Remembering Ebrahim Alkazi.

Remembering what he wrote in  the annual Art Heritage catalog in 1985 for my  first ever exhibition  of Photographs   in his gallery.


The  horror pictures  of  Satish Sharma  grab us by the throat. They  possess  us .

They  are not hallucinations , except insofar as they tend  to become so  through sheer intensity of  statement.

Here is   not  violence  as  momentary aberration or fleeing passion. It is a persistent and inexorable human condition which shadows the life of the poor from the cradle to the grave.   For most the  cradle is indeed their  grave.

 Samuel  Beckett's blistering lines apply most aptly to  the Indian experience.

They give birth astride  a grave
the light gleamsan instant,
then its's  night once more.

Maimed children  pick their way , insect- like on all fours through littered streets, their eyes neither beseech nor yield , they accuse.

The outraged modesty  of a woman explodes into fierce rage against  a couple of  city thugs.

Crowds are on the rampage , destroying cars,looting property, setting human beings ablaze.  The city is one vast charnel house.  Human life is literally, in a matter of moments,  reduced to ashes. This  is  the ultimate horror. . For the death of that one man spells the doom of all humanity.  It marks  the end of civilisation. . It  makes a mockery of all our utterances, converts our dreams into hideous nightmares. .

Here , in these pictures, we are dragged to the bottom of the abyss, beyond despair, beyond redemption  and hope .  We can only stare with horror  and stupefaction.  And the feeling slowly seizes us that we ourselves cannot be  absolved of the guilt.

The shame and humiliation of  being an Indian today.


E   ALKAZI. 

ART  HERITAGE 
SEASON  - 1985-86

I   had  a couple of  face offs  with the grand ol man

He did not like to be challenged