “people often ask my advise before picking any artist's work”. After a long pause I hesitatingly asked “and what do you advise?” Very proudly the collector recounted the 'symptoms' of a good artist with an air of financial consultant how to pick up a good stock. “WOW! that ****** easy” I thought to myself. How easily he charted the 'career' graph of a successful artist. Very patronizingly he advised me, “If you follow the path I told you; you will hit the jackpot one day. Trust me.”

I do trust his words. I have no doubts on his wise words careful thought over period of years of experience of seeing , reading and buying art. Few days later, I was admonished with very similar advise from an upcoming curator. You have to show your works to international curators ( like me) , forget the galleries out here in India they won't take you far. I remembered an artist's words whom I have mentioned in my earlier blogs. That was ten years ago. Those words sound prophetic today.

I just thought to myself, Why did I choose to become an artist? I could have become a lawyer as my grandfather wanted. I could have become a doctor as my mother wanted. There were many things which so many people wanted me to be, because I was good at academics. At 15 after I finished my school boards, and was asked to choose the stream that I would like to pursue my career; I just declared I will join an art school. "What an art school?"... my mother repeated my words with most shocking tone. Honestly, I was as shocked as she was as I uttered the word artist. I was as clueless as she was. At 15 you are not sure. Who you are. Or who you would be when you grow up.

Teacher, lawyer, doctor, engineer, accountant? I thought all these above professions were so safe and boring. There was no excitement . At 15 you don't want to live a routine life. Nobody knew what would be a life of an artist. All people knew of was stories of horrible lives the famous artists like Van Gogh and others who suffered while creating master pieces and died mostly as paupers. No one in my family knew how to chart a life an artist. Or at least there were no pundits like the collector who 'knew' how to spot a successful artist.

"Yes I want to be an artist" I told my mom emphatically. Looking back, being an artist for me was a rebellion. Being an artist for me was a chance to hunt for my freedom. Being an artist for me was a chance to know myself.

I fancied the uncertainty of finding a way, not knowing where I am going , what I am looking for and where I will end up with. There was so much mystery and romanticism for being an artist as against the charted career of an doctor, lawyer engineer or accountant

For me, being an artist was a journey not an profession.
Twenty years down the line, I am still on a journey. I still struggle to understand what am I doing here. Am I on right track? As Sacred , lost, confused unable to understand the surroundings around me as I started on this journey.But that's what I like the most! NOT KNOWING. Every moment is struggle , but every moment is ALIVE.

Just imagine losing all this for a predictable 'profession'. All professions have their career graphs charted. So if you are an artist or lawyer, or doctor doesn't matter.Your goals, increments, accolades, achievements... every mile stone is charted..

The collector, or the curator who recounted the “symptoms” of an successful artist is very right. They know the symptoms of success but not the process. If you choose a profession you can achieve success. But if you choose the process of an artist you will
discover life.

Sorry sir, and Thank you for the advise.
I want to walk this path alone. I want to discover this path by myself. Because I know there is no successes or failures on this path. Let me recount Rabindranath Tagore's words Ekla chalo re... walk alone...

Here is translation of the poem:


If they answer not to thy call, thou walk alone
Thou walk alone, walk alone. Thou walk alone.
If they speak not the Truth
If they all fear and turn away
O thou unfortunate, thou open up thy heart 
And speak the Truth that is there.
Thou speak alone.
If they all retreat
If they desert thou in the forest of hopelessness
O thou unfortunate, thou trample the thorns on thy path
and walk ahead on thy bloody feet.
Thou walk alone.
If there is no light
If they close their doors to thou in a stormy dark night
O thou unfortunate, thou burn thy ribs of thy chest
with the burning fire of lightning.
Thou burn alone.

Poem courtesy
http://bookstove.com/book-talk/rabindranath-tagores-ekla-cholo-re-a-humble-attempt-at-translation/