Paritosh Sen launches The Paintings of Jogen Chowdhury. Picture by Aranya Sen

If well-produced books in English on Indian contemporary art are a rarity, such publications in Bengali are indeed the rarest of rarities. The 152-page book titled The Paintings of Jogen Chowdhury (Jogen Chowdhuryir chhabi) written by Arun Sen and published by Pratikshan belongs to the latter category. It is neither a coffee-tabler nor is it a scholarly tome designed to put laypersons off art forever.

Printed matt on paper that does not either wilt, warp or tear in a matter of moments, it has text and images in just the right ratio. Even if one cannot read Bengali, the book affords enough pleasures for the eye for it to be slowly leafed through. It has a wealth of reproductions of his works in various media tracing the trajectory of Chowdhury’s career as one of the leading artists India has produced in recent times.

So much is written about Chowdhury that he does not need any introduction. Yet his art, which creates a complex mesh of traditional and modern-day practices and sensibilities, heightened eroticism and excoriation, realism and fantasy, may remain obscure to many. Arun Sen’s text attempts to bridge that huge gap between appreciation and understanding.

Sen’s aim is to increase awareness about his work and he does this through the simple and time-tested device of charting chronologically Chowdhury’s life story and his rise and rise. Sen quotes Chowdhury quite extensively — often overwhelmingly — as he throws light on the various influences that built up his poetic sensibility which allowed him to take a closer look at corruption and concupiscence all set in a world that cannot decide if it is awake or dreaming.

The power of some of Chowdhury’s drawings and paintings may come as a surprise even to Jogen aficionados. One is again confronted by that look of inquiry in a young Chowdhury’s eyes in his self-portrait. The paintings — some may seem to be exercises in abstract — and drawings executed during his stay in Paris are of particular interest. In so well-produced a book one wishes the publishers had resisted the temptation of getting their photograph, albeit with the artist, printed on the flap.

Shankar Ghosh’s sculpture of Vivekananda. Picture by Aranya Sen

Sometimes the simplest shapes and forms can be most inviting. Chitrakoot Art Gallery’s current exhibition, featuring senior sculptors Bipin Goswami, Shankar Ghosh and Tapas Sarkar, is a case in point. One need not be a disciple of Vivekananda to appreciate the gravity of Shankar Ghosh’s not-so-large bronze, depicting the monk standing upright, staff in hand. The bodies of the women in distress and despair are racked by pain.

A couple slobbering over each other turns, in one instance, into a large mass of bronze, and in another into a supple and graceful form, both by Tapas Sarkar. His couple caught in flagrante delicto with derriere exposed may have shock value, but it is Bipin Goswami who makes a lasting impression. He creates intriguing forms that create the impression of being monumental despite being only a couple of inches high.

His lady of girth is as rotund as a sow but her dignity is unmistakable. Durga has 10 arms radiating like a halo, and the owl could be an egghead, anywhere, anytime.

The gaunt battered head has the brooding mystery of primitive sculpture. It is a small show but the quality of the sculpture cannot be underestimated.