In 2005 or 2006, I came across a newspaper clipping that featured a Japanese artist—if my memory serves me correctly—walking the streets of Ahmedabad, particularly in the Teen Darwaza area, with a mirror strapped to his back. The image of encountering one's reflection amidst the bustling market, captured in the long mirror, struck me as profoundly poetic. The concept of artists using walking as an element in their art was not new, as the founder of Arte Povera, Giovanni Anselmo, along with British artists Hamish Fulton and Richard Long, had been integrating walking into their work extensively since the 1960s.
However, this performance piece by the Japanese artist resonated with me profoundly and philosophically. It evoked the story of Buddha, who, after attaining enlightenment, entered the marketplace—a world absorbed in materialism—much like the sentiment expressed by Sage Kabir in his later poetry. In the mirror, one is forced to rediscover oneself, emerging from the Concealment of the crowd.
One of the most intriguing aspects of human nature is our obsession with Concealment. When you reflect on it, it's evident that much of our human effort is dedicated to concealing and revealing. Just as we craft clothes to cover our bodies, we engage in Concealment in nearly every area of life. We design doors and windows for our homes, often adorning them with curtains to add another layer of cover. We fashion metal skins for machines, dials for watches, bed sheets for beds, and covers for cushions. We apply paint to surfaces, makeup to faces, lids to pots, and passwords to our computers and phones. The list of items created to conceal could go on endlessly if we took the time to catalogue them.
In essence, the facades we create in our lives, the physical appearances we put on, serve to hide our actions and intentions. These "skins" reveal lives hidden behind intentional concealment layers. Throughout the development of societies, this act of hiding became a powerful tool used by those in power to control, accuse, and discriminate against others. These facades took the form of class differences, social hierarchies, traditional clothing, elaborate uniforms, and cultural celebrations—effectively hiding the more profound act of concealment underneath.
To gain a better understanding, let's consider the design of our modern urban homes. We hide our houses from the street and connect our drawing rooms with doors. We conceal the wires that bring electricity to our homes, hide the water pipes that supply water and the drainage pipes that connect to the public sewage system. We conceal everything essential to our lives to fit into our class consciousness, hygiene, or customary security threats.
Metaphorically, the cloth, with its capacity to conceal, becomes big in front of us - Very Big.
Interestingly, Concealment as an act is primarily relevant to our sense of sight; it is essentially an act of visual manipulation. Without the ability to see or without the presence of visuals, a piece of cloth holds no significance in terms of Concealment. In fact, with vision in place, it carries more meaning than its intended purpose of hiding or covering.
Ahmedabad is well known for its heritage walks, where organizations guide people through the city's 600 years of history, often through the old Ahmedabad "pol" areas. In 2006, after leaving NID, I had the opportunity to walk with a visually challenged individual from the pole area, letting him guide me along the route typically covered in these heritage walks. We started our walk from Teen Darwaza, and right after beginning, he pointed out a stone protruding on the footpath, advising me to be cautious. Although I had walked that same pavement hundreds of times, I had never noticed that stone. A few steps later, he mentioned that on the left was Nirav Bhai's sweet shop, where I could get some good sweets, and next o it was Karim Chacha's tea stall, selling the best tea in the market. These details had also escaped my notice all those years. A little further on, he informed me that an elderly woman usually sat near an electric pole and that if I could spare a few rupees, it would greatly help her, as she was the sole breadwinner for her bedridden husband. I had never noticed her either.
Different from the usual heritage walks that focus on showcasing the area's architectural heritage and the historical significance of buildings, this hour-long walk with my visually challenged guide was filled with details I had never noticed despite having my sight. My eyes were wide open, yet I could not see the humane stories he could see so clearly with his lack of eyesight.
After that walk, the concept of Concealment took on a new meaning for me, gaining a profound philosophical dimension. In 2009, when I resumed my studies at the newly formed Humanities Department at CEPT with my late friend Hansil Dabi, we created a performance art installation called Burn Doors. The project sought to explore and understand the notion of Concealment and the symbolism of cloth. This installation was also influenced by my earlier explorations of cloth as both material and metaphor, particularly in my attempts to grapple with themes of persecution.
In this art installation, we were covered in layers of cloth and sat on a white platform surrounded by burned textbooks and a closed door. From morning until evening, we remained silent, observing the passers-by or viewers.
Our silent performance art encouraged viewers to become active participants. Initially, they approached the installation as mere spectators, but as their curiosity grew, they became integral to the artwork. Whether they accepted or rejected the concept we presented, their engagement made them a part of the unfolding narrative. While the artists remained still and silent, the viewers' discussions, judgments, and reactions brought the piece to life, transforming it into an exploration of concealment and revelation. The interaction highlighted vision as an act of passive and deliberate observation, prompting reflection on the boundaries between what is hidden and what is revealed.
The cloth became a metaphor, defined by passive or conscious observation.
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