British colonial powers played a very specific role within India, directly affecting Indian identity and the country's deep religious traditions. National resistance to these outside Western forces on Indian Culture has taken many shapes and forms throughout the years, most notably through art and cultural production. Here we will focus on the paintings by Abanindranath Tagore and the Bengal School of Art. The Bengal School of Art was a nationalist artistic movement that fought against Western conventions and depictions of the Orient. Artists like Tagore renounced all aesthetics that had been used to denigrate or romanticize India and strove to create a new identity that could further their cause for independence. Of primary concern for the school, was how to define a cohesive national identity that would help unify the peoples of India and empower them to fight for independence from the British Empire. Tagore and the Bengal School achieved this through various means, whether it was in aligning their aesthetics with indigenous Asian traditions or focusing the subject of their paintings on the important concerns of early twentieth-century Indians such as religion, history, family, and nationalism. The School depicted how Indians see themselves and most importantly, how they wanted to be seen. Their presented identity was constructed for themselves and a renunciation against the Western perspective forced upon them through the imperialistic lens of Orientalism. Studying art is a tangible way to examine the issues India and its peoples were grappling with during British rule. Unfortunately, non-Western art and its creators have historically been discussed through the orientalist eyes of Westerners rather than the natives themselves. Therefore, as a white, Western Christian, every attempt has been made to write analysis strictly based upon the presented information from the artists themselves or discussions raised in Indian exhibition catalogues and/or reviews, newspapers, and articles. This is not an examination of an "other," for it is not about the West. It is about India and how they strove to reclaim their identity through art in the midst of their struggle for independence.
Although Bharat Mata in the painting bears four arms and a halo as marks of divinity, this is a deity that is deeply humanistic. Dressed in a traditional sari and featuring the skin tone of an Indian woman, not the trademark blue of a deity, she is a true reflection of her people. In each of her outstretched arms are the necessities for a happy and healthy life in her land. One hand contains the food of the land; another is a strand of religious beads, vastra. She is also holding a piece of clothing to cover her people and a manuscript containing the Vedas, the foundation for India's native religions. Bharat Mata is a true mother to India as she provides for the spiritual and physical needs of all her people. A key message that Tagore is trying to convey within the painting is how closely Indian nationalism is tied to the religion of the land. National independence is both patriotic and religious duty for Indians. In addition, Tagore is not just depicting a goddess or a symbolic image of India. Rather, through this image, he is making a profound political statement that Bharat Mata, the mother goddess of India, not imperial Britain, will provide for her people. In the third century BCE, the emperor Asoka of the powerful Mauryan Dynasty unified India. In Asoka, Tagore conveys his nationalist ideals by reminding Indians of their historic past. India was once unified from within and was a great power because of its own ability and resources, not due to British (or Western) influences. India can once again reach a golden age, but attaining independence must come from national and religious unity among India's citizens. Yet again, religion is at the forefront of the nationalist message. Asoka is known historically for his conversion to Buddhism and spreading its ideals throughout the land with his pillars. The painting's most important religious message, however, stems from the distant temple in the background. Depicted as the Kashmir landscape, the temple is the Shankaracharya Temple sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists and repaired and restored by Sikhs. The temple is symbolic of religious unity between three of India's indigenous faiths. In the painting Asoka, Tagore highlights two imperative factors necessary for India to attain future independence: political and religious unity. The Bengal School of art and its forefather, Abanindranath Tagore, did not just focus on the pictorial message to convey their nationalist message; they also utilized the more subtle means of