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Jain Miniature Paintings from Western India c12: Chapter V: Esthetic Considerations in Western Indian Painting

Jain Miniature Paintings from Western India c12

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Chapter V: Esthetic Considerations in Western Indian Painting

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IN the foregoing chapters, we have tried to give an analysis of Western Indian painting from the point of view of chronology and technique, and have also pointed out its importance for the history of textile-printing industry of Gujarāt and the costume. But art is not merely history, and neither does it fulfil its function by serving the interests of sociology. In its fundamentals, art stands for the æsthetic appeal which it stirs in the heart of men and women, thus chastening their emotional background. The æsthetic appeal of art does not lie in the technical perfection, but in the intensity of emotional approach which makes itself felt through the brilliance of colours and the vibration of lines. The art of Ajaṇṭā does not so much depend for its greatness on the technical side as on the deep æsthetic considerations which moved the artists. These æsthetic expressions may be due to the personal pleasures and pains whose impressions the artist gathers from his surroundings, and stores up in his memory to be used when the occasion arises, or they may be due to the rigorous self-discipline in probing the deep mysteries of life, which religion is alone able to teach. In the wonderful sculptures of Ellura, it is not the realisation of the external surroundings which characterises the great images, but the metaphysical thoughts brooding on the mysteries of creation and destruction, the life and its fulfilment. Devoid of the above considerations, art degenerates to mere craftsmanship, ready to place its services at the disposal of the rich, with little artistic susceptibilities but a fat purse. It no longer fulfils the fundamental principles of true art, but becomes commercialised. It arouses the curiosity of the people and mollifies their vanity, but it fails to give permanent values. We shall have to bear in mind these factors while giving a correct æsthetic appraisal of Western Indian painting.

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Turning to the art of Western India from the 11th to 15th century, we are struck with certain features which are peculiarly its own. It reflects the interfusion of the monastic and the guild life; it does not err towards mysticism, but is practical to the extent that it reflects the great wealth of the merchants who were its chief patrons. Medieval Gujarāt was the land of great merchants, their coffers overflowing with money, a part of which they spent on building temples and ordering illustrated manuscripts for the twin purpose of glorification among their co-religionists and attainment of heaven after death. The merchants as a community are thoroughly practical people everywhere in the world, and even if they build, it is on a grand scale, as money is no consideration. But one thing which money is unable to buy is aesthetic taste, and, therefore, the art of the period with its faultless carvings, rising tier upon tier, and the illustrated manuscripts resplendent with gold and ultramarine, leave us amazed at the great riches spent over them, but our aesthetic reactions are rather cold. In the maze of the confusing decorative values, our mind is unable to grasp the fundamentals of the artistic form which alone is capable of giving permanent value to art.

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When we direct our attention towards Western Indian art, we do not try to isolate objects by purely aesthetic analysis. The association, for example, of a painting or an illustrated manuscript, and the association of the person brought into contact with it, are alone conducive to that state of mind from which one derives the sense of values. Among the associations of a painting may be the sacred subjects it deals with, the teacher to whom it is dedicated, the fame of the monastery to which it belonged, and the amount of money spent for its execution. The aesthete is to approach the painting in that religious frame of mind to which the incidents in the painting are as clear as day-light, and, together with other associations of the painting which he invokes, he is able to realise certain values, which, unhappily, a man, not knowing those associations, is unable to realise. As Prof. K. De. B. Codrington observes, "This confusion between the religious and the aesthetic, so evident to the analytic mind, is not a matter of failure to arrive at distinctions but of a definite refusal to admit of distinctions in which the sum of reactions that is human life, in which qualities are held to exist only as stupid preferences and intensity is alone satisfying."⁹⁷

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⁹⁷ Codrington, *Study of Mediaeval Indian Sculpture*, p. 20.

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From the above statement, it is, therefore, evident that the associations both of the object of art and the aesthete should blend to bring about that happy state of mind which is necessary for the realisation of aesthetic contentment. But this point of view, if accepted, is bound to bring great confusion in the field of aesthetics, as it would require the aesthete to know the associations of the object and then blend them with his own frame of mind which understands the religious significance of a particular piece of art, before he realises its aesthetic values.

