Latest news with #Ragamala
Hans India
22-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hans India
The enchanting miniatures
Kishangarh miniature painting artist Tilak Gitai (Padma Shri awardee) hails from the second generation of royal court painters patronized by the rulers of Bikaner. One of his Ragamala painting series, done on ivory, is displayed at the Museum D'Ethnographie in Geneva. Other collections are housed at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, the National Museum of Ethnology, Japan, and the National Crafts Museum, New Delhi. Miniature paintings from Kishangarh are particularly known for their depiction of the 'Nayika'—characterized by lotus-like eyes, a sharp nose, thin sensitive lips, a pointed chin, and eyebrows shaped like a bow. The 'Nayika' has curls of ebony hair, adorned with necklaces of precious stones, pearls, and a gold-embroidered wrap. Tilak Gitai was at the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) Hyderabad to conduct a Kishangarh miniature art intensive workshop for young participants from educational institutions across India, organized by SPIC MACAY. Can you tell us how your journey started in this art? My father was associated with this art and was commissioned for various artistic works by Maharaja Ganga Singh of Bikaner. I did my schooling in Jaipur and had a flair for drawing. Once, my school teacher doubted whether I had traced my drawing using butter tracing paper. To confirm his suspicion, he handed me a piece of chalk and asked me to replicate the drawing on the blackboard. In 1949, my father established the Rajasthan Kala Mandir in Jaipur and continued promoting the art form. He encouraged me to meet senior artists so I could learn its finer intricacies. I took guidance from Sri Ram Gopal Vijayvargiya and Ved Pal Sharma. Meanwhile, I enrolled in the College of Art, New Delhi, and graduated with a BFA as part of its first batch. What made you create Ragamala paintings in the Kishangarh style? In one sentence, I can say that the iconography of the Kishangarh school of art is melodious. No known Ragamala painting had been created in this school of art, so I took it upon myself to do so. I have also authored a book titled Raga Mala – The Missing Link, which explains the ragas, their structure, timing, associated seasons, and the logic behind the colours and iconography used in each painting. How difficult is this art to practice? Miniature art demands immense concentration and patience. It's a meditative form of art—one must be completely immersed in it. It has never been easy for any serious practitioner. From learning how to make colours from natural materials, to experimenting and developing new techniques, much of it was a closely guarded secret. It took a long time to build confidence and truly understand the craft of color-making and mixing. What steps need to be taken to preserve this art form? We must study the education systems and heritage conservation cultures prevalent in developed countries. By aligning our policies accordingly, we can spark a mindset shift in India. The level of historical conservation and museum development seen abroad must serve as a model. India needs to make heritage education more accessible to the general public. Do youngsters come forward to learn this art? Youngsters do show interest in learning. However, our education system doesn't provide them the opportunity to pursue a profession in this field from a young age. Peer pressure also plays a major role, often pushing students toward becoming doctors or engineers instead.
Chicago Tribune
22-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Review: Ragamala Dance Company's ‘Children of Dharma' lays bare the sacrifices of war — with oneself
Ragamala Dance Company of Minneapolis returned to the Harris Theater this week for the third time, bringing their latest production, 'Children of Dharma,' for one performance only on Friday. It's gorgeous, though 'Children of Dharma' isn't quite as opulent as 'Written on Water' or 'Fires of Varanasi,' performed for Ragamala's first and second visits to the Harris in 2019 and 2021. 'Children of Dharma' is a bit more restrained without going so far as to feel minimalistic. And unlike those other two, this 90-minute work, which premiered last year, draws directly from sacred texts, leaning on the 'Mahabharata' as inspiration for original dance, music and poetry which seem to detail the life cycle — birth and death — and what we do with the space between them. At its core, the 'Mahabharata' is about the struggle for power, with two warring families battling for the throne. But it's also about the sacrifices and compromises one makes — a war with oneself, so to speak, in blind pursuit of that power. 'Children of Dharma's' three sections are divided by location: the forest, the court and the battlefield, demarcated by stunning projections from frequent Ragamala collaborator Willy Cessa, whose remarkable lighting makes up for the piece's relatively sparse scenic design. The piece opens in silhouette, a single dancer, Garrett Sour, carefully posed as a guttural throat sound booms through the Harris' cavernous auditorium. Then, a voice: 'Dharma — the basis for life — forever sprouting, transforming, dissolving and renewing,' says a voiceover by Leon Conrad. It's fitting for this time of year, isn't it? The irises are beginning to sprout through still-frozen ground, doggedly determined to usher in spring. They're teasing, of course, but that perennial optimism is a perpetual, annual reminder of brighter days ahead. Sour, bare chested and wearing only peachy shalwar pants and a garnet string around his neck, is soon joined by an ensemble of five women, traditionally dressed for the classical Indian dance form Bharatanatyam. They wear fanned skirts and cap-sleeved tops (by costumer D. S. Aiyellu) hued in summery gold, orange and red. Unlike Sour, the wear ankle bells to accentuate spritely footwork. Indeed, the group appears to almost frolic through their proverbial forest, weaving geometric patterns through one another and among white fabric panels which give depth to Cessa's projections. These also provide chances to appear and disappear while still on stage, as though playing hide-and-seek in a woodland. Sour's idiosyncratic style and intentional separation from the group allow him to stand out in this section. He's more a pied piper than a protagonist, playing an invisible flute and guiding his fellow nymphs in slow, meditative patterning scattered among the more playful moments. If there's a hero in this story, it's Krishna, the spirit of the natural world embodied by Ashwini Ramaswamy near the end of this section. She oscillates between care and concern, miming the flora and fauna of the forest and an apparent storm beginning to brew. Thunderclaps shiver through Ramaswamy's hands as percussive tabla dodges in and out of the score. She cowers, covering her ears, seeming to foreshadow destruction and chaos ahead. As the setting shifts to projections of stone idols indicating a move to the royal court, Ramaswamy is joined by her sister, Arpana, for a gorgeous, protracted duet. It begins as joyous exaltation, with arms unabashedly thrust skyward. A new character, Draupati, is introduced here, described as the manifestation of Mother Earth and responsible for maintaining balance between the five elements — fire, water, air, etc. I'm not convinced she suceeds. Humans are flawed, after all, and Arpana appears to more easily yield to her desires for materialistic pleasure. Even as the two sisters dance in unison, Ashwini appears more pragmatic and austere while Arpana loses herself in a kind of rapturous revelry. Ashwini mimes a rope over her shoulder, leaning away from her sister as if literally yanking her away from temptation. It's an extraordinary tension, made perfect by this intergenerational company who builds exquisite, contemporary worlds with Bharatanatyam better than any American company I've seen. Ranee Ramaswamy, their mother, appears in the third section as Gandari, a grieving mother who feels the weight and complicity of her children's selfish thirst for power. That's the fictional allegory on stage, though it's hard to ignore contemporary layers of meaning. Ranee Ramaswamy, now in her 70s, has far more than a cameo in 'Children of Dharma.' Though her choreography is more measured than that of her daughters or the ensemble, her striking presence is felt all the way to the back row of the Harris Theater. The message, transmitted close to the audience as dancers Jessica Fiala and Tamara Nadel mime a slow-motion, rolling of dice, is crystal clear: There are consequences to gambling with karma.
