INTEGRATED ART

M. S. PRAKASA RAO, M. A., M. Litt.

(Lecturer, Sri Venkateswara University, Tirupati)

All activity of the mind and the spirit in our country in the ancient past, and even right up to the end of the later Middle Ages, seems to have been characterised by synthesis and integration. Its ultimate objective, clearly and constantly visualised, imposed upon it a unity truly remarkable. During this vast stretch of time India occasionally lost her power, and even a substantial portion of her fabled wealth, her throne and sceptre; but she never lost her soul. This final disaster possibly overtook her since the political twilight of the 17th century and the subsequent darkness of foreign domination and emasculation of the 18th and 19th centuries, not suddenly but by slow and imperceptible degrees. Renaissance, they say, commenced in the 20th century; and the promise is held out that, in the era of peace and plenty that has dawned since independence, it would reach its consummation. Perhaps.

During the present century all our activity of the higher and nobler type appears to have suffered a sea-change. Maybe, it is due to the impact of the Scientific Attitude or Outlook, or Approach. And synthesis and integration have given place to the new order of analysis and specialisation. But what began as analysis and specialisation seems to have degenerated into vivisection and compartmentalisation; and lopsided monstrosity masquerades in the garb of intensive development. This is as much true of Art as of any other branch of human activity.

Architecture, Sculpture and Painting are aptly called the ‘Allied Arts.’ This Trinity apparently achieved in the past a unity that made it impossible to regard them as anything except indivisible. That they should be distinct and separate entities must have been hardly conceivable. The temple affords a typical illustration of our argument. Architecture in this abode of worship provides the opportunity for the display of sculpture and painting. While architecture itself is subordinated to canonical discipline, sculpture and painting serve as but decorative elements strictly contributing to the sum total of aesthetic effect. Only as organic parts of a grand design do sculpture and painting manifest themselves, the one in the bas-reliefs, along the toranas, in the niches, by the brackets, and on the pillars; and the other as frescoes on the ceilings and as scrolls along corridors.

Now, however, they seem to have parted company. Presumably, engaged in an endeavour of self-determination each one of them is seeking to fulfill an individual and unique destiny. Look at the palace of a Jute King for an example of our thesis. Architecture goes in search of a private mansion; sculpture stands apart on a pedestal; and painting is mounted on the easel. While the building itself reveals Indo-Persian influences, a Graeco-Roman statuette spouts water in the fountain, and a Futurist drawing embelishes the calendar.

A discerning critic of art cannot fail to perceive four fairly clear-cut stages in the history of the basic concept that motivates and governs all artistic activity. They may be called, for want of more adequate nomenclature by the rather popular slogans– (a) ‘Art for God’s Sake,’ (b) ‘Art for Art’s Sake’ (c) ‘Art for My Sake’, and (d) ‘Art for Peoples’ Sake’. This classification of course denotes an analytical and not necessarily a chronological approach.

Now, in the development of the central theme of this essay, a few generalisations have to be indulged in: it is clear, they are not merely germane to the issue but they are unavoidable, considering the nature of the subject. No judgment on the merits and message of Mohenjo-daro art will be hazarded here, for in the first place expert opinion has not yet crystallised in this respect; and in the second, the data available is insufficient. So, it may be taken that the Allied Arts in India stepped out of the mists of legend and myth onto the solid earth of History in the Buddhist Era; from this point onwards till practically the end of the Early Middle Ages or the 15th century, the principle of ‘Art for God’s Sake’ serves as the key to the significance of Indian artistic creation.

Then, the Artist dedicated himself to the service of God, viewing his creative work as but a species of worship; and architecture, sculpture and painting were blended into an amazing harmony, sweet and satisfying, since they had a sense of direction and singleness of purpose–that is, towards Heaven and the praise of His Glory. The Stupas exemplified architecture, the Bodhi-sattvas and the Buddhas exhibited sculpture, while the numerous Jatakas supplied an inexhaustible theme for all the frescoes at Ajanta From the temple of Martanda in Kashmir to the temple of the Virgin at the Cape, there was but one endeavour: to give Divinity a form and a place. Rajput, Kangra or Pahari–no matter to which school he belonged–the painter had a story ready to hand: The story of Radha and Krishna; all he need do was to reveal the cunning of his workmanship in a myriad subtleties of line and colour and design.

It would of course be an inexcusable oversimplification of the issue to say that during these many centuries no secular art was produced; but it would be quite in order to say that it was the exception and not the rule. Seldom did a painter essay to derive the sensuous pleasure of a keen and unswerving line, or the purity and lustre of colour for their own sake.

So soon as the Artist started to pursue ends other than God, of alien ends such as aestheticism, his own self, or the modern myth called the People, the Allied Arts appear to have been separated each from the other. The Grand Alliance was indeed broken; architecture, sculpture and painting since then have gone their distinct and individual ways and these ways scarcely show any tendency to converge once again. Artists these days are specialists, in fact, purists; and each art in the Trinity has mustered its own votaries, and evolved its own ritual and dogma.

Does this mean the liberation of Sculpture and Painting from Architecture? Or is it disintegration of the Trinity? Doubtless, an irreconcilable individualist would interpret the process as liberation, eminently desirable in the interests of enabling each art to realise its immense potentialities to the full. Each art is to be regarded as an end in itself, and has to be practised for its own sake. That is the reason why, perhaps, no common end can be discovered which a modem piece of architecture, of sculpture, of painting, selected at random and on merits, may conjointly sub-serve. If perchance they reveal any affinity, it is more by accident than by design.

