Art by the Road Art is not meant for galleries and museums alone. There is utilitarian art too, where the artist may not have exalted goals but still manages to produce genuine works of beauty. The line between artists and artisans is rather blurred, Malavika Velayanikal discovers on a trip to Bangalore’s Shivaji Nagar

Art by the Road

Art is not meant for galleries and museums alone. There is utilitarian art too, where the artist may not have exalted goals but still manages to produce genuine works of beauty. The line between artists and artisans is rather blurred, Malavika Velayanikal discovers on a trip to Bangalore’s Shivaji Nagar

There is a strange gleam in Farooq Khan’s eyes when he talks of how he used to beat hot copper and brass into exquisite vases of all shapes and sizes. There are large Mughalai dum teapots, brass utensils with handles and snouts, copper tumblers and wide biryani handis (vessels) all around him in his one-room shop on the most congested, crowded Old Market Road of Shivaji Nagar. That the shop has no name but only a tiny, faded circular board with ‘166 ‘ written on it hasn’t stopped a handful of clients — nowadays mainly the five-star hotels of Bangalore, Farooq’s son, Lateef tells me — from finding their way here. Farooq looks wiser than his 68 years. His forehead is creased, and laughter lines are well defined — perhaps, the result of hours and hours spent close to a fire, eyes screwed to carefully etch details on hot metal. He learnt to bend and mould copper and brassware from his father, Mohiuddin Khan, who learnt it from his father, Dawood Khan, who was taught by his father Hassan Khan, the first one in the family to master these techniques. This art is almost dead, Farooq says, shaking his head slightly. The hollow-casting method of making copper and brassware is rather elaborate. Farooq discontinued his schooling to learn it. It took him five to ten years to master it. First a clay model of the object is made, which is then covered with a thin coating of wax. This mould is then rotated on a lathe to create enough friction to spread the wax evenly. Moist clay is then smeared on it to keep the wax coating scatheless. After the clay is burnt tight, a tiny hole is made on the mould, and it is put to fire. The wax melts and flows out, leaving a vessel-shaped gap in the mould. Molten metal is poured into the gap. Repeated cooling and heating tempers the metal. Plates and vessels are then made by hammering and shaping. This long, tiresome process is probably one of the reasons why nobody seem interested in learning it. “The main reason is, of course, the easily available, mass-produced, cheaper substitutes like aluminium and stainless steelware,” says Lateef, the fifth-generation entrant. “I don’t know how to make the ware. But I learnt how to do kalai (polishing) using acid and tin. I also trade in old brass and copperware. ITC Gardenia, Taj Vivanta, etc are our clients. They show us pictures and clips of vessels from abroad, and I get them made for them here. Foreigners also come to us.” A stroke paralysed Farooq’s left hand and tongue a few years back. Though he can walk and talk now, he hasn’t yet found strength enough to hammer metal into shape. He has trained a couple of workers but he fears the art is already lost. On the other hand A few bylanes away from Farooq’s shop No. 166 is PR Kopathi’s Nandini Clay Works. “Specialist in Ganesh idols,” his visiting card says. He is touching up a 10-ft tall Ganesha idol perched on the footpath outside his shop. The plaster of Paris idol looks pleased and benevolent — just the right expression devotees look for in their God. “I have been making Ganeshas for over 20 years now. So the expressions on the idol’s face come effortlessly,” Kopathi says. This is the busiest time of the year for Kopathi -- Ganesha Chathurthi festival time. He has hundreds of Ganeshas, bejewelled and dressed in bright colours, sitting, standing and reclining on the benches and shelves in the shop. “This is when people come to buy the idols, but I have to start making them in January,” he says. “I have to come up with new designs. I make them in clay first. Once ready, they will take 45 days to dry. Then I make a rubber moulding, which takes about 10 days to make, and 10 days to dry. Then the production starts.” He learnt the art while studying terracota and pottery making at the Khadi Village Industries Commission. Once in a while, eager students, mostly women, approach him to learn the techniques. “It looks beautiful and easy. So people want to learn. They try it for two days, and hardly anyone turns up on the third day,” he laughs. Neither Farooq nor Kopathi assume any artistic airs. They have no exalted goals to nudge people into seeing things from a different perspective or to make them reflect on their existence. But both of them use their creative skills and imagination to produce works of beauty, and even utility. There is hardly any line dividing artists and artisans, their art by the road taught me. v_malavika@dnaindia.net