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I have traced my evolution
from the Ravi Varma type of painting to an
expression of mere abstraction. During this journey, I have met with failure,
as well as success. At times, I have been criticised as an imitator, sentimentalist
and an illustrator. I have never felt bitter towards my critics. I believe that
a work of art bears the stamp of individuality and the national bearing of its
creator when it springs from self, devoid of hidden sense. All artificial
otherness and novelty leads one to sensationalism, which is short-lived. In the
end, I submit to my own humble test. It is on myself alone that I must rely. My
works are generated by my intense feeling for my environment. I seek to find
myself by following whatever course it leads to
~ K
K Hebbar, ‘An Artist’s Quest’
THE TWILIGHT on the terrace
fans shadows across his face ~ as memories, experiences, relationships,
observations and responses tumble quicksilver through his mind and off his
tongue. His now frail frame, racked by a prolonged bout of ill health, takes
each idea by the scruff of its neck and explores it threadbare. Not for him the
easy conformity with current trends, not for him the comfortable acceptance of
the status that is his today, not for him the cliché-ridden paths of the
mainstream.
For, even at 84, Kattingeri
Krishna Hebbar is a feisty, outspoken non-conformist, towering as a colossus
amidst mere mortals ~ whether amongst contemporary artists in Karnataka or when
measured against other creators on the contemporary Indian canvas. He draws his
lines spontaneously, with an intensity that sears ~ even when they are alive with the sound of music. He
reacts with integrity, whether as an individual interacting with an
interviewer, or as a human being concerned with the state of his world, or as
an elder statesman assessing the Indian art scene. His words, like his works,
are shaped by candour, more driven by belief than by everyday acts of survival.
His humanism surfaces in any
encounter. His recollections are tinged with warmth, with razor-edged wit,
imbued with his love for the arts. As is evident from this conversation we had
in Madras (now
Chennai) in 1987: “I have heard every musician in our country. I have watched
every dancer. But, tell me, how many musicians or dancers have seen my work?
None… Once, when Girija Devi, the famous ghazal
singer from Benaras, was a member of the Khosla commission on the fine arts, I
was interviewed by them. I said: ‘Girija Devi, I don’t understand how you
happen to be on this commission. I have been listening to you for the past 30
years, but have you seen one of my paintings?’ Afterwards, I felt I shouldn’t
have said these things in front of the whole commission, but I was talking to
the whole of society.”
He brooks no nonsense, curbs
no sentiments, spares no emotion for idle words. His sincerity is moving in an
art world thronging with wheeler-dealers. Typically, Hebbar’s response to the
commerce in art today is tinged with empathy for the buyer. As he once narrated:
“I had borrowed one of my paintings (Cattle
Market, gouache, 1942) from the owner and taken it to London for a show. There, an American
gentleman kept wanting to buy it. I told him it was sold. He persisted: ‘Tell
the owner I will pay whatever he asks.’ But the owner refused to sell. When I
returned to India,
I learnt that the owner, a big businessman, had lost all. His business, his
palace-like house, were gone; he was a pauper. I asked him again why he hadn’t
sold the painting when the American was serious in his offer. He said, ‘Hebbar,
I will go with that painting under my arm and beg in the streets, rather than
part with it.’ I was so touched.”
What forces have shaped a
life so rich and vivid? Hebbar, who was born in Kattingeri in Dakshina Kannada
in 1911, was formally trained at the Sir JJ School of Art, Bombay (now Mumbai), where he was awarded a
diploma in painting in 1938. After teaching there briefly, Hebbar did a course
at the Academy Julian in Paris
in 1949-50. “Normally, while drawing a table, parallel lines converge to a
point,” he recalls. “But in Paris,
it was not so. A table was only a base on which to keep your objects. You could
change the perspective as you wanted. From a distance, it could become wider,
rather than narrower… I picked up so much in a short time.”
Nominated to the new national
Lalit Kala Akademi in 1954, he won its national award for three consecutive
years, 1956-58. He was head of the Karnataka
Lalitakala Academy
from 1978-80 and chairman of the Lalit Kala Akademi, New Delhi, from 1980-1984. Recognition that
came his way, initially as gold medals from the Bombay Arts Society and the
Academy of Fine Arts, Calcutta (now Kolkata), was crowned by a Padma Shri in
1961.
