It has been a long haul from the time we would see Syed Haider Raza sitting in the corner of a street in Bombay, sketching and painting the streets and houses of the localities he was drawn to. The culmination of these forays was a sizeable oil painting of Marine Drive which was exhibited at the Diamond Jubilee Exhibition of the Bombay Art Society in 1948, and for which he was awarded the society’s ‘premium prize’. Held at Cowasji Jehangir Hall, this was a momentous exhibition. The works of almost all the significant artists of that time adorned the walls: F.N. Souza, H.A. Gade, K.H. Ara, K.K. Hebbar, M.F. Husain, Harkishan Lal, N.S. Bendre, and many more, all well-known names. The award to Raza was acclaimed by nearly all. Receiving awards of this nature proved to everyone, including fellow artists, that Raza's work was publicly respected, and in the course of time this belief would assist the artist economically. This was a slow process, as it is indeed with most artists, and Raza had more than his fair share of difficulties in life. He had good friends who helped and these must be remembered for their assistance which was given without any expectations. I particularly recall a friend of his who had a small shop selling photographic goods. He generously let Raza spend the nights after he had closed for the day. Gradually, Raza became a familiar figure in the art circles of Bombay.
I recall visiting an exhibition of his work at the Alliance Française, of paintings he had made during a visit to Kashmir, which were markedly different from those he had done in Bombay. Like some of his fellow painters, Raza had been influenced by Walter Langhammer, an exile from Europe who painted in the manner of the post-impressionists, particularly Oskar Kokoschka. It was a florid, open style with an emphasis on spontaneity and a great desire to explore the capabilities of oil paint. Raza’s painting bears out this influence, and the Bombay Art Society prize that it received was indicative of the great favour that this manner of painting found with critics and the cognoscenti. It should not be concluded, however, that this style of painting became the general style at that time in Bombay—the anniversary show of the Bombay Art Society evidenced many other European influences. Among others, there was a distinct presence of Amrita Sher-Gill in Hebbar’s work, of Rouault in Souza’s, of Gaugain in Bendre’s. It was apparent that there was discontent with what was considered to be the general effete mode of so-called Indian Art. The formation of the Progressive Artists’ Group, and of other lesser-known groups, was indicative of a burning desire to energise art by whatever means. It was by no means a servile acceptance of existing European styles: it was an effort, extended over a period of time, to energise and make fresh what had become somewhat stale fare.
The difference, then, between Raza’s prizewinning painting and the new set of paintings done in Kashmir, was a much greater sense of composition and placement. It showed a move away from energised paint working its way to its own kind of formulation. Instead, there was evidence of a controlled order and a positive indication that the work of art was an entity to be considered in its own right and not on any referential or emotional values which could have initiated the work. I think that it was the recognition of this change which led Raza to receive the French government’s fellowship to study further in Paris.
It would be erroneous to imagine that he was passively accepting a modern aesthetic with its emphasis on form. Certainly he realised that a painting would have to go beyond being simply descriptive and the form of the work should be adequate and should indeed give the entity an independent existence. He was joined in this belief by Souza and Akbar Padamsee, who were also in Paris at this juncture. The three of them had an exhibition at Gallery Cruz, which brought them to the notice of critics and known collectors. A painting of Raza’s was acquired by a Rothschild and this was enough to single him out and in 1956, he was awarded the Prix de la Critique, which firmly established his position. I recall the evening when Sir Cowasji Jehangir made the announcement that Raza had received this award in Paris, in an overcrowded hall in Bombay. Huge applause and a standing ovation greeted the announcement, which firmly established not only Raza, but Souza, Padamsee, as well as other important and significant artists of this country. I believe that the moment heralded a most productive epoch, when art began to be taken more seriously by both the public and the media. This was particularly so in Bombay where I happened to be at that time.
