Paris-Delhi-Bombay... at the Centre Pompidou

The exhibition, Paris-Dehli-Bombay, at the Centre George Pompidou in Paris , which closes on September 19, consists of a group show of Indian artists juxtaposed with French artists, who were invited by the Pompidou to travel to India, or failing that, as in the case of artist Stéphane Calais, to merely consider the idea of India.  The result was confused and sometimes irrelevant. 

Paris-Dehli-Bombay, which opened on May 25, is part of a new approach to art exhibitions at the Pompidou, in which group shows attempt to knit varied work by varied artists into a large philosophical concept.  The process is a dangerous one, necessitating serpentine and circuitous explanations, outlined lengthily next to the artworks and marginalizing other meanings their work might hold for either the artists themselves or for those viewers, who like to think for themselves.  The instinct towards pedagogy displayed in recent years by the Pompidou’s curators is becoming more laborious than ascending the four slow moving escalators to Paris-Dehli-Bombay in summer heat.  The exhibition of all female artists, elles@centrepompidou, which ran for almost two years (May 27, 2009 to February 21, 2011), was, according to Germaine Greer,  accompanied by “a storm of words.”  Greer noted dryly in her review of the show in The Guardian that “offering a sampler of the work of 200 women is to diminish the achievement of all of them.”

Wielding a similarly generalized, banal yet verbose approach, the curators of Traces du Sacré, (May 7 to August 11, 2008), presented an exhaustive survey of everything human beings have ever had to say about God, expressed through painting, sculpture, photography and installation. One can only imagine. Paris-Dehli-Bombay too is weakened by the expansive ambitions of its curators which, unfortunately, produced a shockingly reductive exhibition.

In Paris-Dehli-Bombay, pedagogy came hand in hand with old-fashioned (really old-fashioned) anthropology.  According to Harry Bellet and Philippe Dagen in the Guardian, comprehensive surveys of emerging contemporary art in India have already been done in France, starting in 2005, when the Ecole de Beaux Arts in Paris launched Indian Summer, followed in 2008 by the Lille 3000 show featuring Bombaysers of Lille and Indian Highway IV at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Lyon this very summer.

Because India’s emerging artists are apparently now considered old news, the Pompidou’s curators attempted to frame the exhibition anthropologically.  The curators evidently hoped to neatly link the art to the society, the history and the politics, leaving viewers with an all-encompassing view of India, the art arranged around a circular enclosure recounting a socio-political history of India since the end of the British colonialism.  The display comes across as strikingly condescending and colors the work of the Indians artists dispersed around it. 

It would be unimaginable to introduce an exhibition on young French artists Jules de Balincourt and Cyprien Gaillard alongside photographs of Nicholas Sarkozy and the French flag, French people on vacation, or grocery shopping, colourful tableaus noting the changing status of French women, summaries of various political news such as the ongoing veil controversy, the passing of hard right-winger Jean-Marie Le Pen to the second round of the national elections in 2001 and the recent success of his daughter, car burning in the suburbs and the collapse of Société Générale this past August.  The anthropological perspective of Paris-Dehli-Bombay is not only out of place in an art institution, but frankly insulting.

The power of certain pieces by Indian artists were memorable and managed to overcome the general banality enveloping them, namely Dayanita Singh’s, “House of love” (2010), haunting photographs depicting a society caught between industrialization and old traditions, between the loneliness of a big modern city and the insularity of an ancient heritage. Riyas Komu, “Beyond Gods” (2011) is a massive sculpture in recycled wood and bronze depicting football players linked together, as if in a giant game of foosball.  Anita Dube’s “Blood Wedding” (1997), consisting of human bones covered in red velvet was especially expressive, chilling and even, in a sinister sort of way, beautiful.

Sunil Gawde’s work, “Virtually Untouchable” (2007), two garlands evoke the honours bestowed upon political figures in India.  Gawde’s garlands are composed of red powder-coated razor blades, hinting not only at the political assassinations and civil war which tainting India’s history, but also at the violence underlying the society especially at its impoverished outskirts where bride burning is still practiced and the ancient caste system is still responsible for much of the civil inequality.  The title of the work, one of the only works on exhibition which refer to India’s caste system, serves as a reminder that political dissent, strife and violence and inequality simmer beneath the cheerful colors and gaudy splendour that Westerners associate with India.

Unfortunately, the most striking works by Indian artists, many of which presented witty and pointed social critiques, seemed watered down and even, in the case of Loris Gréaud’s “The Bragdon Pavilion,” overshadowed by their French counterparts, whose work I found less interesting.  Ms. Géraud’s link to India was fragile at best, although the technical dexterity of her work effectively dominated the space with its flashing graphics and techno throb. Leandro Erlich’s “Le Regard” (2011) featured a typically Parisian room with wrought iron balconies, decorated by Parisian celebrity decorator Jacques Grange, looking onto a typically dusty, crowded and sunny Bombay street, thus effectively reducing both cultures to their respective stereotypes and leaving the viewers preconceptions unchallenged.  Pierre and Gilles, both French artists who live in France, coated an alcove with around twenty hyper colored posters evoking garish Bollywood imagery encapsulating “India” for even the densest, most uninformed viewer.

The big problem with Paris-Dehli-Bombay is neatly expressed by Stéphane Calais’ Inde au noir (2008-2011).  Calais’s abstracted black scribbles on blocks of paper nailed to the walls took up a sizeable alcove of the exhibition. “Je ne suis pas allé en Inde,” Calais declares by way of explanation on a small placard posted on the wall and translated into English, “Ils me l’a proposé. Je ne voulais pas être pris dans mes propres sentiments touristiques sous l’œil narquois de mes prétentions artistiques,” he explains loftily.  How did Calais spend his time then?  “Je suis resté à Paris, un peu en Bretagne, puis à Bruxelles,” explains Calais, producing the most oft-recited sentence in Paris, usually produced in a polite monotone in response to friendly inquiries following the summer vacation season.  His casual tone seems almost audacious in its arrogance.

            According to Alain Seban, president of the Centre Pompidou, the exhibition aimed to “situer la scène français dans le flux des échanges” while at the same time taking into account the globalization of the art world and phenomenon of “scenes émergeantes.”  Perhaps the next time Stéphane Calais heads down to Marseilles or Nice for a weekend, he could deign to jot down some thoughts about China for our enlightenment and they can put it in the Louvre. 

The abiding feeling that the viewer gets after trying to see the work of India’s young generation of artists through the narrow and clouded lens of the Pompidou is, sadly, that sometimes the easiest thing is just to stay home.