aesthetics. Little to no indigenous painting exists within India prior to the Mughal Dynasty and even then, the medium and style were imported from the Persian courts. Indian miniatures find their origins in Persia, not the motherland. Therefore, the Bengal School looked to their Far Eastern neighbors for influence. Having no style to truly call their own, Tagore and other artists of the Bengal School created a Pan-Asian aesthetic. Seeking to remove itself from the opulent materialism of Western Painting, the Bengal School wanted to reflect the spiritual nature so essential to the lives of native Indians. They felt it was best exemplified in the style of early Chinese paintings. Asoka is reminiscent of the paintings of China's Southern Song Dynasty, a period known for depicting spiritual and mystical pictorial landscapes that reflected the country's Neo-Confuscist ideologies. Tagore depicts such an image as Asoka sits atop a high peak gazing upon the land he unified. Asoka is like the wise old men of the Song paintings seeking out knowledge within a mystical landscape. Here Tagore creates a painting that is deeply spiritual and lacks a Western materialist perspective. Despite its exoticism, any trace of Western Orientalism is absent in Asoka's depiction. Although its style may not be indigenous, Asoka is painted in a style that is decisively not Western. It unifies Asia artistically through aesthetics while highlighting the importance of religion and spirituality. Tagore and The Bengal School of Art were keenly aware of the underlying political motives behind seemingly benevolent forces like artistic mediums and styles; thus, they successfully utilized their adroit ability to render a new Pan-Asian style in such a fashion that would only further their nationalistic ideals. Religion is inseparable from Indian Culture and the lived experience. In Ganesh-Janani, Tagore depicts a loving Parvati playing with her son Ganesh within the Indian landscape. The deep-rooted connection between indigenous faith and the land of India itself is apparent. These deities dwell within the motherland; India is their home. This a point further emphasized with Mount Kailasa in the distance. This painting does not just depict two deities living within India, but rather expresses that the native religions of India are engrained in the land. India is infused with religious and spiritual meaning that must be harnessed and recognized for the sake of its future independence. Furthermore, Tagore once again does not depict a goddess, Parvati, in the traditional manner of a blue-skinned deity. Rather, she is simply a loving mother playing with her child. Continuing to break away from Western artistic ideals, Parvati may be idealized, but Tagore ensures that she is not exoticized. Parvati, in fact, could be any Indian woman. India: its gods, land, and people are all being depicted through the eyes of Tagore, an Indian, not the Orientalist eyes of a Westerner. The Bengal School of Art renounced the mediums used within Western forms of art and chose a more indigenous form of painting. Therefore, the artists within the school no longer used oils. Tagore looked to India's oldest surviving paintings, the caves of Ajanta for inspiration. The ancient artists of the caves used a medium called gouache, also a popular medium for Persian miniatures. However, the medium was embraced not out of familiarity, but for its roots to the artists of ancient India. Nearly all of Tagore's paintings, including Ganesh-Janani, are painted in gouache. Just as the artists of The Bengal School of Art returned to its roots for inspiration, so too must Indians return to the historic origins of their homeland to find a path to national independence. Twilight was far less politically motivated for Tagore than other paintings created within The Bengal School of Art. The painting subtly hints at the fading British Empire, that their time will indeed end. Yet, this is not the focus of Twilight. It is an illustration conveying the deep instilled Indian values of family. Here Tagore paints himself in discussion with his aging artistic uncle, Rabindranath Tagore, atop their family home in Calcutta. The two share a bond of mutual respect and love as Rabindranath passes along his knowledge and experience to Abanindranath. Family is a primary foundation to the lives of all Indians, but it must also remain of the utmost important as India navigates through the rough journey of independence. As knowledge continues to be shared from the wise elders to the active youths of India, then Twilight will end, and along with it, the reign of the British Empire. A new dawn for India will begin and the importance of family will continue to endure.
