Mediaeval Sinhalese Art c10.s1: I. Teaching of Drawing
Mediaeval Sinhalese Art c10.s1
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I. Teaching of Drawing
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As architects, painters and designers, a thorough knowledge of drawing was essential to the superior craftsmen, and we find a highly systematic course of instruction in use for the education of apprentices. These were usually the sons of master craftsmen; but the sons of relations and even of outsiders were also received. A man of the proper caste, wishing to apprentice his son to a master-craftsman, would first find a fortunate hour (*nekat balanava*), and then proceed to the craftsman's house with his son of about six years old, and one or more servants carrying presents of food and betel leaves on a yoke. The boy was first set to learn drawing; he was given a *yatiporuva*, or wooden drawing-board covered with a preparation known as *vadi*. *Vadi* was made by grinding together tamarind seed (two *palam*), coconut charcoal (one *palam*), iron slag (two *palam*), and indigo (ten *mañjāḍi*) with the juice of *kikirindi* leaves (*Eclipta erecta, L.*)† The ingredients were ground together and mixed with finely-powdered quartz (*tiruvānagala*) and smoothly spread on the board and allowed to dry. Upon the board so prepared the pupil learnt to draw, using for his pencil the spine of a sea-urchin (*ikiri kaṭuva*) mounted in a bamboo handle; or failing that, a pointed style of kumbuk (*Terminalia glabra*) bark. Now-a-days, ordinary slates and slate-pencils are used.
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∗ “No Artificers,” says Knox, “ever change their Trade from Generation to Generation; but the Son is the same as was his Father, and the Daughter marries only to those of the same Craft: and her Portion is such Tools as are of use, and do belong unto the Trade.”
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† This was the practice; but the mnemonic verse in which particulars are given implies the use of only one *palam* of the iron slag: “*Neraluḳaṭu gurut yadaḷuṭ suṅkara ṇa Dasaṭak pamaṇa mada nil geṇa ambarami ṇa Poṭuhera siyambala ẹṭa tunpalam ge ṇa Madarada pat yusin nimakara gā soṇḍi ṇa*”
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Teaching of drawing
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The first copy was the *vaka deka*, or double curve of Fig. 5; the boy had first to trace over and over again the teacher’s copy on the *yaṭi-poruva*. After some control of the hand had thus been acquired, and the form was deeply impressed on the pupil’s mind, he had to draw the same from memory, particular care being taken to show the right feeling in drawing the subtle curve. When he had attained some proficiency the figure was complicated by the addition of ‘wedges’ (*paturu*); then a ‘flower’ (*sina mala*) was added at one end (these are seen in Fig. 6), and finally the *vaka deka* by means of internal divisions and external additions, was made into the designs known as *katuru mala* (Fig. 7), *moṭṭak karuppuva* and *tiringi tale* (talaya or talai*) (Figs. 4 and 8, and Pl. XVII). These are successive complications all based on the original *vaka deka*. The ornament of which the *tiringi tale* is built up is called *liya pata* or *liya pota* (q.v. in Chapter IV). The *tiringi tale* itself is not a form used in decoration, but is rather a ‘tour de force’ or test of skill; when the pupil was able to draw a good example, not from a copy, of course, he was considered to be proficient at this sort of work. A few specially good specimens have been handed down in craftsmen’s families from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries; these, like some working drawings for royal jewellery which I have seen, were executed on Dutch paper, which was also used for the very rare illuminated manuscripts. Pattern or copy books (‘*padimakada*’ pot) were regularly used, and I have seen both modern examples, and an early one (Pl. XIV, 1) on Dutch paper. Old copies were often set also on loose sheets of Dutch or other paper, and not in regular books. Sinhalese paper was coarse and ill adapted to fine brush drawing such as that of Fig. 8. English paper came into use later.
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∗ The words ‘moṭṭak karuppuva’ and ‘tiringi tale’ are of interest as they are probably corruptions of Tamil ‘moṭṭaik karukku’ (blunt or round edge), and ‘tirigu talai’ (twisted blade); I have seen the latter word written ‘tirikit talai’ on a Sinhalese drawing (Fig. 4) dating from about the end of the eighteenth century. ‘Katuru’ is probably a corruption of kartri, ‘agent’ or ‘craftsman.’
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Fig. 5. Vaka deka; modern drawing, x½.
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Fig. 6. Vaka deka with paturu and sina mala; modern drawing, x½.
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Fig. 7. Katuru mala; modern drawing, x½ [D.S.M.].
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At no time was the pupil taught to draw from nature. He was made free of the traditional idealised forms which have been handed down from generation to generation; much as the Gothic artist inherited the Freedom of the Tudor rose. The trained artist is contemptuous of any fault in symmetry, carrying this idea almost too far; he thinks
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Fig. 8. Tiringi tale, half-size of original. From an old drawing in black and red belonging to T. B. Keppitipola, Basnayaka Nilame of Embekke Devale. The vaka deka first drawn is clearly recognizable within the elaborated design (this is not the case in Fig. 4, P. 53, which represents an inferior example). The broad curved tongues (tandu) are red in the original drawing. All these figures are drawn with a brush, as described in Chapter IX. (Painting).
