How a bunch of South Asian artists’ collectives are trying to find connections through art

A chalkboard map at the venue for South Asian Playground (SAP) points you to the locations of different art forms — some of which directly engage. Gagan Singh, in his cobalt-blue turban and striking white beard, scribbles in response to a drawing of a clown in his notebook, beneath the scribbled words ‘Drawing Collaboration’. Collaborative art is something he has continued for 10 years, especially with university students at JNU. Flicking his prized fountain pen between his fingers, he says, “We have lost the feeling of play as adults”. To his left, Resha invites you to create blackout poetry from legal documents on gender laws in India, exploring themes of sexuality and rights.

A fundraiser for Palestine overlooks wider white walls, complete with art of no fancy frame. Taped branches and personal items form a memory tree. Ocean-blue neon lights in one such room invite you to slip on headphones, take a seat, and let electronic music by independent artists take over. All of this was put together with funds of just Rs 20,000 in a space called mool, which describes itself as a venue for discussing art in a “non-petty-bourgeois way”. The venue helped the collectives out with its minimal charges, said Sonam Chaturvedi of the artists’ collective, First Draft.

Akshay Sethi, from the same collective, explains that they did not wish to act as curators, but rather instigators as a space for people to connect. The collaborating collectives — First.Draft and Friends of Toto in India, Ghartera and Studio 6/6 in Bangladesh, Kaalo.101 in Nepal, and Studio Kayamai in Sri Lanka — were determined to include every country, but faced constraints. “One artist from Pakistan couldn’t send in physical copies of their artwork in time, because the border closed. We printed them out ourselves,” recalls Chaturvedi.

Plaid-patterned cushions rest in front of written work; a stack of them sits before a documentary screen. You move as an audience member with no heed to division, as very few artists’ credits are immediately visible. A resolute stand across the room against violence and marginalisation emerges. “South Asian solidarity lives in the tension between the labour of building structures that hold us together and the quiet gestures that remind us we already are connected. Art has the ability to move between those two modes,” says participant-artist Shu-ying Hong from Singapore in a conversation over email. Her thoughts are echoed by Sri Lankan artist Nimna, who says, “Nationality is both a source of inspiration and a way to represent, but should not be too confined either”.

According to Pakistani artist Riaz Ali, because the artistes cannot come to India due to border restrictions, sharing art becomes imperative. “If your work is displayed in another country, you feel happy. But when it is with India, it has a different emotional value,” says Ali over a phone conversation. “Many have migrated from India to Pakistan and vice versa. Because we do not have the power to go there, art has a very important role to play,” he adds.

Ali is showcasing a documentary in collaboration with Maleeha Bukhari, who did not choose to represent Pakistan “for the sake of identity, but for the sake of learning through our similarities and differences”.

This is a step towards “a recognition of the importance of a trans-local community,” says Kazi Tahsin Agaz, a Bangladesh curator and artist.