To do (list) or not…

#MyThursdayThing

It is the third week of September, almost the end of the month and I know that I am already booked till mid-November, which is around Diwali. Post that another 45 days and we have the end of the year. Where did the time go? Where did this 2020 go?

Life these days is booked in advance. Each day is lived as per the scheduled meetings, assignment deadlines or self-assigned goals. Each day has already been planned, way in advance for most of us. For me, I know between classes, art deadlines, miscellaneous tasks and Diwali, my time will all vanish. I am even hoping to take a break post-Diwali. In a year like 2020 where everything can be divided into two phases pre-Corona and post-Corona, to imagine that you are still planning—a break, new classes, new assignments and even Diwali—seems so unreal. But plan you must, how else will you book a ticket or book a class or work on an assignment deadline? So plan we must.

When I started Vacation Hues (art retreats led by me) last year, I was advised that I should plan my retreats for the entire calendar year as it makes it easier for people to decide when they can take their arty break. So I got my act together for 2020 and my first Vacation Hues was in Goa in January, the second one I was in Delhi in February and the next ones were planned for the hills in April around the long weekends. I already had plans of where I would go in the summer and monsoon months and so on. October 2020, I was supposed to have had a solo show of my paintings at the India Habitat Centre, the booking for which had been confirmed in 2019. However, we all know what happened post March 2020.

When a friend of mine received my Vacation Hues alerts last year, he told me he wanted to take a family break with his wife and son and planned to attend my retreat during the summer vacations. However, at the end of April 2019, one Saturday evening while standing in his balcony, having his evening drink, he had a massive cardiac arrest and died instantly. I didn't know about his retreat plans till many months later, when his wife told me about it and how she was keen on fulfilling his wish. She kept planning to join one of my retreats with her son, but the school holiday schedule never matched. At last, she had almost booked herself in the April 2020 Vacation Hues that was scheduled to happen in Satkhol. But alas…

Yet, we have to plan, because if we don't, then a lot cannot be done. Everything can’t happen on an impulse. There are bookings and tickets to be done, there are deals to avail, work to be planned, life to be planned and yet we don't know what tomorrow will be like. So what do we do? Do we plan or not? Should we invest in that house for which we have to pay an EMI for the next 20 years when I don't know if I will have my job tomorrow? Should I continue living in a rented house and after 20 years realise that I paid more rent then I would have paid in an EMI? There are no answers to these questions. There are simply no straight answers.

I was seeing a guy once who had huge commitment phobia. Whenever I talked of the future he would tell me “who has seen tomorrow, let’s live in the ‘here and now’. You are with me and I am with you today, and let's enjoy this moment.” I believed him because my heart wanted to believe him but it was short-lived because he really never had an intention of taking it far. So, at some point of time that ‘here and now’ ended and the tomorrow did come. A tomorrow when he was not a part of my life, when I woke up alone in that tomorrow, when my heart tore at places like an old muslin cloth and it was so difficult to just hold it together. At that point in time, I thought about those days when I was preempting this moment. The man was telling me that I was worrying about things that had not even happened. So what do we do? Isn’t there a constant struggle between living in the present and planning for the future? How much is too much planning?

I feel people are forever living and balancing the tightrope of living in the present, enjoying the ‘here and now’ with an eye on tomorrow. They plan towards tomorrows, meeting deadlines, taking up assignments, building dreams and having hope. Every time something unfortunate strikes in the today they realise the futility of it all, how they have no control over today or tomorrow or even the next moment. I was thinking of all this today because I hadn't realised only 3 months are left for this year to finish, of which the next 45 days are taken and at the same time, given the COVID-19 situation, I have no idea what the next week is going to be like, what tomorrow is going to be like. Yet, I have no option but to plan and look ahead. This everyday balancing between today and the distant future is extremely draining. This fatigue takes a toll for sure.

