Journal Archive

Ngarluma Ngurra: Aboriginal Culture on the map evolved from a creative initiative exploring the intergenerational transmission of Ngarluma culture and tradition through arts with a focus on tabi, the Ngarluma poetry and song tradition translated in paintings by artist Jill Churnside. From a return trip to Country undertaken as part of this endeavour, the project grew to encompass the broader Ngarluma community who were interested in exploring ways to document and record their intangible cultural heritage. In response to the Ngarluma elders desire to develop a platform which would support the transmission of knowledge to younger people, Sharmila Wood (FORM) and Andrew Dowding (Tarruru) developed the concept of embedding Ngarluma cultural values in a digital map; they brokered support from Google Earth Outreach and were the recipient of the grant which rewards organizations with outstanding mapping ideas. The map was built around a series of field trips undertaken with Ngarluma elders. Along with Ngarluma place names, film, audio, photographs and text identify particular sites around Ngarluma country, lending an insight into Ngarluma ways of seeing country. The map was launched on November 8th at FORM in Western Australia as part of a broader exhibition which curates paintings, song and objects of material culture together in order to present the richness and depth of Ngarluma culture. Andrew Dowding is an anthropologist whose area of focus is intangible cultural heritage. He was a co-founder of the Ngarluma Ngurra: Aboriginal Culture on the map project with Sharmila Wood and conceptualized the cultural mapping methodology using Google Earth. Sharmila speaks with Andrew about the catalysts for the mapping project.

SW: Can you give us some background about how the Ngarluma Ngurra: Mapping Project began? AD: The seeds for the project really emerged from my experience working with Ngarluma elders. These people are part of a generation who walked or rode horse back all over their Country - they didn’t use vehicles, and they have an intimate knowledge of the land because of that. These elders communicated to me that they would like to create a way to show how they are attached to places and how culture is related to these places in their Country. They wanted to document this information and make it accessible for future generations. SW: How did you move from the need to create a way of representing Aboriginal cultural values about Country, into the digital sphere of Google Earth? AD: Like many people I’ve used Google Earth for everyday general directions, and because I live down in Perth I really enjoyed being able to look at Ngarluma Country that I couldn’t visit in the Pilbara. It was through this function that I began to realise the power of being able to see distant places and the potential to overlay information about them. As my work progressed in the Aboriginal Heritage sector I continually saw a different application for Google Earth. I started my current work, which involved undertaking heritage surveys in the north of Australia, and I found that Google Earth helped me to visualise the places being depicted on paper maps because it gave details of the terrain, and you could see the car tracks and roads all over the land. These

things helped to orient me in the landscape and I soon saw the way other Aboriginal people found it easy to navigate and orient themselves as well. For instance, I was sitting in an office in Roebourne with an old man who has now passed away, and we travelled along old dogging tracks that he had made in his days working as a dingo hunter. He used to go out for months on end with only fuel drums and a gun, he would travel solo through very remote areas of Ngarluma Country, but because of his age he was no longer able to take me to those sites. But we were able to mark out a huge number of cultural sites by just sitting at the computer and viewing Google Earth. This was the first time I saw the power of Google Earth as a cultural heritage tool. Then, through Shakti and Elias from Curiousworks I saw how you could incorporate different media into Google Earth, from videos to photographs and audio. We’ve expanded this function to create a rich, content-driven map of Ngarluma Country using Google Earth, with the aim of using it as a platform for the protection and preservation of Aboriginal culture. We have asked community members to take us to a place they want to record content about, and we record it with a film crew, and then incorporate that into the map for others to learn about. This allows non-Aboriginal people to see how Aboriginal people understand land as being embedded with stories. By using high definition cameras, GPS and other new technologies, we are creating new cultural documents for people to use and refer too.

SW: You mentioned the idea of the map as a database, which suggests that you see it as a digital repository - How important is this aspect of the project? AD: Well, the idea of bringing together information in a way that is free, accessible and public where appropriate, is something I feel passionately about. This is primarily because the elders I’ve worked with have expressed their desire to show that Australia is not empty of culture, that this is not an empty landscape devoid of any deep meaning and importance. There have also been some experiences I’ve had that have influenced this belief. A turning point was discovering my grandfather’s recordings in an archive in Canberra. My grandfather was a prolific recorder of songs and stories, but getting access to these recordings was not the easiest process and I became very frustrated. When we did eventually repatriate them, I took the recordings to Roebourne and played them for elders, some of whom were very emotional about hearing my Grandfather’s voice again and there was a real sense of re-establishing a connection with traditional stories and the genre of songs called tabi. There was also a sense of pride that Ngarluma has this rich cultural body of stories, songs and poems that the elders were remembering and exploring again. These are really precious because they are a snapshot of cultural knowledge from the late 1960s and it demonstrated to me that because many of our traditional forms of passing on knowledge orally from one generation to another have been slowly eroded, that recordings and documentation are very important - as was having this material readily available for people to connect with. The other important factor was going to New Delhi in India and working in the Archives and Research Centre for Ethnomusicology (A.R.C.E). I saw how lacking Australia’s cultural infrastructure is, and how the real strength of A.R.C.E was their connection to communities. I began to see how archives were not only places for researchers to compile or hold materials, that they should not function in isolation from the people who own the content. Dr. Shubha Chaudhuri, the Managing Director of A.R.C.E, actively sought to engage the communities whose knowledge was stored in the archives by continuing to work with them, hand back materials and ensure ongoing cultural maintenance of their traditions. SW: So the idea of mapping country in this way emerged from a combination of realising the possibilities that new technologies offered, but also the desire to create a digital archive that, as opposed to traditional archives, was accessible to the Ngarluma community and the wider public? AD: Definitely. Over the past 100 years Aboriginal people have continually given information to people in government departments, in mining companies and researchers who have valued that material for the period that they have been engaged with Aboriginal communities, but then have made no attempt to repatriate it afterwards. It’s very sad because there is a lot of room to encourage this kind of repatriation in order for Aboriginal people to control and access their own socio-cultural information, now and into the future - particularly when the most common practice is for this information to be held in static archives that are located in places that are distant and foreign to the Aboriginal community. The new frontier for archives all over the world is the movement towards digitising and repatriating, although this repatriation is not happening fast enough. Aboriginal people are frustrated because these precious resources are something that they want to utilise in order to teach their own communities about their history and culture.

SW: How is Google Earth different and why do you see this particular platform as aligning best with the needs of Aboriginal people? AD: Generally, cultural heritage databases solely rely on the use of text. The importance of the online map is that it can demonstrate how Aboriginal culture is connected to land and is not just about being on Country, but is also about knowing your Country, which means knowing rivers, knowing the tracks that get you to those places, knowing the historical roots that are embedded in that country. We now have leaders in our community who agree it is important information that younger people should have access too. Google Earth is digital, it’s on the Internet, it can be accessed by multiple users and that’s the real power of the Internet: connectivity. There is now a new generation of Aboriginal kids who have mobile phones that are 3G enabled and they have the Internet in their hands. This map allows them to not only have access to their cultural information, but to see their elders and culture represented in an exciting digital format. I see a real need for Aboriginal people to forge a strong digital presence, for elders to harness these creative forces in this form of multimedia so they are in control of their digital identities. This will be a big part of the next ten years. SW: How do you see Google Earth being used by Aboriginal communities in the future? AD: With the promise of the National Broadband Network Aboriginal communities will begin to keep pace with the types of digital identities that communities all over the world are forming. It will take some innovation, and brave elders to step into that frontier, but we’ve already seen how the Canning Stock Route Project and others like the Mulka project in Arnhem Land, as well as Goolari Media in Broome, IcampfireTV. com and Juluwarlu in Roebourne are forming digital identities and creating multi-media.

Personally, I feel it’s the Internet which will drive the next form of cultural innovation; up until now it’s been television and DVDs that have driven a need to record culture. However, with the Internet you can connect to a massive audience with relatively little infrastructure and make a real impact if you have good digital strategies in place. We’re hoping that more elders will adopt this form of mapping as a cultural teaching tool for their own communities, as well as educating the broader Australian community about the precious cultural resource they have in their own backyard. Aboriginal people have lived here for millennia, and have cultural, ecological and historical knowledge which is unique and needs to be acknowledged and valued.

Mochi embroideries, which have found their way into museums the world over, are the topic of 'The Shoemaker's Stitch' by Shilpa Shah and Rosemary Crill.

A example of Mochi embroidery from the book, 'The Shoemaker's Stitch'. In the early 1990s, I began travelling regularly to Banaskantha in Gujarat, developing garments and soft furnishings for the Self-Employed Women’s Organisation (SEWA) with the women artisans in the region. Most were pastoral people, living in villages within a 100 kilometre circumference, their husbands mainly agrarian labour or cattle herders. The area was a desolate, salty waste, prone to periodic droughts, extremely poor. Radhanpur was the nearest town. In one section, linked by winding lanes, were the small dark homes of the Mochi community. Traditional shoemakers once employed by royalty, they were now perilously poor, as fewer and fewer people ordered their beautifully embroidered leather juthis, preferring branded, industrially-manufactured shoes, or even plastic sandals. The advent of the motor car also marked the demise of their elaborately embroidered leather trappings for elephants, horses and camels. In order to eke out a living, the Mochis turned their hands to making generic embroidered ornamental wall hangings and cushions – in fabric rather than leather – for local traders and GURJARI, the Gujarat State Handicrafts Corporation. Few other employment opportunities existed. As is customary, the men cut and stitched the items and the women filled in the embroidery, using the traditional aari –like a crochet hook or a cobblers awl, mounted on a wooden handle, unlike the chainstitch embroidery done in Northern India using a straight needle and working on a large, floor-mounted frame. Similar Mochi communities existed in Bhuj and Mandvi in Kutch, as well as Saurashtra and Sind. In fact, many Mochi families traced their pedigree and craft from ancestors in Sindh who were brought to the Kutch court by Kutchi rulers in the 14th century and encouraged to teach their craft locally. Bhuj, as the seat of the Kutchi royal family, was the largest centre of Mochi embroiderers, now sadly diminished to a handful of families. A few beautiful old carved wooden houses, relics of better days, and some fine tombs, temples and mosques relieved the dusty poverty and small town clutter.

The Shoemaker’s Stitch’, Shilpa Shah and Rosemary Crill, Niyogi Books, 2022. Working on fabric was nothing new to the Mochi community. In the past too, the most skilled craftspeople custom made beautiful garments, accessories, canopies, and wall panels in silk, satin and mashru for the local nobility, and even for more far-flung royal patrons. The workmanship was extraordinary, the aari used like a miniaturist’s paint brush; the embroidery, delicate configurations of foliage, flora and fauna – peacocks and parrots for fertility; elephants, lions and horses for power and wealth; decorative borders overflowing with the roses and lilies and flowering trees seldom seen in those dry climes. Verdant Trees of Life were a popular theme, as were Sri Nathji pichwais to hang behind the deity in the temples. Extraordinarily fine work was being done both on leather and fabric well into the 20th century, declining post-Independence, coinciding with the decline of the Nawabs and Maharajas who were their patrons. It is these Mochi embroideries, mainly of the early 19th century, that are the subject of The Shoemaker’s Stitch, the latest documentation of TAPI’s wonderful textile collection. Shilpa Shah, co-founder of the TAPI Collection of Indian Textiles and Art, is also co-author of this book. Her inspirational work, collecting and documenting Indian textiles, follows on from Gira Sarabhai and the Calico Museum in the 1950s and 60s. Her travels all over India and Master’s degree from Berkeley University endow her with both academic and personal insights, as well as passion and love. Her co-author is Rosemary Crill, former Senior Curator at the Victoria & Albert Museum, London, who has studied and written on Indian embroideries and textiles over the years. Their combined expertise and scholarship make this book an intensely pleasurable read – both visually and in its content. On its part, Niyogi Books has done a wonderful job of photography, printing and design. The Shoemaker’s Stitch is a a joy in everything except its considerable weight! The book documents items from the Kutch, Dhangadhra and Jaipur royal family collections, the V&A and other Western museums as well as pieces from the TAPI Collection itself. It is superbly illustrated: the rich, vivid reds, greens and yellows and ornate, heavily-worked motifs of the Mochi embroideries, often boldly outlined in black, highlighting their difference from the more subtle, delicate Persian and Mughal influenced chainstitch of Northern India and Bengal. Even pieces commissioned for the European Market have a distinctive difference from the crewel work of Kashmir or the painted chintzes of the Coromandel coast. As Shah points out, Mochi embroideries travelled to courts and temples all over India, and therefore, have often been mistakenly identified as local work. To the trained eye, they are very different, both in imagery and execution.

An image from the book showing a woman wearing an outfit made of Mochi-embroidered fabric. Looking at earlier craft and textile traditions, it is easy to fall into despair about their present status. However, all is not gloom, as the concluding chapter of The Shoemaker’s Stitch tells us. There has been a revival of aari bharat, and many designers and practitioners are making wonderful contemporary pieces, though not always crafted by traditional Mochi embroiderers. Asif Shaikh, Arun Virgamya, Adam Sangar and their extended families, the Shrujjan Museum and Shobhit Mody are some that come to mind. Working with the Mochi, Ahir and Meghwal embroiderers in Radhanpur, SEWA and Dastkar have produced beautiful wall hangings that have found a home in many national and international museums and venues, often combining the three local textile skills of patchwork, mirrorwork and aari bharat. Mochi Bharat is no longer the preserve of male craftspeople but has given hundreds of women independence and earning, adding yet another important dimension to the practice.

