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A prolific artist and his amazing output of prints

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SOME MIGHT DISAGREE with me, but I was extremely unimpressed by the “Silk Roads” exhibition that is being shown at London’s British Museum (‘BM’) until 23 February 2025. It seemed to be like an overcrowded, poorly lit antiques fair. Additionally, it appeared to be a rather sketchy overview of what is a highly interesting period in the history of international trade. In contrast to the over-hyped Silk Roads show, another exhibition, “Picasso Printmaker”, showing at the BM until 30 March 2025 is magnificent.

Just as Rembrandt (1606-1669) was one of the best European painters of the seventeenth century, Picasso (1881-1973) was one of the best European painters of the twentieth century. Like Rembrandt, Picasso not only painted but also created prints. During his life, Picasso created at least 2400 prints. The BM has by far the UK’s largest and most representative collection of his prints. Some of these are on display in the beautifully curated show at the museum. The exhibition displays a series of Picasso’s prints ranging from some of the earliest (created around 1905) to those he made during the very last days of his life.

The prints on display were made using several techniques including: aquatint, drypoint (engraving), etching, linocut, lithograph, sugar aquatint, and transfer lithography. He learned these techniques from some of the best printers in France, and experimented with methods of his own. Many of the exhibits are prints made with black ink on white paper, but a few contain other colours. Although the black on white images are of the highest artistic quality, the coloured prints are particularly spectacular

The prints on display at the BM illustrate that throughout his long creative life, Picasso was a highly skilled artist who was not lacking in imagination. Each print in the exhibition increased my appreciation and admiration of Picasso’s artistic output. This exhibition should not be missed if you are keen on twentieth century art and are spending time in London.

Walking along the path of peace along the Western Front

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WHEN I SPOTTED THE book in the shelves of a charity shop in the small town of Bruton (in Somerset), I knew I had to buy it. It is written by Anthony Seldon, the youngest son of my parents’ dearest friends, Marjorie and Arthur Seldon. I have known them and Anthony since I was a very young child. The book I purchased is called “The Path of Peace. Walking the Western Front Way”.

In 2021, when Europe was in the midst of the covid19 pandemic, Anthony decided to walk from the Swiss Border to the North Sea, following the path of the Western Front such as it was during WW1. His aim was to help establish a ‘Path of Peace’, to realise the idea formulated during the war by one of the millions who died during it (in 1915), Douglas Gillespie. His idea was, so he wrote to his parents, to establish:

“… a path along No Mans Land from Switzerland to the English Channel after the war was over.”

Douglas wrote to his old headmaster at Winchester College that when the path was established:

“… I would like to send every man [woman] and child in Western Europe along that Via Sacra, so that they might think and learn what war means from the silent witnesses on either side.”

And Anthony explained that the walk he undertook was to help fulfil this noble ambition of poor Gillespie who perished in the conflict.

The book describes Anthony’s arduous walk along the Western Front. It was arduous physically, as the author explained in graphic detail. His feet suffered greatly, almost as much as those of the soldiers who had to spend long periods in the unhygienic trenches. It was also arduous for Anthony because he had recently lost his first wife, Joanna, who had succumbed to an illness (not covid19). The various governmental restrictions imposed to control the pandemic added to his difficulties. Yet, despite many businesses having shut down in France because of the virus, he managed (occasionally with difficulty) to find food and accommodation along the way.

Anthony describes many interesting aspects of the history of WW1 as he made his way north from Switzerland to the North Sea. He mentions what has become of the many places that were heavily destroyed by the artilleries of the armies fighting each other. Intertwined with these historical facts of an impersonal nature, he relates the poignant histories of his parents’ families during the war. For example, he describes how his father was orphaned when his parents died during the Spanish Flu, the spread of which was facilitated by wartime conditions. He also describes how his mother’s father was badly wounded in France and how his wife, Anthony’s grandmother, defied British officialdom and rescued her wounded husband from war torn France. These aspects of Anthony’s family history were known to me before I found the book, but what her wrote adds greatly to what I already knew.

Throughout the book, Anthony muses on the horrors of warfare and its tragic consequences. Yet, the book is not as gloomy as its subject matter might suggest. As the reader follows his progress along a frequently ill-signposted trail, he or she gets to know Anthony better: his strengths and his self-confessed weaknesses. Anthony’s book is both fascinating and moving. I am glad I bought my copy when I saw it in Bruton.

See it, savour it, but do not put it in your mouth

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IF YOU HAVE NEVER heard of ‘shokuhin sanpuru’, you are not alone. It was only after visiting an exhibition called “Looks Delicious” at Japan House in London’s High Street Kensington on its penultimate day (15 February 2025) that I realised that I had often seen examples of shokuhin sanpuru (replicas of food) without realising what they are called in Japanese.

