Sound And Fury
Sparks fly in his workshop at any given time and chaos reigns during the frenzied run-up to an exhibition, but the infectiously-enthusiastic ‘scraptor’-turned-sculptor Arzan Khambatta revels in the pandemonium. His imagination takes flight amidst the flurry of excitement that pervades the space, on the eve of his solo show in London, as he vividly describes his studio in an industrial estate in Sewri as “a watering hole in a mad jungle”. Over the past four years, the space has seen various avatars that reflect the myriad moods of the artist. It appears to be in slumber when he is experimenting with new materials, is dark when he is working on only one piece, but “glows like a brightly-lit beast” emitting the sound and fury of welding and grinding when a number of metal sculptures are taking shape. Surprisingly, he finds peace within this noise and clutter!

So much so, that he dubs his studio a “survival pod” and would gladly retire in it for a while if there was one hole through which he could be supplied food and water. He has even lived here for days with sleeping bags et al when there were rush jobs to be done and neither he nor his wife (and staunch support) Khushnuma could return home. “Even the welders stayed back, and work would go on in two shifts,” he recalls. Khambatta is a gregarious soul who warmly welcomes anyone interested in his work. It could be students from an art school, children intrigued by the welding process or even a curious passerby.

Meeting a variety of people, not just clients or media persons and executing the metal and wood sculptures in progress is all in a day’s work for him – in much the same manner as is shutting himself in his cabin and surfing the Internet, sharing jokes via email, browsing through books on art and design, listening to music, sorting photographs, exercising his mind with his 8000-piece jigsaw puzzle, or tutoring his son Pezanne in History, Geography and English. Quaintly enough, the one person who is unfailingly in touch with him thrice a day is his chaiwala, who knows exactly how he likes his tea – with plenty of ginger and a modicum of sugar.

Beehive Bulbs
In stark contrast, abstract artist Sheetal Gattani who is known for her textured water colours that resemble damp, flaking walls, prefers to paint in solitary confinement and even makes her own chai – which she claims is the best in town. After using rented spaces for six or seven years, the reclusive worker has been blessed with her own studio-cum-residence filled with “awesome natural light, openness, sky and air” in what has become the art district of Mumbai: Colaba. What’s even better is that it’s located next to her parents’ home, where she has her meals. The first thing you encounter bang opposite the door to her apartment is a ‘beehive’ that grew organically out of her ever-expanding collection of fused bulbs – an installation that throws light on the funkier side of an artist, whose unsmiling countenance gives her a deceptively stern demeanour. Though that might just be a look she cultivated specially for her role as art teacher in a nearby girls’ school.

Speaking of which, a small square piece of paper was Gattani’s chosen format during the years when she held that job, but now that financial success has freed her from that need and she has more time to paint, besides enough permanent space to store materials (and the discarded bulbs that friends like artist Anjana Mehra still supply her with), she has switched to oils on canvas and the scale of her work has grown correspondingly. “I can fabricate to my requirement… there is a sense of settlement and freedom I feel now,” muses Gattani, who finds the light bathing her studio very energising. “Besides, I can’t see a building in the distance, but I can see a whole lot of sky,” she adds gleefully. Strictly a studio by day, in the evening the space is transformed into a hangout for her coterie of friends – who even equip the refrigerator with their favourite snacks and beverages! She may enjoy her seclusion while painting, but Gattani is certainly no loner.