Documenting iconic Indian painter Raja Ravi Varma journey and works

Raja Ravi Varma and the precious prints

The Shaping of an Artist is the first of a six volume series, An Everlasting Imprint, on the legacy of Raja Ravi Varma, India’s foremost modern artist. Ganesh V Shivaswamy has appropriately released his book in the year of the artist’s 175th birth anniversary.

How did Ganesh, a practising lawyer, become an authority on an iconic Indian painter, an aesthetic subject as far removed as possible from litigious jurisprudence? Having lost vision in one eye, the doctor who restored its sight, advised the frustrated young Ganesh to look at art. “I started collecting Ravi Varma chromolithographs when I was 16.”

The resultant heft of six volumes is staggering: how did Ganesh disentangle himself from legal briefs and make time to research and document far-flung archival material? He rather guiltily admits that Covid was a gift for him: “I could concentrate solely on working on these books. I intended to write only one book. Firstly, I asked myself if there was anything new to be said, after so much had already been written about him. Then I quickly realised that yes, the largest segment of the Ravi Varma legacy has not been addressed: how does the image affect the common man? Only the patrons, the aristocrats, had been written about. The exploration of the Ravi Varma Press was neglected. How did it become a power of change in the common man’s space, that’s what really interested me. Can art exist in isolation, when the whole world is democratised in other ways? The chromolithographs were dismissed as not being high art. As my preface states, what is high art?”

The question is valid, as cultural boundaries have dissolved. Art has moved from gallery wall to Banksy’s graffiti, from canvas to Hockney’s digital screen. Ravi Varma would have approved. Art cognoscenti saw his originals in museums or private collections and demanded copies of his works, but he deemed painting copies as uncreative, time wasted. He therefore set up the Ravi Varma Press in Bombay in 1894. Its prints would also make “high art” accessible to the public, to take it from court to courtyard, from patrons to proles. His success was phenomenal: Ravi Varma chromolithographic images were eagerly purchased, appearing on shop walls, calendars and inevitably in puja rooms. Grandmothers lovingly sewed silk and tinsel saris onto the pictures — pink for Lakshmi and white for Saraswathi — and glued beads and shiny sequins to adorn them with jewellery. Such images and market demand led art arbiters to dismiss Ravi Varma as mere kitsch, and reproductions were junked to storerooms or antique shops. But taste has come full circle and the prints are now highly coveted, justifying Ganesh’s decision to revaluate and reinstate them.

The book documents a time when an Indian artist was trying to validate himself, which ran counter to parampara wherein the artist was anonymous. Ravi Varma also faced the contemptuous Raj attitude towards all things Indian. Here was a portraitist encroaching on foreign artists’ monopoly. His royal position helped open doors, particularly to the courts of Baroda and Mysore, whose commissions are recorded and illustrated in the book, and further detailed in Volume 4. His artist-uncle encouraged his talent, stimulating his aesthetic sensibilities with art magazines and prints, while palace murals, temple sculpture and Kathakali provided traditional images. His artist brother, C. Raja Raja Varma, was of even greater support. They jointly executed some works, Ravi Varma concentrating on people, while his brother was more partial to landscape. They travelled extensively, recording regional differences and ethnic types with details that enriched their work, and was also a process of the democratisation they sought.

The book is a treasure-trove of high quality reproductions, alongside valuable background linking the numerous sketches, models and photographs to paintings. With telling descriptions, Ganesh shows how reference material ends up in a final work. When models were not available, the artist relied on photographs. The creative process that transmuted the initial photograph of Gowri into three paintings of refinement or allure is explained. The Coquette, is a stunning adaptation: this beauty invites with her direct gaze, a look full of promise. A suggestive touch is how her pallav has “accidentally” slipped off her shoulder, an unintentional precursor of Bollywood dikhava! The painting reverberates with allusion to western art, in style and content: she holds an apple, suggesting an oriental Eve, a homage to western iconography.

In a rare instance of an aristocratic woman sitting for a painting that was not a commission, his daughter posed for the photograph with her baby that was mutated into the painting ‘There Comes Papa’ . The inclusion of a dog is also unusual. His love for horses is recorded in many sketches and watercolours that progressed to paintings. His dramatic inclination emerges in many narrative paintings.