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Hindustan Times
28-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
In birth centenary year, a new Satish Gujral work
In his birth centenary year, a significant and previously undocumented, unexhibited conte drawing titled The Condemned (1957) from the Cyrus and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala family collection, now adds to Satish Gujral's oeuvre. Compositionally similar to the oil painting of the same name, which was also made in 1957, this work ranks among Gujral's finest condemnations of the effects of war and forced migration, with the kind of seething, tragic intensity that set Gujral apart from his peers. With a major exhibition of his works poised for later in the year, this work may be the newest inclusion in a positive reassessment of Gujral's position among independent India's modernists. Among all of his peers who witnessed Partition in Punjab and Bengal, Gujral's works are the most visceral. Satish Gujral returned to India in 1955 in a blaze of glory after an apprenticeship for two years in Mexico under David Siqueiros. Training under the great Mexican muralists Diego Rivera and David Siqueiros against the backdrop of Mexico's response to the years of revolution, Gujral developed a temper for the nation as subject, as well as broad, free, open-handed strokes that he adapted to both his drawings as well as his paintings. As an apprentice to Siqueiros, the most politically radical of Los Tres Grandes (the three greats, Siqueiros, Rivera and José Clemente Orozco), and greatly influenced by the murals of Orozco, Gujral's own inclination was to adopt themes of social realism. The decade of 1947-57 became for Gujral a foundational expression of his response to the violence that he witnessed during the chaos of Partition. In the midst of Partition violence, he had driven a truck bearing refugees from Jhelum to Indian Punjab, and witnessed the barbarity of a brutal conflict as it played out. Gujral's work has often been likened to his own condition, but to attribute the power of his early works to his hearing disability would be doing the artist a disservice. He painted the charming reflective portrait titled My Sister (1951) but also the agonised Partition paintings, of roiling rage, and the enactment of violence, all executed with a powerful monumentality. Writer and art critic John Berger reviewed his exhibition in London in The New Statesman. Berger wrote: 'He is as single minded as Picasso… I am certain that his exhibition should provoke both humanly and artistically as many people as possible.' The drawing mentioned at the beginning of this article, however, was made after his return to India and has its own interesting history. Cyrus Jhabvala, an eminent architect who also headed the School of Architecture in Delhi, was very active when the capital city was in the throes of intense building activity immediately after Independence. With his firm AAJ, Jhabvala not only designed public buildings like Kirori Mal College, Max Mueller Bhavan and Telecom Building, but also the sprawling Kurukshetra University, which was realised over 10 years. Jhabvala was also enthusiastic about commissioning art works for the buildings. One of the artists he chose to work with was the young Satish Gujral, who was growing a reputation for rugged originality. Gujral did not disappoint. He designed murals in relief in ceramic, painted wood, and with tiles. The actual forms drew from primitive shapes and toys, even as he imbued them with a particular grandeur. While Gujral would continue to enjoy the patronage of Jawaharlal Nehru, and made murals for important State buildings like Punjab Agricultural University, Gandhi Bhavan and the Secretariat, in Chandigarh, Jhabvala openly disagreed with Nehru on the design of Ashoka Hotel, and did not take on any government commissions during Nehru's lifetime. Jhabvala, who also acquired two small works from MF Husain, probably bought The Condemned in this phase of Gujral's career. An artist himself, Jhabvala was fascinated with the simultaneous histories that Delhi inhabits. Many of his drawings are exquisitely rendered panoramic views of the grandeur of historic monuments and the chaos of ordinary street life, as in his work, Fakhr-ul Masjid, Old Delhi. James Ivory, collaborator with Ruth Prawer Jhabvala on his films, commented that 'Jhabvala's record is highly personal and subjective and at times, very precise — as precise as the 19th century photographs taken of the same are before and after the Indian Mutiny of 1857'. Among all of his peers who witnessed Partition in Punjab and Bengal, Gujral's works are the most visceral. While he is often placed alongside the Bombay Progressives who also graduated from the JJ School in Mumbai, or the Delhi Shilpi Chakra artists who had migrated from West Punjab, Gujral probably is more akin in spirit to Somnath Hore and Chittaprosad in his reading of the catastrophic event. More muted than his oil paintings, his drawings on the subject, such as Days of Glory (1954) powerfully depict women in mourning. In The Condemned, the solitary figure, probably the victim of rape, her body taut with pain and mortification, fills the frame. In contrast to the flowing lines of the figure, Gujral added hard-edged abstract elements to the fringes of this work, thereby enhancing the sense of pervasive violence. In his centenary year, Gujral will be celebrated as much for the depth of his broad-based practice — as architect, sculptor, painter and muralist — as for his passionate depiction of the human condition. Gayatri Sinha is a curator and art historian. The views expressed are personal.