The cult of aestheticism which is neatly epitomised in the phrase ‘Art for Art’s Sake’ was sedulously followed in the later Middle Ages. The Indo-Persian art fulfilled itself by satisfying the instinct for beauty of the Mogul Emperors, or the lesser princes, both Hindu and Muslim, that came under the imperial sphere of influence. Architecture attains its meridian in the Hall of Audience, which bears the inscription: ‘If there is a heaven, it is here’; craftsmanship reaches its perfection in the Mogul miniature; and a painter in the court of Shah Jehan excelled because he could handle a brush with but one hair of a squirrel to draw a line with.

What might be called religious art did not cease to be created in this age; temples and mosques were built, images were carved and gods and godlings continued to be drawn. Still, the entire output of the period cannot fail to produce the impression that it was an art which pitifully struggled to deify man, and not humanise God as was done in the days of old.

Or, to take an example from the West. It was at this time that a painting with a story, a painter with a message, were decried as irrelevencies; in fact, they were even condemned as detractions from the pure aesthetic appeal of a work of art. G. F. Watts, for instance, with his Allegories, was rejected as ‘out of fashion’; while Whistler, with his ‘nocturnes’ was raised to the dizzy eminence of a ‘painter for painters’.

Afterwards followed an era of experimentation, whose guiding motto seems to be ‘Art for My Sake’. Artists seem to have been possessed by a craze for ‘originality’; and an orgy of ‘isms’ developed–‘Impressionsim’, ‘Post-impressionsim’, ‘Cubism’, ‘Futurism’, ‘Expressionism’, ‘Dadaism’, ‘Vorticism.’ Possibly, a conspiracy of adverse circumstances cut the Artist adrift on a sea of spiritual chaos; or maybe, a real mood of introspection overtook him. His own self became the supreme end of art; for all aesthetic activity is but an extension of his personality. Some looked at nature as a mosaic of splashes of pure, opaque colour; while some others reduced all living beings into an assemblage of a few cubes. Thus each artist fashioned a language of his own–singular and absolutely unlike anything known before–to express his own private agonies, yearnings, passions. But mankind at large seemed to have looked at their work and “passed by on the other side.” Soon the critics who sang the achievements of these ‘pioneers’ exhausted themselves; the Manets, the Monets, Piccassos, Cezannes, and the rest of them had had their short term booms; and it may safely be predicted that whatever might be the fate of these ‘pioneers’, a universal slump has already engulfed the movements credited to them.

At last, in the age in which we live and move, Art is supposed to be “for peoples’ Sake.” Communism, it is claimed in certain quarters, is the modern and effective substitute for Religion. In the Communist philosophy the State usurps the piece of God; the individual is subordinated to, and all his activity is directed towards, the glorification of the State. Consequently a certain unity is imposed from top on all aesthetic activity; regimentation as it is sometimes called–integrated nonetheless. Individuality is the fundamental criterion of all creative art in its origin, albeit its end-product acquires the stamp of universality. But under Communism, the omni-competent Leviathan called the State liquidates the individual; thus, in such a State indoctrination is camouflaged as education of the people, and art is prostituted as the tool of propaganda to keep the people enslaved to the State. ‘Art for Peoples’ Sake’ is a commendable ideal, if art truly serves the cause of the people; but in the Communistic climate it is nothing but the henchman of the Party and the Ruling Clique.

India has not been left unaffected by these later-day developments in the realm of art. Indeed, the ‘isms’ that arose in France found an echo in our country; for quite a section of our artistic circles is only too ready to ape the West; in point of fact, the discarded orthodoxies of yesterday of Europe become the fashionable heterodoxies of today in India. But let us hope that this is but a passing phase.

And now to conclude: In this essay, with all possible objectivity, an analytical estimate of the broad currents of art movements and their guiding principles has been attempted. Nothing is extenuated; nor is aught set down in malice. I disclaim any intention to pass a judgment on any aspect of art evolution, or to pronounce a verdict on any artist and his work.

The article has been provoked by a doubt. Since the time when the principle ‘Art for God’s Sake’ ceased to function, a liberation movement seems to have been started. The impression is inescapable that what started as liberation ended as disintegration. For, is it altogether a coincidence that the periods of spiritual and aesthetic chaos corresponded with the other three principles which one by one held the field? May it not be inferred that the process of disintegration was completed in the age when the ruling motto was ‘Art for My Sake’? Could architecture, sculpture and painting be any longer called Allied Arts except by way of a euphemism?

Apart from this, has the liberation movement, if there was one, succeeded in achieving its objectives? It is a moot point whether the separated arts developed any individuality, but it is absolutely certain that they lost their underlying unity. The mistaken principles and the steady aesthetic deterioration must have acted and reacted as cause and effect. In what way have the scattered arts progressed? Can any modern painting compare with an Old Master? Can any contemporary image be put on a par with the Trimurti? Is there any name in the 20th century world that deserves to be uttered in the same breath as that of Leonardo or that unknown genius who painted the Bodhisattva Padmapani?

We have to possess ourselves in patience for the day to come when India recovers her lost soul, rediscovers the central purpose of art, and starts the process of re-integration.

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