LIFE STUDY - COLLEGE OF ART - DELHI

This section is the documentation of the "Study Work" done by students of third year, Applied Art of College of Art, New Delhi in the year 2009. All works done on paper. The display was done in the corridor area of the college. I was the Lecturer for this particular study session at that time. Tried to make it more experimental and out of the box session in art for these students. There was no boundation with the material or the technique used. The performance of each student was stupendous. One hell of a great class.

During the entire three week of study session with all the three sections of second year Applied Art, I was totally thrilled to see the enthusiasm and the eagerness of all the students to learn new approach towards the subject matter. I didn't have to push them much harder. Just guided them to make things in a new and better way. They played with the space and the material to their utmost ability.

  

THE DRIFTWOOD SONG

THE DRIFTWOOD, pen and ink on paper, 2016.

Living under the shadow of pale flickering light of uncertainty is troublesome for me. Somehow can’t accept the life of a loser. Tried to hide behind the make-believe world of mine, alas it all fallen apart like a pack of cards. What a blast of joy occurred amidst the morons. They just want to compel me to surrender my tools of glory. I surrender none. Love my life for its driftwood grit. The driftwood in me might fail at last, but still travelled a lot many paths of dignity on my own. I have being a damned one for so long to cheer for anything beautiful like you. Let me wear the crown of love forever. Lately it’s falling off with envy, so fragile. Fear not to end up a *wasteheart. Abandoned by my own, kept drifting away with the flow of time through the murky labyrinth of graceful sorrow. Kept peace at heart somehow. I never choose this life of driftwood on my own. Abandonly alone and left over in this ruthless world, I kept alive myself as a fearsome driftwood. My wall of crudity let me survive through the paths full of lies and hatred. Lost as a wanderer from the very beginning of this life, saved only by the driftwood song. I still want to celebrate life and be loved. I may be driftwood for the world, but for her I want to be alive. Till now life was an unholy alliance of angst and deceit.

   

Compelled by my lust for life, I introduced my heart to this ravishing mystery called love. I firmly resist myself from falling for it. This time only, life has offered me a second chance to surrender my driftwood heart on her innocent and tender feet. At last, this driftwood heart searches for a home. Tried many a times to touch her soul with my fragile lyrics. She cares for none, she seldom looks towards me. Wait eternally for that magical glance. Expect not to return to tearful days of loneliness for the heart. Her innocent beauty soothes my troubled senses. Yet very aware, this momentary engagement of senses will end up with a tearful farewell…may be! Should I hold her hand? Or just let her pass by. I count my steps with utmost care, not to fall into a self-praised trap. Wish, I live to see her thousand times in thousand lives. She is the charm of my life; only she can bring hope to this driftwood’s sullen heart

Fear she will deceive me; she has her throne placed high up there. She loves to live in her glass castle, surrounded by ogres and selfies. She has veiled her mind with arrogance. Her fickle mind captures no image of mine. Ignorance has enveloped her heart and mind. She let her mind get corrupted by her youth and beauty. Feel silly, while chasing an unbound mystery of great desire. My heart still craves for that heartless beautiful breath of hers’. That foolish, carefree driftwood heart of mine still wants to see her beside my death bed. Her thought itself brings innocent cheer to that bleeding and ruptured lump of flesh of mine, called heart. I know I can die thousand times, for that crazy innocent smile. Hope one day she will trace my soul, at last. But my heart is torn apart with the belief, that love is a falsified notion of well-being. Still want to have these words for her on my shriveling lips while on my death bed…MAUT KE AAHOSH MEIN BHI UNHEIN YAAD KARTE RAHEIN!

That beautiful clarion smile on her face challenges all reality. Sometime I assume she is unreal. But the very next moment she acts as the symbol of pure divineness then and there. Can I hold on to my life for few more precious moments to glance on that charming and passionate sight of devilishly soulful love to cherish? I might turn into a *losenger for life. All I want is her presence among my creations in this earthly abode of mine. Not acting selfish, I suppose? Will she be there to spread love and care among the distorted and absurd creations of mine? Will my creations be brought alive with her sultry lips? Will they be blessed with her kiss of life? And truly become eternal. Will she touch upon the unknown? Or the driftwood will always be followed by the *merry-go-sorry story?

