Dada of Indian Art | MF Husain

For some Husain is a maharaja. For others a king. For many he is a dada, a grandfather who nurtures children, leaves a legacy a family can cherish for generations, and works for the betterment of society.

My second memory is the artist at full span. Fearless and experimental. An innovator who worked across subjects and mediums. He painted cinema posters to survive. He directed artful films with Madhuri Dixit, Shah Rukh Khan and Yash Chopra. He did serigraphs when most artists never considered the medium. He breathed art in India and kept India at the centre of his work.

My last impression is just as clear. He carried Indian art to the world and returned India to Indians. He re energised the art market, including in financial terms. My first memory is his excitement and restlessness. My second is his subjects, research and knowledge. My third is his contribution to the Indian art world.

I was in school when I first heard my father speak about him. He once took me to the construction of the now famous Amdavad ni Gufa, created by Husain with the legendary Pritzker Prize laureate Balkrishna Doshi in the mid 1990s.

In the early 2000s I met Husain at the gallery. I wore an SRK-style Kuch Kuch Hota Hai jacket to impress him. Another memory is from 2003–04, when he was shooting Meenaxi and there was a chance to visit the set. Silly me, I coloured my hair to look smart, secretly hoping he might offer me a shot in the film. The funny part is that nothing of the sort happened. Being on the set itself was a dream, watching him direct with art sets, costumes and art everywhere. My principal caught me for the hair colour, which was banned in school, and I received strict punishment.

There came a time when my connection with Husain’s work became integral. His vibrant colours, defining lines and narrative pull. Episodic pictures that felt catchy, unique and easy to read. A signature style and, just as important, the signature itself. I painted too, and I was obsessed with his flow and the presence of that strong signature. A painting felt complete when the big H began and the straight line ran into “Husain”. It was like a film credit with Lata Mangeshkar or Kishore Kumar. You knew there would be classic hits. I was so engrossed in the artworks around us at the gallery that it was hard to step away. His artworks made the subject more interesting to learn through looking. Through him I learned how to read art and how to read people.

Working with Husain’s editions was a pleasure. We advertised, wrote in newspapers and made his work more accessible through EMI. We promoted his ideas and the legend he was. People wanted to know everything. His lifestyle. His thought process. His cinema connections. His admiration for Madhuri. His love for movies, horses and Mother Teresa. There was a wave around him and I realised that no other artist, even over a longer period, could claim what everyone already knew. By 2007, from the rickshawala to the leading industrialist, India knew Husain and wanted to collect Husain. At that time India had one legendary artist, and that was Husain. From one to ten he filled the scale. He made Indian art commercial without losing its depth, approachable without losing its value, and he pioneered the marketing of Indian art. It is a big claim, but he had a ninety percent role in that change.

There is also a quiet gallery memory from before he left for Dubai and, regretfully, never returned. He signed a canvas while enjoying oleographs from the Raja Ravi Varma Press and looking at his original works that we exhibited at our 2004 inaugural. It is one of my most cherished memories of him in person. Looking back, I feel fortunate to have seen the artist who gave a foundation to modern and contemporary Indian art enjoy the artist who gave Indian art its face, and to witness it at our newly inaugurated gallery. For any art lover, that is both dream and pilgrimage.

His passing in 2011 remains one of the most shocking moments of my life. We lost Husain. The shock came from my deep involvement with art, and from the fact that he was in exile after all he had done for the country. It also came from what he had done for Indian art and the market. We created a painting for him with the artist Harshil Patel, who was equally passionate about Husain and his legacy. There were horses and lines. Husain as king. Empty streets that spoke of how his absence was felt and how his influence filled the world. Red stood for his passion and the lifeblood he gave to art.

We honoured his contribution with a public tribute to the man whose signature had become synonymous with Indian contemporary art. It ran across leading English and Gujarati newspapers. As far as I know, nothing like it had happened in Gujarat for any artist. A private gallery acknowledged him before the larger society so that everyone could see how important he was to us and to Indian art. It remains one of our most memorable acts.

A year later we presented his contribution to a wider audience beyond the art fraternity. In 2012 we exhibited Husain Through the Eyes of Painters, a title inspired by his documentary Through the Eyes of a Painter. The participating artists were Bansi Khatri, Harshil Patel, Nipa Modi, Preksha Kapadia, Prithviraj Mali, Sachin Nimbalkar and Sajal Sasanka Sarkar. They each painted Husain through their own eyes. The response was warm and strong, and the gallery remains grateful to them. Leading English and Gujarati media covered the exhibition and its ideas.

Many images from that show still glow in memory. Sajal Sarkar showed Husain as the light of Indian art and as a popular icon. One work used a postage-stamp motif with the number ninety five, his age at passing, and included Husain’s iconic birds as a wish for peace and lasting presence. Sachin Nimbalkar hand-crafted a wooden chair and presented Husain as the maharaja of Indian art, with horses and familiar forms such as Gaja Gamini, the tiger and the blessing hand. Prithviraj Mali paid tribute with a mural of Bharat Mata and a pair of shoes with a rose and a lantern, a symbol that had a deep personal link to Husain. Preksha Kapadia painted Vidya Balan because Husain was fascinated by her and wanted to make a film with her. There was Ganesha. There was the Bugatti Veyron he bought in Dubai, among the first there. And there was the horse, of course. Harshil Patel titled his work A Game of the Art World and showed Husain as king through wooden playing cards. Bansi Khatri created a scroll titled Maqbul Nama that traced Husain from childhood to his last years, his subjects and series, the creation of the Ahmedabad Gufa, and his contributions to painting, architecture and cinema. It was a seven-artist exhibition with a deep and lasting impact.

The cinema thread continued. The Gujarati film Bey Yaar wove a plot that echoed Husain. They used the name Hasan. Our artist Harshil Patel painted the idea, connecting it to the famous Lucky Tea Stall story where Husain gifted the owner a painting. The film echoed that real moment. We painted tea cups and a kettle and created the Lucky atmosphere in a painting about friendship. We exhibited it with the film’s cast and crew at the gallery. Through the exhibition and through the film, a popular medium, more people could enter the story. Bey Yaar remains one of the most successful Gujarati films. I am happy that not only the paintings but especially Husain’s story reached a larger public. All thanks to director Abhishek Jain for shaping a story with art at its centre, to Harshil Patel for the painting, and to my father, Dhanvi Shah for unwavering support for anything that promotes art.