Lost Connections

Last month, two events forced us to face the loss of art. The first was a great fire in London, where a number of works of leading contempor...

Last month, two events forced us to face the loss of art. The first was a great fire in London, where a number of works of leading contemporary British artists were destroyed as they lay in a professionally run, highly respected art storehouse, when flames spread from neighbouring establishments. Among the works lost were those of Damien Hirst and Chris Ollifi, the artists who have shown in the dramatic Sensation show.

The second was our own Lalit Kala Academy in Delhi, from where several works of art were stolen. None of these were by landmark artists, but they were art after all. Media reports expressed outrage at how lax the security was, how simple it seemed to walk off with anything lying in a store. Usually, art thefts make rather exciting stories because there are so many vignettes to offer, and because of the idea of an art thief as a high class connoisseur. It almost sounds like a crime of passion. Yet the LKA thefts went beyond this: They were framed as the frustrating inability of government bodies to take care of what is really public/national property.

In some ways, these events, happening as they did at a time when every socialite in India8217;s metros is becoming an art dealer, served as a moment of truth, shaking up people and making them realise that you don8217;t need to purchase art to own it. Ownership is a much wider issue, extending well beyond the current private property framework that is most commonly accepted. Just the sheer outrage and grief that accompanied these two events drives home the point. It8217;s a good reaction because it will make the general middle classes think about the idea of owning a general heritage and being responsible for it.

Yet there is another equally vital current. It has to do with how we perceive art and why we relate to it at all. I believe that we respond to the world of ideas intuitively and, often, with joy. We train ourselves to recognise the deepest and most subtle hues and nuances, making our connection with art very individual. Hence, the end of art works is also the heart-breaking end of the possibility of making that connection, or of nurturing it any further. Additionally, the romantic idea of the artist as a creative genius also comes into play. Popular perception suggests he sits all huddled inside his studio, harvesting varied experiences and sharp skills to produce, say, a painting. When his productions are gone, there is mourning for the loss of the process and those moments specific to the person as well. One of the reasons why these events were particularly devastating was that the goods were lost: Works of art, each one unique and never to be seen, imagined and created again. The devastating part is that it can never be recovered. And it8217;s not just an emptiness borne by one person alone, but by a community of global art aficionados. This, rather than the sheer market value of the art, the glamour of an upper crust thief or even disgust at the safe-keepers8217; carelessness, is the basis for the reaction that loss of art works ignites in us all.