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that the balanced design of the lid of the box shown Pl. XXXVI., 6, is much superior to that on the back, which is not equally symmetrical. He regards ‘design’ as the knowledge of, and power to make use of, already determined forms; in complete contrast to the modern Western idea of the continually fresh adaptation of natural forms by each artist at his own will and in his own way. He is scornful of those who do not know (danne ne) the traditional forms, and of those who draw after their own vain imagining (kalpanavata andinava). When shown, however, good work of other countries, as for example, Kelmscott borders, he is interested, and remarks, ‘Ek eka rata, ek eka veda,’ ‘Each country has its own style’; which is getting very near to the root of the matter.
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The method of setting about a piece of drawing is remarkable, and shows the strong *Teaching of visualising power of the painter, and his reliance upon memory. In drawing for example, drawing* a lion, a beginning is made with the muzzle, and the brush is carried thence round the whole outline, without preliminary sketching. The painter always seems to see his design upon the surface, and merely to outline what is to him already there. The drawing may or may not be good, but there is never any vagueness or hesitation about it; there is a total absence of all ‘messing about,’ all is concrete and clear.
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Fig. 9. Tundan veḍa; repeating design with geometrical construction; modern drawing, × 1.
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The pupil was also taught to draw repeating patterns with a geometrical construction, called *tundan veḍa* (Fig. 9) and all the different types of conventional floral ornament made use of in Sinhalese design. These, by the way, varied a little in different families, wherein they were traditionally transmitted from generation to generation. The types of *tiringi tale* also varied slightly. There was some opportunity for individuality here; it should not be supposed that the strictly traditional character of the arts made it altogether impossible to distinguish one man’s work from another’s. Most noteworthy is the great ease and certainty with which beautiful ornament like that of Fig. 9 can be drawn at a moment’s notice. If one watches such sketches made, it seems rather as if the pattern grows of itself, than that the draftsman makes it.
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By this time the boy began to draw figure and animal subjects; the first of these was always a curious combination of a bull and an elephant, called *usamba-kuñjara* (bull-elephant); next in order came the following designs: *catur-nāri-palakkiya* (4-women-palanquin), *pañca-nāri-geṭa* (5-women-knot), *sat-nāri-toraṇa* (6-women-arch), *sapta-nāri-turaṅga* (7-women-horse), *aṣṭa-nāri-ratha* (8-women-chariot, and *nava-nāri-kuñjara* (9-women-elephant).* All of these are drawn on the *yaṭipōruva*, from the teacher’s copies; it should, however, not be forgotten that the object of instruction was not to enable the pupil to copy a design before him, but to enable him (1), to reproduce from memory certain well-known designs and figure subjects, and (2), to make use of the traditional elements of design in the decoration of whatsoever varied forms and surfaces he might be called upon to decorate.
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Meanwhile the apprentice learnt by heart the Sanskrit *Rūpavaliya*, containing instructions *Technical for the drawing of images of gods and mythical animals; Sāriputra*, containing instruction handbooks for making images of Buddha; and *Vaijayantaya*, a compendium of instruction in the arts, containing, for example, a detailed description of the sixty-four kinds of jewels proper for gods, kings, and men, the design and quantity of gold required for each; measurements of swords, thrones, *dāgabas*, etc. The pupil had by this time begun to use the brush, which he learnt to do by practising on unimportant work and by filling in details and completing work laid down (*lakuṇu karaṇava*) by the master. If the master was engaged
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[^ *]: *Most or all of these are designs well known in India. They are not specially adapted to teaching drawing, and it would seem rather by chance than intention that they have been made a part of a regular course. For further details of these forms see Chapter IV., p. 90.*
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*Teaching of* on the decoration of a vihāra there was no lack of minor work which could be executed *drawing* by pupils while he himself was busy with the most important and difficult parts. The pupil, like the pupils of the painters of mediæval Europe, thus got his hand in, by completing the easier parts of real work in progress, instead of attempting too early to execute individual work of the most difficult sort, or perpetually working at uninteresting copies of no permanent value. As it was usual for one man to practise several of the higher crafts at the same time (as painting and ivory carving together, or with others as well), the pupils also had practice in several crafts, but usually selected one or more as their special work. A *galladda* proficient in five crafts was called *silpacāriya*.
