Foreword

Relative Identities

“The possibility of interpretation lies in the identity of the observer with the observed. Each material thing has its celestial side; has its translation, through humanity, into the spiritual and necessary sphere, where it plays a part as indestructible as any other”
~~ Ralph Waldo Emerson


I did not preplan the title of this exhibition; as a matter of fact it only dawned upon me after having completed twenty or so paintings. But when it did, it wasn’t open to speculation or consideration, it was an epiphany in every sense of the word – ‘relative identities’ – and that was all that my art was about. At first one might find it rather strange for it to be possible to condense thirty or more paintings, ninety or so tubes of paint, and possibly thousands of color combinations into just two words. That is precisely why I have never been able to title my paintings; if I could title them in two words, why then spend afternoons painting. And here’s where ‘relative identities’ finds credence: through the amalgamation of my works, the fluidity of my personality and the synthesis of my worlds. It isn’t possible to put in words one painting or one emotion, that puts or removes a smile off of a face, but in two words I’ve been able to summarize my obsession with colors and relationships, and the plethora of psychological, physical and metaphysical indescribables that form the matter between the two.

Identities cause us to exist; to exist and imagine, to boast and to wither, to find our finitudes and to regret our abysses. They define nothing, they are neither stagnant nor vivid, they are just identities … like the ripples on one’s bed in the morning or the ones at night… never the same, always in a vague contour and indelible. Through the course of my life, I’ve discovered ‘identity’ to be like a box of play-dough that one carries around permanently all through one’s life. One can certainly inherit how to react, what to say and when to escape – but those are the subjects of science; my art, seemingly, is not about reactions; my art is about identities that form every moment of the way; every circumstance that snatches a bit of that play-dough or every entity that adds a little bit to the lump. Every few steps along the way, one can open that precious box and look within, only to find a completely unrecognizable mix of colors that one hadn’t even known to exist a while ago. That is my conception of identities, relative to infinity, and which can be depicted only through the medium of splattering color on paper, fashioning some and leaving the rest to fashion itself.

There was a time many summers ago, when all that mattered was the color of the sunrise, the roar of the wind and the oval pods of fiery red flowers within, that the Gulmohar rustled off it’s branches, all of which never failed to unperch this heart. The grayish purple bloated clouds never ceased to churn my insides with inexplicable wistfulness. That seemed to be my identity; the wait for things that spewed few words yet splashed my days with glory and liveliness.

As the summers drew to a close, it increasingly appeared to be a lifetime spent cementing the cracks in relationships. Smiling when it was required and not when it occurred; to tread so very cautiously, so as to be almost invisible, lest you hurt delicate feelings strewn about. The step became so proper that one forgot the bliss of prancing around, or just the feel of grass on one’s palms. For one was sure that the fields and the wind and the sun have no fragile egos to be pampered and trussed up. Subjugation, civility and compromise – the words now came out with such practiced refinement and infallibility.

A practiced euphoria engulfs us so completely that one forgets how deeply one is seething or hurting inside. After all isn’t life beautiful? And it is this beauty that I’ve attempted to draw out through the means of contrasting the string of identities that follow us on our way through our days. Relative, in nature, to the past and the multitudes of the present, our current identity is one in many; which one you might relate to in my paintings would be wholly personal to you and might be completely unintentional by my color.

In one of my paintings I’ve attempted to depict the baggage of kaleidoscopic identities that one carries around ready to withstand any encounter. Armed with such perfect relative identities, one would presume a state of security and perhaps even happiness. Instead, the painting delineates the yearnings of one’s intrinsic nature that is buried, never to be seen again, flitting around in the subconscious like scabs that go dry. In another one of my works, I bring out the internal chaos that ensues when our castaway identities, gnarled and weathered, clash with our current identities. Like irrelevant tears we keep pushing them away, yet they continue to haunt us, piercing whatever pretences and defences we may have built up. This painting is about the battle between our outwardly self and the past shreds of identities. A third painting of mine brings out the adaptations for survival, and modifications of the inherent character, which we all strive for, to suit the environment. Be it due to pressure, physical, emotional or psychological, the changes could be at the conscious or the subconscious level; either way, the relationships they mould are never truly equal. There is a giver and a taker; the taker proclaims, loudly, that it is a ‘mutual compromise’. Yet, behind every glittering ‘mutual’, I believe, there is a silent giver who quietly maintains the mutuality of the agreement, filling in the gaps between the two relative identities.

Finally, in one of my favorite works, I’ve tried to bring forth the subtle notion of introspection – of going over all the castaway identities; essentially, taking stock of that box of play-dough at the precipice of life. Silently and uncompromising, one finds oneself molded entirely to the casts of others’ personalities. Having constantly modified one’s inherent traits, ever so completely, there comes a time when one sits down to take stock, at that instant, one can barely recognize oneself.

To end with, I’d like to make clear that the multiplicities of the human personality should not be confused with the complexities of the human mind, for the latter are only about behavior; my art is about the irrational and the multitudes that defy reason and nest in the ambiguous abyss of the relative.

About the Artist

Relative Identities