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To understand the aesthetic significance of Western Indian painting, we have to approach the Ellura paintings, which are the earliest survivals of Western Indian painting and which are nearer to its original character than the twelfth century illustrations on palm-leaves and wooden book-covers. The frescoes at Rangmahal are Brahmanical and quite in line with the spiritual and aesthetic ideals set up in the sculpture. To understand the aesthetic connotation of these paintings, however, one has to understand their associations which are Brahmanical mythologies, the stories of Siva and Vishnu and the elements they represent. In all these paintings, there broods a sense of deep meditative contemplation, which is palpable not only in the figures of the gods and goddesses but also in the Apsarases floating on the woolly clouds. The paintings, however, suffer on technical grounds on account of the flatness which has discarded modelling and, therefore, unable to catch the æsthetic grandeur of the stone reliefs of Ellura, which throb with a sense of divine contemplation born of spiritual contentment. It is an art of lines with preference for angularities and simple colour scheme and often overcrowded composition. The knowledge of the well established iconographic types of the Brahmanical gods and their symbolical significance are essential for understanding the æsthetic and metaphysical implications of Ellura paintings. To sum up, the æsthetic qualities of Ellura paintings are to be understood not as a separate phenomenon which defies analysis, but as the part and parcel of a great temple with its associations of other artistic wealth, and the deep metaphysical conviction prevailing through its sculptures. Viewed in such associations, the paintings fit perfectly in the general scheme of the temple, and their technical shortcomings do not matter.

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Fig. 205

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Fig. 206

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The next stage in the development of Western Indian school reaches in the illustrated palm-leaf manuscripts from roughly 1100 to 1300 A.D. Wall-paintings in Western India are, however, unknown, though from the 11th or 12th century wall-paintings from Tirumalai, Madanpur, and Pagan, it could be said that the wall-paintings in Western India must have been similar to them. In the miniatures of the 12th century, there is a tendency towards simplification. Here, there are no elaborate compositions, the line and colours are simple, and the background usually painted in monochrome. In short, these paintings prefer directness of expression to technical perfection. It is not the art of the philosophers with all its metaphysical implications, but the art of the matter-of-fact business community which regarded art in its business setting. The fancy of the artists does not soar high enough to see in the figures of the Jinas and the gods and godlings the working of a spiritual force; typologically, the Jinas and the gods to them were little different to their patrons, only the distinguishing symbols and elevated position of the former sought to distinguish them from the common run of men. From the above remarks, however, it should not be understood that symbolism in Western Indian art did not play any part. On the contrary, iconography did play an important part in the period under review. An elaborate system of sacred symbols and iconographic types of Vidyādevīs and Yakhsas was known to Western Indian artists, but there is little æsthetic significance in them, and their types are repeated with such nonchalance that they become more or less decorative patterns.

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As we have pointed out that the art of the period is religious in the sense that it seeks to glorify religion with its Jinas and the gods and goddesses, all reduced to pictorial formulas, which are repeated ad nauseum with little variation. This religious art imposed limitations on the artist and greatly curbed his originality. In the scenes dealing with purely secular subjects, however, there are no such limitations, and, consequently, his work gains in vivacity and freedom of expression. A twelfth century painted wooden book-cover depicts a free religious discussion between the Śvetāmbara monk Devasūri and his Digambara adversary, Kumuda-candra (Figs. 193—198). The animated gesture of Kumuda-candra, the controlled expression of Jinadatta, and the challenging attitude of the messenger sent by the former to the latter, are very naively stressed. Then follows the march of both teachers to Pāṭaṇ where the discussion was to be held. The joy pervading the party of Devasūri is clearly stressed, and the vigorous movement of the dancers and musicians and the proud gait of the Āchārya and his followers stress the anticipated victory. On the other hand, the slow movement of the followers of Kumuda-candra, and the appearance of a serpent as an ill-omen, show what was in stock for him. The painter actually seems to have taken a malicious delight in the discomfiture of Kumuda-candra whom he represents as being unceremoniously brushed aside by the gate-keeper of the imperial palace at Pāṭaṇ, when Kumuda-candra tries to approach the king's mother for succour. In conformation with the principles of primitive art, the artist is direct in his expression, and no landscape or architectural setting is introduced which is not essentially a part of the story. The artist is bent upon telling a story directly, and he does not want the technical or artistic requirements to divert attention to non-essentials, thus breaking the continuity of the story.

