M F Husain

Maqbool Fida Husain has taken on many avatars. He doesn't consider himself merely to be a painter. Sometimes a poet, sometimes an installation artist, sometimes the designer of the homes of the rich and famous, and now a filmmaker, Husain is one contemporary artist who hasn't allowed the brush and the canvas to imprison him.

Husain's paintings have always evoked a response, whether it is his horses that are now...

Maqbool Fida Husain has taken on many avatars. He doesn't consider himself merely to be a painter. Sometimes a poet, sometimes an installation artist, sometimes the designer of the homes of the rich and famous, and now a filmmaker, Husain is one contemporary artist who hasn't allowed the brush and the canvas to imprison him.

Husain's paintings have always evoked a response, whether it is his horses that are now collector's items, or his wicked Ghasiram Kotwal series of water colours or his tribute to filmmaker Satyajit Ray.

He talks to Deepali Nandwani about contemporary Indian art and his own works:

Where do you trace back the roots of Indian contemporary art to?
Modern art in India is almost 500 years old. Our art has always had a two-dimension element, which is not there in Western art. Art in the West was only concerned with reality. They see only space. We see space and try to surpass it too.

When and how did the contemporary art movement start in India?
In the late 40s. By early 60s, we had wiped out the Western influence. There was a revival of traditional Indian art elements. Painters like F. N. Souza, Ara, S. H. Raza, V. S. Gaitonde, Ram Kumar and Tyeb Mehta were all part of this contemporary or progressive art movement. In Kolkata, there is Ganesh Pyne.

What were the influences on the contemporary art movement?
We went back to our roots. We discarded all outside influences. We painted contemporary things but put in our context and in our culture. There were social and political influences too, but everything revolved around pure aesthetics.
Painting was the only medium in which we were truly free to go back to our roots. In our literature and in culture, the Western influence had seeped too deep.
People quoted and knew Shakespeare, but no talked about Kalidas, whereas Kalidas, in my opinion was a greater poet than Shakespeare. But society was not geared for the contemporary art movement. In fact, even now, there is a lot of mediocrity around.

So you think most art that passes as contemporary Indian art is mediocre?
Yes, there is too strong an American influence which has completely corrupted the culture of several countries. Now you can put up a garbage can and call it art. Ninety per cent artists are really non-artists.

Way back in the 50s, there was even the progressive writers movement and a lot of filmmakers with progressive leanings. Was there any interaction between these three groups?
Yes. In fact, we met and exchanged ideas. Art has always been a combination of Indian literature, music, dance and architectural traditions. We were all together, it was the golden period in the history of art in India. That meeting point is now gone.

How did you start out as a painter?
The year was 1936. I was 19 or 20 when my father, a timekeeper at a textile mill in Indore, lost his job. I had to find work and since I loved to draw and paint, I thought of earning money that way. I took a train for Bombay and went straight to Shabab, an acquaintance from Indore who painted movie billboards.

"Get lost Maqbool," Shabab said. "This is not your kind of art where you can put some lines and colour and call it painting. Go back to Indore." "Please," I pleaded. "You've got to help me."

Finally Shabab took me on as his helper. I had to mix huge tins of colours and help him fill in the backgrounds of his billboards. My salary was less than half a rupee a day - a pittance even by the standards of the time - but enough to buy two skimpy meals at a restaurant owned by a man named Husaini Khichdiwala. My home was the sidewalk.

I learned to work hard, work fast, without complaining, and - most important of all - to seize every opportunity I got. Once Khichdiwala asked me to paint a portrait of his mom, who worked in the restaurant. "You'd have to do it on the sly," he told me. "She refuses even to be photographed."

I accepted the challenge. I sat at the farthest end of the restaurant and made a few quick sketches of her features. The rest I did later. The oil-sketching paper cost me a day's wages and I had to forego supper that night. Early the next morning, I was back at Khichdiwala's, hoping he'd like the portrait. He did. As payment, he offered free meals for a month. I'd sold my first painting!

Now I could afford a cup of tea in the morning. Working for Shabab was tough and my body did not always keep up with my spirit. Eating the same inferior food daily had a telling effect. Perched atop dizzy scaffoldings, I fell down on two or three occasions and nearly broke my skull. But I never thought of giving up.

In three months that I assisted Shabab, I learned to paint large hoardings and posters independently. So, after a stint of working for other hoarding painters, I branched out on my own. All those lessons I'd learned - resourcefulness, hard work, speed - paid off now. Once, for a movie, I had to finish a 40-feet-high cutout of a leading actress overnight. But I didn't let that faze me. I knew Bombay's streetcars didn't run between midnight and 4am.

So, as soon as the last tram rattled past the theatre, I spread the canvas across the road and started drawing. Just before 4am, the cutout was ready. I still remember that night, the excitement I felt on completion.

In making billboards, I trained one eye to constantly see the rest of the painting in the distance, and my hand to make adjustments in scale and relate distance to the area I was working on. I do not recollect too many occasions since when I have changed, repainted or corrected my original drawing.

"What better training could anyone have?" remarked fellow artist (S H) Raza years later referring to the billboard phase of my career after I became well known. I'd learned to conquer fear. I would never stand before any surface worth painting and wonder how to go about it. Without realizing it, I had trained myself well for the canvas.


What were the influences on your work?
I paint the essence of Indian culture, which is celebration. In India you celebrate life. A culture that still exist in 80 per cent of Indian villages. In Europe this culture has been wiped out.