Replica of toast with melted cheese

Japanese restaurants and eateries display lifelike replicas of the food they offer to customers. They are designed both to show the customer both what to expect and to entice him or her to enter the establishment to order and then eat their kitchen’s fare. The replicas are ‘hyper-realistic’. These mouthwatering looking models are both informative and of a commercial nature: they are designed not only to depict the dishes but also to evoke in the viewer’s mind the desire to consume them. According to the exhibition catalogue (see: https://www.japanhouselondon.uk/whats-on/looks-delicious-exploring-japans-food-replica-culture/) the origin of these replicas:

“… can be traced back to the early 20th century. As ‘Western’ cuisine grew in popularity in Japan, restaurateurs needed a way to visually communicate their menus to a curious yet cautious public. Food replicas were made entirely out of wax until the 1970s, when the introduction of synthetic resin transformed their production, allowing for greater detail, durability and more dynamic display.”

The catalogue noted:

“Every effort is made to ensure food replicas appear as realistic as possible. Food replica craftspeople not only reproduce the appearance of food; they also recreate the memory of it in people’s imaginations. For example, while red bean paste may, in reality, not be that grainy, people often associate it with a grainy texture.”

The exhibition at Japan House includes examples of replicas of many kinds of Japanese food as well as of European (‘Western’) dishes.  As the catalogue explained, the replicas are not only made to entice customers into eateries, but also for other purposes:

“Beyond their use as a marketing tool, food-replica technology also has wide ranging applications, notably in nutritional education and medical science.”

In addition, replicas can be made to be used as standards by which the appearance of actual food products and ingredients can be assessed.

The show at Japan House includes models and films showing how the replicas are created. Often the real food is coated with a liquid material that is used to make a three-dimensional impression (mould) of the dish. The food is then removed from the newly formed impression, and the detailed impression/mould is then set in a solid base of plaster of Paris. Then, wax or resin is poured into the mould to produce a replica. The replica is then carefully painted to recreate the appearance of the dish or food item. To recreate textural features, such as the delicate marbling on Wagyu beefsteak or fish scales, there are carefully prepared stencils, which can be laid on the models whilst paint is applied through the perforations in them. I have simplified the description of the manufacturing process, but rest assured that the production of these unbelievably realistic replicas can only be done by highly skilled craftsmen.

The unusually fascinating exhibition should not be viewed, as we did, when hungry. The replicas on display can only increase your desire to eat. They looked so enticing that it was difficult not to reach out and pick them up to eat. However, apart from not being allowed to touch them, as realistic as they look, they are completely inedible.

Revolt in two colonies of Portugal in western India

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THE TOWN OF SILVASSA is just under 100 miles north of Colaba in Bombay. Known to the Portuguese as ‘Paço de Arcos’, it was the administrative capital of their colony of Dadra and Nagar Haveli, now an Indian Union Territory. Dadra is a small district, roughly circular in shape. It is separated from the larger Nagar Haveli by a small stretch of what is now the Indian State of Gujarat. Between about 1780 and 1954, these two landlocked territories were colonies of Portugal.

During the period when Portugal ruled Dadra and Nagar Haveli, the indigenous people living there were exploited mercilessly and treated harshly by the Portuguese and wealthy local landlords. Neelesh Kulkarni has recently (2024) published a book, “Uprising: The Liberation of Dadra and Nagar Haveli” which describes the struggle to free the two tiny colonies from Portuguese rule, and their eventual incorporation into the Republic of India. His account is not only based on published sources but also interviews with surviving freedom fighters and members of other fighter’s families.

After 1947, when most of what is now India became independent, Portuguese colonies on the Indian Subcontinent remained territorial possessions of Portugal. Kulkarni relates how at least two groups of freedom fighters struggled to evict the Portuguese from Dadra and Nagar Haveli. The Indian government, under the leadership of Jawaharlal Nehru, who had professed to the world to adhere to the principle of non-violence, was unwilling to send troops into the two rebellious Portuguese territories, yet did nothing to hinder the activities of the rebels. The book shows how the rebels planned their attacks on the Portuguese police and militia, collected funds, accumulated weaponry, recruited fighters and trained them.

Being landlocked and separated from their coastal colonies (Daman being the closest) by land, which after 1947 was Indian sovereign territory, made it difficult for the Portuguese to send military aid to their people in Dadra and Nagar Haveli. The Indian government was unwilling to allow military supplies to pass from Daman and Goa through India to the beleaguered landlocked Portuguese colonies. Using guerilla tactics and aided by the Warli tribal people, who had suffered much at the hands of the Portuguese, the Portuguese were eventually driven out of Dadra and Nagar Haveli. At times the situation was hair-raising, and there was a large possibility that the better armed Portuguese might have suppressed the rebellion.

I began reading Kulkarni’s book while waiting at a departure gate in Bangalore’s international airport, and finished its 220 exciting pages several hours later during a flight to London. His book about a relatively unknown freedom struggle in an obscure colony of Portugal is not only well-researched and interesting, but it is also written like a fast-paced thriller. I am really glad that I bought a copy, and will treasure it amongst my slowly growing collection of books about Gujarat and its history.