As winter settles down upon my quiet New England hometown and I observe the most recent snow that has fallen on our streets and sidewalks, I can't help but think of those living further north where the wind blows colder and the days are only too brief. Recently, the Peabody Essex Museum, in Salem, Massachusetts, displayed an exhibit of craft, art and film from Inuit people in the arctic north, in their gallery space created specifically for rotating installations of Native America art. And on a blustery winter day in late December, I had the fortunate experience of stumbling onto this exhibit. The exhibit, titled Our Land: Contemporary Art from the Arctic, is the first major exhibition of art and craft from the Canadian territory of Nunavut, which lies in northwest North America just inside the Arctic Circle. Nunavut, created in 1999 after the Canadian government reformulated its territories, spans from the Hudson Bay to the North Pole and houses ecologies that range from barren vistas to mountains to the silent but lively oceans. These harsh yet beautiful conditions act as only a part of the inspiration for Inuit art in Nunavut. Our Land was born from a collaboration between the Peabody Essex Museum, the Government of Canada and the Government of Nunavut's Department of Culture, Language, Elders and Youth, and is part of an on-going series at the Peabody Essex Museum that focuses on Native American art and culture. This series also falls in line with the museums commitment "to forging partnerships with Native American artists through projects such as the Education through Cultural and Historical Organizations (ECHO)." The Inuit art and craft on display during the exhibition ranges in medium from stone, leatherwork, pottery and textiles on the craft side to lithographs, drawings, sculpture, photography and film on the fine art side. Although the forms and mediums of all the pieces varied greatly, the significance behind each and its source of inspiration clearly came from one unified origin: the culture and spirit of the Inuit people. Karen Kramer, assistant curator of Native American Art, along with John Grimes, deputy director for research, new media and information, curated this exhibit around the themes of cosmology and spirituality, families, place, season, time and gathering. In order to explore Traditional Inuit Knowledge, or Inuit Qaujimajtuqangit, more deeply through the exhibit, Kramer organized the works into three sections. The first section considers Being where works that focus on cosmology and spirituality explore the responsibilities and challenges of the Inuit people in the modern world. In the second section, works that emphasize Family, where traditional knowledge is reinforced and acquired, display images of individuals, the community and the nuclear family, and examine themes like individual identity within a culture. Lastly, the third section examines works which highlight Community and the way in which traditional knowledge is preserved throughout time, place and season in a changing social context. What is interesting about Inuit art and craft is the unique implementation of technology, both modern and ancient, each artist or artisan uses. For example, an artisan may create a stone Inuksuk, literally "likeness of a person," which acts as cairn or landmark to identify a specific place of significance in the endless and barren tundra. The creation of cairns is an old method of marking the land used in traditional societies the world over. In terms of new technology, Inuit artists have melded traditional Inuit themes like family, nature and survival with modern mediums such as film. These endeavors have met with great success. In Zacharias Kunuk's film Atanarjuat or The Fast Runner won the Camera d'Or for Film Debut at the 2001 Cannes Film Festival. In the Our Land exhibit, Kunuk's other film Nunavut is incorporated into a video installation and highlights Inuit art's auspicious advance into the fine art world. However, Inuit craft and art still hangs in a precarious balance where traditional artisans struggle with the influences and appeals of modernization. Much like Indian folk art Inuit craft strives for survival in this ever-accelerating world that requires constant stimulation. In both cultures artisan must deal with issues of authenticity, preserving images, meaning and significance while bending to market trends in order to earn a living from the beautiful items they create. In Inuit North America however, there is lack of directly accessible markets due to its remoteness and harsh environmental conditions. Instead Inuit artisans must turn into artists and rely on the acceptance of the fine art world where their images, stories and culture can live on. For more information about Inuit Art, Culture and History go to the Peabody Essex Museum's web site where there is a list of resource web sites, interviews with Inuit artisans and singers and a video link which depicts the construction of a stone figure or inuksuk at the museumhttp://www.pem.org/exhibitions/exhibition.php?id=36

In 'Imprints of Culture: Block Printed Textiles of India', Eiluned Edwards shares the voices of craftspeople while also analysing government and NGO programmes. [caption id="attachment_198229" align="aligncenter" width="405"]

Block printing is one of India’s oldest forms of surface ornamentation on textile. Credit: Pixabay[/caption] Our textile traditions owe much to numerous intrepid and indomitable aficionados over the decades who have travelled the length and breadth of the Indian subcontinent, falling in love with, documenting and developing our extraordinary skills. A surprising number of these people have been foreigners and women. Starting with Flora Ann Steel and phulkari, whether it is the research of Stella Kramrisch, Rosemary Crill, Susan Bean, Sheila Paine and Vickie C. Elson, or the design sensibilities of Faith Singh, Judy Frater, Brigette Singh and Maggie Baxter, their passion and insights have added greatly to what has been done by our own textile gurus: Kamaladevi Chattopadhyaya, Gira Sarabhai, Pupul Jayakar, Prabha Shah, Nelly Sethna, Jasleen Dhamija, Martand Singh, Jyotindra Jain, Rita Kapur Chishti, Lotika Varadarajan, Aditi Ranjan, Rahul Jain, et al.

Eiluned Edwards Imprints of Culture: Block Printed Textiles of India Niyogi Books, 2016

Eiluned Edwards, the author of Imprints of Culture: Block Printed Textiles of India, is a name to add to this list. A reader in global cultures of textiles and dress at Nottingham Trent University in the UK, she has been coming to India for decades. Her earlier book, Textiles and Dress of Gujarat (2011), was an invaluable insight into the costume traditions of this craft-rich state. Block printing is one of India’s oldest forms of surface ornamentation on textile. The Harappans knew how to weave and dye in 2000 BC. Although embroidery, not printing, is mentioned in the Vedas, ornamenting cloth by printing probably followed soon after. Our development of mordants to fix dyes and create different colours, and our varied complex techniques of resist and surface printing, meant that printed Indian fabrics were soon in demand all over the world. Fragments of ajrakh resist prints dating back over 12 centuries have been found in the Fustat excavations in Egypt, and the “sprigged muslin” worn by Jane Austen’s heroines were our familiar delicate Sanganeri and Farrukhabad floral butis. Aristocratic European 17th and 18th-century interiors were full of the all-over floral kalamkaris of Macchlipatnam, referred to as Chintz. So popular were Indian Chintzes that the French, seeing the impact on their own textile industry, banned their import and sale. Sadly, the advent of roller printing in the 19th century and the British substitution of their own manufactured cotton goods for handwoven Indian ones killed this flourishing international trade. It’s ironic that the wonderful British Raj documentations of Indian hand block prints were intended as design references to be duplicated mechanically by British manufacturers. Equally ironic, these records, stored in British museums, now serve in their turn as inspiration for 21st-century Indian block printers. “Trade and economics are the heart of textile crafts,” says Edwards. Indian craftspeople are among our most skilled professionals, especially valuable since few other countries possess these knowledge systems. Nevertheless, they live an uncertain existence, unvalued, unrewarded and unconsidered. When the Krishna canal is closed by the Andhra Pradesh government every May/June, there is no work for kalamkari workers.; left waterless, they are unable to print and wash for the two months. When master ajrakh printer Abdul Jabbar Khatri writes to the author, “Sister, business is very good. Inshallah, we will eat goat many times this year”, it is a poignant indication of how little they expect, how much more they deserve. What I love about this wonderful book is that it is all about “people and processes”, as Edwards says in her introduction. So many similar books have pages of gorgeous museum pieces, but no information on who, how, where or what is happening in these craft areas now. That only works for a coffee table book. This book is not just full of the voices and stories of craftspeople, it also tracks the impact of government policies, NGOs, designers and retailers in the sector, encompassing the Handicrafts Board and Gurjari, the Crafts Councils, Anokhi and FabIndia, and Sabyasaachi. There is even Dastkar. [caption id="attachment_198231" align="aligncenter" width="353"]

Eiluned Edwards. Courtesy: Indian Saris blog[/caption] All craft history is a composite of the social, cultural, economic, aesthetic and technical. This volume has it all – the influences of caste, region, gender and location that help preserve skills within regions and families, the effect of government and NGO livelihood schemes that have drawn in women and others outside the community who did not traditionally practice the craft, thus increasing numbers but also diluting quality and integrity. Then there are changes that the use of computers, smartphones and WhatsApp have made possible. The potential and perils of a growing but fickle consumer base. The fact that block printing is marketed as “green”, but seldom addresses the issue of toxic chemicals and water pollution. As I write this, hand block printers all over India are firefighting the impact of the newly-imposed GST. Given that hand block printing, like many other craft traditions, is a series of processes done by different sets of people, and therefore every part of process is a separate transaction that now needs to be invoiced and recorded, and also given that a single craftsperson makes multiple kinds of products, with most of the sales made in temporary bazaars far away from their place of origin, the compliance requirements and additional costs are mind-boggling. Periodically, one has wondered how long these ancient but now alternative forms of production can survive. This threat seems closer than ever. Books like Imprints of Culture are vital in reminding us of our fortune in still having these living traditions, and how important it is to protect and preserve them. My only caveat is that it is far too heavy. Impossible to read comfortably, either at one’s desk or in bed. Nevertheless, we owe Niyogi Books a huge debt of gratitude for publishing it.

Export Capacity Assessment for the Vietnam Craft Sector Aid to Artisans & Handicraft Research & Promotion CentreVietnam’s growing craft sector offers opportunities for traditional artisans across the nation to build livelihoods and preserve their cultures. It represents one of the top ten industries for export revenues in Vietnam, providing thousands of artisans with incomes and opportunities. In recent years, the Vietnamese Ministry of Industry and Trade has recognized the earning potential of handcrafts and set targets of US$1.5 billion in annual craft exports by 2010, with the US market being a major target market to reach this goal. This trend differs from just six years ago when Europe remained the largest source of export sales for Vietnamese handcrafts accounting for 44% of the market.¹ However with the series of US-Vietnam Textile Agreements initiated in 2003, sales of Vietnamese handcrafts to the United States have increased making it “the number one importer for Vietnamese home decorations and handicrafts for the last three years [2003-07].”² Although sales to the US have allowed Vietnamese craft exports to improve, artisans continue to face strong competition from China and Thailand. In addition, the declining U.S. economy has the potential to weaken craft exports to the United States eroding Vietnam’s current main export market. Background Despite the Vietnamese craft sector’s sophistication and supportive government polices there is a continuous need to improve access to market information, product development services, production capacity and market linkages. In order to understand the necessary inputs to assist the Vietnamese craft exporters in reaching these targets, Aid to Artisans partnered with the Handicrafts Research and Promotion Center to conduct a study of the current Vietnamese craft export sector. With support from the Ford Foundation in Vietnam, an Aid to Artisans consultant conducted a marketing assessment of the Vietnamese craft export sector. This assessment was implemented in collaboration with the Handicrafts Research and Promotion Center and with the invaluable assistant of Le Bang Ngoc, HRPC Project Manager and Senior Craft Expert.Aid to Artisans (ATA), a non-profit organization, offers practical assistance to artisan groups worldwide, working in partnerships to foster economic development, improved livelihoods, cultural vitality and community well-being. Through collaboration in product development, business skills training and linkages to new markets, ATA provides sustainable economic and social benefits for craftspeople in an environmentally sensitive and culturally respectful manner. ATA's uniqueness lies in its multi-faceted and holistic approach to artisan enterprise development, which is designed to provide sustainable economic and social benefits to artisans and their communities. ATA works with artisans across the globe and currently has 20 projects across four continents. ATA benefits 20-25,000 artisans per year through projects and grants (with 2/3 being women), and in FY07 leveraged more than $15 million in new sales for artisan businesses.The Handicrafts Research and Promotion Center (HRPC) is a Vietnamese non-profit organization which works in partnership with disadvantaged artisans and marginalized groups. HRPC focuses its efforts on developing the Vietnamese crafts sector to improve livelihoods and foster community development. HRPC promotes handcraft villages and works with disadvantaged people by providing development services such as product design, business skills training and market linkages. Methodology The assessment was primarily done through interviews and stakeholder meetings with select exporters and craft development agencies. The focus of the interviews was on logistical infrastructure for local and export market access, products, artisan groups, input suppliers, such as raw material and packaging supplies, and potential partnerships. In conducting this research, the ATA consultant traveled to Hanoi for one week to conduct interviews with craft exporters and development organizations about the future of craft exports from Vietnam. The goal of this trip was to better understand the current needs and the challenges Vietnamese craft exporters and development workers face, particularly when working with poor, rural and minority artisans. Key Findings The environment in Vietnam is ripe for expanding craft marketing both on local and international levels. The country has a mix of traditional skills and factory production, as well as a blend of producers with production capacities to meet a variety of needs. Local programs and government sponsorships are targeting growth and are prepared to offer assistance to developmental organizations interested in developing the craft sector. The government is currently addressing long term sustainability issues and the international market is ready for more products and production from the range of producers that Vietnam has to offer.

