At Chennai’s fine arts college, history is part of the future

CHENNAI: While busts and

banners of leaders

lend might to history, the statues that dot the four-acre campus of the

Government Fine Arts College

give it muscle and bone. An old man with long, wiry hair bent over in hunger, a strapping youth on his first day in a city, a woman whose pain has been weathered by years in the sun. Cast in fibre, clay and stone, they were quiet witnesses to a bygone era. And now they are part of a revival in the historic campus.

After being neglected for two decades – marked by multiple student uprisings against poor faculty and facilities – the 168-year-old institution is seeing a renaissance of sorts with the state government undertaking massive restoration work, including setting up a new gallery, which will be opened this month-end. The college administration is also working on a proposal to rent the space to artists outside at a subsidised cost as space in a private gallery is a luxury few can afford.

The move is significant as the institution -- where exclusive silver filigree and even jewels for the British monarch are said to have been made – has remained shut to the public, mostly because college authorities wanted to hide the decay within.

The museum on campus, as old as the institution, is a case in point. “Artefacts, curated by superintendents and principals of the college over the last century have been stolen over the years,” said Alphonso Aru

Doss

, who was the principal of the college from 1992-1997. Some of the exhibits included valuable pieces like the kodali karuppur sari, believed to have been worn by Madurai ruler Thirumalai Naicker’s wife, and rare bronze sculptures. “They are my recollection. I don’t know if they are still there,” said Doss, who joined the campus as a student in 1957.

The museum is among the colonial structures that have received a facelift. “We have approached Egmore museum to chemically treat some of the artefacts before we put them on display,” said K B Vijayakumar, the current principal. “We will boost security to ensure there is no theft,” he said pointing to a sealed lock on a door adjacent to the room– the college library, which had the met the same fate as the museum. Rare art books were either stolen or pages torn.

One of the exhibits was a red brick with the words ‘School of Arts, Madras’ engraved on it, evidence of its industrial roots. In 1852, when the institution moved to its current location on Poonamallee High Road, it had a functioning brick kiln, which contributed to the construction of many of the surrounding Indo-Saracenic buildings, including

Chennai Central

railway station and Ripon building.

However, it was students on the campus and some visionary faculty like K C S Paniker in painting and S Dhanapal in sculpture that saw its transition from a utility-based training institute to a fine arts college. “Students and teachers of the college were the driving force of the Madras Art movement in the 1960s,” said city-based art critic Lakshmi Venkataraman. The movement set the stage for local artists to emerge from the colonial shadow and establish their individuality.

Five decades later, the students, many of who come from families involved in hard labour or traditional crafts, rose again. This time to ask for basic facilities. “We have no drinking water facility. No toilets or hostels,” said a third-year student of the institution Tamil Nadu University of Music and Fine Arts. His father used to make a living painting signboards in Tirunelveli. “He didn’t want me to leave what my forefathers had been doing for generations. He used all his life earnings to send me to the city to receive a formal education and prove to the world that our art is not dead, it has only evolved,” said the student, in Tamil and broken English. He said some of them expressed their angst through sketches on the campus walls or the sculptures they moulded. “We are often our own muses. Works that draw inspiration from rural scenes are happy, nostalgic, but city life is always shown as bringing grief,” pointed his classmate.

The college with 480 students offers six four-year degree courses in industrial designs in ceramic and textile, visual communication, painting, sculpture and print-making and five post-graduate degree courses. However, the institute is running with half the sanctioned faculty strength.

A Ramalingam, commissioner of art and culture, said all shortcomings would be addressed before the upcoming academic year. “Our first step is to revive the campus and creating a space for students to express and be proud to be associated with,” he said. The government has allocated Rs1.5 crore for the project, which involves constructing a new gallery, renovating an existing one and undertaking repair works for the museum. “We are looking at a revenue-generating model wherein students can sell their works to tourists and the proceeds can go into upkeep of facilities in campus,” he said. In addition, the government will set up a communication lab as they felt many of the students have talent but lack sufficient language skills.

But until these promises are met, students will continue telling their stories through forlorn sculptures, doodles on walls and unfinished paintings.


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