Hebbar’s paintings, whether
relating to topical events like the birth of Bangladesh or the Latur earthquake,
amaze by their range of medium as by their intensity of expression. His
drawings ~ often inspired by music or dance ~ were once described by him as
characterised by ‘the singing line.’ He delineates why in a book of the same
title: “In the beginning, I used to draw with the intention of reproducing the
object of my choice… But once I achieved that skill, I started searching for
the hidden beauty in the interplay of lines, the evocative quality of straight and
curved lines. This quality of rhythmic movement of lines began to engage my
attention more and more. I realised that lines are capable of singing and
dancing. These lines are creative, rather than imitative.”
Both as an artist and as an
administrator, the essence is never peripheral to the overview in Hebbar’s
world. He reacts immediately to causes and to people alike. Because it is the
human being within the celebrity who sparks thought, even in a chance
encounter.
Hebbar, who’s lived in Bombay for decades, was in Bangalore
in March 1995 for a homecoming of sorts ~ when a permanent Hebbar wing,
compiled by his daughter Rekha Rao and S G Vasudev, both artists, was unveiled
at the local Venkatappa
Art Gallery.
Here are excerpts from an
exclusive interview, spanning three 45-minute sessions, during Hebbar’s recent
sojourn in Bangalore:
How do you feel about your homecoming to
Karnataka? And your ties with the state?
I am not a sentimental
person. (Reflectively) After I left
Karnataka in disgust, for about 25 years or so, I have not kept up any kind of
a relationship. Look here, Karnataka is known for literature, music, to some
extent dance and theatre. But not for painting, although at one time it had a
rich tradition of sculpture.
It was mainly Nanjunda Rao
who was responsible for bringing me back here. I appreciate his organizational
capacity. I think his Chitrakala Parishad has done wonderful work. He brought
me in for one thing or another. After I got my Padma Shri, the state
authorities asked for my bio-data, offered me the Rajyotsava award. But I
politely refused. Why should I accept an honour from people who haven’t seen my
work?
When the Lalit Kala Akademi
was set up in 1954, I was casually looking through their catalogue ~ and found
not a single name from Karnataka. So, when I came to the state academy in 1978,
I formed a committee including S G Vasudev and the art critic S A Krishnan. We
asked local artists to bring in their work for the national exhibition. Of the
20 works we selected, 11 were hung. That’s over 50 per cent, which compares
very well with the all-India average of five per cent. Out of the 11, six were
sold. That caused a commotion.
For the first time, we
instituted scholarships for bright student here to go to Baroda, Shantiniketan, JJ, wherever they
wanted. In three years, we selected 11 students. Today they ~ including
Pushpamala N, Sheela Gowda and Chandranath Acharya ~ are recognised as artists
as talented as those anywhere in India.
How relevant is art education in the
Indian context?
Look here, what you are
learning is only the technique. When I passed my diploma at the J.J. School,
the director was a European named Charles Gerrard (an impressionist painter).
He once looked at my work and said: ‘Hebbar, you have technical competence at
your fingertips. Don’t think that itself is art. Now, you have to find your
individuality.’ Those are words I can never forget.
The question of educating or
understanding an artist is perennial. In the year I spent in Europe,
I saw all the top museums. At the Museum
of Modern Art in Paris, I realised how Picasso was inspired by
Negro sculpture. He was not ashamed of it; his creative ability helped him to
develop it.
(Passionately)
If anybody thinks he knows everything, he’s a fool. When I came back from the
Academy Julian, I was so confused. Now what to do? We lived in the small hill
station of Mahabaleshwar then because we had no accommodation in Bombay. The eldest of my
three children, Rekha, was four then. One day, we went for a walk, the two of
us. We saw a blind man with a stick being led by his grandchild. Rekha asked
about him. She didn’t say anything. On returning, she sat down to paint with
poster colours in the verandah. She painted something like the man. His mouth
was there, his nose was there, his hair was there, but no eyes. I asked: ‘Why
haven’t you drawn the eyes?’ Rekha answered: ‘But what is the good of it?’
I was simply thrilled with
her answer. That helped me throughout in my drawing, inspired me to leave out
all unnecessary things. Many times, I draw the body, but don’t draw the face at
all. If the accent is on the hands or the face or on the body, what’s the good
of taking the attention somewhere else?
What about your well-known passion for music and dance….?
Yes, it’s true. I even
studied dancing under Pandit Sundar Prasad in Bombay for two years. He included me in two
of his programmes. His class was in the same building where my brother and I
lived.
Once, when there was a curfew
on because of riots, I knew M S Subbulakshmi was singing in Bombay. I was then teaching at the J.J. School.