VIETNAMESE HANDICRAFTS

Vietnam has a long tradition of creating beautiful and complex handcrafted items. The majority of these skills have lasted through the centuries in traditional village production and through incorporating them into modern, commercial production. Current handcraft production in Vietnam is not only a way for rural and ethnic minority artisans to generate income but it also serves as a form of cultural revitalization, safeguarding traditions and ancient ways of life. Vietnam hosts over 2,000 craft villages spread throughout the nation with the majority of these being in the northern region of the country. Artisans from these villages create traditional handcrafts in a range of media including ceramics, lacquer ware, silk, cotton and hemp weaving, embroidery, wood carving, bamboo, natural fibers and rattan products. The resulting products display the variety of skills and traditions that Vietnamese artisans possess and illustrate the deep and rich culture heritage of the nation.³ Producer Structure Vietnam has three primary types of producer groups that include the traditional craft village, factory production and ethnic minority artisans. Each group consists of a range of organizations which vary in size, corporate structure and production capacity. The consultant conducted interviews with a spectrum of businesses and developmental groups, both governmental and non-governmental. All of these groups from the most rural micro-enterprise artisan businesses to the large, sophisticated factory production units fall within the Vietnamese Government’s classifications of handcrafts. Ethnic Minorities: The ethnic minority producer groups are comprised of artisans that use traditional skills to create products primarily for use within their own communities. These groups are mainly based in the northern region of Vietnam and are the most difficult to reach directly due to poor infrastructure. While no interviews were conducted directly with individual artisans from these groups, interviews were held with several Hanoi partners, including Craft Link⁴ and governmental development offices, who work with ethnic minority artisan groups. Ethnic minority artisans have high skill levels and low production capacity. Language barriers, remote geography, lack of capital investment and inadequate business skills are significant issues with these groups. Several development and cultural revitalization programs are targeting these groups in an effort to preserve the traditional skills and culture of the region. Craft Link has worked with groups of ethnic minorities for more than 20 years and has built their business employing these producers. Seventy percent of Craft Link’s production is fulfilled by ethnic minority groups and they have created a skills training program to continue to develop these artisans. Craft Link works with more than 56 producer groups employing over 5,600 artisans throughout Vietnam. They have been able to successfully link rural producers to export markets as well as maintaining several local stores and consignment venues in luxury hotels. Craft Link’s business structure contains two arms including both marketing and artisans/business development. Originally the organization began with external funding and support but is now able to support both the marketing and craft development arms of the business with incomes from sales of handcraft products. The ethnic minority artisans, also known as hill tribes, are also being targeted for cultural revitalization through programs such as SNV’s (Netherlands Development Organization) pro-poor tourism development.⁵ These programs offer experiential travel in unique remote areas to visit indigenous groups. By providing commercial outlets for artisan made products and cultural experiences, SNV’s program hopes to create income for ethnic minority villages and revitalize their cultures. With the exception of a few buying groups such as Craft Link, most of the products from these tribes are for local and tourist consumption. Product development and external market access are limited to non-existent. Traditional Craft Villages: The traditional craft villages are a network of craft producing villages that were created to increase efficiency in the supply lines of handcrafts. The villages increase incomes in rural areas without a dependency on agriculture and decrease rural-urban migration. Each village was created based on the need for specific skills and/or products. There are approximately 3,000 of these villages which represent a wide range of products, skills and raw materials from silk to ceramics to woven natural fibers. The villages that the ATA consultant visited in and around Hanoi are quite developed with tremendous production capacity. For example, Van Phuc Silk Village produces more than 2 million meters of silk annually. About 1,300 families in this village generate 90% of their income from the annual $6 million in regional sales. Most of the production done in these villages is sold to local and regional buyers, with some villages providing piecework employment for local factories. Product development support and innovation is limited within the villages and few of the groups have outside marketing programs. Most villages rely heavily on buyers looking for high volume production opportunities. The network of these villages is extensive and government export programs target them for international production. Many of these villages have good infrastructure for and experience with international packing and shipping requirements. Factory Production: Factory production of handcraft is a growing sector in Vietnam. Large production facilities are being built in and around many traditional craft villages to further increase efficiency. The factories are coordinating production exclusively for export to western markets in the US and Europe and many are shipping hundreds, if not thousands, of containers annually to retailers such as IKEA, Pier 1, Wal-Mart, Williams Sonoma, Pottery Barn and Cost Plus. The factories are using the traditional skills of the artisans within the villages to produce piece-work components for goods which are finished in the factory setting. Several of the groups the consultant visited had in-factory staff of more than 1,000 and village producers numbering 30,000 or more. All of the product and production falls within the governmental definition of handcraft creating stiffer competition for rural and traditional producers. The factory production groups are the most sophisticated of all the producers and often exhibit products in international marketing venues and tradeshows. Since export markets remain their primary focus, local sales are an insignificant and sometimes non-existent factor in their business. Product development is primarily client driven and sophisticated. Additional product development implemented by the business itself is only conducted for showcasing skill sets at international venues. Assistance Needed The existing network of craft exporters is fairly extensive in Vietnam with the majority of “handcraft” export coming from the factory coordinated production of the traditional craft villages. Overall, all of the three producer group types require product development and improved market access in order to increase export sales. However, the specific training, product development and marketing needs of each group require immensely different inputs. The ethnic minority groups require domestically based partners to successfully export due to barriers in communication and infrastructure. In this situation it would be best to work through and with a domestically based partner to provide basic skills and business development training as well as product development geared specifically toward the export market. These groups need assistance in developing marketing linkages and local distribution to the domestic retail market and regional distribution groups which would then export products. Although some national level organizations, such as Craft Link, are successfully exporting goods from ethnic minority artisan groups, the main markets for expansions include the tourist market and the domestic Vietnamese market. The traditional craft villages and the factory producers offer the greatest opportunities for increased export sales. The Vietnamese Government has set targets for handcraft exports sales to increase in the next 5 years, reaching over $1.5 billion USD. These two groups have the capacity and business skills to work in an international environment. They are capable of timely and clear communication and possess computer, banking and business skills, although some groups lack full English language skills. In order to increase export sales from traditional craft villages and factor production groups, they need high volume sales through exposure to the large international retailers and other high volume buyers. A plan for their expansion should include securing raw material supply lines through regional markets since resources in Vietnam are limited. Much of the current volume production involves raw materials that either have restrictions on procurement or sustainability issues. Wicker, rattan, bamboo and wood are in limited supply in Vietnam and their harvest is currently under government regulation. However, many of these restricted raw materials are now being imported from neighboring countries including Burma, China, Thailand and Cambodia where land restrictions are fewer and managed crops are available. The traditional craft villages and factory product units can increase their market presence through improving their network of buyers and through direct selling opportunities such as tradeshows. There are regional tradeshow in Vietnam, Thailand and Hong Kong which focus on export sales and the Vietnamese Government even sponsors buyer participation from the US and Europe. In order for these organizations to increase their export sales they need to have a larger presence in international markets and increase their networks of buyers. References

Le Ba Ngoc. (2003). Craft Products in Vietnam. Retrieved March 18, 2008, from Handicrafts Research and Promotion Web site:-http:/hrpc.com.vn/craftproducts.html
VNA. (2008). Hand-made Products to Rake in 1 Billion in US Exports. Retrieved March 18. 2008 from Vietnamese Business Finance Web site:-http:/www.vnbusinessnews.com/2008/03/hand-made-products-to-rake-in-1-billion.html
Since the purpose of this study is to review the current craft export sector and determine necessary input to increase craft exports from Vietnam, the author did not focus on reviewing Vietnamese crafts. For more detailed information on the specific craft of Vietnam please see the Handicrafts Research and Promotion Center at-www.hrpc.org and the Vietnamese Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism at-http:/english.cinet.vn/Default.aspx.
Craft Link is a leading not-for-profit organization working with artisans in Vietnam on income generating projects with a particular focus on ethnic traditions in northern Vietnam. For more information visit their websitehttp/www.craftlink.com.vn
SNV, supported by the Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs, promotes sustainable development by means of generating production, income and employment opportunities and improving access to basic services. For more information about their Pro-Poor Tourism initiatives in Asia visit their website:-http/www.snvworld.org/en/regions/asia/ourwork/Pages/tourism.aspx

Issue #009, 2022 ISSN: 2581- 9410 Creating a sustainable cycle of Organic Desi Cotton. Nothing can so quickly put the masses back on their feet, as the spinning wheel can. Charkha the Life line of India Mahatma Gandhi COTTON: The Magic Fibre: Cotton fibre gradually becomes hollow during its growth, turning from a solid rod to a spirally twisted hollow tube on maturity. The porous structure allows air to pass through and makes it uniquely absorbent, able to hold 20 times its own weight in water. The capillary action allows cotton to be the most suited cloth for humans. It keeps us cold in summer sand warm in winters. The 6 yard cotton trees that Marco Polo saw in Gujarat no longer exist, and what he described as ‘the finest and most beautiful cottons that are to be found in any part of the World’ no longer woven. Indian cotton dates back to Harrapan civilization & we made the finest cloth in the world called Dacca Muslin. This legendary Ducca Muslin was dubbed aab-e-rawan (Running water), shabanam (Evening dew), beft hawa (woven air), because it would float like a cloud if thrown in the air. India became the ‘Sone ki Chriya’, the golden bird, because of the Cotton it traded. Until the British came and systematically took it apart making us a marginalised cotton textile industry. Every part of India has its own indigenous variety of Cotton, that was suited to that environment. Short staple was the variety that grew in India. With the coming in of the British, they started promoting Long staple varieties to suit their mills to mass produce Cotton cloth to cater to the World demand’s. From the largest producer of the finest Cotton in the World India gradually lost out. In the recent years BT & GMO Cotton varieties were introduced. These varieties are high yielding but come at a high price, they need a lot more water, chemical for the land and lots of pesticides. With erratic rains, climatic changes, poor remunerative prices, lack of institutional credit and irrigation, it set the scene of devastation. Monetary losses across the cotton belt over years leading to massive Famer suicides in Vidarbha and other regions. A lot of cotton areas have now shifted to other lucrative crops. We have lost again. 54% of the total pesticides used in Indian agriculture are sprayed on Cotton alone, although it only accounts for 5% of the cultivated area. Cotton that clothed us for a thousand years is being slowly replaced by artificial fibre. Is Cotton is now a niche fibre ? A fibre that was considered utilitarian, beautiful and lasting. Now only exists as a burden on the land, on the water as a resource, heavily sprayed with toxic pesticides and chemicals.

I am working very hard to revive the lost glory of Indian Cotton that was traditionally grown in this region. I have found age old cotton (desi) seeds that were grown in this region a long time a ago (Hapur, Uttar Pradesh). These are Short staple, they are grown organically with no pesticides, no chemicals. They are hardy and pest resistance and most importantly they are Rain fed with no irrigation what so ever. We want to use this fibre as a source that joins and builds communities. Cotton as the fabric of the Future, you wear what you weave. The charkha, which was the mainstay of cloth production in pre-colonial times, was transformed into a symbol of resistance to the British rule. Similarly I think the cotton that we grow can become a connecting thread into the Future. Our Design Studio will create New Age Social Enterprises and Business Models adding to India’s Creative Economy. We grow Organic Indigenous Cotton, We clean, comb and card it locally, We build a community across villages to use the charkhs to spin the yarn, increase livelihood possibilities and preserve hand spinning. We use the local weaving community to make the cloth, creating a sustainable way to preserve the dying art of handmade. We bring in designers to come, collaborate with us to make it reachable to the new generation. Our Collaboration with Himanshu Shani has been very rewarding. His company 11.11.in is one of the most important sustainable Brands from India. Our Collaboration was first showcased at Lakme Fashion Week in 2019. It opened the Sustainable Week in Mumbai. Our AIM:

Create a value chain for Organic and Natural Farming.
Make our farm a Demo for Farm to Fashion.
Celebrate and preserve India’s rich heritage of traditions.
Support and honour rural artisan communities.
Provide livelihood opportunities for women.
Support the revival of regenerative, localised craft value chains from Farm to textile & farm to Table.
Revive and preserve ecologically sensitive, endangered crafts, principally: natural dyes, hand-spinning and handloom weaving.
Stand as a beacon of excellence in the growing conversation around the preservation of handmade textile and the promotion of sustainable design
Create a dynamic platform for artistic exchange, innovation and education at Hapur Organic Farm

‘God in every thread’, THE WARP AND WEFT OF OUR LIVES.

