2007 Episode 11: Out of Darkness, Out of India / The Sand Man
Out of Darkness, Out of India
In 2006 Prakash Patel, an Indian Kiwi from Wanganui, was awarded
a Creative New Zealand Residency at the Sanskriti Campus in New
Delhi.
This film looks at the division that dominates his life and which
he endeavors to resolve in his painting.
As he says, "India is not my home but it is my parent's
home."
Growing up as an Indian in conservative 1970s Wanganui was
difficult, painful even. The family lived in Castlecliff and though
Prakash's father spoke English like a kiwi, his mother, who
migrated as a 19-year-old bride was never so comfortable with her
second language.
PP:
When I was a child I felt almost ashamed to have a mother
who wore a dress that was so bright - she stood out too much. And
the last thing I wanted to do was stand out as being Indian. In
later years you learn to look at yourself in a more positive
light.
Art became a way to resolve his divided background, a synthesis of
his Indian and Antipodean experience.
PP:
I think there is a connection between my work and my mother
and India. When I went to India the first time, it was a shock but
it helped me understand where my mother is from. I didn't
understand her when I was growing up.
His paintings have an introverted, mystical feeling as if the
artist has dug deep into a subterranean source. The work always
emerges from a black field and Patel says his paintings are
literally pulled out of a void. Patel is often in the dark, with no
preconceived idea of composition - he does not draw or take
photographs before embarking on a painting.
PP:
I have learnt to journey beyond my preconceived ideas into
areas of uncertainty and mystery. Especially after spending time at
my parents' village in Gujarat I realised a richness and depth I
had never experienced before. My work has given me a deeper
understanding of the way in which nature works and how there is
continual cycle of life, death and renewal.
His work has been described as an homage to unsung Indian
fabric-makers who labour long hours to create shimmering,
iridescent swathes of cloth used for saris, clearly reflecting
Patel's different cultural strands. Each meticulous dot corresponds
with the fabric-maker's stitch and the metallic paints evoke the
gold and silver threads woven into a sari.
It is not surprising then that Prakash travels to Varanasi to
research Indian textiles. India has a 5000-year tradition in the
creation of textiles from wool, silk, cotton and jute, principally
from weaving. Additionally brocade, embroidery, and appliqué
can be used to enhance the fabric as well as printing, whether tie
and die, block or by hand. This represents a wealth of potential
influence.
PP:
Varanasi seems to have many layers to it, like cities built
on cities, and symbolises the layering, which is common throughout
India. Layering is of course intrinsic to my painting practice but
there are infinite ways to get there.
At dawn on the river a boatman rows Prakash along the ghats. They
float past a mosaic of Indian fabrics laid out on the river's edge,
the product of dhobi wallahs who wash the day's laundry in the
river, wringing the cloth into tight knots before laying it out on
the banks to dry. There is no sign of the much-talked-about bodies
that float in the water or the remains of funeral pyres that don't
have enough fuel to finish the job, only boats and rejected
garlands of flowers.
Edifices glide by so worn and haggard that they look as old as the
city itself though they were built in the 18th and 19th centuries
by faraway maharajas who wanted a residence on the sacred
waterfront. These once elegant homes now have brightly painted ads
on their walls marketing yoga classes and youth hostels.
Prakash spends his Fellowship in India immersed in exploring the
daily aspects of Indian life, not by conscious pursuit, but by
going with the flow.
Not the National Geographic picture of India but the chaotic,
dynamic land with little nostalgia for the way things were, where
streets are mobbed with all manner of traffic, horns honking at the
slightest delay, everyone choking on dust and exhaust, dodging
bicycle rickshaws and napping cows. Barking dogs, wedding dancing,
loud radios and beating drums.
If it's difficult to take Wanganui out of the boy it's just as
difficult to hide his Indian ness. Prakash Patel is connected to
two traditions, which are not only at opposite sides of the globe
but pull in opposite directions as well. His trip is part of his
life's desire and art's intention to somehow meld the two
together.
He visits his parent's home village in Gujarati where the family
still maintains his grandfather's house. The village itself is on
the margins of the India that is transforming into a major economic
power, already with a middle-class numbering more than the entire
population of the USA.
To the inhabitants of the village the arts of painting, the life
of migrants in foreign lands, and the ubiquitous presence of
television, are as India was to Alan Ginsberg - they have no name
for them. Here we see the immense gulf that Prakash has to straddle
but sense too that it is possible for him to make the connection in
the universe of his imagination where finds a process of naming in
painting,
A sunset walk on Dandhi Beach, near the village reminds him of what is valuable and dear to him in his New Zealand life. But then back in Wanganui he is not so sure. The old divisions return and he once again turns to painting to work out his contradictions.
The Sand Man
Peter Donnelly, artist, poet, sculptor and local New Brighton Beach identity is one of those coastal dwellers that keeps a constant eye on the weather and tide.
When conditions are right he'll head to the beach where, for the
past 10 years, he's etched, moulded and raked over 700 stunning
pieces of work out of the Brighton Sands.
But these are no ordinary drawings. They are created with a staff
and rake and can be up to 100 metres long. They are best viewed
from the pier which extends out to sea and is high above the
beach.
When Peter works, a crowd gathers - traveller's who have made
the journey to see his work, loyal locals who have enjoyed his
developing themes and the curious onlookers lucky enough to be
passing at the time. As one onlooker said: "You don't get the
perspective on the ground but up here it's amazing. It looks
fantastic."
The Sand Man profiles Peter Donnelly and follows him through the
process of creating his sand art at New Brighton Pier.
The film joins him early morning at low tide with an expansive sandy beach and the promise of a clean canvas.
As he etches and rakes out his art Peter talks us through the challenges in creating pieces of this scale and in an environment that's always changing. Brighton's volcanic sand is ideal, offering a striking contrast for Peter to craft his tapestry of marks and textures. He starts with bold outlines created by the staff before raking the sand to create contrast and detail.
As the tides advances, Peter works harder and faster, trying to
complete his work before the in-coming tide washes it away. As the
tide creeps closer, the intensity builds and he leaps and bounds
across his canvas finishing it with moments to spare.
Creating the artwork is a performance in itself. Peter is
exhausted, but the portrait of the woman looks beautiful in the
expansive, natural surrounds of the beach. Peter goes up to the
pier to view it before the first waves wash over his work.
For Peter it's an important part of his work: "It's birth, life and death really. I bring something to life, and its life is over. And at the end of three to fours hours it wants to go, it's worn out. It's lost its freshness and it just wants to be replaced - gifted and goes to the sea."