Saw her last night with my eyes closed and felt her sensuous body troubling my bold black lines on that cramped up paper. The broad big brush of mine just stopped to gaze at her sultry moves. The paper shriveled with her touch. That jealous warm body of hers’ writhes with desire on my naked lonely white canvas. The love struck body rises like a phoenix of creativity amidst all the dark clouds of despair. Those crazily sensuous eyes of hers’ pushed my palette beyond all imagination. The colours become truly alive and engaging, I owe it to her. Tried to catch her breath with my breath, but she is not to be a docile one. Chased her wildly fragrant flowing hair drawing upon my face ruthlessly. Etching my face with her lustful touch. Again I failed to embrace her with my dreadful cracked up stupid words. What a loser I am. Cry out my soul alone, away from her loveless glances; somewhere in the dark damp corner of heartbreak.

Wow, she keeps intriguing me with those soothing lyrical words and acts. She is the rainbow of hope for this driftwood soul. Why I still desire her, is a flipping notion of solace may be. Or probably she is the most desirable one. Or simply my senses are too drunken up and scared to live alone with her rude parting song. I keep standing there at the edge of my heart endlessly, to sing the last song of this driftwood sojourn. Made a solemn promise to myself, to dedicate my life to live with those short and sweet carefree memories of hers’, which I’m blessed with. I cry out for the last time, be mine or else erase me from this world of yours, forever! Suddenly she glanced back at me and just burn down my entire lionised ego. She took some time to tenderly cleanse my heart with her love lit angel eyes. I gasped for breath, what a sight to behold!

Somehow courage myself to ask her name at last…she answered with her surreal voice, but can’t reveal it now. She pretends to be there somewhere…but not yet, not yet, not yet!

*Wasteheart - Used to express grief, pity, regret, disappointment.

*Losenger - A flatterer, a lying rascal.

*Merry-go-sorry - A mixture of joy and sorrow. 

By: ©Soumen Bhowmick, September 2017. 

       www.soumenart.blogspot.in

THE MAN WHO KILLED GOD

The Man Who Killed God by Soumen Bhowmick, pastel on paper 2013.

Some call him God, some Bhagwan, others have Allah on their lips.Chanting the almighty's name, praying to him is always a mode of solace for our troubled souls. Don't know where God lives. Just some man-made structures to accommodate his presence on earth. Some say he resides in our heart or to be precise our soul bears his shadow.

From the time mankind step into this world, he was followed by God in his every breath. This so-called immortal unknown entity was always there amidst us. Can't deny the truth that we mortals fear him from time immemorial. From the cave days to the present days of digitised existence. 

One day the mortal being took upon himself the challenge to kill his creator, the GOD himself. Well it was not just an idea in vague, but a real life scenario.We all seem to know that man who sacrificed his soul to have the blood of God in his hands. He is born to serve the other side. The dark side, where the soul seized to exist. He planned it from the very beginning to cut God into pieces. That man took upon himself this despicable act to serve the tyrant's purpose of banishing sanity from this world. God knew that his creation is drawing the blade to cut through him. Death for God was foretold by the occult. 

The man who killed God is very dear to all of us. Do you now him? Dig little dipper inside your heart and you will find him hiding there. Protected by the Cocoon, of your ignorance and lust. He exists in your blood and bones, sometimes rattling your senses to make his presence felt. The killer is suave, good looking, smells good and acts really smart. But he is dangerous to his toe-nails. The killer is known to us by many names. He always strikes his targets with impunity. He has no remorse for his unfortunate victims. He gets fanatic if he can't commit a killing. A tyrant from every angle. But catching him is another ball-game. He is a master of disguise and very shrewd. Entering the carcasses of humanity within a split second. He loves to draw his evil strength from the living beings, although he himself is a soulless phantom. 

The day I saw God lying dead on a busy street near my house, I knew it, that the killer has done his job well. The fragile body of God was lying there like a dead leaf. The ribs protruding out of the rib-cage, hunger was flashing in his teary eyes, clothes torn apart, a face erased of any sign of sanity. Just few among the humans gather around him to remorse. Some even clicked selfie with the lying dead body of God!  
God seemed to have no pain while being killed. God accepted death with a big smile on his face. He was just hungry for some food and was looking for a shelter. God accepted death without any resistance of whatsoever form. So sharp words were exchanged between God and his killer. No chilling cry for help. No help came either. Tears were seen running down God's cheek. Those drops of pure bliss were left behind for the killer to rejoice his devilish act. 

During those last moments of life and death, God only asked to be buried or burned with some care and respect. He never got his due respect during his journey on earth. He was always ignored and tortured for his honesty and Godliness. 

