Exhibitions

Last year, I went to a photo exhibition. There is something quite absorbing about an exhibition. You gaze long enough at a photo taken by another person, you add your own meaning to the scene, you build stories about how the photographer reached the place, about the life of the people in the picture, about the relationship between the photographer and the photographed and you spin webs around many other aspects.

Yet, there is another dimension to the exhibition. There is a life happening right at the venue – life of each of the people, life of the buildings, life of the organizers and a life outside the venue. It was on one such day that we went to the exhibition. It was one of the days of festival in Heidelberg. The hauptstrasse was lined with stalls on either side. We walked through one of the side streets, passed a square of festivities and returned to the cross the hauptstrasse into the detour to the gallery until we spotted the signs indicating where we needed to go.

We walked in, bought the tickets from a young girl at the entrance. The wall behind her was lined with photographs, all arranged systematically. She was cheerful and friendly. The sunlight fell on the photographs giving them an additional framing effect of the shadows of the windows opposite. I had already started weaving my stories in my mind.

Having been to this gallery on another occasion at another time of the day, for another photography exhibition, I was prepared for the vastness of the gallery. Yet, the effect of a gallery also depends on the environment of the day. Having come at night, into a gallery lit with fluorescent lights, the harsh lines seemed to have been enhanced. During day time with sun streaming through some windows while some parts remained protected in the shadow, an emptiness enveloped me. Was it the lack of people or was it the type of photographs? I could not really tell. Even the props, though very quaint and painting like, seemed to have been left by someone who was in a hurry to go somewhere.

As I wandered along the walls downstairs, I noticed people walking up the stairs – unlike last time, I could not see any pictures there. There seemed to be some type of non-photo like activity going there. Thinking there might be some voyeuristic pleasure for my camera from a bird’s eye view – to take pictures without being noticed by my subject, I walked up. A beanbag faced a screen – headphones seemed connected to some audio. As time passed, visitors, who had more time than others, took seat one by one on the bean bag, pulled the headphones over their heads and listened. Others stood with the headphones pulled over the ears, listened for a few minutes and left.

In the main hall there were still some people at one corner still assembling some chairs. It almost seemed like an altar where the choir was about to take their position. The atmosphere seemed serene and holy broken only by the shuffle of feet and the drag of the chairs. A piano and the note stands indicated the possibility for a concert. The photograph that served as a backdrop to the orchestra might have induced the sacrosanct feeling – on the other hand the elements in photograph struggled against the atmosphere. How should I interpret this – as love being god given or as a rebellion against the sanctified?

As we came away, I was struck by the myriad of emotions captured in different corners of the exhibition gallery. On one side was calm, on the other side was loneliness, on yet another side was rebellion and yet there was the togetherness of a family all kept together in hundreds of small frames. The welcome signs hardly referred to this opulence of sensibilities that would be generated. The turkish wedding video playing in one of the anterooms seemed an anomaly against the silent tongues all around trying to tell me something. Housed in a dark room, it seemed to want to take you away from those mute conflicts outside.

As I stood at the small hundreds of frames and tried to map the people across the photographs, new wonder set in. With the pictures set in Japan, a country I have always wanted to visit, I tried to understand how many families were represented here. Unlike other pictures in the gallery, this seemed to be the only wall where a normal life seemed represented. All the other pictures could be “modeled” for the purpose of the picture. These ones did not need to be “posed” though some of them were – just like when we take family pictures in studios – just as in normal life.

As we left, we found that there would be an opening concert and a party the next afternoon – unfortunately we were already committed elsewhere.

Celebrating festivals

Last year I celebrated a few of the festivals.

The year started with Vishu, the new year for the Hindu Malayalees that normally falls on April 14-th but might be on April 15-th at times. I went and got yellow flowers, some traditional fruits and arranged them the night before with the lamp that would be lit the next morning. There was nothing unusual in this. I celebrate Vishu every year. The morning “Vishukani” is seen, I go to work, come back and keep everything back in their place. The fruits are consumed, the flowers dry up in due course and finds its way into the Biomüll – the garbage for bio degradable substances. The same happened this year.

