Comment

Wasn’t it just yesterday that the nabobs of the art world were going about with their noses in the air, dropping names of obscure and avant-garde artists and talking about the last international art fair they’d just been to or were going to, in cities in Europe and South-East Asia that you and I might not have even heard of?

You know, those globe-trotting art writers, curators, gallerists, dealers, auctioneers, collectors — not to forget the sprung-overnight artists — whose “busy-ness” quotient fluctuates with their bank balances. Muttering in-vogue mantras like POMO (Post-modern), Post-POMO, Neo-POMO, Neo-Conceptual and other kinds of artspeak, they spread enough “status anxiety” to fell the nouveau art collector — or, the veteran artists left behind in the slow lane of this super-fast highway.

The oldies sulked, the newbies strutted. A few among the latter even set up a production line to feed the auctions. For a long while the arterati went about as if there were no tomorrow. Why wouldn’t they?

After all, some gallerists and impresarios of the art world were doling out cheques without hiccups. Galleries began to poach artists from each other. Suddenly, prices of some YIAs (Young Indian Artists — our brat pack) doubled, trebled, and went through the ceiling. Just like our volatile Sensex.

Those were heady, new-millennium times. Glossy catalogues (including vanity catalogues of middle-aged and ageing artists who had finally made it to Page 3) became de rigueur. And so did lavish parties — often accessorised by the denizens of the fashion fraternity who made excellent props — with chic nibbles and big-bottomed wine glasses. Indian galleries proliferated in New York and Europe.

The speculators had arrived, and taken over. Gradually, artspeak was muffled by moneyspeak: no longer did you hear about the work of an artist but his worth in dollars and sterling, both here and globally.

It was all very hunky dory until the shadow fell. As they say what goes up also comes down. The global financial crisis has now really hit home. The art mart is wilting, like flowers left out in the sun too long. Bad news from the recent auctions of Christies and Sotheby’s has added to the gloom here.

Francis Bacon’s self-portrait, estimated to bring down the hammer at Christie’s for $40 million, didn’t find a buyer; nor did important works by Damien Hirst, Andy Warhol and Roy Lichenstein at Sotheby’s. The estimates calibrated this summer were now way too high.

Back home, the art market stuttered. Like our stock market it, too, headed southwards. A few of the gallerists slashed the prices of the canvases of their “hotties” — some by as much as 50 per cent. Exhibitions have been postponed or cancelled. Even the art fair-hopping has slowed down. These are not good times for catalogue writers.

But the wise of the art world have already begun to rewrite the script of the art world. It’s a bit of back to the future-many gallerists have started to dump the surreal prices and abandon the pursuit of the merely faddish. It is also a return to the age of more realistic business practices. Those who did not go in for Art Funds are heaving a sigh of relief.

Interestingly, some of the masters who lost out to the hot young rock stars of the art world are staging a comeback. The frenzied search to discover the Next Best Young Artist has also slowed down. Renu Modi of Gallerie Espace puts it succinctly:

“Contemporary art is equity. The masters — the progressives and moderns — are fixed deposits.”

Happily, there just might be a silver lining in those looming dark clouds. Many art aficionados and gallery owners believe that the downturn will result in the return of the serious and seasoned collector. “This is a good time for those who are serious about art,” explains an avid collector.

Fingers crossed that we will now also see the backs of all those housewives and househusbands who morphed into curators and dealers and jumped on to the art bandwagon.

Email: jain_madhu@hotmail.com