I didn’t tell anybody, but left our house in Andheri early as if I was going
for a walk. I listened to her till 1 a.m. When I got off the local train at Grant Road, there
was nobody in sight. I quickly crossed the road to the police station, which
was a free area. When I returned home, my brother was furious! (Pausing) But I thought: ‘Even if I die
now, it doesn’t matter ~ after such divine music!’
Have music and dance influenced your singing
lines?
It’s not the mere line that
is important. It’s the rhythmic quality. Whatever I have done came to me
effortlessly, naturally. When Kamala Lakshman first came to Bombay as Baby Lakshman, I had never before
painted or drawn a dancing figure. Nor had I earlier seen such a good dancer.
She was just 14 or 15 then. I had a small book, in which I went on drawing
dancing figures until the book was complete. The next morning, I added a few
drops of colour. My friend, the artist N S Bendre, saw it then. Even 20 to 30
years later, he said: ‘You should get that book printed as it is.’ I’ve
preserved it.
After that, I’ve tried to
move my hand to the rhythm of dancing while it goes on. (Energetically) You place your hand at one place. Then, you go on
drawing without lifting your hand. Automatically, you find your hand moves.
Now, I’m not drawing.
Actually it won’t take more than four or five minutes, but so many factors have
to be just right. It’s not within your control.
Does it require a special mindset to
appreciate art?
Look, when people go to a
classical music concert, they don’t demand explanations. Nor the meaning of
words. They only want swara, alaap,
melody, sound… But if classical music is appreciated by 10 per cent of people,
40 per cent like cinema music. People want it all to be easy, but nothing in
this world is available easily.
That’s because of our
education system. We want to know the story behind everything. What do they
enjoy in a painting? The emotion it creates, the colour scheme, the space, the
beauty, the rhythm. But our society of paper-flower appreciaters is such that
people look at art and say: ‘I don’t understand it, I don’t care for it.’ I
don’t mean to say you must be able to draw or paint, but you should appreciate
everything good in life. Otherwise, what’s the difference between you and an
animal?
Once ~ don’t ask me when or where ~ I was invited
to show my work. The chief guest that day said: ‘I don’t understand anything
about art. However, it gives me great pleasure in inaugurating…’
(Energetically) When I was asked to speak, I said: ‘Sangeeta sahitya kala vihinaha sakshat pashuhu puccha vishana hinana.’ How many educated people are
willing to accept the position of an animal when they don’t like what they
don’t understand? Later, many people felt I’d been very harsh. It wasn’t the
fault of the chief guest, but that of the education system.
Have your interactions with your buyers
been positive?
(Smiling contentedly) I have got such customers and patrons, who’ll
give me anything I want.
In Manipal, there was a man
who wanted to possess one of my works. He worked in a bank, so he asked for my
account number and put in sums until about Rs. 2,000 or 3,000 was reached. When
I had a show in Bangalore,
I wrote to him: ‘Here are some paintings. There’s one from your side ~ a bhootha. You can take it, if you like.’
He wanted to make a museum of my work, but the idea didn’t work out.
Why do contemporary Indian artists lack
recognition abroad?
If anybody asks me about an
Indian artist of international fame, I feel ashamed. Very few Indians are
recognised. Not like Picasso or Matisse. But then, until the national academies
were set up in 1954, there was little chance of them exhibiting abroad. Yet, at
a recent Venice Biennale, I was told our paintings were thrown in a corner,
while all the other countries had their own pavilions.
(With disgust) Once, I went to our embassy in Paris to get the address of Raza. They didn’t
know who he was! They had a large painting of his at the entrance, but they’d
never looked at it or bothered to find out who he was!
Do you know that in Bombay, there’s not a
single gallery where you can see my work? Where will you go? If I don’t have
any work in my studio, you’ll have to find out the names of collectors and ask
if you can see the work. A shame! I’ve tried my best, but could not succeed.
How strongly do you feel an integral
sense of Indianness?
If you just copy established
classical work, it doesn’t become Indian. You have to be Indian first in your
thinking, your attitude, the way of your life, then only can you produce Indian
work. Anyway, I can’t even paint outside India. That may be my weakness. In India, human
relationships are still very strong…
What keeps your artistic quest alive?
In your creative efforts, you
don’t fix an end. It’s all a quest. I don’t repeat what I’m doing. I go on
changing. That’s my nature. I feel there’s nothing like perfection. That you
must realise. Your search goes on.
(Originally published in Deccan Herald, 1995)
