Hello frends! I am an artist. My roots take place in St.Petersburg, which has great architecture, culture and history that influenced me once and forever. Today, in the times of technical progress, mass production and new artificial materials I search for inspiration in the foundation of the Arts - old Russian Orthodox icons, Renaissance and folk cultures. I seek out look for new shapes and images within my themes using different materials, but my favorite is glass for its plasticity and abi... [more]
Express Yourself: Romance Was Born for Kids is a vibrant exhibition created by Sydney-based fashion designers Luke Sales and Anna Plunkett now showing at The National Gallery of Victoria.
You’re standing in the foyer of the NGV. Head through one door, and you’ll immerse yourself in the world of French designer Jean Paul Gaultier; an adult playground where invention and freedom of expression is celebrated.
Through another portal you’ll enter the realm of two different fashi... [more]
The Architectural animation has been gaining popularity all around the world. The animation of the different architectures convinces a customer about the property and its details which aren’t possible in the normal images and designs. With the use of computer graphics software and team of artists or animators the whole animation movie is designed.
There are different CGI companies who have launched their 3d architectural animation services for the clients. There are various advantages of... [more]
“There is a double birth of the mortal, and a double passing-away” (Empedocles of Agrigentum)
English version by Roxana Costinescu
At the Scientific Library of Dubrovnik, Nini is again alone in the reading room, and he keeps on studying, with the pencil in hand, a book of Boscovich, published in London, in 1961, by Lancelot Law White. On the last page of his reading diary, he had marked in the morning, during the classes of Inter-University Centre, a mere sente... [more]
By Reed V. Horth for Robin Rile Fine Art
2015 Estate of Pablo Picasso/Artists Rights Society (ARS),New York
A few days ago, my wife’s Linkedin Profile boasted this photo of Pablo Picasso’s 1955 masterpiece “Les Femmes d’Algers, Version O“, which is estimated to fetch over $140m at the upcoming Christie’s New York auction on 11 May. For me, it was like seeing an old friend. Her face had been drunk in and every nuance studied when I was a young art historian holed up in... [more]
Many thanks to Photo District News online for their news coverage about the recent portraiture work I did during SXSW !
Austin, Texas-based contemporary art photographer Susan Scafati recently shot portraits during South by Southwest (SXSW) — the annual music, ﬁlm, and interactive festival — from her hometown neighborhood in Austin, Texas. “This is one of my favorite experiences in Austin,” Scafati says. Scafati is drawn to the way that the city transforms itself into a mecca of fes... [more]
The Burghers of Calais
Image from Bouville series and text below is from article in magazine Less Common More Sense, which retells the story of an interaction during the gagging of the Burghers of Calais (outside the Houses of Parliament - London) .
Generally speaking it is a cunning plan to climb up onto and off statues as quickly as possible, so I was relatively unimpressed when I head an old voice behind me saying,
'Is this a protest?'
'Not really' I replied politely, as I hung precari... [more]
Presented by Whitestone Gallery (Tokyo)
Hiroshi Senju is at the forefront of contemporary approaches to traditional Japanese-style painting,
or nihonga. Living and working between New York and Japan since the 1980s, the Tokyo-
born artist is recognised internationally for his serialised paintings of waterfalls, presenting a
unique vision of his repeated subject. Whitestone Gallery (Tokyo) brings three of these visually
mesmerising works to Sydney Contemporary 2013. Senju follows the nihonga techni... [more]
As New York's Guggenheim Museum preps for a VS Gaitonde retrospective, the curator-collector community - and his buddies - chew over what makes him the poster boy of modern Indian art.
