Art
Stars of India
John McEwen
The Arts Council inevitably is a public whipping-horse, subjected to periodic abuse — not least in the Spectator — for
misdemeanours supposed and actual, so it is good to be able to redress the balance with unstinted praise for their latest exhibi-
tion, In the Image of Man, at the Hayward Gallery (till 13 June). The experts appear to
be unanimous in declaring this survey of 2,000 years of painting and sculpture to be the finest display of Indian art ever seen in this country or, quite possibly, anywhere else; and it is difficult to imagine many other organisations that could have com- bined the organisational expertise and of- ficial clout to pull it off. Consider, for a se- cond, the problems in conjuring a show of this rarity and excellence: the scholarship required for the location of these pieces in myriad museums and private collections; the complications of communication at such a distance, the tedium of meeting bureaucratic requirements; the hazards of transportation, the fact that several of the heaviest of these sculptures set off on the road to the Hayward by being manhandled, for want of gear and tackle, from their original sites, carried for perhaps a mile by over 20 men, even rowed across lakes; con- sider, then, the enormity of the government indemnity required for their insurance; the further problems of installing objects weighing up to 21/2 tons in a far from ideal building; the complexity of cataloguing and clarifying the nature of almost 500 items from a relatively unfamiliar culture; and you will surely agree that an enterprise of this scope is outside the regular entre- preneurial run of things.
Coming up to scratch as a viewer on these occasions is a daunting task. The Royal
Academy's Great Japan show, another ex-
hibition milestone of this exceptional year, covered approximately two centuries; here we are confronted with the product of more than two millennia. Clearly more than one visit is called for and, despite the thought- fulness and simplicity of the presentation, perhaps the best way of confronting the spectacle on the first occasion is to forget the excellent catalogue (editors George Michell, Catherine Lampert, Tristram Holland; price £6.00), Robert Erskine's audio guide commentary, Dr Michell's helpfully thematic rather than chronological ordering, Ross Owen Feller's cotton backdrops colour-coding the dif- ferent sections, and trust to one's own eyes and ignorance. Having then come to com- municative grips, one can proceed to understand with the help of all these educa- tional aids.
Actually, for anyone perplexed by preconceptions of the mysteries of rat temples and sacred cows, nirvana, karma and the rest, the descriptive imagery (the ex- hibition brief does not hold with tantrik abstraction), and some of the implicit sym- bolism, are not difficult to appreciate. Most people with even the most passing knowledge of Indian art will probably know of the unique eroticism of its sculpture, and they will see some marvellous examples at the Hayward — though the intention of ex- citing carnal desire is primary to the pur- pose of some of the later and secular pain- tings, more than to that of the earlier tem- ple carvings, in which the act of love clearly refers to more than itself. Masterpieces abound, though for technical virtuosity and beauty — the intricacy and near three- dimensionality of the bat-reliefs surely take the prize. Indian sculpture — and to a lesser extent painting — invariably stamps out a tempo of repetition or, famously, describes the movement of dancers, as in Shiva of the many arms.
If the exhibition had been arranged in order of date, no painting would have ap- peared much before the 16th century. It can well be imagined how difficult it must be to preserve something painted in the heat and damp of the Indian climate, and it is no sur- prise to find that painting when it appears is jewel-like in the mineral richness of its col- our and the exquisite smallness of its size. It is treasure, a private indulgence of the wealthy and powerful, hidden away. Stone is public and long lasting, but stone also wears — and it is interesting to be reminded to what extent, by the presence of some newly dug-up and hence remarkably well- preserved 11th-century chlorite figures that once served as temple guardians. Looking at them (nos 94, 95) after so much world- worn sculpture, is like suddenly seeing something in focus. The carving is crisp and forcefully reminds us of the heterogeneous nature of Indian art: the rim round the lips that is such a feature of Egyptian art, the archaic smile, the Assyrian beard.
Such cross-reference can be made throughout and acts, of course, both ways. Indian painting might all be from somewhere else and a great sculptural masterpiece like the 6th-century Sarnath Buddha might almost be Greek. Equally, Gupta period (6th century) mythological beasts live on in the pages of Burke's Peerage and the holy spiral of the 'am- monite fossil may mark the origin of all abstraction. But in the exhibition layout, as in the imagery, it is the dance one returns to with such marvels in the final galleries upstairs as the bronze 'Shiva and consort' and 'Krishna subduing the serpent demon, Kaliya': examples of the bronze master- pieces made under the rule of the Chola kings of southern India between the 9th and 13th centuries, sacred statues recog- nised as among the greatest of all Indian sculpture.
Having sped round the exhibition in this way and satisfied oneself that there is nothing new under the sun; that the phallic worship of D. H. Lawrence and the headlong pursuits of Futurism are just ex-
pressions of the cult of Shiva 2,000 years on; that Brancusi's ultimate simplicity of form is no more than a representation of the Hiranya-garbha, the Golden Egg of all creation. Having wondered at this, one can sit down and address oneself to the catalogue, to the difference between Bud- dhism, Jainism and Hinduism; to the four goals of life; to the distinctions to be drawn between the cosmic energy of Shiva and the death and destruction of the black goddess Kali; and 228 pages more. One can also recall again the fact 'that many of these extraordinary works of art started out for this exhibition on the backs of men and in the back of bullock-carts; and one can despair that so much effort in so many waYs, is rewarded with lighting as dim ant', unrevealing as that of a 40-watt bulb. It cost a quarter of a million pounds to put it right, but what is that as a long-term invest" ment. The Hayward has many insurmoun' table deficiencies, but the insult of 35 lighting need not be one of them.
Previous page