The other festivals however took up much more effort and went on for a few days.

I started Onam celebrations 10 days before with the first day of “Atham” on the Hindu calendar. The one line of athapoo or the flower carpet grew day by day to 10 circles on day 10. Each day I removed the flowers of the previous day, cleaned the floor, laid new carpet. Every alternate day I bought flowers for the next two days. From day 7, I had to buy more varieties and daily. My husband watched in trepidation as the wallet grew empty. Not expecting me to continue all days, he did not raise a murmur initially. He got caught up in it too as the days went. Separating the petals from the stem, he said “I had forgotten what flowers felt and smelt like”. While Euros disappeared, the time to create the carpet increased as well. The delay resulted in delay to work but with flexible time at work, it did not matter. The spirit stayed. My cleaning lady balanced herself around my carpet to enter the apartment and swayed on her toes to open the door with her key. On the 11-th day, a break from tradition due to office,  we invited friends home and had the Onam feast on ceramic places.

On the 12-th day, I was bereft. There were no flowers, no carpet… Life was back to normal.

When my sister and nephew decided to visit, my mother warned me. “My grandson has a Christmas tree every year – make sure he does not miss it”. Thus started the scrambling to understand the culture behind Christmas trees, the conditions a tree should meet, what is the size (arguments ensued), what type of decorations and the list goes on. The shopping started. The tree was bought the weekend before he reached – a small little conical tree that neatly fit below our sloping roof. As we went out to more Christmas markts, the more trinkets I bought for the tree. I invited my friend Sindhu’s daughter to help to decorate the tree with my nephew. The two of them made it a pretty picture. So went the successful tree story – “The tree must be the most valuable thing in the house today” – declared my husband after we had decorated it.

The Christmas came, we put up the stocking that were filled by Santa with many gifts – the gleeful look on the face of the little one made it all worthwhile. The visitors left back for the normal life. In Germany, Christmas trees stay until the “Dreikönigstag” when the Magi is celebrated – we awaited the Magi too. The Christmas tree stood it in corner. Life continued for us in the rest of the house.

Yesterday, I slowly plucked the trinkets and the light out of the Christmas tree. We battled the tree to cover it up with the plastic sheets to prevent the leaves from falling on the landing or in the car.

Braving the wind and rain, we drove to IKEA where we got stuck in the mile long traffic – “Everyone is returning the Christmas tree”. My husband dragged the Christmas tree from the trunk and came back with a gift voucher.

“There was a match going on – who can fling the tree the furthest. They did not ask me to participate – because of the plastic. With that completely packed one I could have flung it far” – he said, climbing into the car. We drove back and entered the house – the corner stood empty, quiet and white instead of green and red. Life is back to normal again.

