I'm thrilled to be hosted by Utsha Foundation for Contemporary Art for the month of November. This incredible organization is based in Bhubaneswar, Orissa, where they are doing amazing work with local and contemporary artists of all kinds. Their dedicated staff and awesome volunteers have been so enthusiastic and supportive. Thanks, Utsha, for making me feel welcome and supported from day one!
s t u d i o . d i s p a t c h
Fulbright field notes from India
Phase Two: Utsha Foundation for Contemporary Art
I'm thrilled to be hosted by Utsha Foundation for Contemporary Art for the month of November. This incredible organization is based in Bhubaneswar, Orissa, where they are doing amazing work with local and contemporary artists of all kinds. Their dedicated staff and awesome volunteers have been so enthusiastic and supportive. Thanks, Utsha, for making me feel welcome and supported from day one!
In Search of Mandana
Mandana in a village home, Bundi |
I had a chance to visit a small village outside of Bundi, Rajasthan on October 5, which happened to be Sharad Purnima, the day of the Ashvin full moon. I learned that this is a date of great spiritual significance, particularly among farmers and villagers, as it marks the end of the monsoon season and an auspicious harvest time. The occasion is observed by fasting and devotion to the goddess Lakshmi; at night in some places, a bowl of kheer (milk with rice and dried fruit) is placed outside with a cloth cover so that it can absorb the moon’s healing light rays. The milk is later consumed while looking at the moon. We arrived at the village shortly after moonrise; we walked through basmati rice fields under the full moon, were served chai, introduced to a baby buffalo just born the day before, shown beautiful shrines and fruit trees.
Village shrine, Bundi |
Village home with concrete construction, Bundi |
Villagers with papaya tree and garlic harvest, Bundi
Early October is
the wrong time to look for Mandana drawings in the villages outside of Bundi.
This is because Diwali celebrations occur on October 19 this year, and the days
and weeks leading up to Diwali are when villagers spend time cleaning,
repairing, and beautifying their traditional homes. Traditionally villagers
construct their abodes and outbuildings from natural materials – a mixture of
mud, straw, and cow dung, with woven straw or clay tile roofing. The structures
are quite resilient and strong but must be rebuilt each year. Walls and roofs
are rebuilt or repaired; floors are resurfaced with mud and dung.
Once structures
have been repaired and finished, village women traditionally complete the final
stages by beautifying their homes by creating Mandana. With a
mixture of rice flour or chalk and water, a paste is created and used to paint
elaborate patterns on the outer walls, floors, and thresholds. These patterns
are said to purify, ward off evil, and invite gods and goddesses into the
domestic space. In Rajasthan the drawings are
called Mandana; other regions use different terms for the practice, such as Aripan
or Alpana (Mithila region), Kolam (Tamil Nadu), or Rangoli/Rangavali (Karnataka,
Maharashtra). In some regions the drawings are created only on auspicious
occasions such as festivals and weddings; in others, women create fresh
drawings on their thresholds every morning. The Mandana in south Rajasthan
corresponds to the seasonal cycle of renewal and the Diwali festival.
When I visited
the Bundi village, floors and walls were being repaired and freshly coated with
mud and dung; most traces of Mandana had been cleared away in preparation for
new work. I found an exception inside one village home – a set of lovely
circular and triangle floor paintings that had not yet completely worn away. As
concrete materials increasingly replace the traditional mud and dung floors and
walls of homes, women have had to use new materials such as oil enamels to
create Mandana; some have given up the practice altogether, as concrete
surfaces no longer require the annual refurbishing and repainting that Mandana
accompanies.
Mandana in a village home, Bundi |
Mandana in a village home, Bundi Mandana in a village home, Bundi |
Mandana in a village home, Bundi |
I love the ephemerality of these paintings – as they age and wear away, old patterns are crossed and layered with the patterns of daily human and animal activity. They are executed with mastery and are exceedingly beautiful, yet there is no attachment or attitude of preciousness surrounding them.
Even in the few
samples I observed there was great variety of form and pattern. While in some
forms of Kolam different shapes have different meanings, I was told that
Mandana patterns, at least in this village, were made purely for their beauty
and as expressions of devotion. I asked some women about how they learned to
create them. Is there a book of patterns? Do you practice them as children? Study
them in school? I was told that for these women, the patterns are not taught;
they are ‘already in them when they are born’.