By now we all search for the killer. Not a corner was spared to hunt him down. But fools we are...the killer is right there among us. So smart and faceless. Absolutely fearless of his dastardly act on earth.

Do we know the killer of God yet?


By : Soumen Bhowmick, Jan 2017.

   

SILLY TIMES

GOD, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

Why I call it “Silly Times”, for the simple reason being in a time and era which compels me to keep my logic and sanity in a safe locker or in a secret treasure hole. I even call it the “DIVINE TAMASHA” played by mortals. Silliness is so common these days; it has become a norm. We humans are dealing with some many emotional situations, internal turmoil’s, political nonsense, social uprisings, economic insecurity, terrorism, war, the never ending quest for success and glorification of our egos. The list is endless. Silliness is binding us all like a common human bond.Silliness is now taking the cult position in our society. Silliness permeates from every breath of our existence. Killing people in the name of caste and religion, killing for the sake of saving honour, kill someone for his skin colour, hate someone for his achievements, ban the food you don’t like and the list goes on and on. We create immense space for our silliness. Mankind now thrives on silly acts. Our ideas are growing out of silly argumentative paradigms. Silliness sometimes find place among the curious among us. But to be curious is more to do with discovering the unknown and not to produce hatred or animosity among humans. The general attitude now, towards silliness is a very comfortable, taken-for-granted acceptability.

SING MY SONG, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

JOKE NOW, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

When you have to run away from accountability, you tend to hide under the garb of being silly. When watchful eyes and mind tend to react numb to silly acts amidst us, then the collective strength of humanity comes under questionable existence. Silliness is now touching insanely new heights. Silly acts of hatred and violence are engulfing the world from all sides. Can human race survive this onslaught of silly triumphs of falsehood of our journey in this world?

ASS, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

Why we aspire to act silly? Why we embrace silly attitudes of each other? Is the human mind now auto engaged to silliness around it? Is being silly help us to create an escape route from our challenges in life? Do acts of aggression, genocide and hatred create the perfect silly cocktail for zealots? Do our political masters intentionally serve us silly dreams? People, who trample upon others with silly acts, will always be punished by time. 

“MEN ARE NOT PUNISHED FOR THEIR SINS, BUT BY THEM” - Elbert Hubbard.

MASKED DIGNITY, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

Silly acts lead to chaos in this world. They ultimately grow out of their own limitations and create a bigger chaotic spectrum of absurdity. Chaos is ever more present in our world to direct our action towards new historical silliness. Being silly is reality of this age.

“CHAOS IS THE SCORE UPON WHICH REALITY IS WRITTEN” - Henry Miller.

PEACE WITH LOVE, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

All these drawing on paper are inspired primarily by silly incidents in our daily existence. These are my soul wrenching for some momentary visual interpretation of silly memories and the urge to them visually transferable to other sensible humans. The world full of silliness acts as a catalyst for these assembly of images. As an artist I might be the best example of silliness. I try to market obnoxious silly ideas through mere black and white drawings, with a very silly notion of honesty and justice. Knowing very well in the deepest corner of my heart, that the world will not accept this array of bitter reflection of itself. What I try to portray with this series of drawings is known to all. I am not trying to preach anything, but pushing my luck among the silliest among us. Can we accept silliness as acts of selfishness? “THE SELFISH MAN LOOKS INTO THE WORLD AS HE LOOKS INTO HIS MIRROR, ONLY TO SEE HIMSELF” – James Lendall Basford.

HIDE AND SEEK, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

What I offer here, are just momentary thoughts of change and analysis of our collective predicament. The black and white medium is a very brutal and honest way of transforming our rough and transitional world on paper. The lines are bold, so as to make the image more forceful and dominant. And in that way, the idea itself becomes stronger to reconcile for the viewer. This style is embraced to support the creative statement of the artist. 

One single visual is quite enough to make our consciousness more answerable and attentive towards the silly and nonsensical dilemmas of all humanity in this world.

SING IT, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

I RULE, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

DIVINE TAMASHA, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

RIDING THE CHAOS, pen and ink on paper by Soumen Bhowmick 2016

© Soumen Bhowmick, Aug 2016.

