This article first appeared in THE WEEKENDER

26th September 2009

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Walter Benjamin famously insisted that the age of mechanical reproduction, in which works of art can be reproduced and widely distributed, has removed the “aura” of authenticity that is associated with original and unique artworks – a sacred association dating back to their use in religious and spiritual practices. As a result, Benjamin argued, art can no longer be based on ritual but must be firmly entrenched in the realm of politics.

Visitors to “Painted Narratives from India: Preserving History Through the Art of Story-Telling” might well expect to have this trend reinforced, if not because of the relentless politicisation of South African art (which we bring to bear on artworks from elsewhere in the world), then because it would seem safe to assume that the items on display must be reproductions. How, after all, can the murals of grand temple complexes and musty caves be displayed halfway across the world – except through pale imitation?

Turning away from the commercial buzz of Nelson Mandela Square at Sandton City, however, and into the quiet courtyard of the recently-opened Gauteng Craft and Design Centre (CDC) that is hosting the “Painted Narratives” exhibition, one is quickly lured into the terrain of the sacred.

It’s not simply the heady incense that greets you at the door; it’s the sense that the paper, cotton, silk, parchment, canvas, wood and other objects that fill the room are invested with precisely the “aura” Benjamin felt had been lost. And, even though “Painted Narratives” forms part of the nationwide programme of events comprising “Shared History: The Indian Experience in South Africa” (which is conceivably a cultural-political exercise), the artworks on show owe more to myth and legend than they do to politics.

Curator Anjana Somany provides a largely chronological account of the development of the visual arts in the Indian subcontinent – from Stone Age cave paintings to the growth of the Harappan civilisation in 2700BCE, followed by a kind of ‘dark age’ and then the Vedic period (1300-500BCE) during which the sacred texts of the Indo-Aryans were composed. Much of the ‘narrative’ material in the art work relates to Hindu scriptures, or śruti, like the Upanishads. There are also strong Buddhist and Jain influences.

The exhibition shows the lines of continuity and change within these traditions over the subsequent millennia, ultimately affirming the contemporary significance and ongoing practices of an ancient form.

One of the chief purposes these painted narratives used to serve (apart from decorative and aesthetic value) was to facilitate the oral re-telling of stories with cultural and religious significance. As Somany notes, visual portrayals complement oral communication – śruti means ‘listening’ – because neither require literacy and both are thus accessible to a wide audience.

Thus, many of the art forms on display in “Painted Narratives” were designed to be mobile: to move with performer-preachers who would share the life of Buddha, expound on the feats of Krishna or Shiva, or relate episodes from epic tales like the Ramayana and the Mahabharata.

There are, for instance, kavaad or ‘travelling temples’ – miniature wooden shrines, small enough to carry from place to place, that open to reveal multiple brightly coloured boards depicting a significant scene or verse. There are also textile scrolls (often several metres long) and pattachitra, delicate paintings on palm-leaf panels that open and close concertina-style. Pachedis, or painted cloths, are used as shrine canopies, altar pieces or even shamanic dress.

Although Somany draws the viewer’s attention to details on various artworks that allude to particular mythological or historical events, the patterns are so intricate and the figures so numerous that their significance may be lost to those unfamiliar with Hindu or Buddhist iconography. Yet the pleasing symmetry, the array of colours and the assiduous brush-work can be appreciated even without a full awareness of the complex symbols being invoked.

Particularly fine are the kalamkari – the name means ‘workmanship with a pen’ – or chintz cloth canvases, evincing a painstaking process of colouring with vegetable dye. Likewise, the chamba rumals (referred to as “painting in embroidery”) and the translucent shadow-puppets made of very thin deerskin leather bear witness to exquisitely careful crafting.

Within a broadly Hindu-Buddhist aesthetic, the range of subject matter is intriguing. The centuries-old presence of Christianity in India is manifested in a banner explaining the life of Jesus, while Somany’s commentary on illuminated manuscripts highlights the importance of Islam in the sophisticated “art of the book”.

Benjamin would have been pleased to observe that, in this exhibition, politics infiltrates the religious domain. Some pattachitra from Bengal demonstrate a long history of social activism, from early challenges to the cast system to recent scrolls that promote HIV/AIDS awareness.

Similarly, a selection of Kalighat paintings dating back a century or so depict the domestic abuse of Bengali women and exhort these women to ‘fight back’. (Less antagonistic relations between the sexes are also in evidence: the archetypal love story of Rama and Sita, the dalliance of various gods and goddesses, and of course the imaginative sexual acrobatics of the Kama Sutra.)

While much of the art on display in “Painted Narratives” is the work of specially skilled artists and crafters, Somany also takes care to point out that “folk art” – as practised by many members of a community without any formal training – represents an important aspect of India’s painting tradition. This includes warli, stylised geometric designs that were initially used to decorate the mud walls of rural homes but that nowadays are created on paper and canvas to deck millions of houses, flats and shacks in India’s cities.

There are also a few Gond tribal paintings that strikingly demonstrate the clash of old and new, ancient and modern, rural and urban in contemporary India: animals are replaced by aeroplanes, rivers of fish by traffic-congested roads.

Nonetheless, the overall effect of the exhibition is to conflate past and present. As Somany observes, the paint has worn off many sculptures and statues across India, and the murals have faded from much of its architecture; but there is something about these painted narratives that transcends time. Heather Elgood’s words, quoted at the entrance to the exhibition, are apposite: “In the verbal delivery of words, past becomes present and then past again. In pictorial narration the past, present and future remain together.”

* “Painted Narratives from India” is at the Gauteng Craft and Design Centre in Sandton until 5 October.