Scotsman
22-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Scotsman
Ballet Black: Shadows, Edinburgh review: 'captivating'
Sign up to our Arts and Culture newsletter, get the latest news and reviews from our specialist arts writers Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to The Scotsman, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... Ballet Black: Shadows, Edinburgh Festival Theatre ★★★★ Unlike a meal, where the various courses complement each other, a dance programme often has to cater to all palates. Ballet Black's Shadows tour does an especially good job of that, made all the more enjoyable by the current crop of dancers who each have talent dripping from every toe. Helga Paris-Morales and Isabela Coracy in Ballet Black's My Sister, The Serial Killer | Photography by ASH If you like your dance served on the abstract side, leaving room for interpretation, Chanel DaSilva's A Shadow Work is ripe for exploration. The piece takes its name from a term often used during the therapeutic process, where we delve inside the parts of ourselves we'd rather not acknowledge. Here, they are quite literally boxed away, opened only occasionally to let the light in, and the demons out. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Taraja Hudson's liquid movement is captivating, slicing between grace and gravitas as she dives into her inner psyche. Dancing alongside (as therapist or pivotal family figure, you choose) Acaoã De Castro weaves the box around her, daring her to lift the lid. When she does, the emotional baggage tumbles out, beautifully embodied by the ensemble as David Plater's striking lighting design floods the stage. By contrast, Cassa Pancho's My Sister, The Serial Killer is an exercise in crystal clear storytelling. Adapted from Oyinkan Braithwaite's novel, the piece will hit the spot with anyone who likes their narrative handed to them on a plate. That said, there is no shortage of imagination in Pancho's delivery, as she introduces us to two sisters – one who kills, the other who cleans up after her. A cast of hospital patients and workers, partygoers, and the ghosts of boyfriends past flesh out the stage nicely.
Yahoo
19-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Shadows, Ballet Black: What would you do if your sister kept killing people?
You're a young nurse, and you have a beautiful, confident sister. You love her, but there's just one problem. To date, she has murdered three boyfriends in what she insists is 'self-defence', and summoned you to clear up the mess. Just how many times can you find yourself reaching for the rubber gloves before the whole thing gets a bit much? And, now that your sis has started seeing a doctor you secretly adore, where do your loyalties really lie? Such is the simple but strong premise of My Sister, The Serial Killer, one of two premieres that make up Ballet Black's brooding new double-bill, Shadows. About 50 pithy minutes straight through, the piece is an adaptation, by BB's founder and artistic director Cassa Pancho, of the gallows-humorous 2019 bestseller of the same name by Oyinkan Braithwaite, essentially an elaborate riff on the dictum that you may be able to choose your friends, but you sure can't choose your family. With a little (ok, quite a bit) more money, Pancho might have been enjoyably able to preserve the book's bustling Lagos setting. As it is, the piece plays out in a present-day everytown, with lighting and a handful of props working hard to set the scene, along with a cinematic score by Tom Harrold. Part neo-classical, part contemporary, it plunges us straight in medias res, with Korede (Isabela Coracy, dancing and acting her heart out) steeling herself for what she knows she's about to find: Ayoola (Helga Paris-Morales), in a blood-soaked nightdress, with a fresh cadaver just inches away. Out, yet again, comes the Cillit Bang... That spirit of pithy, punchy storytelling continues, with the gentle romantic promise of Korede's lyrical little duet with the doctor Tade (Ebony Thomas) soon cruelly swept away by his and Ayoola's whiz-bang first meeting. Instantly, the potentially blood-soaked love triangle is set up, with Puerto Rico-born Paris-Morales displaying not only the come-hither physical slinkiness but also the looks to convince as this most fatale of femmes. (The work feels in many ways like a fusion-in-dance of the neo-noir film Basic Instinct and friendly-serial-killer telly series Dexter, which can only be a Good Thing.) There's also an impeccably staged party scene, with Ayoola coolly poisoning a fellow in a boudoir