BLACK vs WHITE

A constant battle between the Black and White world of art. Presenting here a bunch of drawings showcasing this war on paper. Who is more dominant is it WHITE or BLACK? Who demands more respect from the Artists? Who is gives more strength to our work of art? All these dilemmas are displayed in this video presentation of my works in B&W. Works are not actually from a particular series or year. They are compilation of years of work on various themes or emotional turmoils of mine. 

All work created by Soumen Bhowmick over a period of time, on paper of various size and make.

GASSED - BHOPAL 84

After more than 30 years of waiting nothing, absolutely nothing for the BHOPAL GAS TRAGEDY victims. Verdict was given in a concocted manner, making it more tragic and painful for the victims of this human error. 1984, I was a school student at that time. I still remember Raghu Rai’s  B&W photograph of the buried dead child’s face on the cover of India Today magazine. Very haunting and horrific picture of modern India. Unborn fetuses were killed and chemically destroyed inside the womb, kept as evidence in laboratory jars. So horrible were their state of deformation that even god will cry for them. Hundreds of people died, deformed in the most horrific way, blinded, their bodies were marked with the most painful memories of a careless and criminal company; UNION CARBIDE. 

It was a scene from a chemical warfare, played in our own motherland. Cruel joke played by a multinational company on the face of India. Children, women, some of them pregnant, old people, men and cattle’s were sacrificed at the alter of development. Indians, mostly poor and helpless group of people were punished for no fault of theirs. People screaming for help at the dead hour of night, running, pushing each other, crying. Holocaust revisited! So much noise was made after this tragic incident, but except for some peanuts in the form of monetary relief, no concrete help was given to the victims. 

My responsibility as a creative soul raises few questions through this series of drawings titled ‘GASSED’. Like the Nazis did to the Jews during the World War II, a foreign firm did this to the people of India and the Govt. of India just kept quiet and even helped the main accused, Warren Anderson of UNION CARBIDE escape from India. 

But my drawings will speak the rawest language of pain and despair on behalf of millions of Indians. Injustice was done and still continued on the victims of the gas tragedy. Any rational and humane soul will raise his voice against this barbaric act. I sought the way through lines on paper, drawings of the macabre is what you going to observe now. And let your heart feel and your mind think about this chemically altered face of human beings.

SUMMER ART CARNIVAL 2016

10 days of creative madness right in the heart of Delhi. National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA), New Delhi was the venue for this panting workshop for children of various age groups. I was responsible for the middle age group, as an Art Instructor. What an experience. Bombarded each day with new creative challenges by all these young geniuses. For me, I just wanted to give the kids as much freedom as possible. The brief was simple, freak out with lines, forms and colour. Just be yourself while expressing on paper. Experimented this time with these huge brown paper panels (5 in total). An idea embraced by one and all there. It was a huge success. Let the young participants draw their heart out with just charcoal. Only from memory, no particular reference point was given to them. India and its cultural diversity was the central theme for the 5 panels. I stressed more in learning drawing. 

They made a creative history there at NGMA Delhi. Fabulous results as one can see the works here.

Thanks to NGMA, New Delhi for all these photographs. 

Video by Soumen Bhowmick 2016.
Video Editing by CHOTAMOTA Productions.

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MANCOW

MANCOW 

By Soumen Bhowmick

A series of drawings on paper, to support and raise voice against the recent incidents of intolerance and communal killings in India. My art to support all those intellectuals and writers who got killed and threatened for their righteous thoughts. Terrorising free thinking citizens and even killing them is a dangerous fascist development in our society. 
With every passing day the is getting squeezed down by intolerance. Religious belief, food, dressing and even language intolerable to the narrow minded zealots in this world. Our way of living is questioned, ridiculed and even attacked by a few handful of murderers and so-called upholders of faith. Individual's ideas and speech is getting crushed under the nefarious regimes. 

This series of drawings, is there to support freedom of expression in the world and especially in India. The recent Dadri brutal lynching (2016) of a 52-year-old blacksmith Mohammad Akhlaq on suspicion that he had killed and eaten a calf, is also the prime source of this drawings. What an individual eats or wears or believe in is not to be politicised. Let alone to be a cause of death. Why a man should be killed or a rationalist to be murdered for his food and thoughts. Freedom to life and speech is an individuals' right in any democratic setup. Are we turning into a barbaric state of dumb headed morons. Murderers are respected and elected to rule us. Where are we heading?

