In 1985, I was invited to take part in St Louis Arts Festival. During my stay with two local artists, one of them very kindly arranged an appointment with a director of gallery, where he was showing.


While I was talking to the Gallery director he was at the same time attending other business. He was not listening to me, on realization, I closed my portfolio and asked my friend, let us go home.

So we left, the gallery director did not bother to ask, why we were leaving? My friend felt very strange the way this gallery director treated us in such a manner.

Part of my participation in the Arts Festival; I created an installation of ’15 Floating Flames’ in the Grand Basin, Central Park, St Louis. I cast huge candles of about 2 feet diameter in a candle factory, floated them in the Basin. In the evening we lit them with a blow-lamp going in the boat. The candles of this size had about 40mm thick wicks created nearly 4 feet of flames, those equally reflected in the water, as result whole Basin was lit up.

Same day St Louis main paper gave half page coverage to my other installation in a public square, which brought 9 O’clock news cameras to cover the evening installation of 15 candles.

Having seen on the main evening news, my two installations were talk of the city and it brought several hundred more people to the Grand Basin to watch he candles.

Next morning to my surprise, the proud gallery director walked to my other Installation in the square, congratulated me on the success of my installation the night before, and the media coverage it received.

To my surprise and to my sculptor host, he suggested that we could business, could I come to the gallery to talk. I said to the proud director of the gallery, No gentleman, I came to see you and did not listen to me; what was the point to meet again? The gallery director then invited me for breakfast next day at his home.

But he did not invite my sculptor friend, who introduced us was not invited to the breakfast. But he kindly drove me in his car to his house and left me there. Second surprise when I went in, the gallery director was not at home, but there was a young man working in the kitchen, he invited me in and offered me coffee, while wait for the gallery director to return.

This crafty director applied another old trick on me; when you want to make someone feel small / unimportant - keep him/her waiting for you. I had to wait for more than half an hour. I would have left, had I any transport. I had no option just to wait, but it made me realize unless I firm with this man, he would continue to play silly games.

On his return when we sat down to talk, I wanted to hear from him he had to offer me. He suggested that I would show my work in his gallery at the same time I would create a public installation to generate media attention.

It was clear that exhibitions in his gallery did not get half page coverage or covered on the main evening news. Since as an outsider I managed to generate this media attention, so he was keen that I show my work in his gallery.

Then I knew it was my time to play firm, get the best deal from this blood sucker man. During negotiations, he allowed me to push him as far I could and agreed to show my work the following year in his gallery. May be the terms he did not offer to his regular artists.

On my return to London, I wrote the blood sucker my thanks for his hospitality and put our business discussions in black and white on paper; so that we both knew where we both stood. I knew the galleries rarely give artists in writing what the terms of business would be.

Not to my surprise, I had letter back from the gallery director that he did not think we could do business. I was relieved. It would have been equally difficult for me to work with such a man. But I also understood that Galleries are not interested in the quality of your work, but whether you could create media interest and the gallery could sell and keep big part of your money.

Part of my stay in St Louis I also stayed with another artist who was university professor too, married to a fashion conscious woman painter, they lived in decent neighbour suitable to the status of a University professor. In America, status is very important.

To keep up with their status the couple did not cook at home; though they had 4 year old son at home. I was told on day one that I had to find my own food; I was thankful for their offer to host me.

When I explored their fairly large and clean kitchen; I found a whole shelf was full of books on all different kind of cooking, but no food in the fridge or the cupboards. It seemed like that it was a kind of kitchen that could not contaminated with smelly food, except coffee or occasional bread.

The university professor would have his lunch at the university and I never had the chance to discover what the lady of the house did for food. As every morning she was always in her room when I left the house in the mornings. The son was normally up when a small TV in his room came on at 7am controlled with a timing switch.

First 3-4 evenings I walked to a near by restaurant to find something to eat. What I also noticed that it was the responsibility of the professor father to give evening meal to their little son. The professor would toast couple of slices of bread, and put some peanut butter on them, as show on the TV commercials and offered the child as his evening meal. As it was the same food every evening; sure the child would not eat the same thing again and again, would cry for half an hour and would go his room and fall sleep.

Having brought up in India, where food is always cooked for each meal, I could not live without a home-cooked hot food in the evening. So one day, I decided to buy some wheat flour, few potatoes and some spices and a pot of yogurt. I asked the host if I could use their kitchen for cooking. I had to improvise some simple meal with my limited grocery. I boiled the potatoes, mashed them, added some spices and stuffed the paste in to chapattis, to make stuffed Prathas.

Though I was eating every day in different restaurants, but with out the home cooked food I always felt hungry. That evening I was looking forward to my home cooked meal. I cooked three large Prathas, with the idea that if I had left over I would enjoy one for breakfast too.

It probably was the first time the 4 years old boy, smelled spicy food in their home, he came running to the kitchen from the far corner of the house, where he was having his daily cry, and quietly sat down on the dining table. I brought the food to the table, as Indian courtesy I could not eat alone while this hungry child was sitting their patiently waiting for some share. I quietly asked him if he would like to try little of my cooking. He nodded yes.

From the first Pratha, I offered him half, and I ate half; to my surprise he finished his share before I could; and was eagerly looking for more. Hesitantly I offered him another half Pratha, at the same time I worried about the host lady, who could easily through me out of the house, as I was feeding her son with foreign food.

Well the Youngman had finished his second half Pratha drank a big glass of water felt happy and content. He even started to mumble a little song.

Before he left for his room, the little boy said to me, that I was a better sculptor than his dad. I asked him why he thought so? He said that his dad made sculptures, no body knew what to do with them, but I made sculptures one could eat and feel content.

I thanked the young mind for his compliments.

Part II.

Few years ago, I had a letter from an arts commissioning agency in UK, if I would like to put forward a proposal for a sculpture for one of the sites, it was considering to place sculptures along a trail in that city.

It just happened that this letter arrived just a day before I was leaving for India for a month; so without reading this letter carefully, but I sent a note back that I shall respond its request on my return.

On my return when I read this letter, I realized, no doubt the agency had offered to pay for 2 days of my time £500, but the suggested budget for the commission was only £5K.

I called the agency back that I could not do anything for that amount, it needed to offer me serious commission. The director asked me to give her a week or so she would come back to me.

Few days later I had a phone call from the agency director that she could increase commission budget to £10K. Well I told her I could offer them something but not a substantial piece of work. She asked for another few days.

After another week, the budget was increased from £10K to £30K. Then I told her with that was the kind of money, I could give them something back which could stand up as a serious work.

Well, we artists do need money to survive in this present day world like everyone else. But I still do not like to subsidize my work for a public space, when commissioning agency/city/company is paying everyone else a decent salary, why can’t an artist expect the same.

I also do not like to take more than two commissions in year. The commissioners must pay me enough to live and travel, get inspired for my new work, so that could create something new.

Avtarjeet Dhanjal
Originally publsihed in 'Universal Colours' Helsinki