Am I the only one feeling claustrophobic at this act of balancing that has become the story of our times? I do not have an answer. Maybe you who is reading this may have an answer. For now, I am happy that I am in a situation where I have too much work, too much to do, and I am busy. As compared to a situation where I would have no work and nothing to do. In these pandemic times, we need to be careful and we need to be grateful for whatever we have. The lockdown time allowed us to think, ponder and reflect on where we are and where we wish to go. To make our to-do lists or live one day at a time, to plan or to just let it all unfold… Today's blog post is a result of one such reflective moment of mine.

Photoart by Shubhra Chaturvedi

Nine out of ten times, things are normal and the regular pace of life goes on, dreams get fulfilled, plans get materialized, assignments get completed and somehow time passes, we survive and live to tell the tale. But it is that tenth incident that leaves you wondering.
At such times, I imagine myself many years from now, and tell my future, successful self, “you are there because I survived here.”

©Shubhra
#13, September 24, 2020

#MyThursdayThing will be published every other Thursday, on my blog https://shubhrathoughts.blogspot.com/ and shared on my social media handles.

… And have learned to be the clay

#MyThursdayThing

After months of deliberation and planning one morning in March 2015, I took the plunge and entered the world of ceramic. As I walked on the plush grounds of Sanskriti Kala Kendra I had no idea what this new world had in store for me. I met my teacher (now friend), Aniruddh, an incredible artist from Bharat Bhawan, Bhopal, who had joined Sanskriti’s Pottery Center as an instructor. The first task he gave me was to wedge a handful of clay and then to make whatever I wished with it. As I shaped and coiled and made slabs of my clay, I was reminded of the childhood days when we played with play-dough. It was a good experience indeed, but only when I sat at the wheel and put that lump of clay on the centre did I realize the world of clay that awaited me. The first feel of clay in my hands on a speeding wheel, me trying to tame it, pulling it and then centering it—all this is etched in my memory for it gave me an insight into a potter’s life. “Ye mat samjho ki tum clay ko centre kar rahi ho, balki dhyan rakho ki ye clay tumko centre kar rahi hai (Don’t think you are centering the clay. In fact, it is the clay that is centering you.)”, said Aniruddh as he helped me. So true this is, for the clay to be centred, the body, the mind, the breath, the entire focus has to be aligned with each other. This was the first and the most important of the several lessons I learnt.

The world of ceramic is very different from the world of painting. I have been painting for many years now. Most of my works generally take shape in my thoughts and then ideas get formed and firmed sometimes in a sketchbook and sometimes straight on a canvas. Layers upon layers and several iterations later, the work finally gets ready. I do not consider it complete until I feel satisfied, and until such time, it stays on the easel. Should an idea come up while the work is in progress, the entire work is capable of being altered. Whenever my students feel afraid to try something new I tell them, “go ahead, try it, it’s just a painting, not life. If you don’t like it, paint over it and start afresh.” However, there is no such luck in any ceramic work. This was the second lesson I learnt.

While centering the clay or throwing* our pots and plates on a wheel is a challenge, it can still be mastered. It is a skill that needs to be acquired, practised and then mastered. Daily throwing and then destroying all that we made was how the first few days on the wheel went. The real challenge is not even ideating what to make or glazing it after it has been bisque** fired. The real challenge is much deeper and much harder. It is to let go of all attachment, all ego and disappointment.

Sculptures by Shubhra Chaturvedi

As a ceramic artist, we face these challenges on a daily basis. The clay needs to be just right—not too dry and not too wet. It needs to have been wedged properly, for if there are air bubbles, the work will crack on firing or may not even throw properly. If the clay centers, the work needs to be thrown properly. If everything goes right, the work is dried and then put through a bisque firing (low-temperature firing).This hardens the work a bit and enables for the glaze to be applied. Post glazing, the final firing is done, which is a 3-4 days’ process. You load the items properly and then start the kiln and keep watching till the temperature reaches the desired reading. Then you wait for 24 hours or more for the kiln to cool down. The most exciting process is when the kiln is opened and you wait to see the result of all that you did from the start point till now. The results often throw in a surprise even for the best of the artists and definitely dramatic ones for all those who are new to this game. When the work goes in the kiln and the glaze reacts with heat, what exactly will happen no one knows. The glazes if not applied properly could melt and the work could be stuck to the bed of the kiln and may also break while taking it out. There could be a lack of oxygen resulting in reduction (which means more carbon inside) and that reduction could lead to different results. There could be cracking of work inside the kiln if the pots were not thrown properly or glazed properly. What all could go wrong is endless. For artists like Aniruddh, who has now been working in clay for more than 25 years or so, the final result can still be predicted. They have now learnt what to do and what not to do for the desired effect. For people like me each time the work comes out of the kiln there is joy and trauma at the same time.