Kill any body who is different, who stands on his or her own ground of beliefs and freedom. Kill the very idea of democracy, kill every bit of sanity around you. Kill the soul and the free thinking mind. The terror is spreading deep in our society. The entire nation is living in fear. Isolation of beliefs and fear of ban is running high. Religion and caste still divide us in India. They are used as tools of divisive politics by the political masters. The deteriorating political environment in India drives me to create these drawings as a social visual commentary. 

An "essay in lines" to awaken the ignorant.

HEAD TALE

HEAD TALE is my second solo art exhibition, held in Triveni Gallery of Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi. It went on for 11 days. From 15th to 25th March, 2014. All the works were done on paper of various size. They were mostly pen and ink on paper. One work "Celebration", was done on hand made heavy grain paper, using pastel and conte.  

I started working on this series of drawings and paintings on paper based on my personal experiences. Street urchins forced to perform acts of jugglery in front of the public just to earn a piece of bread (roti). Even doing terribly difficult and fantastic acts of acrobatics. Small kids with an innocent smile on their face doing the impossible. Farmers committing suicide, with debt to follow up by the helpless family. Migrants with punctured dreams, homeless on the streets of our cities. All unsung souls who die, trying to achieve that minimum sanctity of humanness. They are my inspiration, my ‘HEADS’. And I am telling their tale of hope, despair, failure, struggle, deceit and tears. All these heads are reflecting the soul of our present society. The contemporary dilemmas of man kind are vividly portrayed here.

The series ‘HEAD TALE’ stands on an understanding of daily exploration of our soulless journey towards attaining the truth. “It’s a small world”, its an old joke, but you wouldn’t want to paint it. Or rather want to paint some crucial moments from its vastness. The ‘HEAD TALE’ is a visual traces of imperfect frameworks for negotiating the complexity (and perhaps meaninglessness) of existence – a symbolic vastness within the greater vastness of this physical world. It’s a galactic pile-ups of reality – meditating prisms to which someone, somewhere, is still clinging. The elements facilitate engagement at all levels of consciousness, being provocative in nature.

‘HEAD TALE’ series is based on our inner turmoil and its struggle with various elements, influenced my forces of society, norms of survival, rules of coordinated etiquette’s, economic pitfalls, political lies, back stabbing idiots, race to success…what not may be the right question.

One might ask why only heads…well, the head including the face is the real mirror of our soul. We read hundreds of faces in our daily life. Still we remember few, sometimes none. The head or face strikes you first and has its own story to tell. ‘HEAD TALE’ is an assemblage of strange contradictions of contemporary life. Some faces will remind you of the friend you just met on the streets or may be the stranger who just made you laugh with his uncommon acts. Among millions of faces, some are truly memorable, for reasons unknown to us. Just too hard to erase from ones memory. Why we treasure them, is truly mysterious. That unknown connection maybe known as human bonding, so prehistoric yet surviving the troubles of our time. This element of mystery make our life naturally lovable. That slight twist of eyebrows, that cunning smile, the pale look, happy faces hiding everything beneath them, the anger blowing hot faces, old and tampered faces and so many of them. Scratched, curved, chiseled, painted, pampered, injured, glorified and drowned in pain, faces unlimited. These ‘heads’ are common faces with uncommon stories carved on them. 

Raw in appearance and bold to the core. The colourful appearance is deceiving to one’s eyes. Painted to hide something…mysterious. Most the heads appear like clowns. Clown paints his face to appear funny or appropriate for the show. The show is supreme for him, an every day challenge to survive. Here some accessories are part of the show, the golden swords, the trapeze, the umbrella, the bicycle, the arrows, the ball, the ladder, the golden daggers and the golden guns. They keep popping up here and there to test the clown’s faith and to make the show more thrilling.

‘HEAD TALE’, simply put are just spontaneous images of raw experiences. Hope and failure, life and death, are spread across the lines and colours of this series of work on paper. The material used is least important. The cause becomes supreme, transforming your routine space and time to a new level. The ‘heads’ have another aspect to them. The Buddha eyes with dream like aura make you think why peace suddenly. Well the clown is meditating, one with the self. He is vulnerable but determined. He is on the path of self exploration to explore the world in a more divine way. The void in him is taking a form of solace. The monk of his soul is questioning the meaning of worldly encounters. Ready to take on pain with very little effort. Finding the Shangri-La within oneself is the endless journey of all humans.