while a clutch of revellers groove seductively in the room next door to Toots and the Maytals' 1968 reggae classic 54-46 That's My Number (a song I've particularly loved ever since winning a battle of the bands with it, though that's a story for another time). And Pancho also capitalises on her art form to serve up two melodramatic but still gripping nightmare scenes, which lay bare Korede's efforts to process her and Ayoola's actions. Ultimately, it is the evident closeness of the two leads' relationship that carries this outlandish story plausibly along and keeps you hooked. It's enjoyable pulp fiction in the main, though there is a deeper point at its core: if a beloved family member did something horrific, what would you do? (Rating: * * * *) The opening piece, A Shadow Work, is about the same length as My Sister... but feels longer. The British debut of New Yorker Chanel DaSilva, it delves into the titular works of 'shadow work', the Jungian practice of therapeutically laying bare the subconscious. I enjoyed Taraja Hudson's lead, vividly exploiting DaSilva's protean choreography, and Acaoã de Castro as the psychological Virgil to her Dante; neat use, too, of an old-school document box as a metaphor for suppressed emotions. What it lacks is a sense of progress, of really going somewhere – by the end, the promise of the concept and earlier scenes has rather fizzled, however capable the collective performances. (* * *) Still, treat it as a mood-darkening amuse-bouche for the knife-wielding main event, and you're likely to have a good evening. The Hackney Empire audience certainly did, never mind the fact that the entire bill was somehow cobbled together while the company was unenviably between bases. Not for the first time, hats off to BB. At Hackney until March 15, then touring until July;
The Guardian
19-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Like seeing an old friend': Oyinkan Braithwaite on My Sister, the Serial Killer becoming a ballet
One dead body. Two sisters. Two pairs of yellow gloves. The wiping away of the evidence; one sister efficiently, the other lazily. And in the background, an enigmatic score. So begins the Ballet Black adaptation of my debut novel, My Sister, the Serial Killer. I have dreamed of it coming to life via various visual mediums – film, TV, as a musical, as a play. Not once did I consider it as a ballet production. And not because I don't love the medium – in a former life I joined a ballet school, which we won't dwell on here – but because, in creating this story, I focused heavily on dialogue and a ballet is essentially wordless. Still, when I was approached by Ballet Black, I was intrigued. Ballet Black is a company founded by Cassa Pancho, with the mission to showcase diversity on stage and promote inclusivity for Black and Asian content. And perhaps, because of that, the perfect company to handle my story, which is set in Nigeria – a majority black environment. Cassa directs the adaptation and her vision for it is clear. The plot is truncated, keeping only the elements required to get the story across in a 50-minute production – the murderous femme fatale, the put-upon sister, the doctor caught between them, the endless male victims and the knife at the heart of it all. The first time I watched the performance, I was moved to tears. Ayoola, played to perfection by Helga Paris-Morales, entered the scene, and it was like seeing a friend from decades past. I would have known her anywhere. Certainly, there were differences – this Ayoola is more 'psychotic' – but the way she carried herself, the way she twisted her waist, the little shakes of her hips, the long, slow smiles, the playfulness, the teasing; all Ayoola. During her pas de deux with Dr Tade, played by Ebony Thomas, she allows him to feel in control, to pull her closer, and reach for her as she dances on pointe around him. Then there's Korede, the protagonist in my story and in this ballet, and the more complex of the two sisters. Korede is played by the gifted Isabela Coracy. Isabela takes the character and illustrates her seriousness, her vulnerability and her pain. The agony can be seen in the way she hugs her body, and hunches her normally elongated form. Cassa was particularly insightful in giving Korede's demons life via the talented dancers that surround her, tug at her, torment her and pull her down into their harrowing depths. And the team's attention to detail is truly impressive. One example: Ayoola's poisoning of her lover's drink perfectly synced to the beat of Toots and the Maytals' 54-46 Was My Number. And