In 1998, Sandhini Poddar, a Masters student at the Ananthacharya Indological Research Institute in Mumbai, visited the National Gallery of Modern Art to view an exhibition of celebrated collector, Jehangir Nicholson. The show included nine paintings by abstract painter Vasudeo S Gaitonde. She remembers it as a deeply moving experience. "What I walked away with that evening," says Poddar on a recent Mumbai visit, "was an incredible sense of silence, and a thought - if I ever became a museum curator, I'd like to exhibit a full retrospective of Gaitonde's work." A decade later in 2011, when as associate curator, Asian Art, at New York's Solomon R Guggenheim, she suggested the idea to the museum - two years before Gaitonde became the artist to acquire after a 1971 oilon-canvas by him fetched Rs 23.7 cr at Christie's - the proposal took a while to clear. "Gaitonde", she says, "wasn't a name recognisable to them at all." "Although, in the last 13 years after his death in 2001, the market has been supportive of his work, there was no scholarship to substantiate the interest," says Poddar. "No one had seriously researched his work or his position within the history of abstraction in India." Much of the convincing unfolded here in India in March, when the museum's director, Richard Armstrong, came on a visit. The two hopped between the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research, the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art and other public spaces that host Gaitonde's work. Armstrong, she says, realised, here was a great artist who required a world art platform, and was happy to offer Guggenheim. "You don't sense a Gaitonde from an image; you only apprehend his work by standing in front of it." V. S. Gaitonde: Painting as Process, Painting as Life opens at the Guggenheim on October 24 for three-anda-half- months. It will display 45 of his pieces, placing one of India's greatest modernists in a global art context, whilst looking at European traditions of modernity, Post War abstraction in America, and Indian modernism in the 40s and the decades after independence. Those who knew him say, a retrospective at Guggenheim wouldn't have surprised him. "Gaitonde was supremely confident. He just was," says Mumbai gallerist and auctioneer Dadiba Pundole. "To him, what mattered was the last completed work and the one he was about to paint. After a painting left his door, he didn't think about it. You could burn it for all he cared." Old friend and colleague, New Delhi-based artist, Krishen Khanna agrees with Pundole. Gaitonde was certainly not the one to cater to the market or pander to somebody's taste. "He lived the life of a painter," Khanna believes. Born in 1924 in Nagpur to Goan parents, Gaitonde was an infant when his father, who worked in a printing press, moved to their ancestral village. It's here in Goa that he spent the first five years before they moved to Mumbai. Art, somewhere, made an early presence. In Narendra Dengle's 1998-article, republished in Bodhana's An Unstretched Canvas, the writer quotes Gaitonde, where he speaks about a childhood surrounded by paddy fields: "I clearly remember one of my family members who used to paint on temple walls. Perhaps that was what first attracted me to painting. It was around the same time that I began to paint and realised that I also could draw! I came to Bombay while I was still a student and enrolled into a municipal school and before I knew I was visiting art galleries, looking at exhibitions." His father, however, had little regard for his passion. He hoped the only son among four daughters would become a doctor. So, when Gaitonde joined Sir JJ School of Art, he had to live under the staircase of their building in Girgaum, where his mother sent him meals, shares Pundole. "He never spoke about family." In fact, in an interview with a national daily published early this year, Gaitonde's younger sister, Kishori Das said he had broken ties with them soon after he moved to Delhi in the 1960s, and never left an address behind. They only learnt of his death in 2001, days after he passed away. There's a tale of a love he lost, but Khanna says, "Gai moved to Delhi because Bombay became too expensive for him. Tyeb (Mehta) and he would share a cup of tea at the Bhulabhai Desai Institute because they couldn't afford to buy one for themselves." In his youth, Pundole says, Gaitonde was flamboyant. Although conscious of his short height, he enjoyed ballroom dancing, watched cricket, and as opposed to popular perception about frugalness, "he was extremely fond of good clothes, colour and paint," Khanna adds. In a forthcoming book on the artist, researched and