‘Gentle’ by Amrita Singhal: Perfection in a climate concerned with destruction

The most expensive thing in my home is a painting. 

Above the living room couch hangs a genuine Henri Matisse. Featuring the outdoor overlook from an open window, Matisse’s iconic pastel palette embellishes the view of flowers on lawns and fruit on trees. My Matisse is not alone; throughout my house lies scattered pieces of French, African and Asian American pieces in a variety of mediums. 

The moment I saw Amrita Singhal’s “Gentle” collection in the Berkeley Faculty Club, one thought came to my mind. 

These are paintings my mother would buy. 

Singhal’s art reflects the subtle nuances of having a South Asian background while attempting to balance newfound, semi-unnatural Western sensibilities. Instead, Singhal reaches to all-embracing aspects of humanity. She makes spiritual art, havened from the common constraints associated with organized religion. Semireligious tones in her paintings are not characterized by omnipresent, important religious characters, but rather blue bodies without distinguishable facial characteristics. “They’re the same in both African and South Asian myths,” Singhal said, pointing to a painted blue woman sitting in a river. “It’s all the same, just spirituality, and spirituality is human wisdom.” 

On Feb. 21, sitting across from the eight paintings that make up her newest collection, Singhal and I discussed the various intentions, interpretations and arbitrary rules that accompany her creative process. 

“Gentle” intends to provide its audience a safe refuge from the current harsh political climate; through contemplative depictions of everyday life, Singhal reminds us that gentleness derives from mere simplicity, the everyday beauty that often goes overlooked for other so-called spectacles. Through faceless figures and familiar yet somehow inarticulate scenery, “Gentle” draws from the seemingly universal in order to allow its audience to draw personal connections. The Cal Alumni Association’s collection consists of treehouses, imperfect pottery and family dogs — staples of the human experience amplified only by the technical mastery that accompanies 14 years of full-time painting. Each painting stands alone, Singhal trusts her audience to trust their own feelings and emotions rather than an artist’s explanation to accompany each piece. As an artist, she strives to aim her audience in the right direction, but going no further as to allow them to fill in the blanks for themselves. Rather than write out a specific meaning, or supposed “right answer,” Singhal instead pointed to different objects and strokes within her pieces. She asked me to think about the art, rather than offer an objective analysis. 

“I’m looking to create context for people to find both pleasure and contemplation” Singhal disclosed. “But of course, my audience must be willing to look.” 

And ‘look’ they do. Heads turn to marvel at the swirling strokes and seemingly obvious objects dotted throughout Singhal’s pieces. Viewers lean in and take a step back, attempting to allow the painting to reveal itself. 

Standout “The Lamp of Memory” takes the point of view of a character peeking into a mystic, mirage-esque room of faceless women. A large chandelier-esque lamp hangs from the ceiling, casting light on the figures, yet not enough to reveal any semblance of the person’s facial features or identities. The women are close enough to see, not close enough to touch, close enough to maybe shout, but definitely not close enough to speak. Singhal hopes to portray the distant adjacency of a deceased loved one’s presence; a warmth that transcends the physical embodiment we often associate with life and death. 

When asked about spirituality — a common theme in her collection — Singhal outlined that to her, spirituality does not simply concern life and death or above and below, but rather “what is possible for human beings.” 

“It’s interesting that in a world full of perfection, we choose to destroy,” Singhal mentioned. “My paintings are meant to shine light on the perfect we ignore, and the spirituality [that accompanies] perfection.” 

But above all, Singhal creates paintings to be lived with. Due to her primary medium of oil paintings, Singhal’s pieces are contorted and curved depending on the time of day. She looks to make paintings for an audience to “live with,” the same way one lives with and interacts with people on a day-to-day basis. Some pieces are contently frivolous decoration, others as central pieces to the building they exhibit, one or two might service the same deep, contemplative conversation one would have with a friend in the midst of the night.

“I want my audience to have a bond [with the art],” Singhal explained. “Whatever the bond is, that’s up to them, not up to me.”