FUTURE In the coming future Artificial Intelligence (AI) and Robotics with takeover functional jobs. Machines can do things with precision and in time. Then What will the larger section of our society do ? We need to upskill ourselves. Everyone in smaller cities and villages aspire to move to a big city. They either become daily wagers or end up driving an uber. Example : A traditional bricklayer or artisan or farmer, having lived in poverty, will always aspire that his child goes to cities and takes up some other profession. It takes very little ability to do the above but what we end up losing is 4 or 5 generations of skill and wisdom. A brick layer or a weaver migrating is a huge loss. Our ability is asymmetry, Made by Hand, triggering the emotional retina. Using traditions and larger wisdom that has sustained the test of time to cater to the new generation Living and co exiting in harmony in the coming future My work here should compel people to stay comfortably at home in their village and live with pride doing what they love doing with pay that matches the city. Source of some of the information above is from ‘A Frayed History : The Journey of Cotton in India ‘ by Meena Menon and Uzramma

Issue #10, 2023 ISSN: 2581- 9410 If we look into evolution of the human race it has been because of the constant development of the species need for survival as well as curiosity that from clothing oneself with animal hide, living in caves and forest shelters, to using natural cut rocks as troughs, leaves as containers, wooden stumps as building blocks to now where there is a new fabric being developed every day, architects building structures nearly reaching the sky and utility equipment that are robotic in nature is because of the deep understanding of the environment and ecosystem in which the human being lives. The evolution of the human race began from the need for survival in the large diverse animal kingdom that it is a part of. First, protecting itself from the other animal species some of whom were bigger and fiercer. Then an environment which was ever changing in climatic conditions from heat to rain and cold. Finally, just the diversity in the land they lived on, with thick forests, to dry sandy dessert, to cold ice desserts, huge towering mountains, rocky terrains and large rivers with the vast oceans. Just like other animal species even the human beings had to constantly keep figuring out ways and means to stay alive which has technically not changed even in the 21^st century only the ways and means differ in the current times. Understanding these basic needs made every human being in the Dark Ages and all the other evolutionary stages, a designer, because one was constantly finding solutions to new challenges they faced, and it had to be found in the environment around them. And it was the same trees, rocks, rivers that they lived in that offered them the solutions. That is the fibre or basis of the evolution of the human race. Up until the 200 years ago, most of what we evolved into as a human being anywhere on the planet used materials available in nature for all our needs. The first aircraft was built using wood and fabric; the first long distance voyage ships were made of wood and their sails with cloth; the cooking utensils were made from clay; iron ore; stone; fire was always wood fire and then coal for energy; clothing was animal hide; wool; cotton; bast fibres; silk. Each of these materials discovered and used by the race as per their need for that environment and weather. Human beings evolved from being one species to several with the creation of clans/tribes. I believe the inspiration of setting up groups amongst themselves would have come from them learning from other animal species who always moved as a herd and each animal species have several herds which also helps them demarcate their territory which is done mainly for the basic need for food. Humans too created their own packs for food, shelter and protection. It’s the setting up of these clans/tribes that created a need for building identities, to show a sign of strength or territory because unlike the other animal species who through their 6^th sense live almost respectfully of each other and instinctively know their place in the larger animal kingdom, this is an instinct that was absent in the human beings. Hence for identity they created symbols they wore on themselves, which were tattoos, headgears, their clothing, their weapons. Many of these once again inspired by observing other animal species around them. These pieces of identity once again were made using the natural materials available to them in their environment. Once these identities were established, then, is where the need to show power and hierarchy began and so humans grew in material culture which is a practice even today. Even today it is the brand of your hone/clothes/shoes/accessories; your car or the number of cars; the size of your house that give you a status and a place in the social order prevalent today. The entire evolution of the human race is based on the material available to them at that period of time to overcome the challenge of security; identity and hierarchy, and the basis of it all is the Fibre. The minutest part of any material if broken down completely is the atom, a group of atoms form molecules and the collection of molecules for the visible fibre or particle which then creates different structures. The fibre as we all know is not just the basis of creating thread to be twisted for weaving or knitting or knotting but is the building block for any tangible object around us. We are progressing as a race making every aspect of our lives more comfortable by constantly adding a new object everyday to fulfill a “new” need, due to which the sensitivity towards its evolution, the processes, the people, the community, the ecosystem that has enabled it to be created is being lost. This uncaring attitude because of an abundance of material things being made easily available has made us a race that has become more of a “taker” than a “giver” creating waste and increasing pollution. We need to go back to the basics and we need to pay attention to the seed of a story in order to continue to let the planet be our biggest provider. There are many practitioners today apart from the traditional artisan communities who continue to practice their indigenous craft and way of living, like artists; designers; entrepreneurs ; social organisations ; academics ; innovators who are working with this intrinsic idea of the Fibre being the basis of all creation. This journal of fibres is a compilation of a few of these stories from this community. The story of evolution and its deep connect with the basis of life – the fibre is an unexplored realm from the context of social and cultural heritage conservation, preservation, and growth. The intents of this journal on Fibres is to begin this conversation at the human level.

Issue #002, Winter, 2019 ISSN: 2581- 9410 Folk art forms, be they paintings, sculpture, dance or music are an integral part of Indian culture. My journey into folk art began after a ten-year involvement with designing and marketing crafts from all over India. An artist friend from America, Scott Rothstein was spending a couple of years in India and was utterly fascinated by folk paintings and sculptures. I began translating for him as we met with folk art practitioners and soon enough, we were both totally drawn into the deep and complex world of folk art in India. Little did we know that in the months to come, the preservation and promotion of these artistic traditions would become a major pre-occupation for us. By definition, folk art is the art ‘of’ and ‘by’ the people and by and large adheres to the norms and values of established traditions or communities. People belonging to the tradition/community learn these artistic skills and knowledge systems, both consciously and subconsciously, through predetermined cultural ceremonies and by simply living in the particular milieu in which the art form is practiced. Usually, these art forms are passed from one generation to the other. Consider a child born in an artist’s home in Madhubani, Bihar. Surrounded from birth by the beautiful drawings on the floor and walls, s/he perhaps sees close relatives working on the paintings on paper, unconsciously assimilating all the aesthetic and symbolic essence of the art form. As a young bride or groom, when they enter the marriage chamber or kobhar ghar, they will see the beautiful and meaningful wall paintings done specially to bless the union. Madhubani paintings for them, is the stuff that colours their lives, transforming the mundane into the beautiful. In working with talented young folk artists like Pushpa Kumari (whose grandmother Maha Sundari Devi was one of the pioneers in transferring the art of Madhubani onto paper) and Montu and Joba Chitrakar (who belong to the Bengali patachitra tradition), I have seen for myself the confining nature of how folk art is defined and perceived. These new generation of artists who are exposed to a thousand and one new stimuli thanks to the technologically replete world of today are definitely carriers of their traditions. But they bring to these centuries old traditions something new, something of their own sensibilities, perhaps even of angst. But is there space for all of this in how they produce and market their work? Do they simply employ the stylistic devices of the traditions they are born into to convey their private pre-occupations or are they re-invigorating their traditional art forms? Are they committing some kind of aesthetic hara-kiri, mutating their tradition? Are they transforming their tradition to carry it forth into the new millennium? These are complex issues, with no clear answers – there are many shades of gray in the truth of the matter. Most of the younger generation of folk artists somehow cannot seem to get away from the slightly pejorative associations of folk art. In many ways, the personalized aspects of their works are totally ignored and they are clubbed together with the generations of folk artists gone by. This devalues them as individual artists and they are seen as the faceless, nameless carriers of tradition, ensuring cultural continuity anonymously. They are always seen as slightly less than the self-taught or art college educated contemporary artist who ironically seem to have time on their side. Few galleries or curators consider them as independent artists in their own rights and one seldom hears of shows where folk art is appreciated for what it really is, or for and by itself. Even if there are interested and empathetic curators, the folk artists are hesitant to reach out, afraid of being rebuffed. There is unfortunately an attempt to either compare folk art with contemporary art in a rather self-conscious manner as to where tradition departs and modernity begin or folk art is seen as part of India’s rich cultural legacy, the relics of a ‘hoary past’ with all the baggage that it entails. This constant comparison between tradition and contemporaniety brings its own stresses, particularly for the artists who are bombarded with things modern in their day-to-day life, in the popular culture around them. How do they divorce this reality from their work or more importantly and intriguingly should they even attempt to do so? A Madhubani artist who draws in a helicopter into her works or a pata-chitra artist from Bengal who tries to tell a story about the scourge of AIDS – what is really happening here? Are they trying too hard to bring something alien into their art or are they just reflecting the times they live in? If a Madhubani artist forsakes all the floridity usually associated with the genre and pares down the pictorial vocabulary to offer one striking image using the familiar stylistic devices, is she forsaking her tradition? Sometimes, this rush to be thought of being up-to-date is forcing these folk artists to forget the strong roots of their traditions, the original tales that gave the tradition much of its vigour and vitality. At a conference recently, I watched a very interesting Rajasthani folk puppet show - but with a difference. Instead of moving gracefully to the romantic ballads of our western state, the puppet dressed in traditional Rajasthani ensemble of lehenga-choli-odhni moved energetically to a disco number, her moves so smooth that she would have put any disco dancer in the West to shame. While some may decry this as a perversion of tradition, to me it was clear that the puppeteer was market-savvy – he was simply catering to the new audience who like to disco. Perhaps one of the most interesting aspects of my work with folk art is the case of Pradyumna Kumar. Although he is from Madhubani, Bihar and is married into a family of artists working in the Madhubani painting tradition, he never really tried his hand at the art form until recently. A land surveyor for several years, he lost his job after a surgery when he became too weak to work outside. He began experimenting with simple drawings, trying to replicate initially what his wife and her relatives were doing. When Scott and I first met him and he hesitantly showed us his work, we decided to take the experimentation a little further and see if he could become a fully-fledged artist. To our great delight, he has constantly amazed us with his grasp of his chosen idiom and his works have great technical felicity and deep cultural moorings. His years as a map maker allow him to bring a unique spatial sensibility – his picture of a peacock on a tree is remarkable for its clean strong imagery and the deliberate way in which the motifs are arranged on the sheet of paper – all of this underscored by the typical delicate lines of Madhubani black and white drawings. But what would you call him – a folk artist or what? Does he fulfill the criteria of a folk artist – whatever they may be in today’s day and age? Personally, after my experiences, I prefer to use the term artist instead of labeling as folk, contemporary or outsider because in most cases, the dividing line is too thin. So where is folk art today in India? To my mind, it is in a very paradoxical state, with some traditions flourishing and others in terminal decline. On one hand is the crass mass commercialization of certain folk art such as Madhubani paintings as seen in the dozens of stalls in Dilli Haat and other exhibitions where the emphasis is on churning out stock imagery. On a more positive note, is the occasional use of folk art forms and artists to produce animated movies, taking the folk art one step closer to integration with real time technologies. But what of the talented individuals who produce works of stupendous artistic worth but who find few takers because everyone has blinkered vision of what folk art should really be? Perhaps that is the tragedy of folk art in India today and we need committed visionaries, both within and outside of the tradition to take this vital aspect of our culture into the limelight, into a future where folk art forms are considered no less worthy than Indian contemporary art which in recent times is commanding astounding prices worldwide. We are in the danger of devaluing and thereby losing the repositories of our traditional wisdom, our spiritual moorings for if one thing all folk art practitioners have in common is that they draw their sustenance from a deep wellspring of sacred knowledge. For them, the creation of a work or a performance is an act of devotion, a profound statement of being and becoming. Let us blur the boundaries and re-configure a new space for folk art so that the generations to come can continue to enjoy, learn from and be inspired by it.

