
Jayasri Burman: Maker of myths and memories

Summary
A major new exhibition of the artist’s work opens in Delhi, showing us the evolution of her thinking and styleIt’s a chilly afternoon in January, the sky is overcast, but Jayasri Burman has a spring in her step as she walks into Art Alive Gallery, located off the busy Ring Road at a quiet and leafy south Delhi address. A major solo exhibition of hers titled The Whisper of Water, The Song of Stars is in the process of being installed as we meet— it opens to the public today—and it’s a busy scene inside. Stacks of paintings lie on the ground, resting against walls that are being sanded down and painted over by workers. A few large works are unsheathed from their plastic coverings. The 64-year-old artist directs me to a centrepiece in one room, occupying the better part of a wall, depicting a woman in a prospect of cowries and seashells. “This painting is part of a series of my version of the samudra manthan," Bur man says, referring to the mythical churning of the ocean as described in the Vishnu Purana. With her hair open, cas ading down her shoulders in wild waves, the woman in the frame looks like God dess Lakshmi, who emerged at the end of the great churn, guarding amrita, the elixir of life.
Equally, she could be a fantastical creature of the sea, maybe a mermaid or nymph whose existence is intimately tied up with corals and reefs, a figment of our collective imagination nurtured on old wives’ tales we heard as children. There is also perhaps a reference to the depredations wrought on Mother Earth by humans, with the feminine force appearing like an oracle to warn us of destruction and annihilation.
“The late artist, Ganesh Pyne, once told me that there is no end to my explorations since I work with myths," Burman says. “Myths are like dreams, he said, they recur and become richer in our fantasies." Since the 1980s, the decade when some of the earliest works featured in this show were made, Burman has created an oeuvre that is richly varied in its themes, approaches and raw materials. From painting and sculpture to mixed media and printmaking, she has ventured out in several directions over the years, though her gift for figuration is what makes her work stand out.
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In the late 1970s, as a student at Kala Bhavana, the renowned school of art at Visva-Bharati University in Santiniketan, West Bengal, Burman had the good for tune of being mentored by some of India’s greatest art teachers—Dinkar Kowshik, Sarbari Roy Choudhury, Sanat Kar, among others. At home, too, she had the tutelage of her uncle, artist Sakti Burman, and her neighbour, painter Ganesh Haloi, who she thinks of as her second father.
“I had the privilege of knowing Ramkinkar Baij for a short while as well," Burman adds, referring to another leading light of her alma mater, whose earthy simplicity and unostentatious lifestyle became the stuff of legend even while he was alive. It was the exposure to these icons of modern Indian art that built a strong foundation for her values and career, she says. Most of all, being close to artists of such calibre gave her the confidence to find her own voice. “The whole purpose of the curriculum at Kala Bhavana was to strengthen your belief in your own vision and help you find the direction you wanted to go in," Burman says. “It taught me the importance of being fearless in my conviction, not to depend on validation from others, and, above all, to think for myself."

When some buyers of her work flip pantly ask her to fill out canvases with more cross-hatching (one of her signature styles), for instance, she is firm about not giving in to such pressures. “Why should I unnecessarily use cross-hatching just because someone else would like me to?" she says. “I use it with my discretion, only when I deem it necessary, not to make perfect, decorative pieces."
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The evidence of Burman’s rigorous training shines through in the paintings on display at Art Alive. From the sheer size of some of the work to the intricate detailing that goes into these compositions, Burman’s art not only exacts intellectual labour but also physical toil. Some of the oversized paintings, she tells me, lie around her studio for several years. “I may sign the painting in 2024, but in all likelihood, I have spent two-three years work ing on, and looking at, it," she adds.
We closely look at one such work, where the background is built stage by stage over a wash of lemon yellow. In another, she uses a diptych to mirror a Baul singer lost in the flow of song and dance. “Initially, I didn’t plan it as a diptych, but as I finished sketching the first character, I felt she needed a companion," Burman says.
Dark clouds loom over a village in the background as though ushering in a moody breeze. The deft brush work, with hints of gold concealed inside grey patches, gives the impression of motion, with the sun trickling in through the clouds, creating a chiaroscuro of light and shade. The nuts and bolts of making the work is just one part of the process, albeit an important one. But equally crucial is the slow gestation of ideas in the artist’s mind. “Often I will go back to stories from the epics I heard as a child and ruminate over them," Burman says. “My series on Draupadi, for instance, is a result of close reflection of several years."
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In the Mahabharat, the queen who is born of fire is believed to be cause of the ultimate rift between the Pandavas and the Kauravas, leading to the Kurukshektra war. “I believe this is a misguided idea," Burman says emphatically. “Draupadi is repeatedly penalised because she is ordained to have five husbands, a destiny she can’t escape and, eventually, after all her ordeals, she is refused entry into heaven."

In her reimagining, women like Draupadi and Sita don’t make it to heaven because the world needs more heroines like them. “This is my personal myth," Burman says. Their female energy then gets dissipated into the natural imagery she puts into her work. The cowries, for example, look like seeds of ripening fruits in some paintings. “Elsewhere, they look like the vagina," Burman says, pointing to a smaller work. Or even abstract landscapes made three dimensional with the addition of sand and real shells.
Often, they are ancient currencies, retrieved from the depths of the earth by Goddess Lakshmi, as she emerged from the ocean. And over all these associations are sprinklings of Burman’s own memories, going back decades. “I remember, as a young girl, going to beaches in Bengal to spend holidays, picking up shells and conches," she says. There is, especially, a vivid memory from the early 1980s, when she had gone to Alipore Zoo in Kolkata with her young son and the two of them had paused before a fish aquarium, mesmerised by the scene that unfolded before them. The dynamic possibilities inherent in that moment would lead to some of Burman’s best work over the years, including many paintings of fisherfolk as well as her current work, which, like underwater treasures, have emerged from her con sciousness, cleaving her mind into pieces. “I have arrived at this place after a lot of sadhana (devotion)," Burman says. “And it is only now that I finally feel confident enough to build, break and rebuild worlds as I please."
At Art Alive Gallery, Panchsheel Park, Delhi, till 28 February.