A few months ago, a well-respected doyen of art complained about the quality of public art in our cities, adversely comparing it to the incredible tradition of art and craft made in the country. The modern city has become a space of existence in cultural and social spheres, with particular effects on the human psyche. The notion of a public sphere, based upon accessibility, has become central to discourse regarding public art. So, what is “public art,” especially in an Indian and specifically Bangalore context? And who decides and commissions public art in this city?
In the West, “public art” refers to art in the public realm, regardless of whether it is on public or private property or purchased with public or private money. Public art includes monuments, memorials, civic statues and sculptures, kinetic relief, electronic statuary, mosaics, frescoes, fountains or water elements, mixed-media and computer-generated works, photography, etc. It can also be transitory: dance, theatre, poetry, graffiti, posters, and installations.
Often, public art can be seen as a political tool (statues and posters), a form of civic protest (graffiti), or a way to improve the quality of a space (urban design). This art, meant for all, in public spaces, serves as an artists’ democratic expression to the masses. Public art thus becomes artwork for the populous. While public display of art is not a solely modern phenomenon, recent discourses in public art forms critically redefine concepts of community, identity, and social engagement. Public art serves many purposes, often simultaneously: to beautify space, to educate, to commemorate important people and events, to act as a tool of political or social propaganda, to activate, to document daily life, and to represent a community’s ethos.
In India, the concept of public art is much more vague and complex. Aren’t the printed bazaar icons plastered on walls or in prayer alcoves in offices, factories, and shops; over machines and cash registers; on vehicles; and on packaging and advertisements, public art? Or are there only government-funded murals on underpasses or public-private partnership wall paintings in metro stations? Is the work of elite painters on walls in Malleshwaram and Koramangala public art? Does it reflect the community or the artist?
Until recently, there was little engagement by the public in art in the city. Governments picked their favoured artists and statues, and art was presented to the public as a fait accompli. Only recently has the public started demanding accountability. Lately, in response, the government has started facilitating tenders for public art, like roadwork or infrastructure projects. Unfortunately, the common craftsman or artist, with limited access to language and power and still dependent on structures of patronage, has little scope in this process unless championed by an upper-middle-class artist or a well-placed NGO.
Ideally, public art is commissioned through a public process in which the community has a clear and defined role in selecting the artist, the site, and the artwork. As public money funds the creation of public art, there is a degree of accountability assumed about the artwork not encountered in private projects.
Public art is also associated with a sense of longevity and needs protection. Public space is inextricably linked to democratic ideals. When city officials formulate criteria for placing “art in public places,” they should be employing a vocabulary that invokes, albeit loosely, the tenets of both direct and representative democracy: Are the artworks for “the people”? Do they encourage “participation”? Are they “accessible”? Unfortunately, this vocabulary is largely missing in the Indian realm.
In India, in the public realm, more visible are walls being abused constantly—from public urination, spitting, or posting bills during canvassing. The careless use of public space because of the sheer impracticality of enforcing vandalism makes it a quasi-legal issue in a socio-political context. Graffiti does not shock in the Indian City. Street art like crocodile ponds in potholes amuses. The difference between art and advertising has become blurred, and artists and cultural workers have become part of capitalist production. Public Art like that at UB City and RMZ Eco space acts as advertisement for companies, with corporate houses, citizen groups and art institutions advocating city bodies to install artworks. Public art is catering primarily to “market objectives” and beautification rather than more profound interrogations of urban citizenship and space. And then there is the “non-artist” art seen in processions and religious festivals, the many Gandhi, Ambedkar, Rajkumar, and Puneet statues across neighbourhoods.
Here, community involvement and collaboration occur but involve complicated power dynamics. The gap between what the community wants and government/ corporates fund is still vast.
Perhaps if the government could devolve power to the ward level/neighbourhood level and incorporate more equitable selection processes for all artists to participate in public art, art in the city would be truly democratic and reflective of the society it serves.
(The writer is an urban planner based in Bengaluru)