'Rangoli,' the name of our summer offering, is a form of decoration created to usher in fortune and good luck at times of celebration in India. It comprises patterns, geometric or otherwise, made with colours or with flowers. However, the premier idea is colour - although that is not so in art. In art, colour is an enhancer. It enhances an idea developed in the mind of the artist and then produced in a medium of his choice, on paper or canvas, or any other surface that he desires.

For 'Rangoli,' Indian Contemporary has selected five artists, choosing totally different paths to achieve that single goal - artistic completion.

Vaikuntam, born in Andhra Pradesh, has developed his own vision and language over the years. Since the early days his works have largely been of the earth. For his subjects, he has chosen men and women who work the fields of his beloved land, and as the years progressed, he has honed his style of work and eliminated all overt signs of modernity, all the artificiality of the world and given instead raw powerful figures, ravaged by time and the hardness of their lives. But in the creation of these figures, in the sharpening of their definition, he has created an oeuvre - stylistic, inimitable and entirely his own. And, out of his passion for the 'primitive' and his depiction of it, has emerged a stylish, new face of Andhra. Always you will see the flat background, the shiny glowing dark skin of his men and women. You will not only see the pain and labour of living in their face but also their customs - yellow paste and caste marks on forehead and chin, typical rich heavy jewellery on the women, vermillion on their palms, all intrinsic to their lives. And through it, you will sense the love that Vaikuntam has for his people - for that is what they have become.

The artist in Shuvaprasanna was born in the revolutionary firmament of Bengal. He saw around him the tearing down and the belittling of old social structures, established political ideas and with them a side lining of the old Bengal School of Art. His work reflects his pain at this turmoil. His internalization and his introspection are part and parcel of this fine artist. His still life, the Madhura series - the depiction of universal love as epitomized by the devotion of Radha and the gopis for their beloved Krishna and the universality of his love towards them - his birds and especially his crows, laughing and joyous in the grim, grey battlements of a decaying city, all point to a sadness and a desire to escape from an environment that is hurtful.
Yet through this internalization, there emerges an artist who has sought his emotional and intellectual release through his work and in the seeking has also found a fine expression of artistic values.

Jayasri Burman carries no such sadness in her work. For her, fulfillment comes from the sensuous tropical gardens in which she seats her women - or are they goddesses? For you see the same enigmatic smile on their full lips as well as the all-seeing eye that looks at you, but which you in turn can't penetrate. There are birds and animals, vehicles for the goddess, flowers, lotuses, heavy languid flora that could suffocate you with the richness of their smell. And there is the detail, intricately worked, whether in the clothing or in the design that surrounds the painting, showing the love with which Jayasri deals with her work. But these are not just 'pretty' pictures. Somwhere, there is a lurking suspicion that you are seeing Shakti - that great feminine strength - not just of endurance but also a force that can if it chooses and if it has to, destroy. This is perhaps ultimately the core and therefore, the greatest attraction in her work.

Nayanaa Kanodia, born in the bourgeoise, has worked her way out of her social milieu. Her focus has always been on l'art naïf. This art form rarely practiced in India, but much admired in many parts of the western world, has its roots set in the idea that for art to be pure it has to be rid of its complexities. It must be naïve, simple, not contaminated with the jaundiced eye of the modern world. To achieve this, there is no better method than to try and look at ourselves and our lives through the fresh, curious eye of a child. This however, is easier said than done. How does an artist who is grown up, intelligent and worldly, cast aside what is his adulthood and start looking afresh at the world? Will it be like too many stories for children written by adults - sweet and sugary and dull? If it is, then it is pseudo-naïve and so of no purpose. Furthermore, to merit the title of 'art,' it has to have a form that is more than childish dabbling. If a sense of size and proportion is not important, perspective is. It is this that Nayanaa has found for herself and in the finding, asserted her right to be considered among the more provocative and interesting artists of the present time. Her work, depicting day-to-day living is extrovert and optimisitic. There is freshness and laughter and a touch of wry humour. It is as though she has taken herself, her friends and her environment and married them with a yearning for simplicity and wonderment - and also almost as an aside, laughter - and as a result, created works of most touching and endearing art.

And finally we come to Badri Narayan. This senior artist residing in Bombay has experimented with and explored many mediums for his paintings - as also mosaic, ceramic, woodcuts and engravings. But to begin to understand his persona, one must recognize his keen, philosophic bent. Ally that with his written work, illustrated by him for children as also for adults. For an artist of his caliber, one cannot distil any single feature. All his creative senses are commingled and from them he draws his inspiration. For him, the storyteller is as prevalent in his art as his interest in mythology and philosophy - Hindu or Buddhist. His work, strictly two dimensional in its construction, has therefore many other dimensions created out of his dreams and his ideas.

There is allegory and enchantment, a flowing away as also a stillness to be seen perhaps but more necessarily to be felt. When you look at his work you see his preference for yellows and ochres and browns and shades in between. And you see water, flowing water, boats representing life's passage and the fragile vehicle riding it. There are wise men, monks, mendicants, all traversing the same path of life. And through all of them there is a tranquility, a sense of muted discourse, a distancing from the frantic life that is of our times.