Forests, jungles, groves, trees and plants have been sacred for large sections of humanity. First, in many animist religions and, later, when ritualistic religions invested them with greater significance. Yuval Noah Harari’s book, Sapiens, tells us how, through a quirk in the wiring in their brains, humans developed a crucial feature that differentiated them from other creatures. This was the ability to create ideas, concepts, myths and systems of functioning, weaving together whatever the imagination could conjure. Humans became aware of their ability to create imagined ideas to bolster facts each needed to know for their survival amongst other creatures, which they communicated through words, symbols or images. Harari writes, “Legends, myths, gods and religions appeared for the first time with the Cognitive Revolution. Many animals and human species could previously say, ‘Careful! A lion!’ Thanks to the Cognitive Revolution, Homo sapiens acquired the ability to say, ‘The lion is the guardian spirit of our tribe.’” This ability to create fictions is the most unique feature of human language. As forest dwellers, hunters and gatherers roamed the earth, they learned of the value or dangers that lay within the swathes of dense forests that covered the planet, and the large and small creatures that dwelled within them. They also began to discover the nutritional and medicinal benefits of plants and trees. The concept of “sacredness” would have developed as a fictional rationale to protect and preserve those plants and trees for their own benefit. The worship of snakes, and the existence of sacred groves for snakes in Kerala, are examples of the ritualistic processes that evolved from the lives of forest dwellers who were lower in the food chain than most animals at the time. They would have felt the need to accord sacredness to all creatures so that those that could harm them could be avoided or propitiated through prayer and ritual. This capsule history might indicate how forests, sacred groves and medicinal life-restoring plants attained a special place in literature, art, poetry, traditional health systems and mythology. These are repeatedly and prominently reflected in the works of one of their largest preservers and disseminators—the traditional practitioners of India’s heritage arts, crafts and textiles. It is often the unlettered or unschooled artist, craftsperson or weaver who creates multiple expressions of plants, trees and forests in his or her work, either as design motifs, embellishments to a central subject or as the primary subject itself. Most art forms in this part of the world revel in storytelling. Art forms also emanate from a spiritual realm, where the practice of art is an act of worship, in which the work is dedicated to a higher being. In Islamic art, calligraphy, decoration and the celebration of flora merge to celebrate the words of the Prophet. In others, a god or goddess is invited to enter the spirit of the object, or bless it for the wearer’s benefit, if it is a textile piece. Most artists will not put their signatures to their work as personal identity is never as important as the sacred being to whom the work is offered. Every human figure is a character in a religious epic or a folk tale. Stories are populated with animals, birds and even insects like scorpions and spiders. Each of these is infused with symbolic meaning and has a characteristic quality or specific role to play which builds up a picture of the universe and the integrated nature of all life forms. Within this framework, the tree holds a special place. Sacred groves and forests are very much a part of the existing spiritual landscape in many parts of India. In Hindu belief systems, trees represent important deities. The pipal tree,also called Ashvatta, has the significant botanical name Ficusreligiosa, indicating its deep links with religion.Krishna is supposed to have said that he was the holy fig tree, making the pipal a manifestation of the god himself, who is often depicted in his child-like form lying on the heart-shaped pipal leaf with its pointed tip. The tree is also said to contain Brahma at its roots, Vishnu in its trunk and Shiva in its leaves. In Buddhism Gautama Siddhartha obtained enlightenment under the pipal, or Bodhi tree. So highly revered is the Bodhi tree that the Sri Lankan Buddhists took a shoot of the divine tree from Gaya and have been protecting the younger tree in their country for 2,200 years. The story of Hanuman carrying an entire mountain in the palm of his hand, as he could not identify the medicinal plant in a forest needed to revive Lakshmana from his grievous injury, is the subject of art works, dance dramas and numerous storybooks. Songs that survive from ancient times, when simpler forms of animistic beliefs existed in Ladakh, a high-altitude desert with little vegetation, show how people are exhorted not to collect firewood by cutting branches off trees but to gather only what has fallen to the ground, ostensibly to protect the divine spirits that resided in trees. The presence of forests and trees is incorporated in every kind of craft skill, ranging from traditional painting, textiles, wood, stone and metal icons and artefacts. Works can be seen within different locales and in religious legends or folk rituals and tales, often depending on the varied cultural traditions and flora and fauna of different communities. Forests play an important role in the lives of tribes whose work depends on acquiring resin, roots and other organic materials that are needed for colouring and dyeing from plants in the vast forests of Jharkhand, Odisha and other states. Lac from resin is used to colour wooden items that are turned on a lathe. Dyes for Adivasi shawls are made from Indian madder, Rubia tinctorum, made from the roots of the plant Rubia cordifolia. Depending on the quantity used and its reaction to the minerals in the water in which the textile is washed, the colour can emerge a deep red, pink or even a brownish purple. Most weavers and dyers depend on tribespeople who go deep into the forest, and know exactly where plants for colouring and medicinal needs are to be found. The artisans’ dependence on forest produce is centuries old. In accordance with the importance given to forests, animals, water, the sun and even the seasons—everything that is part of the cycle of life, required for the sustenance of life, becomes part of the wondrous image that is known across the world as the “Tree of Life”. Significantly, a terracotta fragment from the Indus Valley Civilisation has a tree indented on it. Its worldwide acceptance as being sacred because of its properties of offering shade, shelter, food and clean air, its lasting qualities and its quiet towering presence make it a powerful icon across many art forms. In Islamic art, it is a symbol of divinity and growth. Chinese and Celtic art have their expressions of the Tree of Life and India has its own interpretations. There is something magical about the way the Tree of Life is depicted. It seems to exuberantly transcend the quotidian world and go into a space that reaches out to all beautiful living beings, offering shade, protection and joy. Each artist tries to capture this metaphysical quality in his or her own way.In works created during exhibitions and projects over a period of over three decades, the Dastkari Haat Samiti, a national association of crafts people, has found many examples of trees and forests in the vast body of art and craft works that get seamlessly incorporated into its works. They are an almost inevitable addition to a larger canvas, clearly becoming second nature, an emotional internalisation, and an almost compulsory addition to complete or ornament a work. For Indian Quarterly Journal, July- September Issue 2018

Issue 1, Summer, 2019 ISSN: 2581- 9410

I base this paper on a subjective assumption that Bharatanatyam today has become prisoner to its own attitudes, undone by its own narcissism as the chauvinistically flaunted emblem of Indian culture. The paper begins by first identifying and elaborating philosophical underpinnings that inform and inspire the poetics of dance from the inside, and then proceeds to identify some historical impositions that both restrict the parameters of the dancer’s imagination as well as given rise to attitudes and perspectives that tend to make Bharatanatyam both self-sufficient and self-conscious. The philosophical construct around Bharatanataym is sweeping, it directly connects the dance to the Gods, Siva Nataraja being the first dancer and teacher of Bharata who further wrote the Natyashastra. But ironically, I cannot resist remarking, that by making the dance self-conscious of its divine origins and flaunting it as a spiritual product, tends to deplete the dance of its supernatural and spiritual energy or range. It is not that I contest the supernatural lineage; in fact my premise too is that dance is potentially sublime and spiritual, but it is the emphatic posturing and chauvinistic brandishing that I find problematic at the level of art making. The Religious/Spiritual Aspect In order to understand the spiritual leaning of dance, we need to understand and appreciate the basic concept of Hindu philosophy, namely Purusha and Prakriti. <br Purusha is a primary philosophical and religious phenomenon that informs all Indian thought. Purusha is constant: it was, is and will be. It is the Masculine, Siva principle. In contrast, all that moves is Prakriti, Shakti or the Feminine principle. Thus, any movement that takes place in relation to either the spiritual core within or the material world without is the feminine principle at work. A yearning to unite with the Purusha, the inner magnetic, constant core is an integral and inherent part of human nature. Traditional dance was a medium to voice this yearning and initiate a methodical journey from the outside to the inside, from the material to the sublime. Sensuality played a very important part in this conversion from the material to the sublime, and equally important was the sacred-profane status of the devadasi; her marginality being crucial to the generation of this experience. The reconstruction of Bharatanatyam in the 1930’s, its transformation from Sadir attam to Bharatanatyam, was a result of the Hindu revival movement which meant to cleanse Hindu practices as the elites’ defensive response to the severe admonishment of the British who were invested in rendering the natives’ inner reality inadequate and incomplete. Like any other pre-industrialized civilization our inner reality was in tandem with nature, desire, sexuality and body, and we had a whole repertoire of methods, techniques and rituals of self enhancement and spiritual upliftment through sexuality and the body. The colonizer effectively used theatrical display of power and discipline to overawe the native and impress upon them his feigned superior morality. This morality was to become part and parcel of the Indian psyche and to date informs the aesthetics of Indian dance. Moral admonishment aside, modernity along with its various accompanists was to make the survival of liminal institutions like that of the devadasis, impossible. The devadasi had to go and her art would have to quickly re-negotiate the tumultuous changes in order to retain some form. The very concept of God, central to the temple dance, drastically changed in the post industrial times, the advent of pornography made the eroticism also an essential component of the dance highly problematic, plus the agendas and pressures of the cultural industry and the government agencies were oppressive and confining in their own right. Thus, within a very short span, dance was divorced from its living and vital inner source, repackaged, cleansed and censored to become high-art and a national asset; and the dancer compelled to craft a persona replete with attitudes and stances that complemented their new found status as cultural ambassadors of the country. This fixed status, persona and attitudes were all mutually exclusive to fluidity, sensuality and spirituality. <br My concern and contention is that if the parameters of the dancer’s imagination are subliminally defined by fixed notions, if the dancer is made to bear the cross of culture and tradition and propitiate prefixed ideas of identity, then there is very little freedom left for creativity and imagination. The attitudes that mar imagination are that of cultural chauvinism that flaunt the art as a cultural and national asset, as an emblem of our cultural uniqueness; pertaining to the idea of universality of art; perpetuation of polarities between high and low art; about dancers becoming custodians of culture and heritage; the anxiety over eroding standards, values and taste; democratization of the art; the need to make classical arts relevant, the idea that the classical art is a monolith: pristine and pure; the eagerness to explain cultural culture-specific notions and nuances; and finally the agendas of the cultural industry which includes the national cultural agencies. Also, as modernity gives rise to a very tense dichotomy between religion and the rational in the course of the common process of secularization, it also gives rise to the problem of fundamentalism! The self righteous, grandiose and even chauvinistic stance of the classical dancer vis-à-vis the illustrious past are essentially defiant and fundamentalist in nature. To conclude, let us look into some creative ways out of this in order to reclaim the license to reinvent art and make it personal expression: some of the suggestions discussed are to rigorously explore technique, both its physicality and its unique and highly stylized emotive capacities; explore subversion as a means to counter the lofty, nationalistic ideas of art; explore the idea of a self-defined marginality of a dancer; exploring conventional texts and experiment with transposing and juxtaposing techniques and texts; creating spaces and forums to experiment with modern notions of performance which have been so far fixed or rigorously policed; facilitate experiments. Perhaps the real possibility for dance will arise when the cultural industry finally discards it, it is then that dance will regain the license of free art-making.

The younger weavers, in turn, had only heard of the older weavers having woven them and many had not even seen a Telia Rumal. The stunning Telia Rumal was initially woven mainly in Chirala in Andhra Pradesh in the 19th and 20th centuries primarily as a trade cloth for export to Arab countries where the square 44 inch by 44 inch oil processed cloth was in much demand. Locally, it catered to fishermen and agricultural labourers who wore it, as it kept them warm in cold weather and cool in hot weather. It was also woven as sarees and dupattas which were further embellished with embroidery by the niche women clientele of Hyderabad. Post-Independence, the decline in exports led to the decline of the thriving production centres in Chirala and Pochampalli. The subsequent decline could not be arrested despite significant government interventions in 1950s by Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay and the Festival of India in the 1980s. Despite a dramatic revival and a two-decade boom period from 1980 to 2000, due to the design intervention of Festival of India through Viswakarma exhibitions, its subsequent downswing post 2000 has been remarkable. One of the most intricate double ikats, Telia Rumal is characterised by a special yarn preparation process which gives its unique character. The preparation of the yarn before the dyeing process involves the treatment of the yarn with sheep dung, castor pod ashes and sesame oil over a month. At the end of the process the yarn has a slight oil smell and sheen which gives its name “Telia Rumal”. Its one-of-a-kind design repertoire demands the precision that is associated with Patola saree weaving, which makes the production of the Telia Rumal intricate and time consuming. It is precisely this intricate process that has been the bane of its survival. Weavers rue that it demands incredible patience as the design has to be carefully woven and continuously checked and adjusted so that the threads are perfectly aligned. Guda Srinu, a National awardee, says that production is affected by this factor alone as weavers find it difficult to invest so much time, labour and skill for comparatively less remuneration. Weavers prefer to weave other regular items which are not demanding and yet give them a steady regular income. Telia Rumal products are therefore only a part of their product portfolio.

Given this scenario, production is limited, and only due to the persistence of Padmashri Gajam Goverdhan of Murli Saree Emporium in Hyderabad, that limited but continuous production of Telia Rumal sarees continues to this day. Sarees continue to be produced not merely of the traditional Telia Rumal design repertoire but from the modern design repertoire of the Viswakarma exhibitions of Festivals of India. Despite a sustainable niche market demand, there is a highly limited supply which has been made possible by private entrepreneurship, fashion designers, and limited State government support.Weavers have shifted to non-weaving occupations due to low remuneration associated with weaving, increasing availability of steady income jobs in Hyderabad such as security guards at malls, ATM centres etc., and changing aspirations. The younger generation in weavers’ families does not want to be involved with weaving. Many are educated and have well paying jobs. At present, many of the Telia Rumal practitioners have either died or are now old. The next generation of weavers who continue to practice the Telia Rumal textile process is nearly non-existent, and barely a handful practice this and that too rarely. Telia Rumal’s re-invention as a significant textile heritage item within the country, is a post-Independence phenomenon, mainly due to the successive government interventions. The building of the brand “Telia Rumal” products has not occurred which in turn, has not created a brand image and new markets.

Due to its limited production for niche markets, it is not commonly available in shops and boutiques. As a result, today’s younger generation is not aware of this textile heritage and there is absence of demand for Telia Rumal products. It is a catch 22 situation, where new markets are not created due to limited production, and production is not accelerated due to absence of larger markets for this niche product. This is the conundrum that Telia Rumal textile heritage finds itself in. One of the celebrated textile products remains invisible in the public eye and mind. Outsiders having been fed upon a rich diet of textile books about the glorious textile traditions of our country wander into the villages hoping to see and buy one of the pieces. But sadly, neither is there the production of the original Telia Rumal, nor there is enough production of the Telia Rumal products for them to buy and appreciate the intricate weave and stunning designs. In an era, where the young generation within India and overseas is discovering its rich textile tradition, and where there is the possibility of an increasing niche market for expensive niche products, it is ironic, that instead of a revival, the Telia Rumal appears to be on its way out. Would its future lay in being a studio product and practiced by professional designers?