Otherworldly Jantar Mantar
Maharaj Sawai Jai Singh II became
a Rajput ruler in 1699, at the tender age of 11. He proceeded to become a rock
star of a ruler; in addition to numerous wars and conquests, he also designed
and constructed architectural marvels such as the beautiful city of Jaipur and
Amber Fort. He also had a unique lifelong interest in the science of
astronomical observation and calculation, and in 1724 he began the design and
construction of large-scale astronomical observation instruments known as the
Jantar Mantar. The observatories were constructed at five different sites:
Jaipur, Delhi, Varanasi, Ujjain, and Mathura. These sites are still standing,
and in recent weeks I visited the Jantar Mantar of Jaipur and Delhi.
A key theme of my Fulbright
research is the role of geometrical pattern in Indian ritual and divinatory
drawing/painting. Upon discovering the strange, otherworldly Jantar Mantar, I
was captivated by not only the science behind their construction,
but also the extreme beauty of their precise geometrical symmetry and abstract minimal
form. In their scale and design, the forms feel weirdly modern - but also
timeless. I was reminded at once of Stonehenge and of Richard Serra’s large
scale steel arcs and planes. The strangeness of the forms comes in part from
their combination of architecture and mathematical functionality. Human-scaled
steps and arched windows create points of access for the body, but the forms
are otherwise functional in design, and feel a bit like alien structures or
great crystalline geological accretions. Circular arcs, triangles, cylinders,
and precise graduated markings echo the mathematical precision of their purpose
on a just-beyond-human scale. The instruments are notably devoid of aesthetic
adornment so characteristic of the time, and it’s especially strange to
encounter them at the Jaipur site, where in every direction heavily ornamented
structures dominate the cityscape.
Often the most compelling
artistic objects arise from an urgent desire to make visible the invisible.
The strange forms of the Jantar Mantar were born of Jai Singh’s profound
curiosity about the workings of phenomena just beyond his visual reach. Their design reflects a human wish to draw the celestial realm closer, to
somehow trap it within range of our sensory apprehension. Today scientists
navigate this realm with the confidence and certainty of satellite imaging and
far-reaching technology; Jai Singh’s creations live much closer to the realm of
human sensory perception, and express more openly a navigation of the unknown.
Therefore, though constructed as instruments of science, they also invite
contemplation as art.
You can learn more about
Jantar Mantar at this fantastic site. They even have downloads for building
your own paper models!
JANTAR MANTAR, DELHI
JANTAR MANTAR, JAIPUR
|
Sonabai Rajwar
Installation at Sanskriti Kendra / All images courtesy Sanskriti |
I first learned about artist Sonabai Rajwar through the work of scholar Stephen Huyler, who has documented and shared her work through publications and exhibitions. I was very happy to discover a room devoted to her legacy in Sanskriti’s Terra Cotta museum.
Sonabai Rajwar’s story is unique - she lived in a remote
village in the region of Sarguja, Chattisgarh. At an early age she was married
to a man who, perhaps due to possessiveness (Sonabai apparently never openly
discussed the conditions), chose to imprison Sonabai in her own home. For
fifteen years Sonabai was not permitted to leave her home or see anyone other
than her husband and son. During this time, she coped with her isolation by
making things. With the modest materials available to her – bamboo, clay, and
locally sourced vegetable pigments, Sonabai began to sculpt and paint what
started as small simple toys for her young son. Over time these evolved into large,
intricate sculpted and painted forms that covered her home’s interior. She used bamboo as an armature for clay in
order to create elaborate lace-like lattices and screens. Birds, animals,
people, flowers, and patterns adorned her sculptures as playful narrative
vignettes.
Upon discovery, Sonabai’s unusual work earned her widespread
notoriety, causing an abrupt and transformation in her life. She became the
recipient of attention from museums and governmental organizations; she was
given awards, as well as salary and stipends to teach her craft; artists from
her village began to also practice and teach her work, enabling a stream of
income to support the construction of village infrastructure such as schools.
As a painter, my response to Sonabai’s work is one of
immense visual pleasure. Her work is imbued with lyricism and a sophisticated
design sense. Dense, colorful patterns are balanced by passages of clean white
over quietly textured surfaces; formal repetitions of circle, lattice, and arch
are rhythmically punctuated by small colorful animals and figures. On every
surface there is loving attention to detail. The overall effect of her work is
one of an outpouring of joy, generosity, and harmony – quite a feat considering
the conditions that produced her work.
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