‘Served with a Dash of Lime’ is PRSFG’s latest contemporary art exhibition displaying works from over 17 Sri Lankan artists.
So in the usual fashion, yours truly from Observer MUSE, I sauntered over to Saskia Fernando to see if the exhibition was as impressive as the IG reels.
Mahesha Karyipperuma’s three playing cards flanked the starboard wall in the main atrium upstairs. “Take me for a spin” the slogan said right next to it and I did exactly that. Two gallery goers, one old Sri Lankan lady and a European woman, approached:
“Are you the artist?” asked the Sri Lankan lady.
I wanted to say something clever like: “I’m not an artist, I’m an autist.”
But instead, I looked at her deadpan for a split second.
“I’m a journalist,” I said and moved on.
Muvindu Binoy’s display featured some timely AI slop. And there it was — ‘tralalero tralala’ — right on the canvas. I don’t know if Mr. Sekid is being ironic, but few artists dare to incorporate memes, brain rot, and post-digital junk into their work. Is it pretentious? I dare not say. But is it genius?
“Dadapocalypse”
At the end of one hallway was Firi’s massive savannah animal black and white. I like his parrot series but I feel like the one that was exhibited was sort of uncanny. The animals felt a bit off.
Several artists leaned hard into Dadaist collage. And frankly (no pun intended), I’m disappointed. This is not 2022. Sri Lankan contemporary art might as well have a dedicated “Collage Corner” by now. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry with Adobe or a stack of torn-up newspapers is calling themselves an artist. Sure, you’re thinking “outside the box,” but when did graphic design become the pinnacle of artistic expression?
A few understood the assignment. Sangeeth’s piece commanded space and colour with real maturity — tasteful, minimalist, and reverent to old-school Dada without feeling like a xerox.
What stood out
Kumkum Fernando: loved the Robots.
Murugiah, I think you’ve been playing too much ‘Cupheads’ — but I loved the colours. Definitely centerpiece-worthy.
Mayun Kaluthantri’s tiles were phenomenal, very nostalgic.
Hashan Cooray’s mixed media? A standout. Emotive, experimental, and totally stream-of-consciousness. Bonus points for the ‘Hangover 2’ reference.
Mika Tennakoon’s work was also pretty iconic. It’s like something out of and anthropologist’s CR book.
I moved on
What’s my take away from it all? The exhibition promised to be off the cuff, but there was more to be desired. The whole deconstructionist approach has somewhat become the default for Sri Lankan artists than any genuine exploration.
Despite all the talk of decolonisation and “art for the people,” most exhibitions feel like they’re chasing clout or algorithms. But out here, there are no likes and shares in real life.Even worse are the sellouts that describe themselves as “underground”.
Two of the biggest watershed moments for Sri Lankan contemporary art in the past five years was the “mural mania” in early 2020 and the Aragalya in 2022 – both which brought a lot of outsiders and new ideas to the fore; but instead of using that momentum to push forward, many artists ended up inflicting themselves with a crippling case of imposter syndrome.
I feel like there is no real struggle in this scene. It’s becoming an echo-chamber. Much of the art feels forcefully edgy and painfully formulaic. And we, the audience, are expected to clap like seals for this emperor with no clothes.
Open to interpretation
Before I left, I asked those little ladies minding the gallery: “So, where is the dash of lime?”
“This is it. This is the Dash of Lime exhibit”
“No but, what is the catch?” I asked again.
“It’s open to interpretation,” came the reply, with a tinge of hostility.
Just before I left, I noticed a set of chairs arranged in what looked like a Swastika-like configuration…
