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A contemporary forum

Aditi De

Flashback to March 1999. Looking into the lapping waters of the paper vat at the Visthar paper-making unit, on the outskirts of Bangalore, Jenny Pinto smiled. As frail clouds of pulp settled on her deckle and mould, she watched her dreams come true. On t he paper trail, Jenny has since transformed banana, sisal, korai grass and mulberry fibre into eye-catching expressions.

What's unusual about Jenny? The fact that she's both an original paper-maker and a designer of products from her own output. A trained film-maker who loves travelling, 41-year-old Jenny is out to discover the luminous potential of various non-traditional papers perhaps as an extension of the play of light and shadow in film-making. She recently invested about Rs 3 lakh on a small unit at Koramangala, with a single assistant.

But how was Jenny, who earlier taught paper-making at the local Valley School, to market the products that resulted from her experiments? Experiments which are off the beaten path within the Indian context, typified by the small-scale enterprises at Pond icherry and Sanganer, outside Jaipur.

When Bangalore first saw Jenny's paper-works commercially, it was at the Prologue exhibition from March 22-25 at the popular Safina Plaza mall. The show, presented by the Bangalore Craft Guild, was the answer to the prayers of urban craftspeople, tusslin g with the mundane problems of marketing.

Jenny's interpretations of paper are innovative as delicate wood-framed lights within gossamer paper wings, as candle lamps, or even handbound journals with hide-and-seek pockets within. Her range is priced between Rs 800 to Rs 2,500.

Is hers an expensive passion to maintain? Jenny reflects, ``Do I make ends meet? At the moment, the ends are pretty far apart.''

Figures apart, creativity and commerce tug in different directions. If it hadn't been for the `by invitation-only' guild, Jenny's talent might have languished unseen. Like the fires within her peers at the guild studio ceramics practitioners Cynthia Suza n and Hamsavardhan, studio line clothing designers Priya Rao and Chandrasekhar of Meta-Phor, jewellery designer Usha Shah and textile designer Julie Kagti.

The guild, initially set up in 1998 by Hamsavardhan-Cynthia and Chandrasekar-Priya, in addition to Krishnamurthy, who works with leather (and later opted out), was revived prior to the Prologue show.

The multi-disciplinary guild expresses in a press release that it ``wishes to maintain a certain ideology, which is based on a contemporary and urban outlook.'' Currently, its members have shelved the idea of a central corpus, pooling in to fund ideas an d share costs.

What binds the guild? ``Ours is really a fluid coming together as individuals. Design is a common factor,'' explains Hamsavardhan, 34, celebrating the possibility of inter-media exchanges and interventions.

``The lines are fuzzy,'' adds Jenny, ``though we all work with natural materials. On your own, you can drift for two years without knowing where you're going. When Hamsa persuaded me to join the guild, it gave me the incentive to come to terms with my wo rk.''

Urban craft, by the nature of its location, was unaffected by the post-Independence crafts renaissance sparked by Kamaladevi Chattopadhyaya and the All India Handicrafts Board, reflected in emporia which brought rural crafts into our lives.

Where does urban craft stand vis-a-vis its rural counterpart? ``Craft in our country is always identified with the village,'' Hamsavardhan says. ``But the urbanite should learn to look at the craft itself, not just what it's doing to the rural economy. I f we always go back to the village, use the rural artisan's skills, their hands, urban crafts won't progress.''

Hamsavardhan, who met his 24-year-old wife Cynthia while they were doing a pottery course together at Kalanjali in 1996, explains his own reason for being, ``All my life, I've been searching for freedom. I tried being a mechanic, then a carpenter, eventu ally a draughtsman apprentice to an architect. But it was frustrating, having to deal with other people's ideas. Pottery was so freeing.''

Today, Hamsavardhan and Cynthia have their own ceramic studio with a wood-fired kiln on a five-acre farm at Horahalli, which they set up with an investment of about Rs 2 lakh. Working on products ranging from unglazed ear-rings at Rs 40 to tall lamp base s with shades at Rs 3,000, the couple initially marketed their ware through established outlets such as Raaga and FabIndia and periodic exhibitions, before opening a small store at centrally-located Church Street.

What compromises did that entail between the creative right and the dictates of market forces? ``It was tough,'' Hamsavardhan recalls. ``All designers eventually sacrifice themselves at the altar of market needs. Their product then becomes a business, no longer a passion. Cynthia and I realized that we had to live down, think small, to retain our freedom.''

In ceramics, what are the returns on the initial investment? ``In pottery, the raw material costs are negligible,'' Hamsavardhan says. ``It's just 10 per cent of your product cost. But Cynthia and I have to work hard for at least five weeks to produce on e kiln load.''

What's the story behind the Meta-Phor line of contemporary clothing, which caught the eye at Prologue with its fruity summer colours, its elliptical hemlines, jointed offbeat seams and light-enticing textures?

Chandrashekar, 31, who dropped out of a Bangalore fashion design school, says, ``We feel the pull of localisation versus globalisation. (My wife) Priya and I are trying to design clothes parallel to the mainstream. In some ways, we're trying to go back t o the pre-industrial times, when people were both aesthetically educated and practically trained.''