As experiences of India gradually become memories

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THE BOEING JET began moving away from the oddly designed new terminal at Bangalore’s International Airport. I watched the landscape slipping past ever more quickly as we accelerated along the runway before eventually becoming detached from the soil of India. As the aeroplane rose higher and higher, random things flashed through my mind such as: eating laal maas on a rooftop in Jaisalmer; a Dutch cemetery on the coromandel Coast; hawkers wandering up and down a railway carriage in West Bengal; riding through Bangalore in a Jesus autorickshaw; being asked to bless strangers, a newly married couple, in a church in Pondicherry; tasting nolen gur in Murshidabad; attending an aarti on the Ganges; and much more. After flying over the west coast of India, all of these experiences and a whole host of others that we had enjoyed during our 88 day stay in India became, like the coastline we crossed, distant memories, which I hope will remaine etched permanently in my mind.

Painting scenes of daily life on sheets of mica in colonial India

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ONE CAN PAINT ON paper, canvas, glass, textiles, ceramics, and walls. Until yesterday (9 February 2025) when we visited an exhibition at Bangalore’s Museum of Art and Photography (‘MAP’), I did not know that paintings have been made on sheets of the translucent mineral mica. Mica has been, and still is, mined in great quantities in India.

 

Because of its translucency,  lanterns made with mica, on which images have been painted, have been used in both Hindu and Muslim ceremonies.  Since the eighteenth century artists have been creating paintings on mica, usually using watercolours or gouache mixed with an adhesive to ensure that the colours stick to the mica. Because the colours are on a translucent material that does not absorb any of the pigments, rather than opaque paper that inevitably absorbs some pigment, they appear much more vibrant on mica than on paper.

 

Murshidabad,  now in West Bengal,  was an important centre of mica painting. Initially, artists concentrated on paintings and portraits commissioned by local nawabs and other members of the Indian aristocracy.  With the arrival of Europeans in Murshidabad and other parts of Bengal in the late eighteenth century, the artists began depicting subjects designed to appeal to European customers. Europeans were particularly attracted to the paintings on mica. The subjects included illustrations of daily life and customs. They are therefore an interesting record of life in Bengal (and other parts of India) during the late eighteenth century.

 

The exhibition at MAP consists of a collection of paintings both on mica and on paper. These images were designed to appeal to European visitors (both short- and long-term) to India and are examples of Company Paintings  (East India Company).

 

Many of the paintings on mica depict people who appear to have no faces. Originally, these paintings had faces painted in gouache. However, the faces were painted on a layer of mica placed above that on which the rest of the subject was painted. This was done to give the images a three dimensional quality. Sadly, many of these upper layers have been lost, resulting in literally a loss of face.

 

The exhibition at MAP was well displayed. An extremely informative booklet about the exhibits and mica painting was available free of charge.  I am pleased we visited the show not only because it was both beautiful and fascinating,  but also because we had visited Murshidabad a few weeks earlier.

PS mica painting was done in parts of India where mica was plentiful,  such as Andhra Pradesh,  Madhya Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, Rajasthan,  Bihar, and Jharkhand.

Traditional inlaid metalwork used to make contemporary art

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BIDRI WORK IS a method for creating decorative metal items. Its name derives from Bidar in Karnataka,  where this technique was developed and is still used. Objects are made by casting a black coloured alloy containing copper and zinc in the proportion 1: 16. Then, craftsmen use fine chisels to engrave often very intricate patterns on the surface of the cast alloy. These grooves are then filled by hammering fine silver wire into them. So, the resulting item is a dark metal object inlaid with silver.

 

Today, 8 February 2025, we visited the Kaash gallery, which is housed in a well-preserved traditional Bangalore bungalow. One of the three small exhibitions currently being displayed is a collection of Bidri art works. The artefacts were designed by Stephen Cox, a British artist, and were made by Abdul Bari, a Bidri craftsman. The resulting artworks are both unusual and beautiful.

 

The two other exhibitions at Kaash were: colourful contemporary seating made by weavers from Tamil Nadu and designed by David Joe Thomas,  and some sculptures and lighting by Italian artist Andrea Anastasio.

 

Our visit to Kaash was very satisfying. Although small, it is a place in Bangalore that art-lovers should not miss.

A holy roller in Bangalore (Bengaluru)

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ON THE SIXTH of February 2025, I  boarded an auto (autorickshaw,  tuk-tuk) in central Bangalore. It contained a selection of Christian religious leaflets and booklets, which passengers were invited to take. Some of them were in English,  the rest in Kannada (the main language spoken in Karnataka). The driver had adorned his auto with Christianity related stickers.

 

As we wove our way through the busy traffic, I wondered if I was travelling in a type of ‘Peace Auto’. The Peace Auto movement in Bangalore was started by Anil Shetty in October 2013 to improve the relationships between auto drivers and their passengers. To quote from Shetty:

“Peace Autos is an initiative to make peace between the City and auto drivers. There is a one-sided argument that all auto drivers are bad. But that’s not true. I want to make them feel responsible.” (https://www.deccanherald.com/india/karnataka/bengaluru/a-surprise-experience-peace-auto-2189174).

 

When I reached my destination, the driver said (in English):

“God bless you.”

I asked him if his vehicle was a Peace Auto. He replied:

“No, it is Jesus Auto”.