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In a painted wooden book-cover depicting the battle between Bharata and Bāhubali (Fig. 199—200) as well, the same directness of expression is followed. Both the brothers are engaged in a mortal combat, riding on chariots. Only a few soldiers are shown as the space was limited, but the grimness of the battle is emphasised by the determined expressions of the combatants, and the flying arrows which have literally strewn the field. Here, the artist is not concerned with the stereotyped scenes from the lives of the Jinas, but with the unusual scene of a battle-field, the idea of whose ferocity he must have gained from some medieval battle ground. He makes his soldiers look real, and that clearly shows that a Western Indian artist could give direct expression to his feelings, when he was given an opportunity to do so. Even in the decorative lotus meander on the reverse of this panel, the artist gives vigorous touches reminiscent of Ajaṇṭā but with a primitive vigour of its own.

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The culture of Gujarāt was affected in the beginning of the 14th century by the forces of Islam, and its effect is clearly visible on the art of painting. In the early fourteenth century Kalpasūtra palm-leaf manuscript from Iḍar, the aesthetic taste seems to have undergone some radical changes. Islam, through the importation of Iranian manuscripts, taught the Indian painters a love for gold, trailing with it a sense of resplendent glory and immense riches. The indiscriminate use of gold in the palm-leaf, and later on in paper manuscripts, did not in any way improve upon the aesthetic qualities of the art, but it certainly gave an opportunity to the rich Jain patrons to lavish wealth on their religious books which they venerated. There is also a marked departure in draughtsmanship. The primitive vigour of the 12th century is lost and is replaced by a controlled manipulation of fine lines. Even in painting the hair minute strokes are employed to depict each strand, a thing unknown in the art of the twelfth century. The decoration is also not merely suggestive, but tends towards realism. In this period of transition, Western Indian art was clearly formulating new art conventions, which became classical in the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. A natural question arises whether these innovations improved the æsthetic qualities of the art. The answer should be in the negative. The addition of gold indiscriminately used to paint the Jinas and the ornaments give a tawdry and unæsthetic look to paintings. The draughtsmanship loses its primitive vigour, and certain conventions, such as protruding of the farther eyes, the pointed nose and the chin, unnecessary exaggeration of the chest and distorted treatment of the fingers, become regular art conventions to be followed without questioning. The art of that period reflects the wealth of its patrons, but is devoid of that æsthetic vigour which alone gives art its permanent values.

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Fig. 207

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Fig. 208

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There are certain art critics, however, who, in the first flush of the newly made discovery of Western Indian painting, have been rather too generous in their appraisal of its æsthetic merits. We quote the opinion of Dr. Coomaraswamy, our pre-eminent art critic:

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“The art is one of pure draughtsmanship; the pictures are brilliant statements of the facts of the epic (the life of Mahāvīra, like the Buddha-charita, is essentially an epic), where every incident is seen in the light of eternity. To call this pure drawing, implies that it is an art of symbols and indifferent to representation. On the other hand, it is not calligraphic, that is to say, that elegance or an elegant combination of lines is not deliberately sought, and in this sense the drawing is more like script (such as that of the accompanying text) made to be clearly and easily read. There is no preoccupation with pattern, colour, or texture for their own sake; but these are achieved with inevitable assurance in a way that could not have been the case had they been directly sought. The drawing has in fact the perfect equilibrium of a mathematical equation, or a page of composer’s score. Theme and formula compose an inseparable unity, text and pictures form a continuous relation of the same dogma in the same key.”

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“The physical peculiarity in the delineation of human forms, particularly the angularity of the features, and the projection of the farther eye, are incidents of local colour independent of the quality of the art, the inevitable stigmata of time and place. In a wider sense the same applies to physical peculiarities such as the broad chest (often so much exaggerated that a distinction of the male from the female is almost lost) and lion waist, and the large eyes with their corners extended to the ear, which are the common taste of India and not peculiar to Jain works.”