Date: 08/08/2013
Soumen Bhowmick

CHRONICLES OF V

This small documentary film on my solo exhibition, "CHRONICLES OF V," will engage you with the reality of our times. This is a great effort and execution by Suvankar Nandi of Chota Mota Productions. This young filmmaker put all effort to make this documentation in video a complete success. I endlessly believe that this how ever small, representation of my art will make you sit tight and do some retrospection. The soul searching will lead by integrity and courage. This series of drawings on paper is suppose to culminate into a complete visual journey of every individual, of some consequence to the existence of human soul. Watch this video play of the reality of our time. Live life with courage, with conviction. Live a life full of new hope and dreams. Always believe in the power of your conviction. Believe in art and complete your journey in this materialistic sojourn of ours. This series is for all those people who believe in the power of the common man's voice for positive change. This is a fictional parody of our time. It has nuances of satire and tragedy, both interlaced with the application of drawings to create the ultimate visual drama. The common mans’ fight against the different social diseases or malice is predominant here. It's satirical depiction of social upheavals and voices for justice and freedom around the world. 
It's the contemporary fight for change for political incumbency as well as economic insecurity. Funny, yet true in every sense, the drawings will definitely make your heart aware of the predicament of the masses. I hope you enjoy the exhibition here, in the virtual world too. 

All works were done on paper using pen and ink. Size, variable.

Thanks to Suvankar Nandi of Chotamota Productions (Delhi), for his great effort and creativity in making this short film a Success.

http://johnyml.blogspot.in/2016/03/dystopian-mahabharata-of-soumen-bhowmick.html

The above web link will let you read the entire review of this exhibition by one of the best known Art Critic and Curator of India, Johny ML. Its wonderfully analysed by this reputed Art Critic. The hidden nuances of my series (CHRONICLES OF V) on paper is made alive again through words of Johny ML.

CATALOGUE OF CHRONICLES OF V

CHRONICLES OF V

SOUMEN BHOWMICK

7 – 16 March, 2016

Triveni Gallery

Triveni Kala Sangam

205 Tansen Marg, New Delhi 1

'V' [stands for Vigilante, Vendetta or Vengeance]
Origin : mid 19th century: from Spanish, literally ‘vigilant’.
A member of a self-appointed group of citizens who undertake law enforcement in their community without legal authority, typically because the legal agencies are thought to be inadequate. Any person who assumes the authority of the law, as by avenging a crime.

My series of drawings are inspired by the concept of citizen oriented justice. This is a fictional parody of our time. It has nuances of satire and tragedy, both interlaced with the application of drawings to create the ultimate visual drama. The common mans’ fight against the different social diseases or malice is predominant here. It's satirical depiction of social upheavals and voices for justice and freedom around the world.
It's the contemporary fight for change for political incumbency as well as economic insecurity. Funny, yet true in every sense, the drawings will definitely make your heart aware of the predicament of the masses.

GENESIS (Triptych), pen and ink on paper

“When Impatience Becomes Not an Individual But a Social Experience of Feeling. This is The Introduction for Revolution” – Andrew Hammond

The common man acts as the vigilante here, voicing and fighting against oppression of all kinds. The fight is not against any individual or group or religion. It’s the collective voice against ignorance and terror, which is draining our civil existence of peace, liberty and justice. Terror of all kinds and colour. Visually it challenges the ignorant lot among us. V is the hero here. 
V is you and me.

THE GREAT WAR, pen and ink on paper

“One’s Got to Change The System. Or One Changes Nothing. One Can’t Put Things Right in a Hole – and – Corner Way.” – George Orwell.

Idealism is a utopia in today’s world, but the idea itself is immortal. Bullets can’t pierce it; neither flame can burn it down. You can’t kill it. Idea, always keeps alive, burning bright with the eternal flame of courage and faith in our hearts. All mankind carry that ancient essence of justice and freedom, since the days of Adam. V wears a mask of neutral identity, of truth and allegiance to humanity. The mask has no religion or caste.
We are born with that and will die, with that idea of freedom and justice for one and all in this world.

WHISTLE BLOWERS, pen and ink on paper

“The Tyrant Dies and His Rule is Over. The Martyr Dies and His Rule Begins”  - Aristotle

Beneath the Mask are Ideas and Ideas are Bulletproof. Can’t Kill them or burn them. One can argue and confront them. It’s Immortal to the End. V is the Idea !

BADMAN, pen and ink on paper

Artist Statement : 
Soumen Bhowmick
M : +91-11-9810661959 (India)
Email : soumen99@gmail.com      
Website : www.soumenart.blogspot.in