'Markets Are Unstable, But Art Isn’t': Payal Kapoor Tells Us Why She Is Still Betting On Indian Artists
On the 25th anniversary of Arushi Arts, gallerist Payal Kapoor talks about lessons in colour theory from Akbar Padamsee, and a Ganesha from MF Husain.
Published : August 28, 2025 at 5:20 PM IST
At some point in the late ’90s, Payal Kapoor (textile designer by training, art collector by temperament, Luxor family by inheritance) made what now seems like a simple decision. Instead of investing in jewellery, as was expected, she saved up for a painting by MF Husain. Not just any Husain, but a Ganesha he personally handed to her in 1996, now sitting at the entrance of her home like a permanent guest. That choice, more than anything, explains the trajectory of her gallery Arushi Arts in Delhi.
This year, Arushi Arts turns 25. In that time, Kapoor has curated over 300 shows, championed artists who went on to become household names, empowered tribal voices that were once relegated to craft melas, and somehow found a way to make Delhi’s art scene feel less like a closed circuit. To mark the milestone, she is heading to Hyderabad’s Salarjung Museum with the show 'Harvest 2025'. It features Indian masters, contemporary voices, and even a live performance by eminent painter Sanjay Bhattacharya set to tabla and bansuri.
Not many gallerists can say their catalogue ended up in the Library of Congress in Washington DC, but Kapoor can.
A Catalogue That Refused to Sit Still
“Harvest was conceived in 2001 with Suneet Chopra,” she recalls in a telephonic interview to ETV Bharat. “It’s the only catalogue from India that has reached the Library of Congress.” That fact alone is enough to make the project sound like a classic plot twist: you start with a catalogue, and somehow it ends up in Washington DC.
Now, in Hyderabad, the catalogue has morphed into Harvest 2025: a sprawling exhibition that insists Indian art deserves both reverence and reinvention.
Why Salarjung?
If you’re going to celebrate 25 years, you may as well do it in style. The Salarjung Museum is a cultural landmark, housing one of the largest one-man collections in the world. “It’s iconic, it felt right,” Kapoor says. There’s something subversive about staging a contemporary show in a space that feels like a time capsule. It says that Indian art isn’t a linear story but a series of overlapping conversations.
Kapoor doesn’t overplay the challenges... though there have been many. “Rewarding moments?” she says, “When people with special abilities enjoy the art shows. When tribal artists are empowered.”
It’s not the standard market-driven answer, but it’s revealing. For Kapoor, art isn’t only about prestige auctions or gallery dinners in five-star hotels. It’s about the faces of people who never thought they’d be in the room, let alone part of the narrative.
Talent Spotter
Her eye for spotting talent has been proven repeatedly: early solo shows of Seema Kohli and Venkat Bothsa. How does she decide? “They need to have painted for at least ten years and have a specific style,” she says. “Even if it’s a new artist, they must have 15-30 works ready. Above all, they need to have something to say.” It sounds pragmatic, but it’s also wonderfully unfashionable in an age where virality trumps everything. Kapoor is interested in depth, not just surface.
Kapoor herself trained as a textile designer, which explains her unusual comfort with boundaries blurring into one another. “The line between textile and contemporary art is fine,” she says. “You can always jump between design and art. You just have to be consistent.” Consistency has carried her far. And it has also influenced her daughters: Ayesha, who works in a San Francisco gallery, and Arushi Kapoor, who deals in international art in Los Angeles.
Mentors, Masters, And A Crash Course In Colour
Ask her about influences, and she becomes effusive. Respected art critic Suneet Chopra tops the list. “He taught me how to catalogue, measure works, understand quality and style,” she says. “The eye of a critic is invaluable.”
Then there are the artists: conversations with MF Husain, lessons in colour theory from Akbar Padamsee. Kapoor speaks of them not as untouchable legends but as people who argued, explained, and debated with her. That human closeness has shaped her curatorial philosophy: art isn’t meant to be kept behind glass.
Fight For Tribal Voices
If Kapoor sounds most passionate about anything, it’s tribal art. She instituted the DK Jain Art Prize in honour of her father and in recognition of young and traditional artists. “When we started, tribal art was barely known,” she says. “Artists were stuck in craft melas despite being Padma Shri awardees. Today, many are connected with top collectors.”
Her mission is clear: tribal art isn’t a decorative aside; it’s as central to India’s cultural fabric as anything hanging in a modern gallery. Which is why Harvest 2025 includes tribal art alongside contemporary names. The art market is famously fickle, but Kapoor shrugs. “Markets are unstable,” she says, “but art markets are stable. Indian art is only going places.” It’s the kind of bullish optimism you want in a gallerist; not naïve, but steady.
A Ganesha by Husain
We circle back to that first Husain Ganesha. “I got it in 1996,” she says. “He came and personally handed it to me. I didn’t buy jewellery, I saved everything to buy a piece of art.”
It’s hard not to smile at the image: a young gallerist making a countercultural choice, choosing paint over gold, Husain’s handover instead of a banker’s. That moment feels like the seed for everything that came after: 300 shows, 25 years, hundreds of artists, and now Hyderabad’s Salarjung Museum.
What does it mean to keep a gallery alive for a quarter of a century in a country where audiences, markets, and even definitions of “art” shift constantly? For Kapoor, the answer is consistency. Not just in shows, or catalogues, or exhibitions, but in the belief that art (tribal, modern, contemporary, whatever label you slap on it) belongs everywhere. In a library in the capital of the United States. In a museum in Hyderabad. In a family living room in Delhi, with a Ganesha by Husain watching from the doorway.
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