Lines in various forms have left an indelible impression on my mind since I was born. There was the umbilical chord which connected me to my mother. There was our family astrologer who read my fate-line and drew up my 'Janma Kundali'. There was my cradle tied with jute ropes to two mango trees. There was my bloodline and the sacred thread which made me feel strongly that I was rooted to my family, my caste, my village.
Wire, thread, rope - lines in different forms - used in a variety of ways conveyed images that influenced the trajectory of my life.
A train chugging across a bridge crossing over to the other side behind a thicket of bamboos. A flock of birds perched on the telephone line that ran parallel to the railway track. A forest of lilies in a pond enticingly smiling at the world, while herons stood in knee-deep muddy water on one leg like sadhus preaching silently
the message of renunciation.
These images have propelled me to cut loose from the threads that kept me bound within the confines of my family, my caste, my village.
Pulled by an invisible rope, I found myself in the thick of an urban conglomerate where the life is perpetually caught in a mad race. A high voltage power transmission line runs through the metropolis where every person appears high-strung, charged and a bundle of frayed nerves. The city lives on a short fuse, ready to
explode at the slightest pretext.
Situation is volatile everywhere - on streets, in public places and even in individual homes. What makes it more horrifying is that everyone is aware of this. So, all are looking for cover and to insulate themselves from the inevitable.
My paintings are the result of the turbulence I have seen, within myself and outside. I have felt the 'Livewire' all around me. A high-voltage wire that runs through all of us, around us. I realized that I was alive when near paralysis struck the civil society whenever a calamity struck, whether it was an earthquake, man made calamity or the rampage by selfproclaimed moral police.
Conformity reminded me of the bondage I first felt at the time of my thread ceremony. How can I, a person born into the 21st century, be tied down to customs that sought to perpetuate the hierarchy, the oppression and exploitation, I asked myself.
So, I broke loose and became a 'Livewire'. I am sure, you will feel the current when you look at my paintings.
Foot Loose Pravin
Nachiketa Desai
Pravin Mishra's paintings bring you the dreams of a small village kid. These dreams are full of vibrant colours that fill life with positive vibes.
Pravin wants to share with the world the happiness he had felt in his childhood. There is a refreshing fragrance of childlike innocence in his paintings. They remind of the fresh wet scent that mother earth oozes after the heaven showers the first rain drops on the parched and thirsty land.
In a burgeoning world of concrete jungles, auto emissions, cacophony of the city, mad race for money and survival, Pravin's paintings sooth frayed nerves and make you relax.
Pravin re-discovered his pristine childhood while painting. He was torn between his child-artist self and the pressing ambitions of an adult him trying to make it big in this global consumer market place.
His training at the National Institute of Design had equipped him well with the skills to strike it rich. He clicked the mouse, tapped the keys, and toyed with the colour pellets of CorelDraw and Photoshop to churn out chic promos for the latest automobiles, mobile phones and other such toys of the rich and the affluent.
Money poured in thick and fast, but the artist in him choked. When the breathing became impossible, Pravin shut himself in his terrace room for a prolonged session of looking within. What was he doing? Why was he running so recklessly, for what? Where had the child gone whose tiny pencil strokes used to elicit encouraging words from parents and teachers?
The child won over the adult. Pravin began to paint. He spent all his savings on paint, brush and canvas. His aged parents watched aghast at their crazy son's frenzied forays with the paint and brush. The result
was astonishing.
His school teacher was impressed when at seven, Pravin drew a train that chugged past his village home every evening behind the bamboo thicket. What impressed the teacher most was little Pravin's of the bamboo covering the moving train.
Pravin's father, a fire-fighter, with limited resources, and a family of eight to support, was not in a position to indulge his youngest son with expensive art materials. Egged on by his school teacher, Pravin started painting number plates of two-wheelers and giant-sized letters on sky-rise chimneys.
After finishing high school, Pravin got into the Government College of Art, Kolkata. He started tutoring school kids on week-ends and take up stray assignments of painting.
Pravin earned to learn skills that would help him make it big as a commercial artist. He joined NID at Ahmedabad for his post-graduation and worked at a local advertisement agency.
He became a dream merchant, churning out chic advertisements of consumer goods. The earthquake that rocked Gujarat in 2001 shook Pravin to the core. Was not an artist a responsible citizen? Pravin, along with some of his fellow students of NID, worked for the rehabilitation of the earthquake victims of Kutch.
Another shock dealt a rude jolt to Pravin's conscience in 2002 when Gujarat saw a spate of ethnic violence. Pravin captured the trauma and dilemma of the man on the street in his three-minute animation film, Dharamveer. The film won the 'National Critics Award' at the Mumbai International Film Festival 2004. In 2009, Pravin was awarded 'Best Documentary' for his film on bonded labourers- 'Azadnagar Gulamnagar'
at Ahmedabad international Film Festival.
"There is an urgent need today for positive feelings. Today's life is stressful. There is mad race for survival and success. Through my canvas, i promise you a slice of life. I try to capture a bit of sunshine in my painting," Pravin says.
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