The curator of the Biennale of Sydney 2008 (BoS 2008) admits she has a special place for Indian artists in her heart. "Indian contemporary artists are much better many others," says Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev, also the chief curator at the Castello di Rivoli, Italy. "There has been Indian representation in the Biennale before," she says. "However, this Biennale showcases Indian art more than ever before, perhaps because of my own understanding of the meanings and long relationship with the Indian art community."
Nalini Malani, Vivan Sundaram, Sharmila Samant, Ranbir Kaleka and Bari Kumar are the Indian representatives this year. However, Christov-Bakargiev refuses to identify art by nationality in this Biennale.
"There have been some excellent international exhibitions that have showcased Indian contemporary art, like the Edge of Desire. Even the Venice Biennale hosted an Indian pavilion a few years ago—but it was not part of the Biennale itself," she says. "It is necessary to break those boundaries that are not necessarily productive and look beyond national identification. This is perhaps the second phase (of the recognition of Indian art in the international art world)."
Curatorially, Christov-Bakargiev has located Indian art within an international context. So Nalini Malani's new installation will interact with Australian history, showing inside a disused military bunker on Sydney's Cockatoo Island. "Cockatoo Island was once a convict prison, then a ship yard and was later abandoned in the early 80s. Malani's shadow and light installation is like a projection of the ghosts of the past and maybe the future," saysChristov-Bakargiev.
Similarly, Sharmila Samant's new installation, Against the Grain, though local in its use of signifiers, addresses a global problem. The installation of a 1000 rice husk snakes comments on the tragedy brought onto the farming community with the advent of genetically modified grain. In the last week of the Biennale, the rice snakes will be auctioned, with proceeds going to the farmers. "There is thus also the notion of recycling art," says Christov-Bakargiev.
To create a dialogue between artists, she has placed Bari Kumar's video, Army of Forgotten Souls (2005), a poetic celebration of the rickshaw, next to Marcel Duchamp's Bicycle Wheel (1913). "Duchamp's wheel was a critique of the consumer culture on the rise at that time. I wanted to compare this work of the past with a work from the present, where Kumar comments on the death of the rickshaw with the advent of globalisation," says Christov-Bakargiev.
Her call for cross-cultural dialogue is not new. When Peter Nagy, director of Nature Morte, brought Jitish Kallat's Rikshawpolis series to Sydney, he asked, "Exactly how 'Indian' do you want Indian contemporary art to be? How many local signifiers or ethnic references do you need, to recodnise a work of art as Indian?" The Biennale seems to answer his question—art speaks the language of the world.
Nalini Malani, Vivan Sundaram, Sharmila Samant, Ranbir Kaleka and Bari Kumar are the Indian representatives this year. However, Christov-Bakargiev refuses to identify art by nationality in this Biennale.
"There have been some excellent international exhibitions that have showcased Indian contemporary art, like the Edge of Desire. Even the Venice Biennale hosted an Indian pavilion a few years ago—but it was not part of the Biennale itself," she says. "It is necessary to break those boundaries that are not necessarily productive and look beyond national identification. This is perhaps the second phase (of the recognition of Indian art in the international art world)."
Curatorially, Christov-Bakargiev has located Indian art within an international context. So Nalini Malani's new installation will interact with Australian history, showing inside a disused military bunker on Sydney's Cockatoo Island. "Cockatoo Island was once a convict prison, then a ship yard and was later abandoned in the early 80s. Malani's shadow and light installation is like a projection of the ghosts of the past and maybe the future," saysChristov-Bakargiev.
Similarly, Sharmila Samant's new installation, Against the Grain, though local in its use of signifiers, addresses a global problem. The installation of a 1000 rice husk snakes comments on the tragedy brought onto the farming community with the advent of genetically modified grain. In the last week of the Biennale, the rice snakes will be auctioned, with proceeds going to the farmers. "There is thus also the notion of recycling art," says Christov-Bakargiev.
To create a dialogue between artists, she has placed Bari Kumar's video, Army of Forgotten Souls (2005), a poetic celebration of the rickshaw, next to Marcel Duchamp's Bicycle Wheel (1913). "Duchamp's wheel was a critique of the consumer culture on the rise at that time. I wanted to compare this work of the past with a work from the present, where Kumar comments on the death of the rickshaw with the advent of globalisation," says Christov-Bakargiev.
Her call for cross-cultural dialogue is not new. When Peter Nagy, director of Nature Morte, brought Jitish Kallat's Rikshawpolis series to Sydney, he asked, "Exactly how 'Indian' do you want Indian contemporary art to be? How many local signifiers or ethnic references do you need, to recodnise a work of art as Indian?" The Biennale seems to answer his question—art speaks the language of the world.
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