Inspired by Sukumar Ray’s “Khichudi”, Nidhi Jalan’s Abol Tabol (Akar Prakar, August 5-20) is a collection of extraordinary creatures modelled in clay. It would be too adventurous to call these figures supernatural, or even fantastic, since they simply fall short of such epithets. Ray’s bestiary grew out of an inspired jumble of animal forms brought to life in a topsy-turvy idiom — “Byakaron mani na”, as the narrator makes clear. Compared to Ray’s visual chaos, Jalan’s perfectly sculpted forms look rather tame and cosmetic.

Jalan is an installation artist trained in sculpture, papermaking and videography. “Metamorphosis, decay, entropy and vanitas” are the themes to which her art returns, ever since her startling works in clay in 2002. This early series is an unsentimental meditation on the body in pain, with forms gently undulating between the figurative and the abstract. There is the hint of an unspeakable menace looming over these contorted faces, the stitched-up torsos sprawled on wet floors — perhaps even something darkly futuristic (the horrors of Abu Ghraib were yet to be revealed). But Jalan seems to have moved away from this morbidly fascinating vision of humanity. The clay, wire, buckets and iron rods that keep appearing in her works between 2003 and 2005 — like vague echoes of Tracey Emin — do not become wildly challenging art. Similarly, the technically accomplished figures in Abol Tabol, harking back to her own series, His Master’s Voice, are too perfectly executed. It is this cloying prettiness that makes her menagerie of imagined creatures appear somewhat pedestrian.

Jalan has not faithfully imitated Ray’s unforgettable pantheon of bizarre creatures. It is in vain that we look out for “Hansjaru”, “Hatimi” or “Bakachhap”. The little that we get from Ray’s masterpiece of nonsense verse is in the way of weak, and rather indistinct, allusions. An unwieldy wire mesh, with Octopus-like tentacles, catches these figures in a monstrous embrace. It is this structure, reminiscent of the gigantic spiders by Louis Bourgeois, that lends a threatening edge to the show. But on their own, Jalan’s figures remain singularly anodyne, resembling sci-fi humanoids, rather than creatures carved out of mystery and imagination.

Despite the dimly-lit rooms, the use of canned sounds (like a disturbing mishmash of trance music and the soundtrack of an African Safari), Jalan is unable to make any lasting impression on the viewers. There is neither humour nor horror, only a feeble attempt at make-believe, quickly fizzling out to a feeling of listlessness. However, Jalan deserves credit for putting up a well-curated exhibition of installation art, which is hard to come by in Calcutta.