Frederick Noronha
Sometime in the late 1970s, those who were students in college then would surely recall the sudden and unannounced arrival of the student movement in Goa. It brought with it new forms of campaigning, a different set of spicy slogans, and an unfamiliar cast of dramatis personae.
Some student leaders later went on to become lawyers, even judges, professors, activists, journalists, and the like. Subodh Kerkar was one of them. Even as he caught the attention and the ears of the students he addressed, Kerkar went on to catch the eyes of many, many more. He was also the front-paged cartoonist of The Navhind Times, then the only newspaper in the Goan English-language daily media space.
From his early (and small) art gallery at Calangute, to his international networking and appreciation earned in Europe, and an impressive museum called MOG, Subodh (that was how he signed his cartoons while still a young medico), has come a long way. This book is dedicated to him.
For formal purposes, Kerkar gets described in the blurb as “a qualified medical professional who gave up a flourishing career in medicine to pursue the visual arts”. He is also credited with having “carved out a niche for himself, especially in the field of conceptual art”.
For the few who came in late (very unlikely that many won’t know the man), Kerkar founded the Museum of Goa which is located in the midst of the industrial belt atop the Pilerne-Saligao plateau. It is today “one of the largest privately owned contemporary art spaces in the state”. His art has been shown in India and overseas, and he is a public speaker too.
This work has been published by Aleph Book Company, an independent publishing firm promoted by Rupa Publications India. Aleph was founded in May 2011 in New Delhi by David Davidar, following his return to India after leading Penguin Canada, in partnership with the Mehras of Rupa. Given the maturing of Indian publishing, especially in the metros, the getup and design of the book is both neat and eye-catching. It is easy on the eye and informative.
Many of the colour pages of this book are dedicated to Kerkar’s work. They include images from the Museum of Goa (MOG), the contemporary art institution he founded, “dedicated to narrating the stories of Goa through art.” The institution, of course, is far more vivid in real life; such is the challenge of reducing three-dimensional experience to the printed page, even in colour.
The well spread out B&W images (especially in sections with titles like ‘Mythology of the Ocean’ or ‘Mirror on the Beach’), make for a good mix of text and images.
Subodh Kerkar’s performance installations are also featured. A performance installation is an art form that combines live action with an immersive setting, so the audience experiences both the performance and the space around it. In his work, groups of people form striking patterns on the beach. The stories of how this came about is elsewhere in the book.
Some of his work featured here include ‘Ramponkar’, ‘Fisherwoman’, ‘Bosteau’ (Bostião), ‘The Night Watch’ and ‘Seahorse’, for example.
The format of this book includes a longish essay for the first 27 or so pages, followed by a lot of focus on the artist’s work. This gives an insight into the artist’s trajectory for the past three decades.
Incidentally, both his father Chandrakant and sister Harshada (known for her portraits) are artists of no mean repute; so is his brother Ravi. The next generation is also into this field. Chandrakant’s story and influence emerges early in this book’s pages. Subodh’s discovery of Laxman’s cartoons in the Dhempe College canteen is also interesting.
We’re told of the influences of artists like Andy Goldsworthy, Richard Long and Pablo Picasso on Kerkar. FN Souza has his influences too, as is visible on some pages. Kerkar’s story moves across the sea, boats, Europe and art galleries.
Its author is Kunal Ray, writer and academic working in the field of literary and cultural studies. He is part of a newer generation of Indian humanities scholars who bridge university-based research and public-facing commentary.
Reading others’ writing on Goa can sometimes leave you with mixed feelings. What is new and surprising to the outside world might be something that Goa has known for a long time. Likewise, if the ‘facts’ mentioned sound almost unreal, it could be because they could be just that.
For instance, Ray writes: “The Portuguese also brought many flowers to Goa, such as the gulmohar. The story goes that around 1560, a Portuguese caravel sailing by the coast of Madagascar noticed the gulmohar for the first time. They disembarked from the ship because they were taken by the sight which they mistook to be a sunset. The Portuguese brought other flowers too–most importantly the bougainvillea and the marigold. No Indian ritual is complete without the latter. Even the champa, which is used in temple offerings, is believed to have entered Goa through South America.”
The Gulmohar (Delonix regia) is indeed native to Madagascar, but while it spread globally through the colonial-era botanical exchange, there’s no clear historical evidence that it was introduced by the Portuguese in 1560. Nor about the romantic story of sailors mistaking it for a sunset.
Bougainvillea comes from South America, but attributing its introduction directly to the Portuguese might be oversimplified; multiple European botanical networks took it across the globe. Likewise, marigold (Tagetes spp.) came via the Spanish and Portuguese exchange routes. But “no Indian ritual is complete without it” appears to be an overstatement.
Champa (Plumeria/ Magnolia champaca), especially the latter, which is used in temple offerings, is actually native to South and Southeast Asia, including India. It didn’t come in from South America. It in fact has ancient roots in Indian religious and literary traditions. Likewise, some interpretations of the Inquisition appear to be based on the Priolkar-Dellon-Buchanan portrayals, rather than less one-sided research. It would similarly not be accurate to say that the Marquis de Pombal issued a blanket decree that “all subjects of Portuguese territory would be treated equally and granted civil rights” (pg.12).
With this work, Kerkar joins a few other artists from a talented Goa who have books devoted to them or their work. This includes FN Souza (the subject of multiple books, mostly published outside Goa), Mario Miranda (thanks to architect Gerard da Cunha for recognising the need to document his work), Antonio Xavier Trinidade (mainly from Fundação Oriente), Vamona Navelcar (two or more books), and a few others.
This 126-page hardbound book is filled with colour images (with the exception of its cover, interesting). It has a dust-jacket, comes in hardbound and is priced at a reasonable Rs 495. It is available in local bookshops.
