Artist Rameshwar Broota’s oeuvre has been a long-standing testament to how he addresses the passage of time in defined forms and abstractions. From his unique scratch technique of treating the canvas with sharp objects, to the coexistence of silence and motion in his works, Broota continues to be celebrated as one of the most influential figures in postmodern Indian art.
Critical Collective spoke to him about his latest exhibition, Architectures of Momentum, which presents his recent series of works, made between 2020 and 2023.
Your earlier work has addressed built structures, often in relation to the human body. In your latest exhibits though, the view seems more distant, as if we are looking into a cityscape. Could you elaborate on this shift?
RB: My practice has witnessed several stages -- I used to work with human figures at one point, then moved to abstraction, semi-abstraction, and now this. When faced with a dark canvas, I just sit before it, take a blade, and start scraping. This comes naturally to me. As I continue to scrape and scratch, forms keep revealing themselves, and one leads to another. Whether it is the visualization of bricks or spaces, the origin of my works is quite spontaneous. I also think about how to play with the effects of light and shadow from different perspectives. My process is based on improvisation: it is only when I begin to work on a particular piece that I understand the next step.
You use the blade to draw out images and introduce different tones of grey. Can you describe in greater detail the way in which you create an image by removing more than adding colours?
RB: My canvases carry six to seven coatings on them. The first is of silver paint to maintain lustre, followed by raw sienna, burnt umber, and finally a combination of Prussian blue and black. I keep adding such layers to scrape and bring out the tones underneath the topmost layer. Applying more pressure on the canvas reveals its original white shade, while lesser pressure leads to rich shades of brown and black. With years of practice and experience, I have figured out exactly how much pressure is to be applied and which tones are to be highlighted in creating the work. Since many of my works are monochromatic, I depend on light and shade, tonal variations, or even lines and spaces to differentiate one form from another.
What is the inspiration behind the text and symbols in your recent works? What led you to use epoxy resin as a new medium?
RB: It all started with a shredder machine I was using. While I was throwing away the shredded paper, I realized how colourful and full of patterns this heap of waste was. Therefore, while the texts you see in these works have no meaning, I wanted to display these interesting patterns under a transparent surface. I considered liquid glass as a medium, but it was too expensive and almost mercury-like. After more research, I stumbled upon epoxy resin and began experimenting with it. It took me some time to understand the medium, and during the process of trial and error, I ended up destroying a rather large painting I was working on. I applied a significant layer over the canvas and the painting started to collapse under its weight. However, I later realized I could control the use of the medium better in smaller paintings and made a few new works by cutting up the larger painting that had been destroyed.
I have used multiple layers of resin to create these works, and the objects you see under the layers give the impression that you are looking at the bottom of a clear pond. These objects are rather ordinary. They are things we see all around us -- often broken, and discharged and disposed off as waste. However, these material things are associated with our memories, and by burying them under layers of resin, I wanted to create a feeling of unearthing that which has been lost or forgotten.
How has your understanding of the human condition evolved in your practice over time?
RB: Our thoughts and ideas depend on our observations and the circumstances we are surrounded by. As already mentioned, I have never begun a work by deciding on a subject. That’s true even in the case of human figures. I have only applied paint on the canvas, and forms have emerged as parts of the human body.
When I began work on the Ape Series (1970s) -- which led to my decade-long commentary on public life and leaders -- I had not thought of placing apes to combat corruption. Their forms emerged with the colours I applied. After that, I decided to satirically show them as holding files, like politicians and official workers. My Man Series (1980s), too, came from a similar journey. I kept adding and subtracting elements while making and ruining the canvas, which led to new textures. I then included a maze and a chair, with a man performing the shirshasana on it -- only to realize that it had become a complete painting.
I believe any sensitive human being observing the world around can absorb so much! It comes through in all forms of expression, including painting, writing, or regular discussion. It is strange how a stream of consciousness flows through a pen or a brush, and suddenly becomes a work of art once we complete it. However, the spontaneity also comes from familiarity or experience -- something one may have seen, heard, or felt within. It is a natural gift that any of these emotions could come out at any point through a unique, creative language. But it must also be accompanied by decision-making, which determines how these thoughts or feelings are expressed -- just like embroidery, which ensures that a creative process flows in a unique, structured manner. When what we carry inside us gets expressed not in terms of conflict or violence, but as arts and aesthetics, people get transformed in a beautiful way.
Architectures of Momentum is on at Shridharani Gallery, Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi, from January 29 to February 15, 2024.