Mosaic

When I set up the workshop there wasn’t an obvious career path to follow in mosaic. That had to change, I thought. Channel 4 had just been launched, and my husband – now former husband — worked in television, for an independent TV company supplying C4 with documentaries. Broad in scope, his interests swam against the tide of shallow fashion. His gifts were undervalued we both felt. His documentary ‘More Than Just a Road’, an in-depth examination of Essex town planning, brought the fascination of this arcane subject to a broader audience. His cult hit series ‘The A-Z of C&W’ took a pig-tailed singing gynaecologist to Nashville to meet the country greats. In his spare moments my husband was a keen gardener, but at all times he hunted intently for topics on which the media spotlight had not yet fallen.

‘I think mosaic might fit the bill’ I said.

‘Hmm’ he said, and I understood his point.

I found a clip in an art magazine, about an Indian Roads Inspector. Working all day in the open air, he gathered lost and discarded items, going at night into the green belt of jungle around his native city, to build, entirely in secret, a mosaic masterpiece – his ‘Rock Garden: Kingdom of the Gods and Goddesses’.  A party of health officials, traversing the jungle and spraying mosquitoes to prevent malaria, stumbled upon this wonder. The authorities were informed and surprisingly, instead of destroying the illegal site, they immediately recognised its exceptional qualities. It thrives to this day — a tourist destination second in popularity only to the Taj Mahal. The Roads Inspector was Nek Chand. You may already know his story.

I’ve found the very thing for you!’ I said excitedly.

‘I don’t think so’ my husband said, from a position of far greater experience. ‘I can’t really see what interest it has.’

Instead he worked up another fascinating proposal for a documentary — the disposal of industrial waste. He interviewed scientists and made contact with ethical moles in waste disposal research laboratories. The invisible dangers of polychlorinated biphenyls were being hushed up, he discovered. One big and influential company realised he was on to their disgraceful behaviour. We grew ever more certain our phone was tapped.

It was proving difficult to get his film made. ‘Even with Channel 4 – the so-called alternative channel!’ we told our friends.

‘There are other ways of looking at the disposal of waste’ I wheedled. ‘What about the Indian Roads Inspector? Why don’t you make a programme about him?’  He remained sceptical.  ‘Your time is precious’ I said, ‘we can work as a team.  I’ll write the treatment and you put it forward.’

Channel 4 expressed interest. They funded the trip.  Air tickets, hotels and a film camera were packed. ‘The work is amazing’ I said as he left. ‘You’ll see when you get there.’

Chand was no longer alone in his garden. A workforce assisted to see through his vision. Great vistas of sculptures were constructed with bangles, broken ceramic, old plugs and hair. Fields of mosaic–clad animals marched over hills, grottoes and mosaic-clad figures stood atop or beneath rushing waterfalls. The Garden revealed the eccentric creativity of its maker. I foresaw the film would be fabulous. Mosaic would take its rightful place on TV.

He brought back the rushes. ‘But where are the sculptures?’ I asked, as shot after shot lingered over compost bins, bushes, collections of small or stunted trees and the nursery ranged behind the huts in which Chand worked. ‘Didn’t you film them at all?’

He avoided the obvious — therein lay his talent. It was a novel perspective to take, I agreed. The time wasn’t right for mosaic on TV, not quite yet.

Posted under: Mosaic by Emma Biggs