Unemployed chronicles #3 – Jedermann

When my landlord presented us with a welcome gift to the play “Jedermann”  or “Everyman” playing at Nussloch, we were a bit apprehensive. We love theatre but we had not yet been to a German theatre. Would we understand? Husband read the synopsis KW had given to us. The abstract story in German was not easy to understand. As we drove 2 kms away through vineyards, we came to the spot where the play was to be staged – an open ground surrounded by a small hill with trees all around and the cement pipes of “Heidelberger Cement” running through. It was up a small hill in an open air ground converted to a make-shift theater. A contrast from Brussels, a melting pot of all colours and languages, I walked in consciously as people looked curiously at us. The play started with a small introduction speech where we were told that this year the audience consisted of people who came from as far as Australia and California and as an impromptu addition by the compere, “this year we also have guests from India”. Jedermann, is the life of “Everyman” told through the metaphor of each character in the play… there is death, there is “good deeds”, there are villains and there are the wronged ones. The quality of acting, singing and the sets took us by surprise. Jedermann took me through the guilt and the pain. When I left the place I just wanted to do “good” for the rest of my life. Not so much due to fear of being alone at the time of death but just because I thought that maybe living through the mundane tasks of life, I had forgotten some good activities in the last few years and focussed on myself. The play made me wonder whether sometimes we do see whether we are doing good acts or not or are we just so immersed in just dealing with life. The singers sang both the church music and the folk music with equal sincerity. Their eyes darted around the audience and held plenty of laughter (not sure that is what was required for the first song shown below) – yet their face and voice were grave. The other songs required the laughter and the lightness. The dancers were uninhibited in their dance and even seemed to be enjoying themselves – were they professionals at dancing? – I wondered. The different types of dances and songs seemed to highlight the mood of different people at the time when Jedermann was feeling the stress of the impending death or uneasiness of some horrific fate waiting to befall him. He tries to shake out of his melancholy, to try to discover his control over the group, only to find himself fall back into yet another one until the external force of death claims him. The nun like figure in the church had a very calm look on her face while the servant could be considered unintelligent and drunk. The love of Jedermann’s life looked quite impatient with him and yet concerned – she seemed to throw herself completely into the role.  The devil captured the hearts of the audience as did the servant. The actors seemed chosen with care to look the part. The set too changed as the play proceeded without the scene being moved or changed to depict the mood of the play. The sky stayed blue and the sun lit the stage and the sets as Jedermann went through the times when he rejected requests for help, enjoyed his material comforts and made plans for his future life. Just as death came to claim him, sun decided to set throwing darkness over the stage – as Jedermann proceeded alone through the claim of death and resurrection after confession, there were just artificial lights to see the play through. I wondered whether the play had been timed keeping in mind the timings for sunset. Yet, it could not be – the play was announced a year before I believe. The costumes were of medieval times and it was quite refreshing to see real people in them rather than just see them in museums on mannequins. Yet, some of the gowns or rather the people in the gowns looked like they were in their modern dancing gown and had a well worked out slim body. This made them stand out like sore thumbs. The appreciative audience laughed at the right places and cheered wildly at the end – specially for the Devil – the one who resembled the Malayalam actor Dileep quite a bit. It was surprising to see children up so late – quite unlike usual days when they are in bed at 20:00. Even the weather co-operated with it being a cool evening at the end of a warm day. The insects hovered near the stage rather than near us causing no disruption. I was surprised by the ending – clearly showing the religious influence over this society at the time the play was written. I wondered how much impact it has on the modern society here where people do not visit church so much. Would this be perceived as a message or as an old-fashioned cultural play to be seen only for the cultural and anthropological value that it brings to today’s society. The big burning cross left the question open in my mind. Overall, I was happy we did go. We understood the language, spoken clearly, quite well – surprisingly for us. We enjoyed the break, a long one of 30 minutes, were I am sure friends caught up, over beer and sausages, about life and that afternoon’s World cup match which Germany had won. The ambience was wonderful, the organizers pleasant, the audience appreciative and the actors sincere and talented. Even the weather seemed to have been ordered to perfection. Yes, I would go for another play.

Chronicles of an unemployed person #2

The painting exhibition, held in Mannheim-Feudenheim on a Sunday, was suggested by a friend knowing that I am interested in taking up painting. This friend of mine has been telling me about Yvonne for a long time. The name “Die Leichtigkeit des Seins” or “The lightness of being” intrigued me – lightness of life is the last thing on my mind at this moment. I have been plagued by how I can live life without having 100 things to do and calmly and lightly. Yet, I had no expectations – just curiosity on what kind of paintings I would see.

My memory of Mannheim-Feudenheim was restricted to one very cold winter evening, a decade ago, when three of us – my husband, a friend and I – danced to keep the cold away after getting down at the wrong Mannheim. On deciding to walk from the station we did not find a soul on the streets and searched anxiously for a taxi to drive us all the way to Mannheim.

This time though, as we drove on a Sunday morning through the town, we had the navigation system and there was little chance of us getting lost. The Sunday quiet with just a couple of people, probably on their way to the church, reinforced the suburban feeling. The town itself had some interesting stately houses. A tramline ran between the streets. At some point even this took a turn into another part of the town. We continued on and stopped when our navigation indicated that we had reached our destination. My husband spotted the sign for the exhibition in a building opposite. All the doors seem to be closed. We tentatively walked into the gate.

