Fish artist
New Delhi-based artist Biswajit Das, 28, turns fish bones and scales into delicate sculptures and jewellery. Brought up in poverty in Kolkata, Das left his job as a car mechanic four years ago to pursue his art full time. He hasn’t looked back, winning rave reviews and even a state award for his artistry
My father died when I was barely eight years old. It then fell upon my mother – a nurse in a local Kolkata hospital – to bring me and my little brother up. Due to mum’s modest income, we always lived a threadbare existence. There was never enough food to eat nor fancy clothes to wear. Even the house all of us shacked up in was dark and dilapidated. To supplement the family income, I had to sporadically take up odd jobs as a child – as a shopkeeper’s help or as a waiter in restaurants.
Eventually it got so bad that I had to abandon my studies and take up a mechanic’s job in a car workshop. Though the workshop paid me a pittance, it was the parallel activity I started pursuing here that kept me hooked to the job. For in between attending to the nuts and bolts of greasy vehicles, I started collecting whatever I stumbled upon in the workshop – empty plastic water bottles, toffee wrappers, wires, even fish bones from my colleagues’ tiffin boxes. I would then mould these things into interesting shapes and objects. Flowers, birds, human figurines, horses, elephants, trees . . . slowly a fascinating collection emerged out of the waste.
My artworks impressed my colleagues no end and they started holding me in awe. Even my boss was hugely appreciative of my art and encouraged me to exhibit my works. I started taking part in trade fairs and exhibitions. I began travelling around the country, due to which I had to quit my job. Not that I had any regrets. For it gave me an opportunity to transform my passion into a profession and make a living out of something I loved to do.
But though I worked with various mediums to begin with, it was my fish sculptures that gave me most satisfaction and were most appreciated. Crafting something as minimal and frugal as fish bones into beautiful pieces gave me a great thrill, something I can’t put into words. And in the past two years I’ve stuck to this medium only.
Not that fish skeletons are easy to work with. Far from it. I first have to buy cartons of fish skeletons, couriered to me by fish dealers from Kolkata. The bones are then treated with a chemical dye that eliminates their smell and makes them malleable for sculpting. I also have to be particular about the type of fish I choose for my pieces. For instance, to sculpt larger pieces, I prefer using rohu fish, which has various sections, while to craft smaller pieces or jewellery, I opt for sole, which has excellent binding properties.
After choosing the fish and treating it, I set about making the object I have in mind. It could be famous personalities like Mahatma Gandhi one day, the Taj Mahal the next. The largest piece I’ve sculpted out of fish bones so far is that of a Hindu god – Krishna – astride his four-horse chariot. It took me a month to make and during that period I barely slept two hours a day.
I’m also very meticulous about the detailing in my pieces. Even the hair on my animals’ necks has to be visible to the naked eye. My chariot fetched me 30,000 rupees (£360) from a doctor in New Delhi. My version of the Taj Mahal was snapped up by a foreigner.
Of course there are many pieces that don’t require more than five minutes of my labour – like flowers, rings, small animals etc. I also make necklaces, bracelets, hair clips and earrings and I’m looking for a tie-up with a jewellery firm.
Two years ago, I was given the West Bengal State Award for my craftsmanship, which helped me draw people’s attention to my art. But despite garnering so much appreciation for my work I still have no money to invest in a shop. Real estate prices are phenomenally high in Delhi so I hawk my wares from weekly bazaars or trade fairs, apart from a regular pan-India clientele, which contacts me at my New Delhi residence.
Regardless of the hardships and the hard labour, I’m very content. What does the future hold for me? Well, from a poor boy who had to give up school to earn money, I’d say I’ve come a long way. If I continue to get people’s love and appreciation like I do now, I’ll be happy. A few years down the line, I plan to open a museum of my artworks. I will also launch a training school for underprivileged kids to pass on the knowledge of my unconventional craft.
My father died when I was barely eight years old. It then fell upon my mother – a nurse in a local Kolkata hospital – to bring me and my little brother up. Due to mum’s modest income, we always lived a threadbare existence. There was never enough food to eat nor fancy clothes to wear. Even the house all of us shacked up in was dark and dilapidated. To supplement the family income, I had to sporadically take up odd jobs as a child – as a shopkeeper’s help or as a waiter in restaurants.
Eventually it got so bad that I had to abandon my studies and take up a mechanic’s job in a car workshop. Though the workshop paid me a pittance, it was the parallel activity I started pursuing here that kept me hooked to the job. For in between attending to the nuts and bolts of greasy vehicles, I started collecting whatever I stumbled upon in the workshop – empty plastic water bottles, toffee wrappers, wires, even fish bones from my colleagues’ tiffin boxes. I would then mould these things into interesting shapes and objects. Flowers, birds, human figurines, horses, elephants, trees . . . slowly a fascinating collection emerged out of the waste.
My artworks impressed my colleagues no end and they started holding me in awe. Even my boss was hugely appreciative of my art and encouraged me to exhibit my works. I started taking part in trade fairs and exhibitions. I began travelling around the country, due to which I had to quit my job. Not that I had any regrets. For it gave me an opportunity to transform my passion into a profession and make a living out of something I loved to do.
But though I worked with various mediums to begin with, it was my fish sculptures that gave me most satisfaction and were most appreciated. Crafting something as minimal and frugal as fish bones into beautiful pieces gave me a great thrill, something I can’t put into words. And in the past two years I’ve stuck to this medium only.
Not that fish skeletons are easy to work with. Far from it. I first have to buy cartons of fish skeletons, couriered to me by fish dealers from Kolkata. The bones are then treated with a chemical dye that eliminates their smell and makes them malleable for sculpting. I also have to be particular about the type of fish I choose for my pieces. For instance, to sculpt larger pieces, I prefer using rohu fish, which has various sections, while to craft smaller pieces or jewellery, I opt for sole, which has excellent binding properties.
After choosing the fish and treating it, I set about making the object I have in mind. It could be famous personalities like Mahatma Gandhi one day, the Taj Mahal the next. The largest piece I’ve sculpted out of fish bones so far is that of a Hindu god – Krishna – astride his four-horse chariot. It took me a month to make and during that period I barely slept two hours a day.
I’m also very meticulous about the detailing in my pieces. Even the hair on my animals’ necks has to be visible to the naked eye. My chariot fetched me 30,000 rupees (£360) from a doctor in New Delhi. My version of the Taj Mahal was snapped up by a foreigner.
Of course there are many pieces that don’t require more than five minutes of my labour – like flowers, rings, small animals etc. I also make necklaces, bracelets, hair clips and earrings and I’m looking for a tie-up with a jewellery firm.
Two years ago, I was given the West Bengal State Award for my craftsmanship, which helped me draw people’s attention to my art. But despite garnering so much appreciation for my work I still have no money to invest in a shop. Real estate prices are phenomenally high in Delhi so I hawk my wares from weekly bazaars or trade fairs, apart from a regular pan-India clientele, which contacts me at my New Delhi residence.
Regardless of the hardships and the hard labour, I’m very content. What does the future hold for me? Well, from a poor boy who had to give up school to earn money, I’d say I’ve come a long way. If I continue to get people’s love and appreciation like I do now, I’ll be happy. A few years down the line, I plan to open a museum of my artworks. I will also launch a training school for underprivileged kids to pass on the knowledge of my unconventional craft.
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