I hadn’t been to Art Junction, the art gallery-cum-cafeteria at InterContinental The Grand in New Delhi, for a while, but I remember some fairly interesting shows being held there. More popular than curatorial, but what the heck, at a hotel you can do with art that’s more figurative, more understandable than the dysfunctional abstracts that pass off as high art these days. (Oops, I can’t believe I just wrote that!)

But this Sunday, because I wasn’t doing much, but more because a neighbour insisted, I went along to Art Junction for a peek at a show called Oh Calcutta, presumably because the artists are all Bengali.

It wasn’t a great show. Correction: it was actually quite a poor show with some kitschy, calendar-art style nudes, and other works that didn’t merit attention as paintings (they looked more like illustrations in children’s books).

But this isn’t a critique on the show, or the artists. What horrified me was that, on a slip of paper next to each painting, the artist’s name was mentioned, along with the price of the painting. This is the most blatant commercialisation of art I have ever seen. And it was brought home further when my friend asked, “Is that an oil painting?” of a watercolour.

Having shed light on how oils and acrylics are never concealed behind glass (for fear of mold or fungus building up), I couldn’t help wondering why the gallery had dispensed with the practise of carrying what art collectors and gallerists consider standard practise — the name of the artist, the name of the painting, the size, the year it was painted, and the medium, not necessarily in that order. Sometimes a note on the artist and his/her themes and influences is also provided, and the context helps you look at the work both analytically (or critically) as well as emotionally.

Hopefully, the concept of label pricing will not catch on. True, viewers do want to know the cost of a work, but lists can be provided for the purpose at little or no extra effort.

Else, buying a painting will become akin to buying toothpaste and soap — “…and yes, one mixed medium please, let me see, Raza perhaps, or Gaitonde. No, no, make that a Tyeb Mehta. Any offers if you buy two?”