First Published - The Hindu. Features/ Sunday Magazine - April 13, 2013

Ever since he became Prime Minister in 2014, Narendra Modi has talked about job creation as a sorely needed factor for India’s economic stability and growth. Yet the subject remains the proverbial elephant in the room, made obvious because it has been repeated, by the PM, by opposition and media over the years, with little to show by way of success. On 15 August 2014 the media reported: "Modi hoists the National Flag from the ramparts of Red Fort. Skill development will be towards job creation and empowering the youth…” A year later media reported, “Modi said there would now be an attempt at linking job creation with new investments. Proposed schemes would now impose the obligation of creating fresh jobsf or every clearance given to investments”. In 2017 the reports quoted the PM: “We are nurturing our youngsters to be job creators and not job seekers." That year he also spoke of government's policies that have led to more employment opportunities, but did not elaborate. During the July no-confidence motion in the Lok Sabha, Modi replied to the criticism his government was facing over the unemployment issue by saying that over one crore jobs had been created over the past year. Finally, on 15 August 2018, he hinted at the need for a rethink of what “job creation” means. We agree. There is a basket of livelihoods and knowledge, guided by culture, which fulfils all that government means when it says "jobs". It is found as the self-employed traditional artisan sector in handicrafts, hand-weaves and cottage manufactures. The 'job creation' that has featured in these speeches over the last few years is embodied in the millions of women and men, whose wealth of skills give us products both pleasing and sustainable, and contribute to inclusiveness, respect, remuneration, rural wealth creation and eco-friendly solutions for a planet ravaged by toxic poisons. These are brought to us by households of many parts, engaged in cultivation or animal rearing, some retail activity, one or two members may draw salaries, and in which there is a household industry too, often a handicraft. If they are in plain view, why are they still neglected? Some of the neglect can be explained by the uncertainty about how many households of this description there are in the India of 2018. No-one truly knows. We make guesstimates based on how a few agencies of the central government report their findings, and from the experience of those who have long worked in the sector. Even so, government is not blind to its size and strength. In its 'Guide for Enumerators and Supervisors', the Sixth Economic Census 2012-13 explained that it "included handicrafts with a view to reflect the huge contribution the artisan communities make to India’s economy". But the Economic Census did not scrutinise artisan communities as keenly as it did workers of other sectors, and we are still left guessing where they are found and what their numbers are. The experience of state handicrafts agencies and especially the cooperative crafts groups shows that these are probably included in the 13.1 million 'establishments' enumerated by the 2012-13 Economic Census which pursue activities relating to agriculture other than crop production and plantation. According to reports, the National Bank for Agriculture & Rural Development’s (NABARD) All India Rural Financial Inclusion Survey 2016-17 has indicated likewise. Some guidance (limited and hampered by unhelpful definitions) can be taken from Census 2011 which has listed 6.2 million rural 'occupied census houses' used as residences but which are put to other uses too (out of the total of 166.2 million), these being (in the census jargon) 'arts, entertainment and recreation' and 'undifferentiated goods and services' both of which may include all kinds of activities not related to handicrafts, hand-weaves and village household industries. Useful as it may be, poring through the minutiae of Census entries does not help tally what the Central agencies list. The programmes of the Khadi and Village Industries Commission (KVIC) are implemented through 4,601 registered institutions and involve more than 723,000 entrepreneurial units under the Prime Minister's Employment Generation Programme and the erstwhile Rural Employment Generation Programme (now subsumed into the PMEGP), and also the Pradhan Mantri Rojgar Yojana. The KVIC alone claims through its programmes to have placed in employment (for 2016-17) 13.64 million people, a number that corresponds better with the most recent Economic Census than with Census 2011 data on workers. However, that still leaves us with the alas indeterminate impacts of programmes under ministries and agencies (textiles, agriculture, rural development) which are in nature handicrafts, weaves and household industries, and making provision for the footprint of the private but non-formal activity all over India, assessments of which are scattered and limited only very locally. What else is missing in the handicraft sector? Advances in appropriate technology to remove drudgery are few and far between, raw materials at moderate rates is seldom secured, lack of upgraded design for greater acceptability and utility, and - most important of all - access to marketing opportunities. The huge opening up of e-marketing platforms are mystifying oceans to a craftsperson with low or no IT skills. Most of these platforms serve youthful, educated middle-class entrepreneurs adept in both English and presentation skills. Even so, Dilli Haat alone is proof that once markets pitched at different levels are available, many shortcomings are tackled by crafts persons themselves. For years, those invited to the Red Fort on 15 August have sweltered in the humidity and heat, fanning themselves with their invitation cards. Surely there was an opportunity here to connect "jobs" with tasteful utility at hand, and this writer proposed and assisted government in the procurement of 1,000 bamboo fans from tribal Bengal which were provided this year to the VIP section. The next opportunity is Raksha Bandhan, for in 2017 during a 'Mann ki Baat' broadcast the PM spoke about wearing khadi rakhis instead of China-made ones (media went looking but found none). This lack of follow-up by concerned bodies to positive, simple suggestions, leads people to accuse the PM of running a 'jumla sarkar'. This year, prototype rakhis made of khadi by artisan women have been sent by an NGO to KVIC suggesting it produces them in larger quantities. Innovation, a government watchword, abounds where there is natural material to work and knowledge to apply, like the famous husband who began to make inexpensive sanitary pads after seeing his wife’s plight, the solar-powered refrigerator to assist street food vendors, the biodegradeable polymer diapers of IIT Madras, Narayana Peesapaty’s edible cutlery which is deseves the patronage of airlines and the railways, the disposable bamboo drinking straw created by the Botanical Survey of India in Andaman and Nicobar. These ideas need committed support by government, as much for fulfilling 'job creation' and sustainable livelihoods as for mainstreaming the signal environmental service done by the handicraft sector, whose inventive use of the materials Nature gives us is intrinsically sustainable. First published in Indian Express September 10, 2018.

Issue #006, Autumn, 2020 ISSN: 2581- 9410 Indian artisans are reeling from COVID-19 and its economic repercussions. Many organizations have emerged, concerned that craft faces an existential crisis. Notably, few artisans are members of these groups. In overwhelming discussions members suggested making masks, and later initiated marketing campaigns. Recently a weaver was promoted as descending from a lineage of weavers, and today weaving a particular fiber. The campaign did not mention his design education, nor his unique designs or his artistry. The message was that he needed help, and it once again brought up fundamental questions: who are artisans? and who are craft consumers?

Tejuben Rabari embroidering, 2009 Who are artisans? Photo Credit: Judy Frater The Indian government has a Ministry of Textiles, and many schemes to uplift artisans. Amply funded, the schemes aim to upgrade skills to international standards. Firmly in the industrial age, India is focused on manufacturing. Meanwhile many NGOs and advocacy groups are concerned that traditional artisans are steadily leaving craft as a livelihood. The mismatch between schemes and results arises from perception. The concept and language of the schemes indicate that craft is perceived as an antiquated, inferior form of manufacturing that could only survive if propped up with “help,” and that artisans are perceived as skilled workers. Traditional craft in India was not industry, made in in large scale factories or production lines. In Kutch[1], an individual or family conceived the object to be made, produced or procured the raw materials needed, and created it; it was holistic creation. Nor was craft distributed in mass. The artisan delivered his work to users directly. Each artisan family had its own clientele, and there were often hereditary, personal relationships between makers and users. Traditionally craft was made in a community-based horizontal social structure, in which artisans all held more or less equal economic and social status. In the 1950s as India began nation building focused on rapid industrialization, and traditional clients began to prefer mass produced goods over hand craft, artisans looked to more distant, unknown markets. With industrialization, came the concept of design as an entity. Designers were encouraged to intervene in commercializing craft, using an industrial model in which the assumed goals are to manufacture faster, cheaper and in a more standardized way. In Indian languages there is no word for design as a process separate from creation. The introduction of design, as “intervention,” began a process of separating concept and execution, resulting in the perception of artisan as worker. “Intervention” further comes with an implication of power and hierarchy: that designers have valuable knowledge, while artisans have less valuable skills. Relegating artisans to worker status results in minimizing value for their work, little to no opportunity for creativity or recognition and, finally, waning interest in craft, particularly among the next generation. Artisans leave craft today because from their perspective, it does not generate enough income, nor enough respect for the effort that it requires. Education for Artisans After many years of studying craft traditions of Kutch, and then many years working with hand embroiderers, I began a design education program for artisans. I felt that a new direction was needed. Crafts were appreciated enough to commercialize them, and yet the process used was "intervention." Artisans had designed the craft that attracted interventionists, and clearly demonstrated their ability to innovate appropriately within their own cultural context.[2] The concept of the design education program is to value traditional craft as cultural heritage, to take traditional knowledge as a pre-requisite and provide what is understood as higher or specialized education directly to artisans. By learning to innovate within traditions and connecting with contemporary markets, artisans can utilize their strength- creativity- to increase their capacity. Simultaneously, it is artisans who can ensure integrity in their cultural heritage, and traditions are genuinely sustained. The intent is that artisans gain respect as well as income through education. I received an Ashoka Fellowship to develop the program. With further support from UNESCO and the Development Commissioner Handicrafts, I launched it in 2005 as Kala Raksha Vidhyalaya (KRV), in Tunda Vandh, Kutch. After eight years of directing KRV I felt that the program had reached its limitation in that venue. To build it to an institute, I joined forces with the K.J. Somaiya Gujarat Trust to begin Somaiya Kala Vidya.

The SKV master artisan Advisors, Ismail Mohmad Khatri, Shamji Vishramji Siju, Alimamad Isha Khatri, Umar Faruk Khatri, and Gulam Husen Umar Khatri discuss traditions with the SKV class of 2019. Master artisan advisors guided the development of the design education program and monitor its impact. Each year, they teach students to examine traditions with students, reinventing the way children once learned from elders. Photo Credit: Judy Frater To ensure relevance and success, I enlisted guidance from respected master artisan advisors. We drew from key aspects of traditional learning systems and an understanding of artisan lifestyles so that artisans could attend and benefit from the course. The design course we developed comprises six two-week courses spread over a year: Colour; Basic Design; Market Orientation; Concept, Communication, Projects; Collection Development, Finishing; and Merchandising, Presentation. The course teaches artisans to appreciate their traditions, and to recognize aspects that make them unique.

Bishakha Shome teaches Nitesh Namori Siju colour on the loom, 2010. Teaching methods are experiential. Students learn to immediately apply theory to their craft media. Photo Credit: Judy Frater Then it teaches them to innovate. The strengths of the course are local orientation, and sustained input.[3] Classes are conducted in local language and draw from local traditions. Schedules accommodate cultural practices. Visiting faculty - professional design educators, in tandem with local faculty who are artisan graduates of the program teach the courses, using hands-on practical methods as much as possible. Students and faculty live together, interacting intensively for the two weeks. Between courses, the local faculty members visit students in their homes to ensure that they have understood course material and can implement it in practical homework assignments. The year-long duration of the course ensures that students absorb, retain and use what is taught.

SKV alumnus Taraben Puvar models a ready to wear sari from the collection of Shokat Ayub Khatri, SKV class of 2018. Design students draw from tradition to create contemporary products. Each one’s vision is unique. Photo Credit: Ketan Harshad Pomal, L.M. Studio They learn to look beyond technique to using technique in visual language, and to find their own unique interpretations drawn from common traditions. Among 197 design graduates, there has been virtually no duplication.

Moinuddin Haroon Rashid Khatri, Class of 2019, presents his year of design education to family and alumni. Family often give feedback very different from that of the final professional jury; to sustain tradition, both perspectives are important. Photo Credit: Judy Frater In a conscious effort to build an alumni community and ensure support from the greater artisan community, I included an alumni jury at the end of each course, and a family jury after the sixth course. Finally, students present to a jury comprising design and craft professionals.

Rajesh Vishramji Siju presents for his Business and Management for Artisans jury, 2016. In the post-graduate Business and Management for Artisans course, Artisan Designers learn to maximize their creative work through management. Photo Credit: Ketan Harshad Pomal, L.M. Studio After directing the design course for eight years, I realized that to reap full economic benefit, business and management were also needed. So in 2013 with an Executive- in- Residence from Western Union in partnership with Ashoka, I developed a post-graduate course in Business and Management for Artisans (BMA). Also modular and practice-based, the course is nonetheless more left-brained. For artisans, it is more demanding, but very rewarding. Students learn the importance of ownership, responsibility and ethics.

Tosif M. Yusuf Khatri shows his contemporary Ajrakh to a customer at Bougainvillea Gallery, Ahmedabad 2019. Design and BMA courses include real-time exhibitions of final collections, for market feedback on their collections. Photo Credit: Judy Frater Both courses end in public events. Each graduation program held in Kutch includes a professional fashion show, drawing thousands of enthusiastic viewers, and compelling them to value craft and artisans in other ways. BMA students plan and implement exhibition/ sales in higher-end urban venues, immediately confirming increased value.

