Google Art Project discovers Indian museums,but somethings missing
The Google Art Project,the worlds most extensive collections of artifacts made accessible to the viewer at the tap of a fingertip,has finally discovered Indian art. Its like a time-travelling Doctor Who with an artistic agenda. As he zooms down the musty corridors of the National Museum and the National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA),picking up a Sher-Gil here,a Bhupen Khakhar there and dusting off a clay-cart from the days of Mohenjo-Daro,the question arises: will the magic work for Indian art?
In this web of light,you are invited to be both spider and fly. The programme has been created so elegantly it allows for multiple options and journeys. The museums are organised in alphabetic order. Each museum comes with a floor plan. The virtual tour allows you to walk through the galleries before you decide where you want to hover. You can become your own curator creating your own museum.
The best part is that there are no long queues of people waiting to grab a dekko before you and,of course,no bored and yawning guards fixing you with a beady eye in case you linger too long upon a bronze belly-button. For lovers of the Chola bronzes (10th century,South India),the female form in all its pendulous beauty can be accessed in an image of Sembiyan Mahadevi as Goddess Parvati from the Freer and Sackler collection at the Smithsonian. Its difficult to explain,but the pixellated image of Sembiyan Mahadevi seems more at home at the Smithsonian than a bronze at the National Gallery,Delhi. Its as if the years of obscurity have corroded the very soul of the images there and made them barren. The tremendous bronzes,the examples of everyday Indian art,can no longer sing or shout.
The Google Art Project foregrounds specially chosen iconic works with in-depth scrutiny and thereby reiterates a certain European supremacy for already acclaimed models. The Botticelli Venus from the Uffizi,for instance,has been reproduced in such intimate close-up that you could fancy yourself an art restorer,a Da Vinci Code-style sleuth,or skin specialist,or even an intimate admirer breathing in the dewy texture of the Venusian dermis. Compared to this,among the Indian offerings,a miniature painting Radha Krishna in the Boat of Love sails down into oblivion. Not only does the Tunnel of Love subtitle trivialise it,but by not providing any background,the painting sinks out of sight.
At the same time,the opportunity of opening up the amazing record of the Indian artistic experience in all its multi-armed vitality is something that has been waiting to happen. The selection of paintings from the NGMA alone deserves applause,if not for anything else then for the sheer effort that must have been involved in making the choices relevant. Its a roller-coaster ride,through many eras and styles,that has flung out several deserving candidates. The common humanity that shines through in the majority of the works underlines the universality of the Google Art Project. Its meant for everybody.
If not anything else,its the numbers that stun and awe. There are 32,000 works recorded in gigapixels,or super high-megapixel resolution,we are told,from more than 46 of the best museums and some private collections around the world. You can have a tour of the White House or the Palace of Versailles in France or the Museum of Islamic Art in Qatar.
It nudges the museum-pixellated mind to wander.
Why do the nudes appear so vapid when seen in their digital avatars,like cling-wrapped portions of frozen food at a supermarket? Is this a problem that all nude images face (there are not many)? Perhaps this is the case only with one of Lucien Freuds nudes. It looks particularly pink and repellent in its googled reproduction. When confronted in the flesh,as it were,in a gallery,Freuds naked bodies manage to suggest a sense of their vulnerability. Francisco Goyas fabled The Naked Maja is not there for comparison,the Prado not being on the list of museums. And suddenly you feel grateful. In some cases,it is best to leave the sublime away from the naked gaze of too much electronic invasion.
The writer is a Chennai-based art critic
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