The Neo Art Magazine

From the mysterious fertility figure of the Venus of Willendorf to the towering, expressive statues of ancient Greece and the intricate carvings on Indian temple walls, sculpture has been humanity’s timeless companion. Each piece, whether a delicate figurine or an architectural marvel, reflects our quest to understand the world and our place within it. This ancient art form, chiselled from stone, shaped in clay, or cast in bronze, reveals the evolution of human expression—form, weight, balance, and emotion embodied in material. Today, sculptors like Tarik Currimbhoy carry forward this legacy, bridging the profound roots of sculpture with contemporary innovations.

For Currimbhoy, the journey began in Bombay, where he was captivated by the stone palaces of Rajkot, their architectural genius manifesting through structures held together purely by compression. The mastery of balance and stability he observed in these age-old palaces left an indelible mark on his creative mind. Years later, after moving to New York in the 1970s, Currimbhoy would channel these early influences into a career dedicated to sculpture and architecture, blending the organic beauty of ancient forms with a modern, minimalist touch.

This dedication to both historical and contemporary sensibilities is now showcased in Painting with Fire: Jeram Patel & Tarik Currimbhoy, an exhibition at the Museum of Art & Photography (MAP) in Bangalore. Open until November 17, the exhibition explores the transformative potential of wood and fire, presenting a dialogue between Currimbhoy’s refined, architectural approach and the visceral, bold strokes of modernist Jeram Patel.

In this conversation, Currimbhoy shares his artistic journey, reflecting on the influence of ancient forms and techniques, the interplay of movement and stasis in his works, and the powerful inspirations he draws from both his Indian heritage and global experiences.

Sreerupa Sil:  To start with, could you tell us about your journey? Where did it all begin, what inspired your art practice, and how did your childhood influence you?

Tarik Currimbhoy: Well, what happened is I grew up in Bombay. I went to Cathedral School. You won’t believe it. Anish Kapoor was actually in my same class, but I didn’t know him—no connection with him at all. Later, I went to boarding school at Rajkumar College in Rajkot. My father, who was a playwright, moved to America, and he put me in boarding school. Being at Rajkumar College, I made friends with local Babus, and we’d visit their palaces and homes, some of which were quite old and beautiful. This is where I became fascinated by the stone structures, especially those built with SME stone, all under compression. These palaces, particularly in arid zones, were constructed without mortar, using compression, which fascinated me. This architectural concept—weight distribution and compression—stayed with me subconsciously.

After school, my aunt in New York, who was a doctor, offered to sponsor my education, and I left for New York City in the mid-1970s. I went straight from India to New York, skipping even London. I arrived in the heart of the world—New York City. I enrolled at Pratt Institute, where I met my incredible teacher, Rowena Reed Costello. She had studied with Alexander Archipenko and pioneered design in America. Her teaching focused on intuition and design fundamentals: understanding that a form’s weight or lightness could be sensed through observation. I absorbed her principles—curved lines, straight lines, masses, planes, dynamics—and these principles have influenced all my later work.

 

Sreerupa: Your transition from education to a professional career is impressive. How did it lead to establishing your own design firm?

Tarik: After Pratt, I went to Cornell for a Master’s in design with a minor in architecture. While there, I received a grant from the New York Council of the Arts for a land sculpture, a piece meant to erode over time. This project gave me my first bit of press and recognition. I also did illustrations for the Cornell Sun and taught figure drawing, which helped support me. After that, I returned to New York and freelanced by doing drawings.

But, you know, as artists, we always hear the question, “What are you doing? Beautiful work, but where’s the money?” Every dollar I earned, I saved and put into creating pieces that explored compression, drawing from my experiences in Jaisalmer. I set up my first office in my grandmother’s bedroom, and to serve my clients in India, I travelled back and forth between New York and Bombay through the ’80s. During that time, I met McKinsey and did several projects for them, including designing their office in Sector 32, Gurgaon. This project became an element of Indian design and marked a turning point in my career.

Sreerupa: That’s interesting! Tell us more!
Tarik: In the 1980s, I started working back and forth between New York and Bombay, even designing a significant project in Gurgaon, Delhi, with McKinsey. This experience connected me to Indian and American clients. I also designed a serpentine wall for fashion designer Naeem Khan, who was creating dresses for Michelle Obama at the time. That wall became a hallmark of my work and garnered attention internationally. At one point, I thought I’d make money by starting a company called Sana Stone, inspired by my adopted daughter, Tarana, from Bombay. We called her Sana Tarana. But the business didn’t quite take off. My wife, a Gujarati, writes Indian fiction, so while I hoped her “Gujju instincts” would kick in, we ended up a blend of fiction and design! What I did instead was to donate proceeds from my work toward causes close to my heart, focusing especially on supporting girls. I began by donating small amounts, then started to auction off my pieces. Over time, these small donations grew—$500, $1,000, even $25,000, and I directed all of it toward causes I cared about. Eventually, this led to larger donations, like $25,000 to Pratham, an organization focused on education in India. I believe in giving back, so when my pieces started gaining value, it was only natural to continue donating.