SKV Artisan Designers present their collections at Lakme Fashion Week, 2017. They were among the first artisans to be recognized as designers in their own right. Photo Credit: Lakme Fashion Week Impact to Date Almost fifteen years of design education have clearly demonstrated success in connecting graduate artisans to new markets and increasing their incomes.[4] When individuals express their ideas, traditions diversify- and the market actually expands. As one small-scale artisan noted, "My income has increased ten times, while the long-time major producer's income has not suffered at all. It is a win-win situation!" Graduates have won the Indian President’s and World Crafts Council awards. Three graduates' work was exhibited in the contemporary design section of the Victoria and Albert Museum’s major exhibition "The Fabric of India.” In 2017, seven graduates were the first artisans to be recognized as designers on the national Lakme Fashion Week ramp. Thirteen design graduates and two advisors have participated in the International Folk Art Market| Santa Fe. In effect, the design course re-imagines traditional systems in an appropriate contemporary form. Master artisan advisors teach students about traditions, as children once learned from elders; teaching weavers, printers and dyers together revitalizes the interdependence of weavers and dyers in producing traditional textiles; and enabling direct interface between artisan designers and urban markets reinvents the system of direct contact with hereditary clients. Most important, education has shaped understanding, attitudes and values. As Ismailbhai, Ajrakh Advisor, explains, “Earlier we knew so many things, but we never reflected upon them. Now this education has helped us understand the rationales behind doing what our ancestors were doing.” Purshotambhai, weaver, design and BMA graduate states, “My father did not allow us to be weavers; there is not enough income, he said. So, I studied, then worked with an NGO for twelve years. Then I took the design course. I learned design; I could create designs with my eyes closed. But I also got confidence. This course gives us confidence to desire progress.” Aslambhai, Ajrakh printer, design and BMA graduate affirms, “My father and I were doing job work --we would print on someone else’s fabric. When I saw design graduates’ new products, I also felt the urge to create. I completed the design course and had a business but no market. SKV’s BMA course was a perfect opportunity. Most important, we learned that we shouldn’t copy. We must create designs and an identity for ourselves.” Irfanbhai, Ajrakh printer, design graduate and Governing Council member states, “The one-year design course brought many changes in the way we work and made creating new designs easy. Now we don’t have to look for new customers; they come looking for us. Many of us work with established brands and have to accept their terms and conditions. Similarly, we artisans should draft terms and conditions for these brands to accept.”

Dilip Dayabhai Kudecha walks the SKV Kala Umang ramp with his collection, 2017. Young artisans of Kutch are choosing craft traditions as an excellent choice, rather than a last resort. Photo Credit: Ketan Harshad Pomal, L.M. Studio Perhaps the most significant success is children of artisans in Kutch returning to craft. Dayabhai, weaver, design and BMA graduate, and SKV faculty relates, “I asked my son Dilip to study further, and he said, ‘What will I do after graduation? I will get a job where only my office staff or my boss will know me, and however much I work I will get a limited salary. It is better to be educated in the craft sector, because the whole world will know me and I will get maximum return from my inputs.’”^[5]

Pachan Premji Siju mentors Shantaben in an Outreach program at Avani Kumaon, 2018. “In teaching, we learn.” Photo Credit: LOkesh Ghai Outreach In 2014, when the design education program was reaching its goals of increasing income and respect for graduates in Kutch, we began outreach work to test the approach in other regions. Because cultural heritage is central to the goal of innovating within tradition, we envisioned scaling out with regional programs rather than scaling up to a larger institute in Kutch. The pilot project was in Bagalkot, Karnataka. With the inspiration of Jentibhai, a Kutch weaver graduate, we used an Artisan-to-Artisan approach: weaver design graduates mentored Bagalkot weavers. We intended that partner artisans would quickly reach better markets, realize that design makes a difference, and be motivated to take a version of the design course. Dayabhai, a pilot mentor relates the experience, “Teaching artisans is the responsibility of an artisan, because artisans share a language and trust each other. There were initially many barriers, language, their thinking…before teaching anything we must address what students want to do and what we are going to teach. If we clearly communicate, we get faster results. The Bagalkot weavers couldn’t believe that their cotton saris would sell for such prices. And they couldn’t believe that the saris they made would be appreciated. But when they sold their products themselves in Mumbai, their joy was amazing. I enjoyed shaping this initiative of artisans helping fellow artisans.”^[6] Over two years we conducted a condensed design course tailored specifically to the weavers in Bagalkot, in Kannada language, focused on innovation within the Ilkal sari weaving tradition. The participants dramatically transformed from indentured job workers to independent entrepreneurs in just three years. Subsequently we conducted similar projects with embroiderers in Lucknow and weavers in Kumaon. The Evolution of Artisan Designers Because commercialization of craft has been based on an industrial model, the assumption is that craft must scale up to succeed. But when craft is pushed into the world of industrialized production, the structure of artisan societies inevitably changes from horizontal to vertical. Economically stronger individuals become “Master Artisans,” employ previously equal status artisans as workers, and gain higher social as well as economic status. The perception of the artisan as worker is thus reinforced in a new, socially threatening form. A key goal of our educational programs is to encourage individuality as an alternative path to success. And as the number of artisan design graduates in the circumscribed Kutch region grew, a new genre of artisan emerged: the Artisan Designer. These graduates differ from artisans and urban designers, in that they both design and produce. Today there is a community of Artisan Designers, with new outlooks. Changing Goals and Perspectives Artisan Designers understand that craft is more than a livelihood. Today they have choices in means of earning. They clearly work for satisfaction as well as income and understand that there are multiple measures of success. When we asked a group of weaver graduates if they considered themselves successful, nearly all of them answered yes. Probed further, they detailed their definition of success. “We confidently know good design, we now have our own concepts and identity, we know how to take feedback, we can talk to our customers. Success is having a voice,” they said. “It is using your creativity, decision making power, achieving goals, and taking responsibility.”[7] Strikingly, not one Artisan Designer defined success in terms of money. “My early goal was money,” Dayabhai explained. “I wanted to educate my children. Now, it is to be my own person. My elder son told me not to weave. Now people from all over the world come to my house, so I have value. It’s not about just money. Asked if their goals had changed because of design and business education, Prakashbhai laughed. “Before the course, we had no goals!” he said. “Previously there were no choices,” Dayabhai concluded. “Now, weavers who continue their tradition do so by choice. With design education we learned to create products appropriate to the market. That facilitated financial growth. Now we can share our experience with the next generation and think of the benefit to our community.”^[8] During a 2020 SKV admission interview when elders criticized a young weaver for his contemporary streetwear, he replied with the accumulated confidence of the Artisan Designer community, “I am a weaver by heart, not by dress.” Approaching a Creative Crafts Culture- Education and the Market Craft is created as part of an ecosystem. The visionary cultural economist Arjo Klamer describes an ideal “Creative Crafts Culture.” On the supply side of this value-based economy, he details what remarkably resembles the Artisan Designer community of Kutch and Karnataka. [9] For Artisan Designers, the demand side of a Creative Crafts Culture must still be developed. In Kutch, craft was traditionally exchanged in a barter system. Weavers, printers and dyers gave fabrics to herders and farmers, and in turn received milk, goats and grain. When asked how they insured that goods exchanged were equal in value, Irfanbhai said simply, “We didn’t.” People received what they needed when they needed it. The shift in conception between this traditional valuation system and the commercial market is enormous. Artisan Designers have found clientele through the plethora of direct sale / pop-up shows in Indian urban centers. Most are active on social media and many sell directly through Facebook, Instagram and online shops. But this market sees hand work as primarily an inferior form of manufacturing and expects it to be a bargain. The question now is, how to re-imagine the traditional community-based economy to develop robust, widely accessible domestic markets that value diverse, smaller scale, artisan-designed creation.

Dayalal Atmaram Kudecha talks to a customer at the International Folk Art Market | Santa Fe, 2015. Cultivating the consumer for a Creative Crafts Culture, and ensuring the integrity of education are the next frontiers. Photo Credit: Judy Frater The Craft Consumer and the Human Connection This task begins with the essence of craft, and the craft consumer. Craft is the creation of the human hand guided by the human spirit. It is slow, labour intensive, limited in production and full of character. Craft is the expression of cultural heritage. Traditionally, it uses natural materials with ecologically sound practices. These characteristics are all diametrically opposed to large-scale production.[10] People who consume craft do not care about mass production. They choose craft because of its meaning and human connection. Crafts Council of England studies in 2010 and 2020 illuminate what craft consumers want: cultural consumption. Craft buyers of UK seek authenticity, experiences, and ethical and sustainable consumption. The 2010 study showed that craft buyers consider craft a new way of signaling connoisseurship.[11] The 2020 study indicated that they are increasingly maker-focused.[12] In short, scaling up hand craft production will not likely meet the needs of these consumers. The phenomenal success of the International Folk Art Market| Santa Fe offers further insight into western craft consumers. Craft can be purchased locally across the USA, or online. Yet for sixteen years, people have flocked to this weekend event. A key feature of the Market is that artisans are present to sell their work. We may surmise that the huge response illustrates a value for the human connection of craft. This has not yet dominated craft buying in India. To cultivate appropriate valuation, education for consumers as well artisans is needed. Education in the Time of COVID-19 As the world deals with social disconnection and economic crisis, much of scaled up craft production is disrupted, and the direct sale venues that are the mainstay of artisan markets are suspended. Rather than think of artisans manufacturing masks can we instead see this as an opportunity for a radical shift to re-valuing craft? Education has enabled many artisan designers to creatively utilize the pause. Prakashbhai shared that many weaver designers had limited raw materials during lockdown, so they strategized and produced masterpieces using more workmanship that would earn more value when markets reopened. Shakilbhai used lockdown time to develop the line of natural dyed batiks of which he had long dreamed. And many artisan designers turned their creativity to enhancing online presentation skills. “Small artisans don’t get a good response to direct sales by Instagram and Facebook because they can’t create good visuals,” Prakashbhai observes. “If they can learn this type of marketing, they can get better value and a better response. This way they can become known in the market.” In the age of COVID-19, online education is emerging as a reality. “Online education could be good or not,” Ismailbhai says. “It’s not like practical and does not have the essential environment. However, we have to figure out how to use it.”[13] Like tradition, education must evolve to express and address the changing contemporary world. While subjects can now expand to include virtual communication, our education program, honouring the essence of craft traditions and drawing from traditional learning systems, must retain personal connection to be effective. As Ismailbhai says, we have to figure out how. References Chatterjee, A. (2007), Kala Raksha Vidhyalaya: An Evaluation Report, June 2007. Frater, J. (2019) “Education for Artisans: Beginning a Sustainable Future for Craft Traditions,” in A Cultural Economic Analysis of Craft, Eds. Anna Mignosa and Priyatej Kotipalli. London: Palgrave. Frater, J. (2015). “Valuing the Unique: Craft Traditions in the Contemporary Market,” Keynote address for the International Textile and Apparel Association Annual Conference, November 2015. Frater, J. (2002).“‘This is Ours,’ Rabari Tradition and Identity in a Changing World,” Nomadic Peoples (Koln) Vol. 6, Issue 2 Klamer, A. (2012) “Crafting Culture: The importance of craftsmanship for the world of the arts and the economy at large”, Erasmus University. McIntyre, M.H.,(2020) “The Market for Craft,” Commissioned by the Crafts Council of England and Partners. McIntyre, M. H. (2010). “Consuming Craft: The contemporary craft market in a changing economy”. Crafts Council, London.

Endnotes [1] a desert region in western India on which this article is based [2] “‘This is Ours,’ Rabari Tradition and Identity in a Changing World,” Nomadic Peoples (Koln) Vol. 6, Issue 2, 2002 [3] Chatterjee, Ashoke, Kala Raksha Vidhyalaya: An Evaluation Report, June 2007. [4] In-house surveys conducted with graduates of Kala Raksha Vidhyalaya and Somaiya Kala Vidya. [5] Quotes taken from the transcription of the seminar “Craft Nouveau: A Decade of Education for Artisans,” held by Craft Revival Trust at India International Center, Delhi, 30 November 2016. [6] ibid [7] Quoted from a meeting held with Bhujodi weaver design gradates 20 February 2018. [8] ibid [9] Klamer, Arjo, et al. “Crafting Culture: The importance of craftsmanship for the world of the arts and the economy at large,” Erasmus University, June 2012. [10] Frater, J. “Valuing the Unique: Craft Traditions in the Contemporary Market,” keynote address for the International Textile and Apparel Association Annual Conference, November 2015. [11]McIntyre, M. H., “Consuming Craft: The Contemporary Craft in a Changing Economy,” Crafts Council England, 2010. [12] McIntyre, M.H., “The Market for Craft,” Commissioned by the Crafts Council of England and Partners, 2020 [13] Quoted from Zoom interviews on education, August 2020

Playing cards have become an inseparable part of the human society. Though it is presumed that playing cards have been around for couple of centuries but further investigation into its history places it as early as in 7th A.D century when they were known as Kridapatram. Under the Mughal rule, in 16th century the playing cards reached their golden period when they were called Ganjifa. Playing cards are believed to have originated independently in India or in China or that one was influenced by the other. In India they were well known as Kridapatram which means “painted patras for playing” where, patras were made of cloth. A typical playing card today is made out of specially prepared heavy paper, thin card or thin plastic, they are rectangular in shape and palm-sized for convenient handling. A complete set of cards is called a pack or deck, and the set of cards held at one time by a player during a game is commonly called their hand. The front or face, of each card carries markings that distinguish it from the other cards in the deck and determine its use under the rules of the game being played. The back of each card is identical for all cards in any particular deck, and usually of a single color or formalized design. The cards are assembled into a deck, and their order is randomized by shuffling. History of Indian playing cards Earlier Indian cards or kridapatram were round in shape, were expertly hand painted with intricate designs, and comprised of more than four suits, and often as many as thirty two. Decks used for playing had suits starting from eight up to twenty.