Contrast this with the world of painting where the desired outcome can be controlled and or worked around in case things do not go the planned way. In the realm of the clay world, if something goes wrong, it needs to be destroyed and abandoned and fresh work needs to be done. Not only this, once a painting is finished, it can be packed and stored or hung on a wall. A work in ceramic or stoneware as it is also called, needs to be handled with utmost care all its life, while storing, while exhibiting, while transporting and even when it is bought/sold, with the new owner.

Broken Bowl

A bowl that I made a few years back, one that was perfectly thrown and beautifully glazed and fired, suddenly fell from my hands and broke. Shattered in many pieces and along with it, it shattered my ego, my heart and taught me to let go. I was so disappointed and when I shared it with Aniruddh, he calmly replied, “koi baat nahi tum waise 10 bowl aur bana sakti ho(doesn’t matter, you can make 10 more like that)”. Is this why ceramic artists have no attachment to their creation? They know they can make it again. I wouldn’t know it for sure. There definitely is a formula and if all is done to the T, similar works can be produced. In painting, I doubt if I can replicate my own work again.

So if there is so much risk, pain, uncertainty in working with clay, why do we work in clay? Why are there so many ceramic artists, why are the potters in the village churning out earthenware like matkas, kulhads, surahi, gamla (crock, ewer, cups, planters)etc? I don’t have the answer for all, but for myself and a few I know, working with clay means being connected with the earth. Moulding the clay, shaping the clay to me means shaping a part of me and my world. Looking at the cracks in pots and plates enables me to accept the fragility of art and of life. It also gives me confidence that I can do it again. To break the work if it has got spoilt is the most devastating and yet the most grounding experience an artist, especially a beginner, can go through. On the other hand, the surprise that the kiln offers each time is the biggest joy. To hold in hand a work that sometime back was shaped on a wheel or by hand gives a high that no other intoxication can replace.

However the lessons of detachment, flexibility (to be moulded and shaped) and the endurance (to get fired), that clay teaches are those that stay throughout life and are more deep-rooted in life’s philosophies than the art of ceramic work.

Working in clay always reminds me of Harindranath Chattopadhyay’s lines in his poem Shaper and Shaped …

Bowls by Shubhra Chaturvedi

In days gone by I used to be
A potter who would feel
His fingers mould the yielding clay
To patterns on his wheel;
But now, through wisdom lately-won,
That pride has died away:
I have ceased to be the potter
And have learned to be the clay.

Inspired by these words and my own experiences in my studios, my aim is, to cease to be the painter/potter and learn to be the paint/clay...

©Shubhra
#12,  September 10, 2020

* Throwing: The process when the clay on the wheel is given shape into the desired form
** Bisque firining: A low temperature firing is done prior to final firing to harden the work and enable glazing

#MyThursdayThing will be published every Thursday, on my blog https://shubhrathoughts.blogspot.com/  and shared on my social media handles.

Home: Far Away and Long Ago…

#MyThursdayThing

A friend once told me that there are a cat and a dog inside each one of us. He said the dogs are attached to people and the cats are attached to places. For me, I think this statement holds because the cat in me is very attached to places. The houses I have lived in and the places I have visited and the cities I have toured. Anyplace I have stayed in for more than a few nights have often been etched in my memory. (That is also a joke in our house because it doesn't take much for things to get etched in my memory says my family, always in awe of my big fat memory)

So last month when artist, Sareena Khemka, with whom I was doing an online workshop, asked to do a mixed media project on the concept of home, homelessness, migration, etc  it got me thinking of what Home meant to me and was it this current abode where I am comfortably tucked in, in these Pandemic times or is it my parent’s house, or is it my 1^st house (when I started staying on own) or my childhood home…  The answer I guess is a little of all of the above but the most share of the pie goes to my house in Kanpur. The house I was born in and left for higher studies and kept going back to in every vacation. The house which after my grandparents passed away was sold off. The house that still comes in my dreams.

