The Masterpieces that my grandfather loved...

 My earliest memory of recognizing and appreciating exceptional pieces of art was the two powerful portraits of my great-grandparents that used to occupy a place of pride in my grandfather’s study.

 

One of the portraits, my great grandfather’s was painted by the nephew of the legendary artist Raja Ravi Verma. The other portrait, my great-grandmother’s was done by an equally talented but lesser-known artist of that period.

 

My grandfather took great pride in explaining to his grandchildren the several fine points of the pieces of art. He would point out the candidness of the life-like eyes, the hint of a smile on the lips, the faint worry lines on the forehead, and the outstanding mix of colours to bring out the natural skin tone.

 

Every time, I visited my grandparents during the summer breaks, I was, slowly and steadily, drawn to the portraits more and more. For me, they were the first masterpieces that I studied and analyzed. As I grew older, my perception associated with the images changed. They became so real to me that I began to talk with them silently in solitude. I spoke about my first crush, I ranted about my fights with my cousins, and I prayed to them for good exam results.

 

Seeing my interest in those pictures, my grandfather discussed many features of the portraits with me. When I was 16, he took me to Sree Chitra Art Gallery in Thiruvananthapuram. It was my first visit to an art museum. It displayed many of Raja Ravi Verma’s works. My grandfather pointed out special pieces of art that captured his interest. That visit, with my grandfather, will always remain special to me. In later years, I visited the Salarjung Museum in Hyderabad, the Louvre in Paris, Rosengart in Lucerne, Rembrandts and Van Gogh in Amsterdam, and The Academia in Florence but my first visit with my grandfather to the Art gallery in Thiruvananthapuram would remain etched in my memory. I cherish his enlightening guidance on recognizing strokes of genius, deep in my heart. 

 

The paintings of my ancestors indeed made a lasting impression on me but I did not realize that the emotions associated with them were linked to my grandfather’s deep attachment to the figures in the portraits. I understood this when my grandfather passed away. After his demise, my recollection of childhood is filled with his towering presence, his astute eyes, his amused smile, the study table neatly organized with ink bottles, a typewriter, and carbon sheets, and the dank smell of old wood and the portraits….

 

The portraits that stared at me with forlorn eyes now; evoked a melancholic remainder of my grandfather’s lingering lessons on the appreciation of art.

 

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