Just behind the bushes was a “hof” – a courtyard and a small door at the back announcing “Kultur Treff” – “Culture meet”. We put our head around the corner to find a small group inside. A lady with a baby on her hip and another small girl next to her smiled at us – ah! “She must be the artist” – I mused . An older lady spoke in German about the work – about what inspired Yvonne Sievers. I had a completely different feeling about the paintings than she mentioned. It is always strange about the art – it is a typical example how beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder and as does the interpretation of the beauty.

In Yvonne’s paintings I found a simplicity and yet a depth. The colours chosen made me feel calm. The Buddha – an embodiment of calm in the Universe  – was more colorful than most paintings in the room.  It drew the eyes of the audience as they slowly walked to the corner, mused over and moved to the sober paintings around.

The single dancer in brown seemed to dance in abandon without any thought to the world. They captured my attention as soon as I entered the room. It reflected my desire to dance with abandon in this world without a care in the world.

The small tiles in blue, painted by Yvonne to capture the feelings and perspective she had when she closed one eye, seemed to me to have a riot in it – a sense of confusion. I am not sure that is what she intended. Yet, it could have been a reflection of my own state of mind. With one part of my life put on hold right now, perhaps I felt like someone whose one eye is closed. The confusion on how I am going to resolve and open that part of my life mingled with the environment in which she created the paintings.

Art merged with the real world and what could be a better way to capture the audience than connecting with her and drawing her world into the painting? Can one enjoy art without feeling a connection of the art to one’s own life? Sometimes I feel art should make one forget the reality – yet, Yvonne’s painting brought out an acceptance of my own life and helped me see the beauty of experiencing my thoughts in a beautiful way.

Some thoughts

Yesterday I visited a beautiful apartment. The Art-deco apartment where my friend stays is in the middle of Schaerbeek. Another friend who was supposed to join us called me at 7:45 p.m. I was stuck in a bad traffic in the inner ring of Brussels.

“Colours”, she said, “I am circling outside her place. There is no place to park the car and this place looks so scary that I do not want to park it here”. – she has a Mercedes convertible and I agreed with her.

“Why don’t you park in the Parking Botanique? I will meet you there.” – I said. Friend Art-deco had told me just that morning that the first time her husband parked his car in the neighbourhood it was stolen overnight. With just 5 more weeks to go I did not want to take the risk.

After meeting in the parking we crossed the road to catch a taxi. About 5 taxis told us it was just 5 minutes walk and we should walk down. My GPS had told me it is two kms walk and there was no way I was taking a risk on 1 inch heels. Mercedes friend agreed with me. 6-th taxi turned out to be a God in disguise. He agreed to take us. We crossed the tall post buildings around Nord station and crossed a bridge to come to an area where men stood around the footpath seemingly with no agenda in mind. The area was not well lit except for the few shops lit in red and white light with women in scant clothes on the window sill.

With most of the drive through such streets, we came close to the commune office and suddenly the look changed. Old renovated buildings with ancient streetlamps scattered all over came to the view. The streets seemed more warm and inviting. There were less vacant looking men here. We thanked the driver, paid and got out. She let us in at the ring. We walked into the foyer of the building covered with murals, stained glass and well polished wood. She led us to her apartment with walls covered in wood, huge windows with stained glasses and huge doors. We immediately fell in love with the place.

As Parmanu and I search for a place, it is often a dilemma we face. Old vs. new, neighbourhood vs. convenience, light vs. space and so on. The second house which we liked, we will have to let go. This time the landlord was strange. The search continues – in the meantime it is time to start sending the things.

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On an unrelated note, I came across two articles which I would like to share.

Art comes in different forms and even these different forms can excite people enough to pay more than a million. A question here – do you have to create the art to call it your own or is it enough if you give a normal object an interesting twist that makes it become art?

Is it really time to visit New Zealand before they give in to economic pressures – or can we still enjoy the Lord of the Rings beauty a few years from now?