The Hindu Business Line : Cholamandal collection

When K.C.S. Paniker and his students set up the Cholamandal Artists’ Village on eight acres off Chennai in 1966, there was no giant banyan tree near the mud track that led to their colony in progress. They could not have envisaged that their collective vision would survive a generation. Or that over a dozen of its 40-odd individuals — including V. Viswanadhan and S.G. Vasudev, S. Nandagopal and Akkitham Narayanan — would attain a global reach. Even less t hat their achievements would be commemorated with the inauguration of the 10,500 sq. ft. Cholamandal Gallery of Contemporary Art complex on February 1, 2009.

The vision was spearheaded by Paniker, who was the Principal during 1957-67 of the 1850-established Madras Government College of Arts and Crafts. He inspired his students to search for an art “Indian in spirit and worldwide contemporary.” Centre stage within the gallery’s mezzanine floor is a 1957 oil on board ‘Genesis’ by Paniker, predating his more identifiable abstract phase. A fitting tribute, indeed.

All around that 3,600 sq. ft. K.C.S. Paniker Museum of the Madras Movement are glimpses of significant markers seldom gathered under a single roof. Such as a 1974 A.P. Santhanaraj ink on paper and K. Ramanujam’s tantalising 1972 dreamscape, architect-artist M.V. Devan’s ‘Father’ in oils, P.S. Nandhan’s 1991 ‘Movement of Line’ in sculpted green granite and R.M. Palaniappan’s 1990 lithograph.

The 1,600-sq.ft Cholamandal gallery on the ground floor offers visual insights into how the casuarina-lined sand morphed into an ideational community. Unlike government-funded artists’ settlements in Israel and Cuba, the colony has been self-sustaining since its inception. Devan sees it as unique because it is “for the artists, by the artists, of the artists.” Paris-based Narayanan defines the new gallery as “a monument to the achievement of Cholamandal.”

The complex, over three years in the making, was realised against the backdrop of an art market impacted by the current recession. Paniker’s son, the celebrated sculptor S. Nandagopal, recalls “the generation which had to peddle paintings for money to live, have meals sometimes only of tea and peanuts, huddle on the floor of the (Lalit Kala) Akademi buildings and sometimes on the steps of the School of Arts and Crafts to pass the night, hang around patrons, dealers and newspaper columnists for favourable consideration and a word of encouragement, dreaming all the while of an art with which to kill the anxiety and to sense ‘the truly human’. To them, Cholamandal has been a moment of glory, real, impermanent, like a dream come true.”

Paniker sought a life-positive alternative for his students. An exhibition of their batik work in the 1960s raised an impressive Rs 10,000. Thus cued, 38 of them formed the Artists Handicrafts Association (AHA) in 1963. Perhaps, a craft-based community could nurture artistic aspirations?

Aditi De

Visitors on the opening day of the gallery.

Declining a government offer of 10 acres of land at Sriperumbudur, the group set its sights on the Mahabalipuram Road, lured by the eternal music of the breakers, its proximity to the tourist route.

Initially, faced with indifferent public transport, some artists walked 6 km to buy vegetables and pulses, or hitched a ride on a passing lorry. On occasion, cyclones even blew down their rudimentary houses. It is against these odds that Cholamandal — named after the arts-loving Chola dynasty — came to be.

The new gallery complex, surrounded by an international sculpture garden, celebrates this past as it toasts the future. A future in which current Cholamandal President M. Senathipathi’s children — M.S. Geeta, S. Hemalatha and Saravanan — have chosen to be artists.

How tough was it to get the gallery — designed primarily by Sheila Sriprakash of Shilpa Architects with inputs from Devan — off the ground?

An initial sale of two grounds of land brought in Rs 17 lakh, but the community had to raise approximately Rs 75 lakh for the complex. Artists donated works for a fund-raiser. Art patrons including H. K. Kejriwal, D.P. Agarwal and K.M. Mathew pitched in to sustain the vision.

Two compact commercial galleries, poetically named Laburnum and Indigo, could generate income and partially shift the art scene away from the city centre.

To start with, Sanjay Tulsyan’s Kolkata-based Gallerie-88 hosted a potent group show that included Mithu Sen, Benitha Percival, Chandana Hore and Amritah Sen.

What else does the future promise? An exotic, yellow-themed, quasi-Mediterranean cafeteria, an art bookshop and a craft shop. Even a 2,600-sq.ft of terrace space that can be rented for events.

Genesis by K.C.S. Paniker

Within the matrix of the Madras metaphor, Vasudev points out, “Paniker felt Cholamandal could be counted a success if even six out of its 35 artists did well. He thought it might be a one-generation artists’ village …”

The late art critic Josef James, who ably documented the Madras Movement, once noted, “The absence of an ‘establishment’ and officialdom leaves this setup without the common preservatives to make it last.” And yet, it has weathered dissent and pessimists alike.

Today, perhaps Cholamandal needs to pause to ask itself: Is it too early to build a monument to a movement? When will its impact be documented in depth? Will the inheritors of its legacy value its import, given the current state of art education?

Meanwhile, it can mull over a poetic image offered by Viswanadhan at the inauguration. Of a group of young artists, who slept under the stars by a mud track, guarding the building materials for their village. When they awoke, a tender green shoot caught their eye. It was the genesis of the great banyan at the entrance to their dream space.

It was from such arching vision, propelled by self-belief, that Cholamandal was born. Inspired by the towering banyan, but never daunted by its shadow.

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