they nod to the source material's culture in the inclusion of Fela Kuti's Water No Get Enemy, a wonderful accompaniment to the original score by composer Tom Harrold which managed to be jaunty, mystical and compelling. I also thoroughly appreciated the authentic look of the Nigerian police uniform, courtesy of costume designer Jessica Cabassa. My Sister, the Serial Killer is part of a double bill with Chanel DaSilva's A Shadow Work, a more abstract piece saturated with strong routines. There is so much of note – the thumping/fluttering of hands to chest, the helicopter spins the dancers perform, the arms swinging in pendulum style, the fixed smiling faces that could not be any creepier, the futuristic score and the silent, musicless communication at the centre of the piece. It is a work that explores the struggle when trying to come to terms with one's inner demons or alter ego. There is certainly a link that can be made with My Sister, the Serial Killer. It goes without saying that I am highly biased towards this adaptation but I was not alone. Behind me, I heard a woman mutter 'psycho bitch' at one of Ayoola's actions. And I often caught the odd gasp. My husband, who is as familiar with the ins and outs of My Sister, the Serial Killer as I am, laughed several times. The performance was engaging, cheeky, funny, an excellent way to spend the evening with family, friends or even on your own – it won't matter because you'll be sucked in by the narrative and the bodies pirouetting effortlessly across the stage. At Birmingham Rep on 27-28 March, then touring
The Guardian
16-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Ballet Black: Shadows review – killer moves in a dance adaptation of murderous blockbuster
Putting on rubber gloves with your pointe shoes and cleaning up a crime scene is an unusual start to a ballet. But Ballet Black's artistic director, Cassa Pancho, has chosen Oyinkan Braithwaite's hit novel My Sister, the Serial Killer as the source material for her new ballet, and blood-spill is inevitable. Pancho founded Ballet Black in 2001 and has commissioned numerous choreographers over two decades but very rarely made work for the company herself. Here she shows real directorial nous (and has recruited associate choreographer Jacob Wye and rehearsal director Charlotte Broom to help generate the steps, along with the dancers). The novel is a savvy choice: a zeitgeisty title but also a story with a love triangle and high-stakes drama. While keeping dark comedy and light tone, Pancho has slimmed down the plot. Whole characters are lost, along with some nuance and backstory – the serial-killing sister in question, Ayoola (Helga Paris-Morales), comes off as a straight-up psychopath whereas in the book more layers materialise – but it's all done with purpose. The same is true of the choreography itself, where everything has a function driven by the drama, such as the short scene showing Ayoola and older sister Korede (Isabela Coracy) bonding over a groove, establishing the connection that keeps Korede clearing up her sister's mess. Coracy is great in the central role, torn between sibling loyalty and her own desires and demons, who come crowding the stage in corporeal form. There's skilful support from Ebony Thomas as dashing doctor Tade. The other half of this double bill isn't as strong, but it's interesting nonetheless: the UK debut from New York choreographer Chanel DaSilva. A Shadow Work is based on the idea of the shadow self, the parts of our personality we repress. In this case they are trapped in a box held by our protagonist (Taraja Hudson, a pleasure to watch), who is on a journey to acceptance. It's all very clear, the company looking disciplined, and DaSilva has a nice line in recurring motifs, as when Hudson softly raps her fist on her chest, like a racing heart. Or thrusts her arms above her head to make a sharp peak, which could be a sign of prayer, protection, resolve or even imminent violence. The relationship between Hudson and her 'shadows', danced by the ensemble in black, contrasting with Hudson's white, is in turn fearful, playful and sympathetic. The choreography is very precise but it feels as though there could be another potential layer to get stuck into; perhaps that feelingis exacerbated by Cristina Spinei's score, which is all very much of a single timbre and would benefit from the texture of live instruments. But there's a solid idea here from DaSilva, even if it can't match the audience appeal of a sweetly smiling serial killer. At Birmingham Rep on 27 and 28 March, then touring.