Located in a well off part of the city, our house in Kanpur was built in the 1950s by my grandfather, on a  unique corner plot. It was circular in parts and then rectangular. It had a red brick exterior on the circular part and the rest of the house in white and grey. The uniqueness had made our house a landmark for the Rickshaw guys. The way to describe our house to them often would be kone wala lal eit wala ghar(The corner, red brick house).  My grandfather was a tree lover and a fruit freak so we had about 5 Mango trees, several varieties of Lemon, Gulmohar, Neem, even a Chandan (Sandalwood) tree. There were Ashok trees, grapevines, and a whole kitchen garden in the back yard. My mother had a love for flowers and gardening and she took care of the potted plants, flowering plants, and the lawn. Between them, the place was green heaven.  My grandfather had hundreds of books and he thought all the house needed was bookshelves and so each room had shelves and shelves and more shelves. The rooms in our house had funny names, I guess like we have in all old houses. So there was as usual Dadi ka kamra(Grandmother’s room), Mummy ka Kamra (mother's room), but for some funny reason, the kids' room was called the Radio wala kamra (Room with a Radio). There was a big radio that my grandfather had and it used to be kept in that room before we were born. There was a beech wala kamra(middle room) that connected to all rooms. This room had a fireplace where we all gathered at the end of the day on a cold winter evening, where many endless story and later gossip sessions were held. The second floor was called Timanjala (a word I never heard anywhere else apart from in Kanpur). The mezzanine floor was Duchchatti, a place where only my grandfather's excess books were stored and which we all were scared of.  Even though the house was constructed in post-Independent India and with quite a modern design on the exterior, the insides of the house had an old-world charm to it acquired also by the furniture it hosted which was all brought from my grandfather's service days in Roorkee.  The most prized possession in the house was an antique indoor wooden swing, kept in the balcony. It bore witness to many secret talks and thoughts and tears and laughter, as it was the place where we sisters and cousins hung out the most when we had to do our stuff away from the elders. We brought that swing with us when the house was sold and it has a proud place in my mother’s house.

The house in Kanpur was not just a house but a treasure of memories, of good times and bad, of our childhood and our youth. It was a house I loved to go back to in every break I could get when I came away from Kanpur.  Even today so many of my dreams the house I dream of is the Kanpur house. I often wonder if we were rich enough we would not have to sell the house or how would it be if the house was still there and I could fix it and use it as my studio and home. There in that house, there were more rooms than people and the result was there was scrap collected in every room.  Now I live in a house (big enough) with so much art that this house has fallen small too and to imagine all this in that house seems dreamlike.

So when Sareena, asked to do a Home Project, I decided to give tribute to my house. The house that bonds me with my childhood, with my sisters, my cousins and my childhood friends. The house that my father nurtured along with my grandfather,  where my mother married and came to, where the three of us were born and grew up and the house that made us all cry when it was sold and on the last evening before leaving, the house I so wanted to hug and say I don’t want to leave you. 

So I went down the memory lane and took out pictures and letters and thought of words and flowers and colours and maps and made this accordion-style book collage to pay tribute to my non-living (yet alive in my heart) best friend from the days gone by. I call this artwork, Home: Far Away and Long Ago (Yet so Near...)

https://youtu.be/Mb_OkGBNbB8

My sister always used to ask me to make a painting of the Kanpur house and I had always wanted to do so too but never got around to it. I guess this home project is a far better and fitting tribute to our home. While working on this project I even wrote a poem for the house but that is for another post and another blog.

©Shubhra
#11 September 3, 2020

#MyThursdayThing will be published every Thursday, on my blog https://shubhrathoughts.blogspot.com/  and shared on my social media handles.