Coral people

As I sat mesmerised looking at Jason deCaires Taylor’s undersea people recently featured in the ‘Lonely Planet’, my 12-year-old said from behind my back, “oh! the coral people.” Always curious to know what his parents are upto on their laptops, he was keenly watching my face reacting to the pictures. To say the least Taylor’s work is simply amazing and out of this world.

Taylor is creator of the world’s first underwater sculpture park in Grenada, and has gained international recognition for his unique work. He has now embarked on his most ambitious project to date, to create a modern underwater art museum in The National Marine Park of Cancun, Mexico.

The Museo Subacuático de Arte (MUSA) consists of more than 403 life-sized sculptures creating artificial reefs for marine life to colonise and inhabit. Through his underwater sculptures, Taylor explores the inter-relationships between modern art, man and the environment. His work promotes the potential for a sustainable future, portraying human intervention in nature as both affirmative and regenerating.

The National Marine park of Cancun attracts over 750,000 visitors each year, placing huge pressure on the existing reefs. Taylor aims to draw tourists away from the natural reefs, allowing them to regenerate and develop. The Musuem is sited in clear shallow waters to afford easy viewing by divers, snorkelers and those in glass-bottomed boats.

The sculptures installed in 2010 have been a significant success, already drawing much interest from visitors and showing immediate exponential coral growth and fish colonisation. In less than four months, The Silent Evolution has been populated by over 4000 fish colonies, including large schools of Grey Angel fish rarely seen in the area. They have all been sited within an area of the national marine park severely damaged by hurricanes and tropical storms, where the ecosystem is in need of regeneration.

The Silent Evolution was installed near the achones Reef in September 2010. It consists of 400 life-size casts taken from a broad cross-section of society, predominantly Mexican, and from all walks of life. It forms a monumental artificial reef and is one of the largest and most ambitious underwater artificial attractions in the world, occupying an area of over 420 sq metres and with a total weight of over 180 tonnes.

This year on February 25, Taylor created a new series of pieces for another “room” in the Museum and installed five new sculptures in Punta Nizuc. The theme of the new room is Que hemos hecho (What have we done).

This Wednesday, I am looking forward to speaking to Taylor over the phone. The only part not so welcome is his 3 pm Mexico time will be my 1.30 am India time.

(The image used is courtesy JasondeCaires Taylor)

Power of the journey

The speed with which the jeep was moving it was difficult to believe that we were going uphill on a rocky terrain. Bongani and Masego, with their unsmiling faces, looked straight ahead as if trying to keep their focus on a particular tree or a stone on the path -- an effort that was constantly being frustrated by the moving vehicle.

There were seven of us – six women and one man -- in the jeep apart from Bongani and Masego and the driver. We looked ridiculous, all of us, with our helmets and full body harness, pulleys and climbing equipment. In retrospect, to Bongani and Masego our half-hearted laughter at the lame jokes we were attempting must have seemed more ridiculous. They had surely sniffed our fear. It was not as if we were the first bunch of people they were taking up.

I really do not know how I got talked into it. I am no adventure freak. I mean I like adventure but not the deliberate kinds where you prepare for months in advance to take on the elements. My adventure is more like finding a quiet corner on a mountain trek and settling down there with a book. I also get my adrenaline rush (if you can call it that) from more mundane things like hunting for a specific local craft, or anticipating the perfect pot when I sit on the wheel (just to clarify, the potter’s wheel)!

Riding on the jeep with my mind blank (maybe that’s how I got talked into it!) and heart in my mouth, was perhaps the most heavy duty adventure trip I was undertaking. We were in the midst of the Karkloof indigenous forest in South Africa on our way to experience the canopy tour that would last not one, not two but a whole three hours!

The canopy tour involves traversing from one platform to another along a steel cable suspended up to 30m above the forest floor. The tour comprises seven platforms and eight slides that zig-zag down a forested valley. Whew! And one more thing, there’s no way you can change your mind once the driver has deposited you in the middle of nowhere. The only way down to civilization is by going the Tarzan way.

So there we were, seven ‘daredevil’ women and a lone man hanging on to each word from Bongani’s instruction. He was to be our guide along with Masego and his three other companions, who had preceded us.

Words fail me whenever I think of that particular moment. Before I could tell myself this is it, I was pushed out from the platform. There was no gadget to maneuver, no breaks to apply. It was just me hanging on to the steel cable stealing glances at the deep valley below despite my better judgment. I was off with such speed that there was no time for fear to linger. It even seized to matter. I was flying!

It is nearly three years now, and if I try hard I can almost feel the ripples of, if not the same, sensation. I had locked up this experience in my once-in-a-lifetime box: happy to milk pleasure from it occasionally.

And then it happened again. I threw caution to the winds and jumped onto a little wagon which was pretty much getting set on an incredible journey that promised many discoveries. Interestingly, we were five women and one man, guided by many unseen helping hands. We, and later more would join us, were in the pursuit of what one may call our ‘aha moments’. The stuff that makes everything worthwhile.

The little wagon would zig zag through many unchartered territories both within and without. It would challenge us, make us unlearn and then again unlearn. And if I were called upon to describe what ‘passion’ looked like, I would point towards that room on a bright, pleasant December morning pulsating with an excitement ready to explode (in a good way)!

The first ever INK Conference gave many of our ideas wings that winter of 2010. And as we begin shaping INK 2011, we are learning to give our ideas landing gear as well -- so that we can fly yet again.

Monsoon bidding

The other day I read this on a friend’s fb status which was a retweet @yokoono: “Each time we don’t say what we want to say, we’re dying. Make a list of how many times you died this week.”

After having died a thousand and one deaths, I think it is time to revive my blog that was first started in a brief moment of enthusiasm in 2008. They (those in the know, I suppose) say the blog’s past its prime. That you can say what you want or what you will ever want in 140 characters. I remember I was at a seminar in a well-known media school and the speaker asked the audience if they had ever heard of the term ‘Blog’. This was in 2000 or there about. A few hands went up. Mine surely did not, but I thought to myself how nice it would be to have heard of the term and be part of an exclusive group which was attracting all eyes in the room.

I still, for most parts, remain a foreigner in this wide web world! Probably like to play it safe. Or you may say, wait and watch: see what kind of traffic is zipping across the cyber space. Most of the time, it’s an ugly traffic jam. But there are inspiring islands that I have been glad to discover. My concern was I should not add to the Internet pollution, if you know what I mean. And yet there’s this distinct urge to go on. Not as radical as running nude on the beach, but more like singing in the rain without a care in the world.

So there you are, I’ll be singing in the rain (or at least till the monsoon lasts and till we come to winter. And then we’ll think of something else) always on a Sunday. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll join in too. Till next Sunday then.