A Portrait of an Artist in the World, which spun over time into its present avatar, is an ambitious publication delving into diverse aspects of Paresh Maity's work processes, writes Ina Puri, as she shares what went into
A Portrait of an Artist in the World should have been released earlier; the launch scheduled for March (in Kolkata) would have had us in dialogue with Nemaida’s favourite actor, Sharmila Tagore. The way Nemaida saw it, this would also have been the perfect summing up for a career as distinctive as his, which began decades ago on the sets of Satyajit Ray’s Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne. Destiny willed otherwise, however; the pandemic struck, life came to a standstill and then, sadly, Nemaida himself lost a long battle with illness and passed away, the book he had so ardently planned and worked on, lying unopened by his bedside.
Growing up in Kolkata, we had known of the ace photographer by reputation, but it was only when he came to our exhibition of Manjit Bawa’s drawings that I got to really know him. His older son had passed away rather tragically and he was going through a particularly difficult period, he told Manjit and me. When we invited him to exhibit his works at Delhi’s Lalit Kala Academy, he agreed at once, inviting us to his home to select the photographs and make plans for the event. He was elated when the show opened to a full house and glowing critical acclaim, but what next? That was when Manjit and I decided to commission his first major publication on artists, Faces of Indian Art, consisting of portraits of artists in their studios. The success of the project brought other assignments, and Nemai Ghosh never looked back. Faces of Indian Art became an invaluable archival resource. As the senior artists passed on, the documentation became ever more significant. Nemaida was planning a second volume, but it remains incomplete.
Meanwhile, Paresh Maity came up with a unique offer, to accompany him and shoot him as he worked, travelled, relaxed. This was the beginning of our collaboration, A Portrait of an Artist in the World, which spun over time into its present avatar, an ambitious publication delving into diverse aspects of Maity’s work processes. Having been an integral part of both his publications on artists, it was interesting to witness just how perceptively the photographer handled these projects. While he was photographing studios of the senior artists, his role was to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, quietly observing the routine of the artists and then shooting them over a couple of days. Around four to five pages were allotted to each and, to his credit, Nemaida both discerned and managed to convey the striking features of each one’s work process.
All these rules were discarded when it came to Paresh Maity, not only was he more relaxed but also he knew that there was no deadline. They could work as long as they wished, without any pressure. Such was their camaraderie that both sought each other out, making space for one another in their own crowded calendars, only because they enjoyed each other’s company so much. I remember how a weekend trip to Shantiniketan to participate in Basanta Utsav (the annual Spring Festival at Vishwa Bharati) was extended as we spent time exploring the surrounding villages, soaking in the ambiance of the place. Impromptu sessions happened unplanned, with the artist spreading his paraphernalia on the ground, beginning to paint, as villagers passing by stood over his shoulder to watch him work. It made for an idyllic hour and we would later wonder where Nemaida was during this time, only to have him produce (somewhat gleefully) some brilliant photographs of the afternoon, composed unrehearsed, on the spot. Nemaida liked to say that he enjoyed working with a few characters (in life or on the film sets), the interplay between people and their expressions became his subject of interest. You realise the truth of his words when you see his photographs of Ray, the stills from Ray’s films like Shatranj ke Khilari or Gharey Bairey. The camera’s focuses relentlessly on the actor’s faces, a frown here, the flicker of a smile there or a fleeting glance, nothing misses his sharp eyes. Yet, cut to our afternoon in Shantiniketan, the lens widens to capture much more than the artist, the gathering circle of onlookers also enter the frame and a tableau is created as if it had all been planned beforehand.
This, then, is the precise pattern of how he had decided to work on this last assignment, where he would call the shots, edit and finalise the picture all by himself. He was at liberty to photograph as he wished, experiment and explore different techniques, with Paresh’s complete support. And as the duo travelled they discovered not only their cultural affinities but also other sensibilities that came from belonging to the same geographical locale, they found comfort in this bonding, their realization that they shared a genuine friendship even though the photographer was much older than the painter. The excitement of working outdoors and in different countries made this project even more appealing to Nemai Ghosh who got up at the crack of dawn to do a quick recce in strange lands so that the natural light was not wasted. As Paresh sat on the steps of St Marcus Square in Venice, amidst the gondoliers and tourists passing by, the tall figure of Nemaida would be crouched at a distance, waiting for the precise moment to click. It would be an instinctive decision, he knew. A silent voice would command, ‘Cut!’ On the artist’s canvas, in the meanwhile, the magnificent domes and silhouettes of the Venetian skyline were gradually defining themselves, rising as if from the expanse of the sparking waters. A portrait within the portrait was gradually taking shape.