0 Comments
The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance culminating in the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. On this Good Friday, we examine the somber subject of Agnus Dei, the Lamb of God. "Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" - John 1:29 (NIV) Painted during the heights of the Spanish Catholic Reformation, Francisco de Zurbarán's Agnus Dei is shocking in its simplicity of a lone Christian icon. The religious art of the Baroque period is frequently characterized by the dramatic works of Bernini, Caravaggio, Rembrandt and Rubens. Zurbarán, however, abandons drama for subtle poignancy. Set against a black backdrop and laying upon a gray table, a live merino lamb is tied and bound in a sacrificial position; its legs are thrust into the foreground and its eyes avert our gaze. There is no other iconography only the heartbreaking sense that the melancholy lamb is resigned to its sad fate. While technically there is no iconography to suggest the allegory of Christ as the 'Lamb of God', the image was widespread throughout Christian imagery, especially in (predominantly) Catholic Spain. In addition, the position of the lamb itself recalls that of Stefano Maderno's haunting Martyrdom of Saint Cecelia sculpted 30 years prior. The direct correlation between the two figural positions serves to reinforce the sacrificial nature of the lamb's existence. The subject was well received by the people of Seville, Spain. Once Diego Velazquez left for the royal courts, Zurbarán became the City's official painter by 1629. Between 1631-40 he painted five versions of Agnus Dei for private patrons, with slight iconographic variants. Yet, it is the unadorned version that is considered the finest of the five.[i] Its poignancy highlighted through Zurbarán's ability to "concentrate the viewer's attention on a lamb that seems to meekly accept its fatal destiny." [ii] There is nothing to detract the viewer from the lamb's sacrifice. No halo, no lilies. Only life--a life that will be given to pardon the sins of the world. Agnus Dei is often treated as a still-life, a genre of painting frequently associated with food or perishables acting as a memento mori. The lamb is indeed edible and its life coming to an end. Unlike most still-lifes, however, the process of death and/or decay is not shown for this is the food of life. The symbolism is two-fold. The unblemished sacrifice refers to the lamb of Passover, whose blood saved the Jews in Egypt and Christ, the Lamb of God, whose blood redeemed the sins all mankind. Zurbarán utilizes his artistic skill in rendering the texture of the lamb's wool with a technical subtlety that further underscores this is a lamb without blemish. This indeed is the Agnus Dei who is acting as the pardon for our sins. It is also his body we are consuming in an act of transubstantiation during the holy rite of Communion, a moment first celebrated at the Last Supper as described in the Book of Matthew: "While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, 'Take and eat; this is my body.' Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, 'Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.'" [iii] Zurbarán forces the viewer to confront the paradoxical nature of Christ Biblically and as seen art historically. He is both the Good Shepherd and the lamb, divine and humble, the triumphant and the slain. As a relatively new religion, early Christian imagery favored more Johannine depictions of the Agnus Dei. Their god could not be shown as meek and humble, but rather as a glorious deity who conquered death. By the 13th century, Franciscan theology created a shift in Christian imagery. Gone was the triumphant Lamb of Revelation, now replaced by a meek animal, humbly offering itself to humanity. This is the Lamb of God we encounter in Zurbarán's poignant masterpiece. Agnus Dei enables us to "recognize in this wooly lamb, bound and patiently waiting on a slab for the butcher's knife, the Saviour on the altar, the Son of Man suffering in atonement for our sins."[iv] And it is this recognition of Christ's complete and sorrowful surrender to death so that we shall live that makes Zurbarán's Agnus Dei one of the most moving of all images in Christianity. "He [Jesus] knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done.” -Luke 22: 41-42 i The canvas has wax seals bearing Ferdinand VII's coat of arms. The painting originally belonged to the family of Marquis del Socorro. The state acquired it for the Prado in 1986.
