New Year's Day, 10 in the morning. While many people in Heidelberg are still sleeping in, I am on my way to Frankfurt. My destination: Bengaluru in the south of India, formerly called Bangalore, which with 8.4 million inhabitants is India's third-largest city.
My return flight is booked for 31 January. I don't know much more than that this morning. I am relying entirely on Prakash Chennaiah, who heard about my art and spontaneously invited me. I could work in a hall of his steel construction company in the coming weeks, supported by his staff and their craftsmanship. We have “met” twice via Skype, plus a few emails to agree on the most essential things.
It is only ten kilometres from my accommodation in Bengaluru to Prakash's company headquarters. In the mornings I am picked up between 9 and 9.30 and spend the next 30 to 40 minutes in the omnipresent, roughly eight-lane traffic with unusually quiet motorbikes, squeaking tuk-tuks and cars squeezing into every gap that opens up. While we wait at red lights, transgender people, the “hijras”, knock on the car windows. For a little money they give their blessing. And even here in the country's IT metropolis I now and then see cows in the middle of the street; the traffic simply flows around them. In perfect calm they cross the road to eat vegetable scraps on the other side. Once I even see a group of cows galloping against the traffic across a motorway, and am glad that my destination lies on a different route.
Prakash expects me in his office at around 10. I am not the only artist realising projects in his company. But my works fit particularly well with his goal of getting companies, universities and institutions in Bengaluru excited about outdoor artworks. So within four weeks works are to be created for an exhibition which, as models, will at the same time convey an idea of potential large-scale projects.
To get into the mood, I start with smaller figures, for which I had material flown in from Germany. Much works surprisingly well. The workers in their flip-flops are skilled at welding and bend steel very precisely. A modern press brake is in use. But then there are problems: wooden bases like the ones I use at home cannot be found here. Attempts with lacquered surfaces fall well short of the craftsmanship in steel construction and the standards in my studio. I have to rethink, let go entirely of the idea of a base and invent something new.
I am fighting back tears, my throat is burning. Prakash and I are having lunch and enjoying what Indian cuisine has to offer, mostly with ingredients from his farm of about two hectares. Although the dishes are considered “not spicy”, for me they are a – very tasty – challenge.
In T-shirt, jeans and a light work coat I return to the workshop. The first ideas for solutions are taking shape in my head. I claim tools and a MIG welder from the extremely obliging workers, who are ready to lend a hand at any moment, so that I can experiment in peace. Finally the forms are clear: we make bases from steel plates and rods, bent and resting on pillars, as well as for objects standing at ground level. In some cases the new constructions become one with the figures. They stride over them, run or seem to break free in mid-leap and take off.
At around 5 pm I head back to my accommodation in the rush-hour traffic. I watch Indian women in their long robes using outdoor fitness equipment in the park, which is open in the evening, and admire the nimble women with their children confidently crossing the street. Zebra crossings or pedestrian lights are unknown here. In my artist's accommodation, inside and outside, flat and garden, merge seamlessly. I usually enjoy the evening outdoors on a small patch of lawn in spring-like temperatures.
Between rest and work, new approaches emerge. I place a figure in a cube measuring 1 x 1 x 1 metre, merely suggested by steel outer edges. An imaginary space emerges in which the figure seems to float. I am reminded of the science-fiction film “Gravity”, which deals in an emotionally challenging way with disorientation, isolation and the existential threat of weightlessness. The human figure in my work “Astral Dance” has also lost the ground beneath its feet and its balance. It floats alone in a merely schematically suggested space between unlimited freedom and existential loneliness.
15 works were created in four and a half weeks in India. Three life-size figures with constructions that suggest the surrounding space. I developed the theme of the falling rods further and expanded it in three stages by including further dimensions and dynamics. The Dripping Multiple series has also been extended by two forms.
I enjoy one more sweet afternoon chai at 28 °C while foreman Pravin takes care of the finishing touches. Now it's time to pack my suitcase, travel home and wait to see what comes of our visits to companies and two colleges, and what the works achieve in India, some 7,000 km away.
Prakash is optimistic and looks forward to meeting again to realise projects together. Whatever develops: for me the year began with an artistic adventure. Now I am back home. Spring is on its way here too. A spirit of new beginnings. I am looking forward to 2017.