Ms Nohemi Dragonné

 Tasveer is pleased to invite you to the private preview of Rohit Chawla: The Inspired Frame in Mumbai on 1st April, 7pm onwards at Akara Art

The Inspired Frame brings together Rohit Chawla’s work from four different series that reconstruct tableaus and compositions as featured in famous works of art. Chawla uses contemporary models to recreate life-like experiences of paintings as a personal tribute to renowned and seminal artists Ravi Varma, Gustav Klimt and Frida Kahlo. Also part of the exhibition is a selection of photographs from a series inspired by Mughal miniature paintings that has never been seen before.

The accompanying publication produced in conjunction with The Inspired Frame features reproductions of all of the photographs in the show and text by Rupika Chawla. The book is available at Akara Art and online at the Tasveer Bookstore – www.tasveerbookstore.com.

Limited edition prints are available for sale. For more information, please write to us at info@tasveerarts.com. The exhibition will remain on view until 22nd April 2017.

Memories

A few months ago I was asked what my biggest fear was. I answered without hesitation, losing my memory. The shrink made such a face I still laugh about it. He must have been utterly intrigued by my response since he knew many of my recollections; especially the most recent ones were hell. Yeah, I’ve stared the Devil right in the face, but you know what? I did exactly as Stagger Lee,

Then in came the Devil, he had a pitchfork in his hand. Said, ‘Stagger Lee, I’ve come to take you down’ Well, those were the last words that the Devil said because Stag put four holes in his motherfucking head.

The problem with shrinks is that they all are cut from the same cloth; stereotypically oriented by nature, too commonplace, too normal, too DO (Direct Officer) and I truly dislike being controlled by functional imbeciles. But I went there just to please a concerned someone who thought I needed to talk to a professional in order for me to come to my senses and put some order in my love life. Yeah, right.

Order? OK, but I really don’t know how much professionals of all sorts can do for me. While in India, a former friend of mine took me to a woman who supposedly read past lives. She lived far, far, far away from downtown Mumbai so my old Canon had no rest during that precious 3 hours-ride and that was the most amazing part of it because the moment I entered the session I blacked out, so much that by the end of it the sorcerer had serious troubles waking me up from a profound sleep. My Hindi is very modest; she did not speak any other language known to me, so I’m still wondering if bad karmas were removed from my current soul or are they still lingering over it. I must assume the latter is true because my love life can only be described as a fucking mess in all languages known.

Back to the story, the only thing I could think of during the way back home was how easily, how confidently I lied down on a completely stranger’s bed and comfortably slept there for hours. No worries whatsoever even though the sorcerer had previously, in a casual manner remarked that she shared her bed at night with two other young women who worked for her. Oo-key, other cultures, other costumes, I thought, not my business. You see, this is again my daredevil 7K (Seven Killings) Structure in action.

blog-memoriesAnyway, what I wanted to say is that memories as painful as they could get, are life. And by that I mean, they do not represent it, they ARE life. Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it, we are nothing. I know that for sure since I joined for a while my former mother-in-law’s trip into a deep hole of darkness called Alzheimer. You really don’t know what emptiness means until you look into the eyes of such a patient. This shit is scarier than staring at the Devil himself; and I certainly know what I’m talking about because as previously mentioned folks, I well know that one face too.

I recall stupid me asking her gdmnd-no-idea shrink “Is it possible that she had really been de-souled by the disease?” And off he went with some kind of scientific explanation I obviously overheard. But his prolonged monologue gave me the chance to go into myself and ask again, and see, and get my answer. She was totally corroded by the disease because she had no connection to any divine force included the one within herself. She and her whole aristocratic family considered themselves high-levelled intellectuals and always denied the existence of God; which is a respectable position since no one has ever proved the contrary. But it was the lack of spirituality, which doomed her. I am certain of it; had she practiced at least one form of it, that alone could have saved the little rest of life and dignity that remained after losing almost all cognitive neuronal functions.

Spirituality and Brains and Life, that’s a subject I’ll take up later, enough for now.

Photo by Himanshu Singh Gurjar.

Janmashtami जन्माष्टमी

जन्माष्टमी के इस अवसर पर, हम ये कामना करते हैं कि श्री कृष्ण की कृपा आप पर, और आपके                               पूरे परिवार पर हमेशा बनी रहे। Jai Shree Krishna.

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The Taj Mahal Palace Mumbai

taj-mahal-palace-hotel-bombay-india_980x650I came there alone hoping to catch the last boat back to Alibagh; people quickly surrounded me, a kind swarm watching at me intrigued as if I was carrying a golden secret. And maybe I was; I didn’t know it at that time, but I was holding a seed deep inside of me, as if I was pregnant. My heart beating uncontrollably after the long run, his voice ringing “We’ll meet again” –You wish, what an arrogance!- I said to myself. I turned my head just to be sure nobody had followed me, and then I saw it for the very first time, and by that I mean I apprehended it. This great architectural body, the Taj Mahal Palace rising up reflecting the sun and establishing a visual dialog with the Gateway of India. Splendid.

Wait a minute. How can a facing reflect the sun in that particular manner at that particular time of the afternoon? Up the Mountain, Down the River? Was not W.H. Auden’s brother who said that the hotel’s peculiar appearance was due to a mistake? The builders could not read the plans that the architect had sent from Paris, and they build it backward.

Damn, busy as I was looking for Art I haven’t paid enough attention to the construction. How could I have missed such a huge, evident feature? No doubt, the Taj is built backward, its front facing the city, its back turned to the sea,…… the last boat to Alibagh is taking me away.

Nohemi Dragonné / Mumbai, 2013