authored by Delhi-based writer and curator, Meera Menezes, she mentions a 1964 incident involving Khanna and Gaitonde, when the two were in New York. "Commercially, Khanna and Gaitonde did fairly well in New York, and both artists shared a long-standing arrangement, in case either was lucky enough to sell a work. Khanna had promised Gaitonde that if he managed a sale, he would treat him to a shirt. As it transpired, Khanna did sell a painting, and he went to a store with Gaitonde to honour his promise. "I saw a five-dollar shirt and said, 'That is a nice shirt,' recalled Khanna, but Gai retorted, 'No, no, I want a twenty-dollar shirt!' Quite clearly, he was not going to be fobbed off with just any ordinary garment!" "He was known to be arrogant. In fact, he'd often say, in third person, 'when Gai shows, Bombay comes to see'," smiles Pundole, while recalling an incident that sealed Gaitonde's relationship with his father and gallerist Kali Pundole. Eventually, Pundole became his sole representative for more than two decades. "It was during the emergency in 1974. He had a show at the Taj Art Gallery. Nobody showed up on the evening of the opening and he was livid." Bal Chhabda, the only visitor, made an SOS call to Kali, who ended up buying all the works. Unlike many artists of his generation, Gaitonde wasn't trying to answer the larger questions of life through figurative works. Although he was briefly involved with the Progressive Art Group and the Bombay Group, and deeply inspired by Swiss-German painter Paul Klee, by the late 50s, he had veered away from figuration towards nonobjective art. According to Poddar, the 60s became the crux of his practice. "That's when he was developing and mastering a non-objective approach," she says. "Gaitonde became interested in Zen Buddhism and certain philosophers like J Krishnamurti and Nisargadatta Maharaj, who informed his life, practice and choices." Vienna-based collector, Eleonore Chowdhury-Haberl, who between her three daughters and herself owns eleven works by Gaitonde dated l954 to l966, defines them as, "landscapes of the mind. Paintings that baffled and fascinated us and made us meditate over them." To many, in the 60s and 70s, Gaitonde's monochromatic, dreamlike canvases began to resemble his American contemporary Mark Rothko. But he didn't appreciate the comparison. Chowdhury-Haberl remembers, "One evening, when looking at an art book with images of Rothko's works, I told him, 'Gaitonde, your works remind me of Mark Rothko'. He wryly responded, 'Do you mean to say, that I am copying?'" From the early 70s to the late 80s, the silhouetting and overlapping of forms became ever more evident in Gaitonde's paintings; as distinguished from his quiet, meditative works of the 60s. As a consequence of a serious accident in 1984, Gaitonde stuck briefly to making ink on paper drawings in the mid 80s. It was only in 1989 that he returned to working on his larger oils-on-canvas, and the last works from 1997 and 1998 prominently include the circle and the line once again,"formative symbols from his appreciation of Zen," says Poddar. Khanna puts it in perspective when he says, "there are a lot of correlations I see between how Gaitonde lived, how he worked and his art; which is as an interaction between that which is known and that which is not." A non-prolific career stretching over four decades was marked by periods of productivity with spells of comfortably doing nothing. "In late 90s, when I visited Gai at his studio in Delhi, I kept prodding him to paint. And he said he has limited energy. He made pictures in his head and didn't want to waste his energy putting them on canvas," says Pundole. He needed time for his many passions. He was a voracious reader, a lover of cinema and western classical music. Armstrong, says Poddar, observed that there was a musicality to all his work, "not realising that Gaitonde had western classical music playing in his studio all the time." Chowdhury-Harberl, who along with husband Bilwa Kanta, shared a close association with Gaitonde, remembers him as, "a very quiet, reticent person who rarely spoke about his work". "When I once asked him — I was a young, naive woman then — about the meaning of one of his abstract works, he said, 'I cannot talk about my work. I just paint'." Always curt with those who invaded his time, he even disciplined maverick M F Husain. Curator and consultant Jesal Thacker remembers artist Ram Kumar mentioning how Husain, who was never certain of his whereabouts, made sure he was on time when he had to meet Gaitonde. "One always needed an excuse to talk to Gaitonde," says Pundole. "Besides," says Khanna, "if the discussion on art