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I don’t know when I last enjoyed an exhibition more. I had an idea from the publicity material what I might be seeing, but the reality of it is a thousand times lovelier. Many of us are familiar with Indian miniatures, but this exhibition consists mostly of large paintings done between the 17th and 19th centuries. Made for the northern Indian court of Jodhpur (the royal capital of Marwar), none of the 54 paintings on show has ever been seen before in Europe. The large format is specific to the Jodhpur region and not found elsewhere in Rajasthan, and the subjects are either in celebration of court life or concerned with metaphysical speculation. The style is wonderfully ornate and formal, and one of its most enjoyable aspects is the inventiveness possible within such constraints.
The exhibition begins with ‘Markandeya’s Ashram and the Ocean of Milk’, which sounds like a short story by Salman Rushdie. This fabulous image is divided vertically in two, and neatly encapsulates the two themes of the exhibition. On the right is cosmos: a formalised sea like clam shells striated in silver on a dark-blue ground, which gives a real impression of sea-swell. Vishnu sleeps on a malachite green mattress, safeguarded by a raft of sea serpents. On the left is garden: in a leafy hermitage a bearded cross-legged sage addresses a king and a merchant. Here at once is the key to all this work — the most exquisite patterning in the surge and interest of colours (and their relationships), and in the swirl of abundant foliage. In effect there are two oceans here: greenery on one side, salt water on the other. What better way to emphasise the fundamental interconnectedness of all things?
My mind at once leapt to comparisons and references, and since my own special subject is modern British painting, I could not help but think of two painters in particular, Alan Davie (born 1920) and Adrian Berg (born 1929). Both have been inspired by this kind of art, and knowledge of their work — and appreciation of the differences in approach — only served to enhance my enjoyment of this truly splendid exhibition. If I had the space, I would be tempted to digress upon virtually each and every exhibit in this small but exceptionally rich display. (So visually rich that the trappings of modern exhibition design — in this case, a frilly floral baldachin and laminated glass panels — are supererogatory.)
The colours of these paintings begin to throb in the heart: the plangent pink against deep apricot with gold over-patterning, green edging and various yellows. To me the repetitive figures are of far less interest than the sumptuous landscape details, the flat inventive patterning of tree and leaf. Occasionally birds or servant girls punctuate the leafage, the honeyed darks of the foliage a foil for succulent oranges, mauves and lilac pinks. The exhibition’s heart lies in the three paintings of Krishna’s enchanted grove, together with ‘Monkeys and Bears in the Kishkindha Forest’ and ‘Death of Valli; Rama and Lakshmana Wait Out the Monsoon’. The abstract patterning of these images is immensely skilled and further animated by beautifully-phrased colour. Miraculous.
The catalogue is another of those monstrous great tomes that museums delight in publishing these days, but in this case I have to forgive its weight and unwieldiness because of the superb illustrations. It has 337 large pages, 270 illustrations (170 in colour) and costs £30 in paperback, but I must say it’s a great adornment to any library. Even watching Jewel in the Crown on DVD cannot prepare you for such visual splendour. This gorgeous exhibition is organised by the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, in collaboration with the Mehrangarh Museum Trust in India. It has already visited Washington and Seattle and is now en route for the National Museum of India. Every art lover owes a great debt of gratitude to all those who worked tirelessly to organise such a memorable and unique event.
Outside, on the west lawn in the BM’s forecourt, is an Indian-themed landscape created with the help of the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. Even in the rain this looked rather good: great lumps of rock next to the romantic pinks and purples of rhododendrons, French marigolds (imported for making garlands) in their rich saffron trim, and the delicate blue of cranesbill. Even trees have been imported for verisimilitude: the mango (producer of Indian Yellow dye), the Banyan and the Betel nut palm. Elsewhere rock jasmine and Himalayan blue poppy were struggling to acclimatise. And in a pond at the far end the lotus — or water lily — that poignant symbol of purity, was still in bud. Quite a show. The ‘Indian Summer’ season continues with performances, lectures and films until October.
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