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About Masturbation and Other Stories
Mrs.Manmeet, a Delhi based conceptual artist speaks of her evolution from a docile daughter of a traditional family to a free woman/artist who could kiss and strip in public whenever her concepts demanded her to do that.
Where does art happen? And how does it happen? It’s a cerebral function when emotions become clogged and need an outlet. It happens somewhere between the thought process and the execution, or so I believe. Or is it the end product? It’s a totally democratic arena open for all.
So the journey began when I met Amrita Shergill on the roads of Shimla. She welcomed me with open arms and I took a flight. Discovering art in Delhi in the arms of my lover and I was disowned by my family for the same. Disowned with contempt and hatred for bearing nude paintings and sleeping with my lover. So now I am free to talk about masturbation with love and affection and strip naked with my lover from where it all started. I was already a SATAN as my father said much before.
2000-2001, was the time when many things happened all of a sudden for me. Got a job, fell madly in love, got stabbed by my family, became a nervous wreck, a suicidal attempt and in the midst of all this, saw different mediums being used in art for the first time. Installation art, video art, photography (performative)- all these were very new mediums which I didn’t come across till my post graduation. Even internet was a very new thing and was not so accessible that one could see more of international art, conceptual art.
Though trained in painting, I somehow moved away from it and started using the camera.
When Mrinal Kulkarni asked me to participate in the Closet/Closets show, it was the perfect theme and opportunity to talk about celebration of masturbation. It was my first step out of the closet. So I stepped out and the body entered the frame.
Conversations with Shantanu led to collaborative works. And he introduced me to art in public space, poster art and performance art. Kissing (yes, we can kiss privately and publicly in India) was the first project we did together. For me it was a first poster/public art project. After which we did a performance in Vienna- Invisible Europe, Invisible India. The Kissing work was extended further in the performance- Hamam main hum sab nangey hain pur yeh hammam hai kahan?
A two wheeler ride so far- Speaking from the Closet/Closets about celebration of masturbation, playing with the images of having balls in the Heat of June, gazing at the male nude study by Lucien Freud, and in collaboration with artmaharaj- Kissing my lover on the streets of Delhi (a poster-public art project) , becoming New New Gods (distribution of image through web) , having space reserved in New New delhi:Room with a view ( Vivan’s installation) , performing on the streets of Vienna (Import Export-Vienna chapter) , performing in Delhi ( Hamam main hum sab nangain hai pur yeh hammam hai kahan- 5th November) , becoming one with my pet dog (IG Bildende Kunst, Vienna) and in between helping Artmaharaj doing graffiti/stencils on the walls of Delhi streets at mid night.
And it was my break from my family which made me see things differently and gave me many experiences. From Manmeet I was forced to become Mrs. Manmeet (which is my full name now - it is not the Mrs. which comes along with the dowry and patriarchal exchange) It gave me new life. I am able to see more clearly why opening your mouth is such a big problem and keeping it shut is even worse. And living your own life the way you want to is a pleasure! And the prejudices never die. They are the birthrights of every Indian or so I feel. They, the prejudices, will kill you before you speak and then slaughter you afterwards. No, hearing a sorry doesn’t help in anyway. For I am not an egoist who will hear it to satisfy my ego. One should feel sorry in order to say it. Sorry for their own words and not for the 50 years of feminism in India (as I was told by someone) as if feminism didn’t exist before that!
For every action there is a reaction and for every choice there is a price to be paid. And for the price of living art or your life at your own terms, there are many options-from depressions to loneliness, from humiliation to frustration. There is no pretense at all- in the living and the suffering. |
