24-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
A House of Legacy: Arpana Caur on curating new galleries
At 70, artist Arpana Caur is charting new creative paths while reflecting on her five-decade artistic journey. One of India's leading contemporary painters, known for her evocative, figurative style and layered spiritual and social narratives, she has spent the past year curating four new permanent galleries at the Academy of Fine Arts and Literature in New Delhi, founded by her mother and author Ajeet Cour. These additions bring the total to seven galleries, showcasing her collection of Indian miniatures, folk art, her own works across mediums and a dedicated space honouring Ajeet Cour's literary legacy.
Could you talk about the new permanent galleries?
We had been envisioning these galleries for some time but the project gained urgency after last year's floods in Delhi, when several works in our collection were damaged due to water seeping into the premises. The gallery dedicated to my mother features handwritten manuscripts of many of her books in Gurmukhi, including her autobiography Khanabadosh. It also showcases her archival photographs, memorabilia and awards.
Designed by architect Gautam Bhatia, the two galleries housing my work are built around the design of 'forests'— encouraging visitors to wander through a maze of panels that trace my artistic practice. Among the works on view is the very first painting I made at the age of nine, inspired by an Amrita Sher-Gil work. These are works I kept with me over the years, and now want to share with a wider audience.
Another gallery showcases your collection of miniatures. How did this collection come together?
I've always been drawn to miniatures. As a child, I cherished weekend visits to Sapru House for children's films and to the National Museum, where my mother, sister and I would spend hours studying miniatures. As soon as I began selling my own art, I started collecting miniatures. In 1980, I traded my painting Mother and Daughter for Pratapaditya Pal's Court Paintings of India published by Kumar Gallery, as I couldn't afford it otherwise. That work later sold for Rs 9 lakh at an auction. Over the years, I exchanged several of my paintings for miniatures, including a collection of Sikh miniatures I acquired from MS Randhawa's nephew in Delhi. I made a conscious effort to collect works from different schools, with Pahari and Persian miniatures being the oldest.
These miniatures have also deeply shaped my own work. For instance, I incorporated architectural elements from Basohli miniatures and used their vibrant colours to divide my canvases. I also borrowed the concept of Narikuncher from Persian miniatures, where several figures form a unified composition. A Sikh miniature that depicts Guru Nanak with Bhai Lalo, who earned his living by honest work, became the basis of my canvas Sachcha Sauda (2010).
In your childhood, what were the influences that shaped your artistic journey and what inspired you to pursue art?
As a child, I learned to play the sitar, I wrote poetry but painting brought me the greatest joy. Our neighbour, Surinder Chadha, was a graphic artist and I would spend hours at his studio asking questions. We had a library full of books and writers such as Shiv Batalvi, Amrita Pritam, Krishna Sobti and Khushwant Singh often visited it. From the age of seven, I studied Gurmukhi and immersed myself in Punjabi literature as well as the works of Sufi poets like Baba Farid and Bulleh Shah.
Inspired by my mother, I initially aspired to be a teacher but she encouraged me to follow my passion for art. Despite studying English at Lady Shri Ram College, I continued painting with no formal training. In 1974, I participated in two group shows in Delhi — one organised by the German Embassy and another curated by MF Husain. Bhavesh da (Sanyal) encouraged me to plan my first solo show in 1975, and the rest followed. In 1979, I received a scholarship for an advanced course in painting at St Martin's School of Art in London but I was so homesick that I returned after two months.
You have depicted the trauma of Partition and the 1984 anti-Sikh riots in your works. Could you talk about that?
Although I didn't witness the Partition first-hand, I felt its pain through the stories of my grandparents and mother. We still read the Guru Granth Sahib that my maternal grandfather brought with him when he fled Lahore in 1947.
The 1984 genocide, however, was something I experienced. Living in Neeti Bagh, I remember seeing clouds of smoke rising from South Extension. A taxi stand near our house was set on fire. Our landlord took us to court, claiming my mother, Ajeet Cour, a 'prominent sardaarni', would make his house a target. We were forced to leave. For months, we stayed in my mother's childhood friend's drawing room in Munirka. My mother and I would distribute blankets and medicines in riot-affected colonies and refugee camps. It was during this time that she wrote Khanabadosh, which won her the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1986. I expressed my own trauma through painting. Though few were interested, I had to depict what I had witnessed. I remember
Mrs (Roshan) Alkazi asking, 'Why paint these horrific scenes? You should create happier works.' I replied, 'I've seen it, and I had to paint it.' Mr (Ebrahim) Alkazi, however, bought some works from the series and
exhibited them.
How central has social commentary been to your artistic practice?
I was raised to believe in equality and the importance of sharing wealth. As an artist, it felt natural to reflect these values in my work. The 'Maid Servant' series in the '70s came from observing the imbalance between mistress and servant — one with everything, the other with nothing. Some works from the series were featured in Lotus, a magazine edited by Faiz Ahmed Faiz. It was a true honour.
A visit to Vrindavan in the late '80s compelled me to portray the plight of widows in a place so closely tied to Krishna and the gopis. When I heard of Maya Tyagi's brutal rape by the police, I couldn't stay silent. I responded with the 'Rakshak hi Bhakshak' series. At my first solo show in Mumbai at the Jehangir Art Gallery in 1980, MF Husain bought one of these works. My mother and I had spent the whole night installing all 20 works and, after a brief rest, we returned in the morning to learn that Husain had already made a purchase. He was always generous in encouraging young artists. Much later, I was touched to find that painting in his museum in Bengaluru.
Several of your themes have continued over the years.
Many of them have endured because I feel they are still relevant. For instance, the environment series I began in the early '80s feels more urgent than ever. During Covid, I reimagined The Last Supper with the world upside down, a reflection on how we have disrupted nature.
Recurring motifs like the charkha, yogi and yogini continue to resurface in my work, each still rich with untapped meaning. Another long-standing concept — the cycle of day and night — has been with me for over 25 years. In this series, a yellow woman holds a thread while a dark woman cuts it — the scissors acting as a metaphor for time. Though galleries and dealers were initially sceptical of this motif, it earned me two affectionate nicknames: Satish Gujral called me Kainchi, and Mallika Sarabhai refers to me as Dhaga.