Chronicling the collaboration personally meant revisiting places, remembering the little railway stations up in the mountains, the gypsies and their shadow theatre in Rajasthan, the boat people in Kerala who took us to watch Kathakali dancers perform by firelight and the Akhara where Bauls danced strumming their Ektara as they twirled their voices pitched high and sweet. As we had walked through the empty moonlit Khowai, at the beginning of our travels, Nemaida told us stories of how he had come to visit Shantiniketan that first time when Satyajit Ray was making The Inner Eye. Paresh told us how riverscapes would always remind him of his childhood by the Rupnarayan River and how he would spend many an hour dreaming about his life as an artist. We would each record these fleeting moments on our tape recorders, on film rolls and sketch books and perhaps we would have carried on forever had not reason stepped in to tell us that it was high time we gathered all the different strands and worked on a publication that would tell our story to the world.
CHASING THE LIGHT: NEMAI GHOSH TO INA PURI
But tell me, Nemai-da, you were under a lot of pressure to find a salaried job as a young man, weren’t you? Instead, you disobeyed your family and became Ray’s Boswell, documenting his life and work.
In retrospect, I believe most sincerely that if he hadn’t inspired me, I wouldn’t have become a photographer at all.
In fact, I aspired to be an actor. Theatre was my first love and I managed to get roles in plays every once in a way by hanging around the sets, following the script sessions, etc.
Gradually, the stage became a familiar space and I understood the nuances of lighting. The dramatic act fascinated me, and from my place in the tenth row, I began to take photographs of actors performing. Finally, I was in control of my life. Photography became a passion that took over my waking moments, driving me to experiment with light and form, day and night.
I am almost tempted to say, how very Bengali of you.
Absolutely. Initially, once I was successful with my photographs in the theatre, seated amongst the members of the audience and shooting without a flash, I became restless and moved to capturing dance performances—jatra, chhau, etc. Then, shooting filmmakers, I met Satyajit Ray, and for the next many decades looked no further.
The desire to showcase my work continued to haunt me and I felt frustrated about not being able to mount major exhibitions, show the world my body of work. The actualisation of that dream happened much later when I was offered a show at the National Gallery of Modern Art, New Delhi. After that, many galleries approached me and I began showing more regularly. I also met you, Ina, at Manjit Bawa’s exhibition in Calcutta and we spoke about collaborating on a book. It was your initiative that led to my subsequent meeting with Sunaina Anand and the publication of Faces of Indian Art. As a project, it was a continuation of my early work, from the time I photographed Binode Bihari Mukherjee in Santiniketan, around 1971-72. That was, of course, when Satyajit Ray was making his documentary, The Inner Eye, on him. In a sense, photographing artists in their studio brought back memories of that early time when I was new to my art. I was re-energised and fired up with excitement each time I stepped into a new studio. The adventure of meeting new people and looking at new work was so inspiring.
What about your travels with Paresh Maity? It must have been fun to wander out in the world and see him sketch and paint in the lanes of Venice, by the Thames in London?
That is right. Later, as I began this project with Paresh Maity, the same excitement filled my waking hours. I travelled to new cities and countries with Paresh and began working on the idea of documenting not just the painter in his familiar environment but also in unfamiliar spaces. As he randomly sat by the side of a park or a market square and painted, it appeared to me as if his entire being lightened. My modus operandi was to locate a spot where I could be unobtrusive. From that location, I would start shooting. It was fantastic.
Excerpted with permission from Paresh Maity: A Portrait of the Artist in the World; Photographs by Nemai Ghosh, Text by Ina Puri, Westland, `4,999