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Tyeb Mehta gave shape, meaning to Indian art

Tyeb Mehta

NEW DELHI: A couple of years ago, at a book launch in New Delhi, Tyeb Mehta (1925-2009) came across as a forlorn man, in some ways untouched by the millions he made with his works, in others a dispassionate soul. Soft spoken to a fault — one had to strain one’s ear to hear his voice — Tyeb ji, even at the fag end of his life, had no airs. No tantrums of an artist, he was modest to a fault.

Though fate did not allow him to age as gracefully as, say, M.F. Husain, Tyeb ji did not wallow in self-deprecation. Strangely he was his own best critic. And in many ways, till the end, remained what Oscar Wilde suggested an artist should be: he revealed his art, concealed the artist. Veritably, a painters’ painter, as Anjolie Ela Menon calls him.

Ranked number three among artists of high importance over the next 10 years by London-based Art Tactic just a month ago, he was among the best selling Indian artists in the international arena. In some ways, his works opened the floodgates for Indian artists in Europe.

Blessed with a terrific sense of humour, he was a rare artist who cared about things beyond the rarefied confines of the world of arts. Part of a first-generation post-colonial artists, he revealed tragic moments of life without slipping into abysmal pathos. For instance, his much-feted Mahisura, which reportedly fetched a whopping Rs.10.5 crore at an auction, was inspired by a scene at an abattoir in Bandra, Mumbai.

He had initially shot the Mahishasura footage for his documentary Koodal way back in 1970. Incidentally, Tyeb ji had started his career as a filmmaker and even won the Filmfare Critics Award for Koodal. He was, however, destined for limelight elsewhere.

A J.J. School of Art product, he consolidated his works with very few motifs, as in his bull and horse trademark flourishes. He expressed the tragic vision of life, partly drawing from his sad experience of the Partition. It is even rumoured that Tyeb ji was so personally affected by the sub-continental divide that he could not cross the road during communally surcharged times. He was witness to humanity at its worst in those gruesome times. It was an experience that was to leave a lasting imprint on young Tyeb ji’s mind; he was merely 22 then.

Says veteran artist A. Ramachandran, the image was more important than the descriptive element for Tybe ji. Incidentally, Ramachandran reminds us Tyeb was one of the finest with lines and distortion.

Fellow artist Siddharth gives him credit for introducing the diagonal cut, which Tyeb ji is said to have discovered some 40 years ago at a moment of the painter’s version of a writer’s block.

Seasoned artist Anjolie Ela Menon remembers him as “a shining star on the firmament of Indian art” who was very much “a painter’s painter” and “a stalwart who gave shape and meaning to Indian art.”

Usually a man of few words, he could however speak at length about cinema, science and literature without slipping into mediocrity.

Unlike many of his contemporaries, Tyeb ji preferred to paint in solitude. Never a prolific artist, he has not left behind rich number of works that can still be seen or sold at auctions. With not many floating works around, as art curator Alka Raghuvanshi informs, Tyeb Mehta shall be remembered as a man who expressed the maximum in minimum footage. A man who questioned on the canvas, dabbled in psychic realities, yet in the end retained his innate human qualities.

He remained small in his eyes and big in the eyes of the discerning.

Though he did get the Padma Bhushan a couple of years ago, he never quite got his due. Sad that even as we spend reams and reams on Michael Jackson and any controversy surrounding our own M.F. Husain, the world had only footnotes for the man who deserved banner headlines.

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