ii Museo del Prado iii Matthew 26:26-28 (NIV) iv Neil MacGregor, Seeing Salvation, p.73. The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance culminating in the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. Today marks the beginning of Holy week with Palm Sunday. In honor of this period of reflection nearing its conclusion, this week will simply be dedicated to the recurring themes of Holy week found within Christian imagery: the Last Supper, the Passion, Pietàs and of course the Crucifixion. Each theme will be accompanied with biblical scripture and some images with brief artistic commentary to provide further context for greater appreciation and/or deeper reflection. The Last Supper "When it was evening, he took his place with the twelve; and while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” And they became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, “Surely not I, Lord?” He answered, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.” Judas, who betrayed him, said, “Surely not I, Rabbi?” He replied, “You have said so.” While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take it, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” -MATTHEW 26: 20-29 Garden of Gethsemane "Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground." -LUKE 22:41-44 "Although Christ had to suffer this alone, without the Father, His love seems evident by the strong light shining down through the darkness of the night. Almost unable to bear the burden of mankind’s salvation, he takes rest and comfort in a greatly needed supporter. Although Christ bares expressions of sheer exhaustion and pain, he appears loving, selfless and accomplished. His comforter is empathetic and patient. Engulfed in the arms of the visitor, Christ slowly gains the strength to face his betrayer and the final excruciating act of his ultimate sacrifice." - Artist Carl Bloch Ecce Homo "Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head. They clothed him in a purple robe and went up to him again and again, saying, “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they slapped him in the face. Once more Pilate came out and said to the Jews gathered there, “Look, I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no basis for a charge against him.” When Jesus came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe, Pilate said to them, “Here is the man!” -John 19:1-6 " Whether or not we regard Jesus as a deity, he was at the very least a political leader of an oppressed people. The sculpture alludes to the recent historical past and its sad record of religious and racial intolerance." -Sculptor Mark Wallinger Crucifixion "Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, 'I am thirsty.' A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, 'It is finished.' With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit." - John 19:28-30 "Most people would expect the Good Thief, who is nearly always shown on Christ's right, to be in the light; yet Rembrandt illumines the Bad Thief, crucified on his left. This is not as perverse as it seems. We understand that what saves us is not to be in the light, but to be able to see it, to recognize the presence of God. The Bad Thief cannot see the light, that surrounds him, for he is blindfolded -- a physical indication of his spiritual blindness. As he dies he writhes in anguish." -Neil MacGregor, Seeing Salvation. "One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” -Luke 23: 39-43 "At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”)." -Mark 15:33-34 " [Chagall] transformed the traditional subject of the Christian iconography of the Christus patiens into the lyrical testimony of the condition of the Jews, presenting Jesus as a martyr and the symbol of his peoples' suffering. Chagall replaced Jesus' traditional loincloth with a tallit, a prayer shawl, the crown of thorns with a headcloth, and the mourning angels that customarily surround him with three biblical patriarchs and a matriarch, clad in traditional Jewish garments." -Divine Beauty Exhibition Guide "No one has ever really understood who this Jesus really was. One of our most loving rabbis who always helped the needy, the persecuted[...] For me, he is the archetype of the greatest Jewish martyr of all time." -Artist Marc Chagall "Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'" -Luke 23:34 Vesperbild & Pietà "The image of pain evokes the sufferings of all mothers in a cry that pierces through time: the image is vibrant, the image is surprising. Christian devotion... in an eternal scene of compassion." - L'osservatore Romano "As she holds Jesus' lifeless body on her lap, the Virgin's face emanates sweetness, serenity and a majestic acceptance of this immense sorrow, combined with her faith in the Redeemer. It seems almost as if Jesus is about to reawaken from a tranquil sleep and that after so much suffering and thorns, the rose of resurrection is about to bloom. As we contemplate the Pietà which conveys peace and tranquility, we can feel that the great sufferings of this life and its pain can be mitigated." -- Saint Peter's Basilica. Deposition & Entombment "Taking Jesus’ body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs. At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there."