The recognition given to Raza in Paris did not mean that he was free to rest on his laurels. On the contrary, it meant that he had to work even harder in pursuit of his developing vision. This became more difficult as his French Government scholarship was coming to an end. He faced a very difficult choice. He was expected to return home to India, but he wisely realised that he had much more to do and could pursue his vision only in Paris. It was a very difficult decision as he had now to rely only on his own resources for his livelihood. He told me that his prime concern was to remain healthy and to protect himself against the bitter Parisian winter which was soon to follow. He bought himself a thick overcoat. The second most important thing was to eat food which would sustain his body. So for drink he had Vinde Postheon in small measure! He was fortunate in being given timely assistance. A Monsieur Pati du Tai commissioned him to do some papier collé, and he also did some book designing which included the cover for a book of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories. He survived the weather, the financial difficulties, and the frugal living conditions in the pursuit of his work.
By this time (1953) he was well established in Paris. His work was being bought by Galerie Lara Vincy. Madame Lara Vincy kept a close watch on his activities, to the extent that when he went to New York on a Rockefeller fellowship, Madame Vincy sent her daughter Liliane along to make sure that he did not part with his work to any other gallery, or sell his work on the quiet! This annoyed both Raza and his wife Janine, and I remember an occasion when Liliane had insisted on coming along on a trip which we—Raza, Janine, and I—were making to the house of a very well-known collector. Liliane made some remark at which the car was stopped and she was asked to get out. Raza knew how to protect his interests.
Raza helped so many artists, including me. One of the more incredible incidents to which I was a witness occurred when I was visiting Bombay. Raza told Manuel Fernandes, a young art student, that he hoped to see him in Paris someday. Manuel took this remark more seriously than Raza intended it, and poor as he and his family were, he managed to make his way to Paris. As Janine put it, ‘I answered the door bell and there was Manuel himself!’ In the end, Raza and Janine looked after him as if he were their son. Raza made him learn French at the Alliance Française and then enrolled him at an art school. In 1960, about six months after Manuel arrived, I came to stay with Raza and Janine after my show at Leicester Galleries in London. Raza said quite casually, ‘We had decided not to have any children and look what happened—Manuel appears!’ Raza was keen to send Manuel to London where his brother Imam would take charge. I offered the small help which was needed. I have not seen such generosity often. He kept urging me to quit my job in Grindlays Bank. ‘Why do you need Grindlays? We will open our own bank,’ he would say. Finally, when in 1961 I resigned from my position at Grindlays, Raza and Janine hosted a dinner in Paris to celebrate! I cannot imagine a more affectionate gesture being shown to me.
I will not go into the subsequent vicissitudes he underwent. He had reached the pinnacle of success in Paris. This of course has its own problems. Janine had died and left him lonely and bereft. He was a suitable prey to all kinds of malevolent forces. Fortunately he was rescued by the efforts of Ashok Vajpeyi and brought back home where he received the attention he needed. It is most doubtful if he would have received this kind of attention and care outside his own country.
One final observation regarding Raza’s work: the aesthetic which he and most of us inherited from the West was based on the isolation of all the forces that comprise art. Form is paramount, as is the independence accorded to the work of art. In this view, a work of art can do without any reference to anything outside of itself. Raza may well have worked with these theses in mind, but his later work is in conflict with these, and owes a great deal to metaphysical thinking. What he has been painting is not only interrelated shapes painted with dexterity and with a great awareness of the potency of colours, but paintings evocative of certain states of being.
The formal shapes in their selected colours are inextricably bound up with the states which they evoke. There is nothing fortuitous in their creation. A mutual friend, Rudy Von Leyden, once told me that the English artist Graham Sutherland had showered high praise upon seeing one of Raza’s paintings. Raza’s achievements, the acme of devotion and persistence, are a matter of pride for all of us. Even at 93, in the last year of his life, he defied the impediments of age, facing a blank canvas with a prayer in his heart and a brush in his hand, ready for the next encounter.