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*Workshop* It should be pointed out that in the case of such pupils as we are considering, a general *education* and religious education was imparted at the same time, similar to that given in *pansala* schools. Reading, writing and arithmetic were thus taught; the latter was essential for the purpose of the astrological calculations required to determine favourable times for the commencement of important works, and for the understanding of the measurements given in the technical books referred to. The rules for drawing figures necessitated the construction and use of scales. A good deal of geometry of a practical character was also learnt in connection with the construction of repeating patterns. The master craftsman had thus a small school where technical instruction was given in addition to an ordinary education. The relation between master and pupil remained to the last, one of affectionate reverence. It was customary for the pupil to offer whatever he earned to his teacher, who, unless specially asked, returned the greeting and the gift with the same grave courtesy with which it was offered. A friend of mine, now over fifty, tells me that he always observes this custom with his father (now over eighty), who was his teacher. The whole system was indeed mainly one of hereditary transmission of a craft or ‘mystery’; and though other pupils were admitted, the master was loth to reveal his last secrets save to a son, or perhaps to a faithful pupil at the completion of his course. If the pupil was an outsider, his father from time to time made presents to the teacher, and at the conclusion of the period of instruction some more substantial gift, such as a buffalo. As the pupil grew up, he continued to work for and with his teacher, and thus the tradition was perfectly transmitted. It is indeed a strange thing for anyone used to the eclecticism of modern Europe to be brought face to face with strong living traditions in this way; for in Europe “whatever of art is left which is in any sense the result of continuous tradition is, and long has been, so degraded as to have lost any claim to be considered art at all”; while the only art existing in Ceylon, worthy the name of art, is strictly traditional.
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*Teaching in* Before leaving the subject of teaching drawing, it may be noted that it is one worthy *English* of close study in India and the East generally. The information gained from a com- *schools* parative study of the methods employed in different parts of India would be of the utmost historical, artistic and anthropological value. Since Indian craftsmen are admittedly masters of design, their methods of instruction should be of permanent interest and value to all interested in the teaching of drawing; and a proper and rational system of instruction might be introduced into English schools in Ceylon, where at present the poor learner is put through the old-fashioned South Kensington mill, and may ‘learn drawing’ without acquiring any knowledge of Indian traditional design, or in any way connecting the subject with his ordinary life or the past history of his country. The object of teaching drawing should surely be educational, and not merely utilitarian! I have not space to enter into the subject at length; but the points which I consider of greatest importance are, (1) a greater recognition of the value of drawing from memory; (2) instruction in the use of ruler and compasses at an early stage, the drawing of curves to be taught first of all, leaving the straight lines to take care of themselves later. Anyone who can draw accurately a sensitive curve could also draw a straight line; (3) the postponement of model drawing to a late stage; (4) the elimination of scientific perspective from the ordinary drawing course; (5) recognition of local tradition, by a large use of Eastern decorative forms for freehand work, and of brass and earthenware for model drawing; and (6) cultivation of taste in, by explanation of, the principles of design, and exhibition of examples or pictures of good work, mainly oriental. I do not wish to condemn direct drawing from nature, but rather to postpone it to a late stage in the actual drawing course; at an earlier stage I would introduce it only in connection with nature study and not as a part of the actual instruction in drawing. A logical contrast would thus be drawn between drawing as a means of recording observations of scientific interest or practical value, and drawing as an art, *i.e.*, as a means of interpretation of nature; and both points of view would be of interest.
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The first thing to do in this investigation, would be to compare the South Indian methods with those of Ceylon, and with one another, and from these observations to reconstruct as it were a perfect text, exhibiting the instruction as a connected scheme. In this direction I have made some enquiries at Tanjore, from an old master-craftsman named Annasāmi Stapati Rayar. Drawing was taught as in Ceylon, upon a wooden board, prepared by covering with a lime and rice, or charcoal, lime and rice paste, and drawn upon with a leaden pencil. The forms first drawn were the simplified but comparatively naturalistic outlines of certain fruits and vegetables (can this really be a part of the tradition, or is it of modern origin?); and certain double curves or conventional leaf forms, called *kaḍaikadḍu*, *kurippa* and *akatti karukku* (Fig. 10), which apparently correspond to the Sinhalese *vaka deka* (an example of the latter (Fig. 5) was recognized by the Stapati as *kaḍaikadḍu*). Copy or sketch books, called *kaḍuttam pustakam*, were used as in Ceylon. One such in my possession, about a century old, consists mainly of sketches or memory notes of images of the principal deities and their attributes as detailed in the *śāstra*.
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Fig. 10. Tamil forms used in teaching drawing, called kaḍaikadḍu, and kurippa or akatti karukku. From A. Stapati Rayar, Tanjore, 1907.
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The chief *śāstra* used by my informant was the Dhyāna Ratanāvaliya. The Silpa *śāstra* forms a bulky literature, but usually very corrupt, and greatly neglected, alike by Indian and European scholars.[*] A knowledge of Sanskrit, Tamil and Telugu, and of the art, is required for its adequate study and comprehension. Several of the books are to be found in the Tanjore library, and in that of the Theosophical Society at Adyar. I venture to commend their investigation and the study of the methods of teaching drawing, and of South Indian art and artists generally, to the members of the Viśvakarma Kulābhimāna Sabhā in Madras.
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∗ The subject has been touched upon once or twice in the *Journal of Indian Art*; see ‘Dravidian Architectural Details,’ by A. Rea, in Vol. V.
Linked texts (3)
- Dhyānaratnāvalī — Sanskrit
- Śāstra
- Viśvakarmaśilpa — Viśvakarman, Sanskrit