-John 19:40-42 "The gleaming white shroud is being used to bear Christ, to lower him lovingly and reverently down from the Cross into the sepulcher. It is not a sepulcher that stands below, but at the altar -- and for the Church the altar is Christ's sepulcher. Here the body sacrificed for others will be distributed as the eucharistic host -- just as the basin of blood Rubens painted beneath the Cross will reappear as the eucharistic wine." --Neil MacGregor, Seeing Salvation. The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance culminating in the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. This week is not an original post from The Artist's Job, but rather from famous former curator and director of the British Museum & London's National Gallery, Neil MacGregor. His 2000 publication, Seeing Salvation, was the inspiration for this blog's research and original writings in visual Theology. "Epilgoue" from Neil MacGregor's Seeing SalvationIn a world without God, is there still a future for the image of Christ? No longer dreading Judgment, we do not picture him as a Ruler and Judge. Crucifixes may be ubiquitous, but since the First World War the imagery of suffering has become steadily richer with photographs of real people and real events. Since many of those who suffer most today are not Christians, it is hard now to view the Crucifixion as an emblem of universal suffering. The crosses outside Auschwitz were seen to have been put up to call Jewish suffering into question - or worse - and were decried for that reason. And perhaps the scale of suffering has become too great, and a creed of atonement too remote, for a suffering God to speak to many of redemption, or to move us to acts of charity. Americans looked with horror and remorse at the news photograph of a Vietnamese child burned with napalm. As earlier centuries might have reacted to an altarpiece of the Crucifixion, they knew that this suffering was in a general sense their fault and that their actions could help to alleviate the wider injustice and suffering that it represented. And it was this image, and not one of Christ on the Cross, that provided an impetus for bringing war to an end. Yet you could argue that, in a way, this speaks to the continuing power of the tradition we have been examining: the Franciscan response of pity, followed by contrition and then action was actively present, but the trigger was not a suffering god, but a suffering child. As Francis had argued over seven centuries earlier, it is the love all of us can feel for a child that recalls us most powerfully and most simply to our highest duties of love for all humanity. And nothing will ignite that love more rapidly than an affecting image. If Mark Wallinger still invokes the Ecce Homo, many Western artists today, believers and unbelievers, try to represent the divine and spiritual in different ways. Some, as Mark Rothko did, return to the aniconic traditions of observant Jews and iconoclasts, depicting the transcendental as radiance or luminous fields of colour. Others seek universality by combining Western and foreign traditions. Stephen Cox, an English sculptor responsible for the altar and reredos of St. Paul's Haringay, has been inspired by images of divinity in traditional Indian stone carving. The American video artist Bill Viola turns to the writings of Western and Eastern mystics and Jungian psychoanalysis. His installation at Durham Cathedral, The Messenger, associates a Christ-like male nude with the Sanskrit concept of prana, the breath which animates, the life force - and this itself goes back to pagan Greek and heretic early Christian notions. But if we no longer heed the messages of the great Christian images of the past, and admire them mainly for aesthetic qualities, there is one traditional image of Christ that, I believe, remains universally valid. It moves people from any cultural background, whether or not they recognize it as an image of the incarnate God. It is the Christ Child. Like all babies, the infant Christ is the focus of our aspirations and our apprehensions. We know what he will have to endure, and we want to protect him from it. If there is one emotion that can come close to uniting all humanity, it is surely awe in the face of a new-born child - tender, over-whelming, humbling, strengthening. No artist ever painted it more powerfully than Rembrandt in the picture now in the museum of Stockholm. The Child's parents have just handed him to Simeon, the priest in the Temple. And although he appears to be blind, he sees the essential. He intuits divinity and he knows all will now be well...Rembrandt, as so often, concentrates on the heart of the matter; he shows the scene in cinematic close-up. Simeon is transfigured; in his arms he holds Christ. But he and Anna, the aged prophetess (a figure added by a later artist), appear like any grateful grandparents near the end of their days, and Christ is every baby: a newborn child whom all are moved to protect and love, and on whom all hopes are fixed, until the last generation. Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace...For mine eyes have seen salvation. NEIL MACGREGOR Neil MacGregor is a British art historian and former museum director who was born in Glasgow in 1946. He studied at the universities of Oxford, Paris, Edinburgh and London (Courtauld Institute). MacGregor was called to the Scottish bar before becoming a lecturer in the History of Art and Architecture at the University of Reading. He was the editor of the Burlington Magazine from 1981 to 1987, then Director of the National Gallery, London, from 1987 to 2002, and finally Director of the British Museum from 2002 to 2015. He has presented three television series on painting with the BBC: Seeing Salvation, Painting the World and Making Masterpieces.
|
AuthorScholar. Student. Unadulterated lover of all art forms. Archives
September 2017
Categories
All
|