Priya, 25, who participated in the all-India Smirnoff International Fashion Awards at Mumbai in 1997, quietly adds, ``I agree,'' to the ongoing conversation about their clothes, priced between Rs 400 and Rs 1,400. ``Ours is a dialogue between the sewing machine and the fabric,'' adds Chandrashekar, a second runner-up at the Damania Young Designer Award in Chennai in 1997. ``We tackle our craft from the point of art. The visual elements are as important as the technical aspects. The receding and precedin g colours, the volume, all these add up.''

Bimonthly exhibitions have been Meta-Phor's mainstay so far. Each exhibition calls for an investment of at least Rs 20,000, while their enterprise entails an outlay of about Rs 1.5 lakh. ``We do our own pattern-making and employ one tailor to cut down on costs,'' says Priya, who once did a weaving course, along with Chandrashekar. ``Later, we'd like to weave our own fabric, though we now use traditional fabrics from Bhagalpur, Nellore, Prakasam, and Mangalagiri.''

Where do karigars or artisans enter the guild frame? Usha Shah, 53, has designed block-printed sarees, quilts, soft toys, clothes and even furniture before focusing on her deepest passion, contemporary precious jewellery. Ranging from Rs 500 upwards for silver, priced between Rs 2,500 to Rs 50,000 for stone-studded goldware, her pieces are finely hand-crafted.

Usha's has been a stone-studded life. ``Nature has always fascinated me, especially colours and textures,'' the lawyer by training says, having exhibited her designs in the US, the UK, Mumbai and Bangalore.

Then came a professional marketing break in Usha's life: ``From 1989 to 1995, I helped Gili, now the biggest brand in ready-made jewellery, to market in the South, mainly in Bangalore and Mysore. They changed the southern mindset about 24-carat gold beca use they issued guarantee cards for their 18-carat products. Working on my own jewellery came naturally after that, but it was tough finding the right karigar. None of the big outlets would allow me to work with their craftspeople.''

But her deep study of stones finally led to a Bombay-trained karigar in Bangalore. ``The stone eventually decides how the jewellery will look,'' Usha explains. ``Its origin or clarity or whether it's from a closed mine are important factors. For instance , a kinet or Indian sapphire can be more expensive than a traditional sapphire. But I also work with old Venetian millefiore beads.''

Does Usha's creativity depend entirely on the intermediary of the artisan? Not quite, for she's got her own tool kit and does pitch in with buffing and finishing, though not with the actual smithy work. Her outlay of about Rs 5 lakh shapes her outlook, ` `My pieces are generally one of a kind. I'm filling in the gap, giving you a choice in jewellery.''

Julie Kagti, 30, is the only guild member actively working with rural artisan communities in Assam, Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu. As a child in Assam, she was fascinated by her Aita or grandmother's weaving on a backstrap loom.

Following a textile design course at the Sophia Polytechnic in Mumbai, she initially worked for an exporter. ``It was my first exposure to Indian craft,'' she explains, looking back in wonder from a perspective of computerised looms. ``I found little vil lages where people had nothing, but complete dedication to their craft.''

Julie, who recently launched her own label, Sutra, which encompasses both pouch bags for Rs 100 and saris for Rs 4,000, originally invested about Rs 2.5 lakh in her venture, which includes two Bangalore-based weavers. Besides supplying accessories and fu rnishings by the consignment to shops such as Melange in Mumbai and Amethyst in Chennai, she'd like to create studio products which aren't expensive, very practical, and with a sense of fun. For instance? Bags and furnishings out of a plastic-silk blend!

As the Bangalore Craft Guild looks forward to opening its own expanded gallery and store on Church Street in August, then holding an exhibition at the Cymroza Gallery in Mumbai from November 1-4, how do its members away from the 9-5, salaried framework v iew its future?

``When I started out, I was working in a complete vacuum,'' says Jenny. ``The guild members are a sounding board for me. We'd like people to give craft some importance again, even if they just come to look, not to buy.''

``I'd like the guild to become a more permanent platform. It provides diverse energies. It sets me free to experiment,'' explains Julie. How? ``As a craftsperson, I found doors were closed to learners,'' expands Hamsavardhan. ``There's so much insecurity about sharing secrets and markets. This sharing is more important to the guild than marketing.''

Jenny agrees, ``When I was travelling in the US, other paper-makers were so open with information about their craft. I'd like the guild to help that to happen here. Marketing is not of primary importance, but an attitude of sharing is.''

To this end, the guild's dream store plans to have a focus on one member's craft for a week every month, host a pottery festival in 2002, share skills and thoughts through workshops and seminars. And thus, engage the community in craft as an urban realit y.

Will the guild redefine Indian crafts from a city perspective? Will creativity always shape its marketing forays? Will its internal interactions result in novel, user-friendly products? Will its exclusivity prove a hindrance or an impetus to innovation?

The guild as a unity-in-diversity concept has come a long way since medieval Europe. Even within the dictates of the contemporary market. Can it mould itself to our times, with hands-on experience at its core?

Pic.: Hamsavardhan at the ceramic studio.

Picture courtesy by Bangalore Craft Guild