Founded on August 22, 1639, the city of Madras stands proudly on its rich history, nourished by narratives, layered by relentless human activity, and looking at a glorious future. As the city celebrates its birthday, those who have been a significant part of its cultural landscape, share their thoughts with artist, Jitha Karthikeyan
My memories of the city took root at the Madras College of Fine Arts. Every day, I felt the red building, the library, the wooden steps, and the teachers waiting for me. Walking was an integral part of my life then. Strolls to Moor Market in search of second-hand books and to
St Andrew’s Church (The Kirk) next to the college, where the trees in the premises were a subject for our landscape paintings in watercolours, are all unforgettable. The Udupi restaurants with their strong coffees in steel tumblers, the libraries, the musical concerts at Music Academy will all remain etched in my memory. It’s hard to believe how time went by so quickly and silently, and how much the city has changed since.
As someone who has lived and worked in this city for decades, I have personally witnessed the evolution of artistic practices in Chennai. In the earlier years, intimacy bound the artists. Ideas and philosophies were exchanged whenever artists met. Composition and concepts were discussed. The human touch was paramount. Today, I find a stark transformation. Styles are global, technological aid and AI have enhanced the artist’s skill, the connectivity provided by the internet has resulted in international collaborations, and visibility is now paramount. I have been a part of this transition period, and although I do look back with fondness at the days when the system was not so commercial, I also feel happy that Chennai now offers better opportunities for young artists.
Madras gave me the languages I have since thrived in — Tamil and French. Eventually, I also learnt the languages of contemporary art and theatre, abstraction, and the absurd. It was a fabulous city to be in as a young person, if you were scientifically or culturally oriented. Culture was easy to access, although classical arts had primacy. I was able to partake in a lot of action. Rock groups were creating waves while folk forms were also flourishing. Koothu-p-Pattarai, operating out of the Alliance Française of Madras, the crucible for culture, had already blazed a strong contemporary idiom melding the traditional and the modern, the classic and the vernacular. I was lucky enough to be able to walk into these worlds and was amazed to find myself in a non-hierarchical relationship with stalwarts in the art scene. The irrepressible Na Muthuswami allowed me to direct my first professional play with his group when I was barely 22. Artist John Tun Sein painted a 15-foot x 20-foot abstract canvas for this play. There was a lot of fluidity between the various fields, much lively debate, ferment, and collaborations. Today, the Chennai Sangamam is a yearly window to engage with the finest of our folk artists in a truly contemporary setting. It gives us a taste of what has gone into shaping our cultural landscape. Chennai still has so much to offer, although one has to make space for oneself as a youngster.
Chennai, for me, is not just where I live, but the city that continually shapes my art. I have had my studio here for over sixteen years, and the rhythms of the city speak to my practice. Stories of water, the environment, and the people that coexist in Chennai flow into the way I think and create my art. As a Chennai-based artist, it was a privilege to present my six-year project, Limits of Change, to the city earlier this year. The work explores war, violence, identity, and reconciliation, bridging personal memory with geopolitical history. Audiences were guided through nine rooms of the fictional Story Museum created at Lalit Kala Akademi, each room filled with art installations, videos, drawings, archival texts, and objects. At its heart lies a nearly forgotten chapter of history: the Custodian Force India (CFI), which sailed from Madras in 1953 to help bring peace in Korea after the Korean War. They conducted their mission in the dangerous Demilitarised Zone, then returned in 1954. The emotional core of the work comes from my father, Gen TNR Nayar, who was part of the CFI. The work uses archival videos shot by my father that include scenes of the Madras Port in 1954, with such luminaries as C Rajagopalachari welcoming the returning soldiers. Madras is, thus, a vital cartographic marker.
Growing up in Chennai, my parents, who had very liberal views, exposed me to all faiths. The sculptures I discovered in the temples I visited, and the vibrant colours of the city, found their way into my canvases in abstract forms. These aesthetics have also influenced my films. When the hand-drawn hoardings on Mount Road gave way to digital ones, I made a film on banner artists. My biggest learning has been from two sources. One was my visits was to the studios of artists like Achuthan Kudallur, whose collection of art books was a treasure trove. The other was my experience as a curator at DakshinaChitra. All the senior artists I met then and whose practices I have documented were driven by passion, and shows were never a destination. Today, the younger crowd needs gallery support to gain national recognition. In my view, what the city needs is a platform that can serve to be a meeting point for all art forms — dance, music, theatre, literature, and art.
Ever since the inception of Lakshana in 1984, the space has been a hub for art lovers in Chennai. My fondest memory is of the inaugural show at my new gallery that opened in December 2004. MF Husain kindly consented to inaugurate the show with his painting of the renowned Carnatic musician, MS Subbulakshmi, which was a turning point in my life. He remained a friend and mentor since then, until his death. My bond with most of the artists in the city has encouraged me to be a part of Chennai’s artscape.