was stupid, as it mostly is, he'd prefer to keep quiet." Flattery never went down well with him, and money wasn't a concern. Paris-based filmmaker Sunil Kaldate, who released a film on the artist back in the 90s, narrated an incident to Menezes, which she has included in her book published by Bodhana: "... Kaldate remembers that on one of his visits he spied a plastic bag lying around the studio in which there was a packet wrapped in paper. Assuming that there might be some chocolates inside, he opened the packet only to discover, to his utter amazement, a wad of money. Apologising profusely to Gaitonde for the intrusion, the latter stunned him with his simple retort, 'think of it as a chocolate!'" Whether it was his work or life, Gaitonde valued restraint. "In fact, when I asked Ram Kumar what a retrospective would mean to Gaitonde, he said, 'he'd be happy', and I thought that's quite restrained for a response, but then again, it reflects who he was," says Poddar. See Pic: 1. Meera Menezes, who took this picture in Delhi in 1997 when she interviewed Gaitonde, says, "He definitely didn't look as severe as he did in his photographs. I found him charming, not the dour, stern man I'd expected to meet." 2. Curator Sandhini Poddar says it was a while before the upcoming Guggenheim retrospective of Gaitonde was cleared because "no one has seriously researched his work or his position within the history of abstraction in India" 3. V. S. Gaitonde, Untitled, 1955 (Chowdhury Family Collection, Vienna-Mumbai) Vienna-based collector Eleonore Chowdhury-Harbel, along with husband Bilwa Kanta and nuclear scientist Dr Homi Bhabha was one of the few collectors of Gaitonde's work in the early 60s. "Each Sunday, we'd visit his studio - first at the Bulabhai Desai Institute on Warden Road, then Walkeshwar. Often, he'd come to our Marine Drive home where we'd regularly invite Bombay art lovers and connoisseurs to show them our latest acquisitions. Gaitonde was always there, and in fact, through our parties, he was able to make his work known to new buyers," she says.
Original link: http://www.mumbaimirror.com/others/sunday-read/A-silent-portrait/articleshow/42399138.cms?prtpage=1
For six decades, Chandigarh junked its treasure until the celebrated furniture of its public buildings became the toast of auctions abroad. For the last five months, Gallery 919 in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, has been hosting American multimedia artist Amie Siegel's threepart installation titled Provenance. The art film traces the journey of furniture from India that's considered "an emblem of mid-century modernist design", created by architects Pierre Jeanneret (Swiss national) and Charles Edouard Jeanneret, better known as Le Corbusier. Swiss-French architect, Corbusier, was the man behind all the public buildings constructed in Chandigarh between 1951 and 1967 and the furniture they housed. In the cataclysmic event of the Partition, Lahore, the capital of undivided Punjab fell within present-day Pakistan, leaving East Punjab without an epicentre. Located 240 kilometres north of New Delhi, Chandigarh was conceived and designed as the new capital by Le Corbusier in 1951. He planned every detail of the architectural masterwork, from the roads and legislative assembly building to the teak, sissoo and rosewood furniture that his cousin, Pierre, created. Siegel's ongoing exhibit at MET begins with the furniture's present day demi-god status in the wealthiest of homes, gradually tracing its story in reverse chronology through warehouses, at American and European auctions, at a furniture restorer's, on a cargo ship, and, finally, back to Chandigarh. It's the standard story, says French furniture designer Thierry Betancourt, who has made Mumbai his home. We realise the value of what we have only when the West wakes up to it. It was the same with European furniture, rejected by the public institutions, regaining prominence after it became big at western auction houses. That's how Europe woke up to what it lost. Now considered the new toast of the auction scene, with the world's affluent vying for pieces marked by bold, clean geometry, Chandigarh furniture has realised its value six decades since it was created. In fact, in April this year, six pieces - two pairs of armchairs, a sofa, and the Judge's armchair - designed for the High Court and assembly buildings by Corbusier and Pierre were sold for over Rs 1.62 crore at the Phillips auction house in London. Mumbai architect-designer Ashiesh Shah is in talks with a French gallery to acquire an easy chair by Pierre, for his Carmichael Road apartment. "It's reflective of architectural factors - availability of Burma teak, craftsmanship, and minimalist approach - of that time. It appealed to my sensibility," he says. Shah considers it "an acquisition that's celebrating our modern history." Mapping modern India Independent India's first Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru envisaged Chandigarh as "a new town, symbolic of freedom of India unfettered by the traditions of the past... an expression of the nation's faith in the future." It was built at a time when princely India was on the decline and colonialism was about the past. "From fashion to furniture, pomp and pageantry were rejected. Functionality was the new fad," says associate vice president of auction house Saffronart, Shivajirao Gaekwar. Walkeshwar-based antique dealer Chiki Doshi considers the designs ahead of their time. Corbusier and Pierre's work was functional, and defined by a style that was pre-modern "or what we called retro furniture," says Doshi. "In fact, its geometry was inspired by the Art Deco style." According to Parisbased gallerist, Patrick Seguin, who has dealt in Chandigarh furniture for 20 years, the architect pair understood Nehru's vision and set a unique vocabulary of architecture and design. Ironically, it didn't speak to the people of the state. To them, the minimalism was dull. Gaekwar says, "Several upper middle class Punjabis, who moved to Chandigarh after independence, grew up around colonial and Art Deco furniture. Naturally, it took a while for them to embrace mid-century modern designs." Stuff of scrapyards Pradeep Bhagat, principal at the Chandigarh College of Architecture, terms it apathy. "People didn't see its value," he says over the phone from his office, pointing out that he is sitting on a chair designed by Corbusier even as he speaks. By the 1980s, the poorly-kept Chandigarh furniture was considered worthless, frequently sold as scrap, and sometimes, chopped up for firewood. "It was the standard prejudice. If it's work from the public sector, it mustn't be right," says Doshi. "Toot gaya hai toh fek doh". Dealers who saw its worth, though, bought it, and years later, sold it to auction houses abroad. Curators Sumesh Sharma and Rajeev Sethi believe the government is to blame too. "It's they who decided to replace them (Chandigarh pieces) with distasteful formica desks. It is a remark on our little concern for inheritance," says Sharma. It's only in January 2011, that a bill was passed, making it illegal to transport the furniture out of the city unless the authorities and Ministry of Culture had given permission, or a receipt from an auction held prior to the date of transport, was produced. It was sometime around the late 1990s, recalls Bhagat, that French dealer Eric Touchaleaume, considered the Indiana Jones of furniture collecting, visited Chandigarh to assess the furniture. "He visited junkyards, offices and godowns to procure pieces," he says. "Furniture that was purchased by him for the price of Burma teak, or for a few hundreds to thousands, was auctioned for lakhs." Soon, other French gallerists, including Seguin, Philippe Jousse and Francois Laffanour (of Galerie Downtown), followed. "It was while working on Le Corbusier and Jeanneret's archives, that I discovered Chandigarh furniture," says Seguin over email. No records to show The bigger concern now, according to Sethi, is replicas of Corbusier and Pierre's work circulating around the globe. "For one," says architect-designer Rajiv Saini, "Corbusier didn't even create the furniture; he made the designs, and handed them over to carpenters on site. Some pieces carried the government monogram on them, some didn't." Besides, there are no records to establish the number of pieces created or transactions of purchase. "There's no way for them to come to a figure with any degree of accuracy," says Saini, who has acquired a mid-modern century chair from an old property. "It was up to the administrators of the institution to decide whether they wanted 50 chairs in 10 classrooms or 50 in 20. It was based on need." Besides, there is no distinction between the work Corbusier created for Chandigarh and another set made for a concentration of buildings in Ahmedabad in the 1950s. "There's no way to authenticate them," says Saini. "His sketch was available, Burma teak was available. You got a mistry to make it for you. Likewise, if furniture broke, you could always get a carpenter to make a replica." Siegel's work then serves as an essential piece of contextualization of modern Indian history and design — one that was dismissed by the people of the state, and whose value was realised only much later. Or, as Bhagat puts it, "perhaps, when it was too late."