Sreerupa: You represented India in the William de Kooning show at Central Park. How was that?
Tarik: It was a transformative experience. The show was held near John Lennon’s Strawberry Fields, and I represented India there. My wife, who was a newspaper reporter, came to meet me at the event, which introduced me to the art scene in a profound way. This was in 1979, and the experience motivated me to pursue sculpture more seriously. It’s where I met influential figures and deepened my commitment to creating art.

 

Sreerupa: You’ve shared some remarkable projects. Could you tell us more about your choice of wood as a medium and what inspired it?

Tarik: Wood became part of my practice when I encountered the Japanese technique of charring wood, a method used in traditional Japanese siding that makes wood lighter, keeps insects away, and adds insulation. Wood has always been central to life in India—from birth to death. I started experimenting with different types, like American ash and white oak, finding them perfect for their strength and texture.

 

Sreerupa: You’ve had quite a journey, and you’ve been connected to many influential people and art appreciators. How did that work out?

Tarik: One notable connection was through Chandrika Tandon, sister to the then Coca-Cola India CEO. Through her, I attended her daughter Lita’s wedding, where I met Nitin Nohria, then Dean of Harvard Business School. He was surrounded by people and, to be honest, I didn’t know who he was at first. But we connected, and he later invited me to present a piece for the Tata Quadrangle. Although the piece didn’t get approved, it was a humbling experience and opened doors.

Another important moment was meeting Lizzie Sheinfeld, a collector whose beach property in Westport, Connecticut, is situated next to works by Yayoi Kusama and Richard Serra. She commissioned a piece that faces both her house and the beach, which was significant for me, as it placed my work alongside some of the greats in private gardens.

 

Sreerupa: You mentioned earlier your recent projects in India, like the one at Bangalore Airport. Could you elaborate?

Tarik: For the Bangalore Airport’s international terminal, I designed a piece in the shape of a “namaste.” The wood is meant to rock, although it’s locked in place for safety. I burn the wood, which removes moisture and makes it lighter, enhancing its ability to move. My exploration of wood involves balancing weight and creating movement, drawing on principles Rowena taught me about dynamics.

Meeting Abhishek Poddar, who commissioned my cobra sculpture for the garden pond at MAP (Museum of Art & Photography) in Bangalore, was another pivotal moment. My cobra piece moves subtly with the monsoon winds, creating a transcendental feeling. MAP has a kinetic energy that resonates with my work, and it’s been inspiring to contribute to India’s art scene in this way.

 

Sreerupa: What is your perspective on art collectors, especially in terms of their evolution over time?
Tarik: I’ve encountered various types of collectors. Serious collectors invest emotionally in the art; they’ll visit my studio, and we’ll converse over the piece as I draw. These collectors truly live with the art—they feel connected to it, as I do. On the other hand, younger collectors are drawn to the qualities my work embodies: tranquility, transcendence, and purity. My work with wood, a new material for me, brings a warmth that resonates with some collectors, contrasting with the steel’s coldness. I’m also drawn to stone for its translucency, which adds an element of light and shadow that I find captivating.

Sreerupa: What are your thoughts on recent incidents of people attempting to deface art in museums?
Tarik: I believe that museums are sacred spaces—temples that deserve respect. I recently gave a talk at Stanford University, where I discussed Picasso’s “Guernica” as a symbol of women’s and children’s rights. However, a young person in the audience criticized Picasso, missing the point of the art’s message. Art in museums is meant to be appreciated across generations, as it represents timeless narratives. Defacing art because of personal beliefs disregards the essence of these pieces. When you enter a museum, it’s akin to entering a temple; you respect the space and the art within it. These pieces outlive us and should be cherished as they carry our cultural legacy.

 

Sreerupa: You’ve achieved so much. How do you view your journey’s trajectory now?

Tarik: My journey has been spontaneous and uncharted, and as I enter this final stretch of my career, I feel the urge to press on the accelerator. I’ve reduced my architecture practice to focus solely on art. I’m passionate about exploring new forms and pushing boundaries, especially now that my roots in India are opening doors I hadn’t anticipated. I’m showing at art fairs in Miami, London, and Hong Kong, but India holds a special place in my heart.

I feel I’m at the last hundred meters, giving everything I have. The journey has been electric and filled with discovery. I’m grateful for the chance to reconnect with India, where I hope to leave a lasting impact while continuing my exploration of form, balance, and movement.