Start with the ‘Four Paintings’, dated 1964, displayed near the base of the stairs at the multi-storey DAG, Kala Ghoda, Mumbai. These are the earliest work by Madhvi Parekh, then simply the young bride of artist Manu Parekh. As she says, “I was married at 16. Early in our marriage, it was Manu who spotted the artist in me. He gave me a copy of Paul Klee’s Pedagogical Sketchbook and had me drawing geometrical figures.”

Look at the four paintings, sketched within a week, and you can see the geometry come alive — triangles begin to dance, circles seem to roll, and every line moves. There’s a certain grace, a fluidity even, to these sketches created with ink on paper. Little wonder that Parekh loves music. “My father was interested in classical music and we grew up hearing sounds of the sitar, sarod and flute in my home in the village of Sanjaya in Gujarat,” Parekh, 76, says.

Her impulsiveness, however, could not be contained by the formal exercises her husband gave her. “I grew bored of the rigidity and decided to have fun with the figures.” Soon enough, she drew upon her rural sensibilities. She began to notice the geometry in rangoli, appliqué work, and so on.

Even at first glance, you cannot miss the folk sensibility in her work: In ‘Head Massage’ (1989, acrylic on canvas), she captures the simplicity of village life, the relaxed pace, the intimacy and bonds that define life and relationships in rural India. In the oil on canvas ‘Sea God’ (1971), she paints mythical underwater creatures with humanistic attributes, which bring to mind the almost-forgotten Bahrupiya art. “When I was a child, Bahrupiyas used to roam around my village, entertaining us. They’d paint themselves and take on different, often fabled characters. And yet when we looked closely, we knew exactly who the person behind the paint was,” she reminisces.

Her work is dotted with rural elements: simple mud huts, freely roaming cows and bulls, the occasional tiger, the feared serpent, an abundance of greenery, a hand-woven basket in a corner. But call her a folk artist and she’s quick to point to the urban elements: an inconspicuous pram in what appears to me a rural setting. She asks with a smile, “Ever seen a pram in a village? I never saw one in Sanjaya.” And just like that she defies any attempt to slot her into a particular category.

Curator of the exhibition, Kishore Singh, explains just how tough it is to categorise Parekh’s work. “The retrospective itself and the book released at the event are aptly titled ‘Madhvi Parekh — the Curious Seeker’. The name comes from art critic and curator Gayatri Sinha’s essay on her... Parekh is travelling around the world, visiting art galleries with her husband. She is following him around, often quietly. But here is a woman with a keen eye, studying the works of Picasso, Miro, etc. While she is observing the greats, she’s not replicating them; she is bringing in her own ideology, capturing memories of her childhood in Gujarat, her life in Indian cities...”

Singh says even the term “folk-like modernism” doesn’t fully describe Parekh.

It is this nebulousness associated with Parekh that intrigues viewers. In ‘Kaliadaman’ (oil on canvas, 1993), she recreates a significant event in Mahabharata, the triumph of Krishna over a poisonous serpent Kaliya. But here Kaliya looks significantly larger than Krishna. The serpent is outlined in white, a colour generally associated with purity. And the expression of Kaliya is far from terrifying, the serpent almost seems harmless. Was Parekh trying to show that Krishna removed the poison from the snake and hence the two co-exist? Was the Lord able to turn the snake from his evil ways? Or is the friendly expression just a façade, as serpents are generally associated with deceit? The viewers must draw their own conclusions.

The contradictions continue in ‘World of Kali’ (oil and oil pastel on canvas, 1971), where Kali appears fierce, and yet the paintings of children in her womb bring out the goddess’smaternal instinct.

All her figures are simple, appear to have a child-like quality. This she attributes to having signed up for Montessori training in her 20s. Yet, while simple in form, the themes within are nuanced, carefully chosen.

Each painting often tell multiple stories. The colours are bright, happy, while the themes speak of both good and evil. The characters may belong to her rural childhood but the plot is multi-layered, perhaps reflecting the complexities of urban life, or the shrewdness associated with survival in a big city.

I go back to her earliest work, ‘Four Paintings’. As I trace the lines, the triangles seem to grow larger, then smaller, the circles coil into themselves. Take a few steps back and animal figures seem to emerge. The paintings are changing in front of my eyes. Even in her earliest works, Parekh shows you she’s a master of the narrative — a brilliant narrative that keeps emerging. I must go back. Each new visit to DAG offers the same 60-odd pieces, yet I know they will reveal something completely new.

The show is on view at DAG, Kala Ghoda, till October 27, 11 am to 7 pm on all days, except Sundays

Kiran Mehta is a Mumbai-based journalist

Related Topics