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“That the handling is light and casual does not imply a poverty of craftsmanship (the quality of roughness in primitives of all ages seems to unsophisticated observers a defect), but rather perfect adequacy—it is the direct expression of a flashing religious

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conviction and of freedom from any specific material interest. This is the most spiritual form known to us in Indian painting, and perhaps the most accomplished in technique, but not the most emotional nor the most intriguing. Human interest, and charm, on the other hand, are represented in Ajaṇṭā painting and in late Rājpūt art.⁹⁸

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⁹⁸ Coomaraswamy, *Cat. of Ind. Col.*, Part IV, pp. 33-34.

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The high compliments which Dr. Coomaraswamy has paid to Western Indian painting seem to be exaggerated. We have gone through a very large number of Jain documents, and, except in the 12th century painted wooden covers, and a few brilliantly executed paintings on cloth, we have been unable to see any outstanding spiritual or æsthetic merit in the 14th or 15th century miniatures. Dr. Coomaraswamy talks of the brilliant draughtsmanship, spontaneous in execution, of the miniatures, but we are unable to follow him when he says that the drawings are meant to be as clearly read as the scripts accompanying them. Surely, there is a degree of sophistication in the drawings which mars direct expression in painting. Then we are unable to agree with his remarks that there is no preoccupation with pattern, colour or texture, for their own sake. After all, if there is no preoccupation with colours, then why simple colours are repeated in almost every manuscript, and take exactly the same places they are intended to take. In the patterns as well, a definite attempt is seen in the 14th and 15th century manuscripts towards elaboration, and the careful border decoration of a few *Kalpasūtra* manuscripts belonging to the 15th century certainly disprove the assertion that the decoration is not deliberate. To assert that the paintings are "the brilliant statement of facts" of Mahāvīra's life, or the loveliness of spring in the *Vasanta Vilāsa*, is to give a value to these painting which they do not rightfully deserve. In the estimation of Dr. Coomaraswamy, even the physical peculiarities are incidents of local colour, but we have already tried to show elsewhere that these physical peculiarities are the signs of decadence, palpable in the contemporary paintings in South India and places as far as Orissa and Burma. Surely, decadence could never become primitive. Then, Dr. Coomaraswamy talks of the perfect equilibrium of a mathematical equation in drawing. If he means thereby that the drawing has a mathematical sense, we have nothing to say. Equitable results accrue in the field of mathematics, but in the field of true art, if the same principle were to hold good, then the result will be a constant repetition, a feature of commercial art.

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The contemporary observers were also not very much impressed by the spiritual or æsthetic attainments of Western Indian painting. The *Pādatāḍitakam*, a medieval burlesque, had apparently not a very high opinion of the painting of Lāṭa and Surāṣṭra. Making fun of the Gujarātī artists, the satirist bursts forth:

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"Here is he painting the banner of the temple of Pradyumna= the God of Love. Lo! this sheer *diṇḍishness*. *Diṇḍins* by name are they, not much superior to monkeys.

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Fig. 209

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Fig. 210

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Fig. 211

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Fig. 212

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Fig. 213

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Fig. 214

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Fig. 215

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Fig. 216

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Fig. 217

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Fig. 218

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Fig. 219

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Fig. 220

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Why again, oh! his love for the Diṇḍikas? The Diṇḍins are, truly speaking, spoiling the painting with their own daubs, putting the ink-filth of thin hair brushes on the whitewashed buildings; taking their (mis-shaped) iron tool with very keen edges, they are roaming round palace grounds, active like vermins.”

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Though much of this vituperation against the Gujarātī artists may be in a satirical vein, there could be no doubt that the author of the Pādatāḍitakam was not impressed with Gujarātī painters and speaks with disdain the crude colour daubs and ink blotches in their paintings. The actual examples of Western Indian painting, which have come down to us, show that the Pādatāḍitakam is not far wrong in his estimation of Western Indian painting.

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But, for all said about the aesthetic disinterestedness of Western Indian painting, there is no doubt, a certain quaint combination of erratic lines and strong colours that gives it some charm. Its naïvety, which has nothing to do with the studied charm of the Mughal art, expresses a great sympathy for the luxuries and loves of the world. It is an art inspired by the bourgeoises, and, therefore, its restricted vision could not soar to spiritual heights; nevertheless, its decorative charm could not be ignored.

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