In a recent article reviewing the Kalajatra exhibition at the Patan Museum, the artist Birendra Pratap Singh is quoted as saying,”Creating nude body of a woman is my way of satirising the current society which has become commercialised through advertising and is heading towards degradation.” But tudal, the wooden beams that support the eaves of pagoda temples around Nepal, have long been ornamented with nude deities and copulating figures. It is hardly a surprise that the female body is objectified in advertisements. When La.Lit’s Dionysian visited the exhibition, Singh’s art, in pen and ink, revealed a mature and delicate hand. But lines can captivate you for only so long before thoughts and questions begin to creep in. Where the satire resides in Singh’s art is a mystery; he risks mere replication.
The Kalajatra is Kathmandu’s biggest art event since the Kathmandu International Art Festival (KIAF), and it is being organized by Kathmandu Contemporary Art Center (KCAC). The generous contribution of its corporate sponsor was evident everywhere, not least in the gaudy purple LED spotlights that illuminated the entrance to the gallery. No one seems to have deemed the royal purple a satirical work in itself. Moving up and above the purple haze, the Dionysian was pleasantly surprised by the variety and quality of the works from the 30-odd artists on display, but perhaps the exhibition could have benefited from a more discriminating curatorial eye? The artworks are tightly packed into the space and offer little breathing room for the rather diverse array of styles, techniques and subjects. This may or may not have something to do with the exhibition’s stated cultural platform – Gai Jatra.
The exhibition organizers present Gai Jatra through three distinct ideas – as tradition, religion and satirical performance. All three ideas, as such, are uncontested. Recent history also provides ample evidence to suggest that the four days of the Jatra are free from censorship. Because of this cultural context, the exhibitors explicitly state that the Kalajatra is about defending the freedom of expression:
KCAC seeks to address conservative attitudes and censorship through performances and programs held at various cultural heritage sites of Kathmandu, symbolically presenting the message of ‘freedom of expression’ against the cultural backdrop of Gaijatra. In essence branding the festival as a platform for unbridled expression.
This stance is articulated in reference to the death threats received by Manish Harijan and the subsequent censorship imposed by representatives of the government during his 2012 solo exhibition, The Rise of the Collateral, in Siddhartha Art Gallery. It should be noted that the gallery agreed to the censorship in lieu of the death threat, accusing the government of collusion with those threatening violence. The gallery subsequently declared that “the state has back tracked on it’s commitment to protect a citizen (manish) – thus, the contract with the state remains in a state of abrogation as far as the gallery is concerned.”
Harijan has been an artist-in-residence at KCAC and, in his challenge, provides strong enough impetus for solidarity on the issue of freedom of speech. But the Dionysian couldn’t help but wonder if picking Gai Jatra as the battleground isn’t tantamount to admitting defeat. The organizers, it seems, have implicitly acknowledged that the other 361 days of the year are too risky, and that the legal and constitutional provisions that guarantee freedom of expression can only be fought for indirectly. Worse, this stance suggests that we are still in the dark ages of the autocratic Panchayat system.
Another facet of Gai Jatra that appears to have completely slipped through is its Kathmandu Valley-centered Newar roots. A conquered but culturally rich people, the Newars have dominated notions of Nepali culture and identity. Gai Jatra was never really a festival celebrated outside the Valley (a few Newar settlements aside). Yet it was a national holiday until recently. For a while, the media made it a special occasion, but it is in decline, its legacy consumed by the populist politics around it rather than by its communal nature.
La.Lit’s LatoKosero, writing on the Pride Parade that happens during Gai Jatra, suggested that it offered renewal to an otherwise dying tradition. There may be a case for the flamboyance and social/personal engagement necessary for the greater acceptance of the LGBT community, but using Gai Jatra as a platform for more general freedom of expression is problematic. In a fragmented democracy like Nepal, every day is a battlefield for the freedom of expression, not just days of exception.
The popular history of Gai Jatra makes it evident that this freedom of expression was granted to citizens; it is not something the citizens themselves possessed. The space allowed for satire during Gai Jatra has historically been a display of the strength of authority. None of the democratic urges in Nepal came out of Gai Jatra. Instead, it was the other way around – the democratic urges made the festival relevant before 1990, under the prevailing circumstances of authoritarianism.
Perhaps more significantly, in focusing on the political, the organizers have been completely swayed by the ceremony that surrounds it. Gai Jatra is existential at its core: it looks directly at death and laughs. It hides, within ritual, a deep-seated fear of the unknown, yet mocks the absurdity of existence. Some of the best works on display at the Kalajatra exhibition take their cue from within this brooding depth. For instance, Narayan Prasad Bhoju’s Banda presents the starkest contrast to the ritual around Gai Jatra and brings the viewer closest to its fears. The dull palate of colours provide a stark contrast to the more colourful ambience that surrounds the festival. In this particular case, the work benefits from its proximity to Shankar Son Shrestha’s Connection from Religious to Spiritual World. Shrestha’s painting doesn’t attempt much but its juxtaposition of a flimsy paper cow mask against the backdrop of the cosmos suggests an instinctive understanding of Gai Jatra.
Banda by Narayan Prasad Bohaju
Connection from Religious to Spiritual by Shankar Son Shrestha
Arjun Khaling’s There is Time to Talk has three distinguished guests covered in colourful pins from countless events. It suggests what the Kalajatra unwittingly hints at – the times they are not a-changing, and politics in Nepal remains the same as ever. Perhaps the most provocative of works, given Harijan’s legacy, is Sheelasha Rajbhandari’s Uncommon Factor. The papier-mâché and paint sculpture is cute; by replacing the Hindu god Vishnu with an ant, the work makes a direct jab at the past. The ant surprises with its finesse and comfort upon its snake bed. Manish Harijan also makes an appearance in the exhibition in Sanjeev Maharjan’s Portrait of the Artist in the Gallery, but the work fails to make a major impression on the viewer. It does little more than document the event, revealing scant little of the artist or of the event that has already swept social media. He also has not really bothered to explore the historical weight the phrase carries.
Aside from the exhibition at Patan Museum, the Kalajatra also hosted a carnival, a cartoon exhibition at Siddhartha Art Gallery, and workshops for artists. As an artistic event, it is so close to what the art community needs and what could, even in the short run, revolutionize the art scene. But it is still disheartening to see good ideas incompletely/lazily thought through. It worries the Dionysian to see how complacent the art world is. But, as any Gai Jatra parade will quickly teach – you live and learn to laugh at life.
There is Time to Talk by Arjun Khaling
Uncommon Factor by Sheelasha Rajbhandari
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The Kalajatra exhibition is on till September 6, 2013 in Patan Museum and till September 17, 2013 in Siddhartha Art Gallery.
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The Dionysian is high spirited, usually on grain-spirit, so his views may rub against the grain of everybody, including the editors of this magazine, who do not necessarily share his opinions.