See Pics 1. Carpentry staff at Chiki Doshi's Walkeshwar workshop restore a Chandigarh desk
2. TOAST OF THE AUCTION A three-seater sofa from Punjab and Haryana High Court was auctioned in London for Rs 37.87 lakh in 2004. The Bonhams auction (in pic 2) in 2010, included an Indian rosewood and leather desk and a teak and cane chair from the Administrative Buildings (estimate £4,000-6,000), a Magistrate's chair (estimate £3,000-5,000), three Senate chairs from the Legislative Assembly (estimate £7,000-10,000), a set of six Library chairs (estimate £5,000-7,000) and a pair of easy chairs from Panjab University (estimate £4,000-6,000) 3. THE FEATURES Mainly created from Burma teak, the designs are marked by symmetry, inverted V legs and upholstery made from wicker or black rexine
Original link to the article: http://www.mumbaimirror.com/others/sunday-read/State-of-the-art/articleshow/45160440.cms?prtpage=1
On a visit to his 'second home', Krishen Khanna on painting from memory at 89. Visiting Mumbai, after little more than a year, Delhi-based Krishen Khanna was delighted to visit his "second home". Settling into a couch at Colaba's Yacht Club, the 89-year-old complained about not being able to travel much. "Old age is creeping in. There's this reluctance to leave home," he smiled. As expected, the artist was running on a tight schedule. After our chat, he had a meeting with a three-member team that's planning a documentary on his work, before he set off to catch up with old friend Akbar Padamsee over lunch. "Then Sudhir Patwardhan is taking me to show his work," he said. The same evening, Khanna delivered a commemorative lecture at Jehangir Nicholson Gallery, in the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya, to discuss his drawings on the Partition. The octogenarian, who briefly read art at Lahore's Mayo School of Art, is mostly dismissive of the European school and style of painting. "You aren't taught that much at schools," he argues. "In fact, I think it's all wrong. What is being done is that they are training your eye... The coordination between what you see, the eye, and your hand, which actually delineates." Drawing is much more than that, he insisted. "In our tradition - other than the Mughal school of painting where you have portraits of a badshah sitting before you — you don't look around when you draw. You draw based on what you first saw and later imagined. The image is in the memory and if you are stuck, you just shut your eyes," he explained. Khanna took up the example of the large, six-feet by four-feet painting of a marriage procession he is currently painting. "Imagine, if I had to apply European technique, I would have had to employ dozens and dozens of people in my studio to create a procession. That's so static." Having witnessed several of them, and been a part of them, too, he would rather rely on his impeccable memory. "All sorts of anomalies happen at a marriage procession. It's not a very orderly affair," he said. "The groom, for instance, is made to sit on a horse along with a little boy. He's scared because he's never sat on one. He's also supposed to carry a sword. Then there are the transvestites, and, of course, the bandwallahs." The last - that he calls a legacy of the Brits - is a recurring theme in Khanna's oeuvre of over six decades, as is the aftermath of the Partition. "The four works I am about to create on the Partition, I won't sell," he said. "I have willed them to my daughters and son. It's my history, my story and thus their legacy." It's an event that affected him deeply, as it did several Punjabi families. Khanna was born in Faislabad, now in present-day Pakistan. "The stink of dead bodies is trapped in my head. I can't get rid of it. But, as a victim of the situation, you don't just sit down and start drawing. You have to move on, find a job, lead a life." Which is what Khanna did. After graduating from the Imperial Service College, he joined Grindlays Bank, and worked in its Mumbai branch for 13-and-a-half years. In fact, it was he, who introduced his friend, MF Husain to banking. "I used to be a junior assistant in those days and I remember taking Husain's form to the accountant, who looked at it, and asked, 'Is he an artist? Will you stand guarantee?'" Khanna laughed. Often nudged by his artist friends to follow his calling, Khanna, in 1961, gave up a lucrative career to pursue painting full-time. "The bank thought I was being stupid. While on one hand, I was dealing with money all day, on the other, I was seeing my artist friends. It was a dichotomy. I had to make a choice." It was a choice that was happily celebrated by Husain, VS Gaitonde and Bal Chhabda, who Khanna remembered, waited for him at the bank's entrance the day he resigned. "It was to welcome me from one life into another," he said, adding, "Now, all of them are gone. How I miss them." Leaving behind a job may have been a happy decision, but not a comfortable one. There were months when he wouldn't sell a single work. Interesting then that currently, some of Khanna's larger works command a seven-figure price, "and though it (rectifying the market) was needed, the art industry has become a tamasha." Husain, he said, sold his first picture to Dr (Homi) Bhabha for Rs 250. "Today, they are flippantly pricing paintings either based on size or how long it took to create a work," said an amused Khanna. "My answer to that is; a painting takes a lifetime to make."
Original link: http://www.mumbaimirror.com/others/sunday-read/Small-talk-The-Fountainhead/articleshow/41293534.cms?prtpage=1