Born in Baranagar in 1937, Arpita Singh emerged as a prominent artist in the 1960s, developing a distinctive painting practice that blends Surrealism and figuration with the narrative traditions of Indian Court painting. Throughout her career, she also explored abstraction, using pen, ink, and pastels to create dynamic lines, perforations, and textured layers on the surface. The Serpentine Gallery is now presenting the first institutional solo exhibition of Singh’s work outside India, highlighting her remarkable six-decade career.
Asian Voice spoke with artist Nilima Sheikh, a long time friend of Singh, to gain insights into her creative process, the parallels between her work in India and internationally, and much more.
How would you describe Arpita Singh’s personality beyond her artistic identity, and how has her approach to painting evolved over the years?
I could speak endlessly about this, but I must say that Arpita’s personality is deeply intertwined with her art—it is almost impossible to separate the two. Her intelligence, wit, charm, inventiveness, and wisdom are as evident in her paintings as they are in her presence. Equally, her courage and strong sense of purpose shine through in her work. Over the years, her approach to painting has evolved alongside her own growth, continually exploring new stylistic and conceptual directions while remaining rooted in the visual language of past experiences.
Can you share any anecdotes about her daily routine or creative process?
Arpita Singh follows a disciplined daily routine, dedicating her days to painting while reserving her evenings for reading and spending time with friends. Their home, always warm and welcoming, is shared with her husband, artist Paramjit Singh. Reflecting on their early years, she once offered a playful piece of advice, tongue firmly in cheek: "Don’t learn to drive cars or bake cakes—it becomes difficult to find time to work." The remark, made with characteristic wit, was a light-hearted nod to her husband's generosity and many talents, which often saw him called upon for various tasks.
How does she feel about exhibiting at Serpentine Galleries, a major international art institution?
As a seasoned and highly accomplished artist, Arpita Singh has always been reserved when it comes to promoting her own work. However, like any artist—regardless of experience—she undoubtedly appreciates the opportunity to reach new and wider audiences. I am certain that this would bring her a sense of joy and fulfilment.
Arpita often weaves together personal memories with broader historical narratives. How does she balance the personal and the political in her work?
Arpita Singh possesses a remarkable ability to transform play and storytelling into profound explorations of the lived experience of aging women and the grim realities of the contemporary world. Her work is unprecedented in the way it carries the paraphernalia of girlhood into the traditionally male-dominated realm of modernist painting. Along the way, she masterfully absorbs and employs diverse artistic techniques, using them to break free from inhibitions and challenge the constraints of restrictive conventions.
Do you see parallels between her work and that of other Indian or international contemporary artists?
Despite her deeply guarded sense of individualism, Arpita Singh holds a deep admiration for the work of many artists—both her contemporaries and the younger generation. In the late 1980s, she, along with Nalini Malani, Madhvi Parekh, and myself, decided to hold a series of consecutive exhibitions together. We chose to work with watercolours on paper, carrying our pieces with us as we travelled to different venues, setting up our exhibitions collectively while exchanging thoughts and experiences. It was, I believe, a formative experience for all of us, even though our artistic practices were—and continue to be—distinct from one another.
What aspects of Indian history and folklore do you think she brings to an international audience?
Arpita Singh is widely read, both in her native Bengali and in English. Her deep familiarity with Indian mythology, likely rooted in shared familial knowledge, has been further enriched by her own avid curiosity. In addition to mythology, she is an enthusiastic reader of Bengali and English fiction. As she herself notes, the stories of myth and lore reside in her consciousness, always waiting to resurface. Within the vast narratives of epics like the ‘Ramayana’ and the ‘Mahabharata’, countless smaller stories emerge, often taking on extended meanings of their own. This rich understanding is not merely referenced in her work—it is seamlessly woven into her pictorial language, adding layers of narrative depth and complexity.
