KOCHI: A generation of artists who once defined Kerala’s political landscape, quite literally, now finds themselves pushed to the margins, underpaid, and largely unrecognised.
For over three decades, Shaji K R has painted campaign slogans, party symbols, and faces of leaders across districts. “I’ve been doing this for a long time,” he said, adding, “But people don’t understand what the work really is.”
The fine arts graduate is referring to a specialised form of calligraphic wall art, which was once a celebrated skill in electioneering. Now, it is being steadily displaced by flex printing and digital graffiti, Shaji pointed out.
“People say flex has taken over. Yes, while this may be true, we are not sitting idle,” he asserted.
“We still find work, by way of connections. And also because we are constantly updating ourselves: to trends, tools, and whatnot.”
The problem is, Shaji highlighted, “We don’t get the recognition we once did.”
This lack of recognition cuts deeper than the irregular pay, he pointed out, speaking on behalf of their group, which has dwindled in recent years. Shaji himself is considering whether it is worth the effort to commit to the work in the future.
Today, only a small pool of election wall artists remains active in Kerala. “There is a clutch of six or seven people who still do it full time in Ernakulam. They have been doing this for over 25 years. Save for them, no new person is willing to take up the craft,” Shaji observed.
According to him, the art, which once added colour to the streets, is eroding from memory.
Yet, the work persists, he said. Especially during election cycles. “Artists are not bound by ideology. We move across party lines to wherever opportunity exists. I’ve worked for BJP, Congress, and LDF — all in a matter of days or weeks. For us, it is not about politics. It’s just work,” said Shaji, who is known in the world of political street calligraphy as ‘Sha Nettoor’.
In the run-up to the assembly elections, he and his team decked up close to 30 walls daily all over Ernakulam.
Sadly, even this work is increasingly marked by uneven pay and difficult negotiations.
“Recently, we were offered less than half of the agreed pay. It hurts, especially when it is the same party that you supported that turns to such disgraceful acts,” Shaji said.
Even as digital tools continue to reshape the trade, artists insist that handwork remains irreplaceable. Many now adopt hybrid methods — i.e., designing digitally, then finishing manually to retain depth and scale.
“Machines are limited,” Shaji stressed. “If you draw a tree by hand, we can extend its leaves across the roof, etc. Essentially, use our imagination and craft as we see fit. Machines cannot do that.”
‘We are artists’
Despite this, perception persists that they are little more than daily labourers, an image that artists say has stuck unfairly. “People think this is manual labour. And there is also an implication that we are all drunkards. This is not true. We are artists,” Shaji said.
He pointed out that this stigma is what has contributed to the decline of the profession, as much as technology.
Coming as a relief has been the reaction of foreigners visiting the Kochi-Muziris Biennale. “They noticed us working and immediately hailed our work as art and us as artists. They had come from far away, but they understood the value of what we do. Here, our own people don’t recognise it or treat it like art,” Shaji said.
As Kerala’s campaign aesthetics turn increasingly digital, what remains uncertain is whether the craft will survive long enough to be recognised again.