According to Abul Fazal author of the Ain-e-Akbari, the game of cards was a very popular pastime in the Hindu courts when the Muslims came into India. According to his description of the game, the following cards were used. The first was Ashvapatiwhich means ‘lord of horses’. The Ashvapati which was the highest card in, the pack represented the picture of the king on horseback. The second highest card represented a General (Senapati) on horseback. After this card came ten other cards with pictures of horses from one to ten. Another set of cards had the Gajapati (lord of elephants) which represented the king whose power lay in the number of elephants. The other eleven cards in this pack represented the Senapati and ten others with a soldier astride an elephant. Another set has the Narpati, a king whose power lies in his infantry. There were also other sets known as the Dhanpati, the lord of treasures, Dalpati the lord of the squadron, Navapati, the lord of the navy, Surapati, the lord of divinities, Asrapati, lord of genii, Vanapati, the king of the forest and Ahipati, lord of snakes, etc. The composition of the deck was apparently based upon the number 12. This was the number of suits comprising a deck, each of which was made of the same number of subjects which used signs such as horses, elephants, men etc. Some of the decks were inspired by the epic Mahabharata, while others had fewer suits (8, or 10). Many details about the Kridapatram cards, though, remain a mystery, as they are not mentioned in any written source prior to the 16th century. The earliest reference of Ganjifa was made in 16th century in the biography of Emperor Babur. It mentions how Babur enjoyed playing the game with his daughter, and even gave a set as a gift to a friend. It also contains a description of the suits that comprise the decks. According to one interpretation the name of the cards originated from Farsi word ganjifeh, which means “playing card”. Whereas, the other interpretation suggest that the word ganjifa may have been created by blending the local ganj treasure” with the Chinese expression chi pai “paper cards”; hinting on an Oriental ancestry. The development of the Ganjifa pattern resulted in remarkable changes. The number of suits was considerably increased, their signs were changed, but the shape remained round, making them the only circular cards known in the world. During the same time the native Hindu rulers felt the need of having cards that were closer to Hindu traditions. This need resulted in forming of Dasavatara decks, based on 10 incarnations of lord Vishnu. The intermingling of Muslim and Hindu cultures resulted in cards that had symbols from both the culture, resulting in Dasavatara Ganjifa’s. Later, with arrival of Europeans especially in the South rectangular Ganjifa packs also came into existence. GANJIFA Structure Despite many interpretations, the general structure of any Ganjifa deck is not really different. The suits are always made of twelve subjects, whose backgrounds are colored. Their values running from 1 to 10, and two courts: a minister and a king. The geographic origin of a deck also affected its background colors. In the Ganjifadecks, different suits had different colors, and they were known according to how many different colored suits they have – Atharangi (eight colors), Navarangi (nine colors), Dasarangi (ten colors), Baraharangi (twelve colors), and so on. In patterns with more than eight suits, some colors may appear similar; in that case the rim or the outer edges of the cards were made clearly different. The backs were either plain or had minor decorations at the rim. Ganjifa packs that would come from the same area would not only have similar illustrations but matching backgrounds too, differing from those of decks made elsewhere. The use of different background colors for identifying the suits of the deck were once found in the variety of traditional Persian cards, the As-Nas, now extinct.

The names of the two court cards were either in Farsi, the official language of the Mughals, or either in Sankrit, or in Hindi (modern language). The minor cards or the small suit signs were made more or less stylized, arranged in patterns in various fashion, which was a free choice of the artist who painted the deck. Though, the arrangement was often influenced by the regional trend. In the state of Orissa, from where the cards (below) are shown, the suit signs are more stylized than the ones found in the rest of the country, up to the point of being no longer recognizable and almost abstract. However, besides the background colors and the choice of the suits, some stylistic differences were found within the same state, from city to city.

The graphic features are probably the most interesting peculiarity of any Ganjifa deck. They were hand-made and hand-painted by skilled craftsmen, known as chitrakara, whose workshops were specialized in this form of art. Therefore, each deck was truly unique item. Procedure of making the Ganjifa in Orissa Ganjifa cards are made of layers of pressed paper, but in Orissa cloth is still used which is reminiscent of the Kridapatram times. The sheets are soaked with starch made from tamarind seeds, and dried. A mold is used to cut the starched cloth/ paper into discs. The two of which are glued (made up of tamarind seeds) together to make individual card. A paste is made from chalkstone and is applied on the surface to make it even and to prevent moisture from penetrating below. The cards are then hand painted using natural colors. To house the deck a wooden box or case is made out of wood, often decorated with themes consistent with the pack’s pattern.

Under the Mughals, Ganjifa cards flourished, at first only in the court, where rich sets were made of ivory or tortoise shell inlaid with precious stones and were called Darbar kalam, but later on the game spread amongst the common people, who used cheaper sets made from wood, palm leaf and various other inexpensive materials called Bazaar kalam. Although the card game played with Ganjifa cards flourished among the Mughals in its 8-suited version, the native Hindu players felt the need of retaining their ancient scheme of the Kridapatram, somewhat closer to their traditions. Therefore, seeking inspirations from the themes borrowed from the local religion to illustrate the court cards, and creating their own suit signs. The main non-Mughal Ganjifa pattern was the Dasavatara. This word literally means “ten incarnations”, referring to god Vishnu. The court cards too are usually referred to with their Hindi names, mantra (minister) and raja (king). Obviously, the number of suits in the deck had to be increased, from eight to ten (five “strong” and five “weak”). Eight out of ten suits were standard, found in all decks, while two of them varied from region to region, according to local traditions. Names of the Dasavatara suits were based on the incarnation of lord Vishnu, while some of the signs were symbols of their achievements; while at times, some alternative signs were also preferred.

DASAVATARA

Dasavatara Ganjifa, an overlapping of two different styles was seen. It often had more than ten suits, but larger sets may count up to 20 or 24 suits i.e., 240 to 288 cards. Besides Dasavatara Ganjifa, several other less commonly known varieties also existed, featuring specific themes with a various number of suits. Among the large packs was the Ramayana Ganjifa, a 12-suited pattern inspired by the Sanskrit epic Ramayana, and Rashi Ganjifa, with the zodiac signs. With nine suits were the Navagraha Ganjifa, inspired by the nine planets; the 8-suited ones include the Ashtamala Ganjifa, inspired by episodes of Krishna’s life as a youth, the Ashtadikpala Ganjifa which refers to the eight cardinal directions, and decks that use eight different birds as suit signs.

Attempts were made in modern times to mass- reproduce Ganjifa decks by printing them but the appeal that original decks couldn’t be replicated in printing. Though, the art of painting cloth in various styles is still very popular and can be seen in the art of Pattacharitra, but the art of making Ganjifa’s has somehow lost its grounds. Regrettably, due to the lack of request during the past decades, which have led to the making of these decks, once a common activity has now considerably subsided. The knowledge of the game too is certainly endangered, but not extinct, and especially in the state of Orissa, where, the locals are still known to play with Ganjifa sets. Conclusion The making of Kridapatrams and Ganjifa’s decks reflects to an age old tradition of making patras and then skillfully painting them into cards. The cards of a suit would look similar yet have different meaning to them, simultaneously looking absolutely different from other suits in the deck. A simple game of cards were made in such a manner that they would appeal to all. The themes were taken from epics like Ramayana and Mahabharata; imitating the incarnations of lord Vishnu and lord Krishna, show how important were these cards in the lives of the people. The Mughals influence changed the way the cards looked, mirroring the changed socio-political scenario of the country. Over the centuries the playing cards have acted as the most visible indicators of the social, political and cultural changes in the society. In order to better understand the evolution of the Indian history the art of production and the knowledge of the game need to be well documented and preserved. References Websites (i)--crystalinks.com/indiasports.html (ii)--tripod.com/cards25.htm (iii)--com/india.htm (iv)--tarotindia.com/links/india.html (v)--amritapuri.org

The Poetics and Politics of Indian Folk and Tribal Art

Issue #005, Summer, 2020 ISSN: 2581- 9410

In 1981, J. Swaminathan, among the foremost of India’s modern artists and the founding director of the Bharat Bhavan cultural center in Bhopal, sent out teams of young student researchers across the length and breadth of the state of Madhya Pradesh in the hope of learning more about the folk and tribal arts and crafts of the region and to discover individuals who displayed exceptional artistic potential. During one of these expeditions, Jangarh Singh Shyam, was chanced upon and over the next twenty years he would evolve into one of the greatest indigenous artists India has ever produced. Jangarh became my friend and as my wife and I got to know him better and collected his drawings and paintings, we marveled at his meteoric rise. This is Jangarh’s story - his struggle and pain, triumph and tragedy, filtered through our relationship over the last sixteen years of his amazing life. Vivek Tembe, a young researcher and budding artist himself, arrived in the remote village of Patangarh, in district Mandla in the southeast corner of the state in the spring of 1981. I had the good fortune to interview Vivek last year about what happened on that historic trip. While wandering through the streets of the small village of Patangarh, positioned high on a plateau overlooking vast plains and thick forests, Vivek spotted the exterior wall of a small house which displayed a raised and molded mud and plaster image of the ‘monkey-god’ Hanuman painted in traditional earth and stone-ground colours of black, white, ochre and terracotta. He recognized immediately that the work showed latent talent and he asked who had made it. The neighbors replied that it was the house of Jangarh Singh Shyam and his family and it was his work. Vivek then asked if he could meet Jangarh and he was told that he had gone into the forest with Nankusiya, the girl he loved and would later marry, and he would return in the morning. Intrigued by his discovery and the candid account of Jangarh’s whereabouts, Vivek decided to extend his stay a few more days in order to meet him. When Jangarh appeared the next morning, Vivek asked him straightaway if he liked to paint. Jangarh, who had only a basic village education, didn’t seem to know the terms for artist or painting and he simply said that he ‘had written it on the wall’, that he enjoyed doing it and had seen his mother paint traditional dignas or diagrams on the walls and floor of their home and he had decided to try and see if he could do it as well. Jangarh belonged to the Pardhan tribe who traditionally functioned as minstrels and keepers of the oral tradition for the Gond, an important tribal group in central India. Although Jangarh was a talented singer, dancer and flute player, his interest in art was unusual and something that clearly motivated him deeply from childhood. The myths, rituals, music and art of the two tribal traditions have become so closely connected over time that they have come to be known as Pardhan-Gond, a term we will use in this article. Vivek had brought paper and acrylic paints with him to give to anyone who showed some aptitude for art. He gave them to Jangarh and said “Why don’t you try to work with these?”. He nostalgically recalled how Jangarh opened the small bottles, gently dipping each finger in a different pigment. When he held his hand up very close to his face, he spoke slowly with a quavering voice, ‘I have never seen colors like these before.’ Many years later, Jangarh would recall that encounter and the impact it had on him and his future work. “My ancestors painted in squares of black and white in our courtyards. Me, I use colors. I want to draw the figures of my desires, and I want to infuse them with my desires. For me, art and life are unceasing silences. Art penetrates life like an explosion of dance. I remember the forests. That memory makes me paint what I paint”. Over the next two days, Jangarh feverishly painted three works. Hanuman appeared in all of them, big and small and riding an elephant, as well as an exuberant flowering plant in a pot surrounded by birds and creatures of the forest. These were the first paintings Jangarh created and Vivek knew right away that this young man, in his late teens at the time, had great promise. (Image: Jangarh’s first painting of flowering plant.)

Vivek invited Jangarh to go back with him to Bhopal where he could work and study at the Bharat Bhavan under the benign tutelage of Swaminathan. Jangarh, readily agreed, but the suspicious villagers surrounded Vivek and said that he couldn’t go because they were sure that he would be sold into slavery! Vivek called the authorities in Bhopal who calmed the villagers down and the two of them left for Bhopal. Swaminath, upon meeting Jangarh and seeing his work, recognized his striking aptitude for art and years later, at Jangarh’s first joint exhibition in Delhi, he would write: ‘Jangarh brings a vibrance and a luminosity to his work all his own. There is a great power and promise in the world of this young tribal artist.’ (Image: Jangarh and Nankusia with Swaminathan)

Throughout his life, Jangarh was blessed to have many opportunities, supporting patrons and doors opened for him but there were also struggle, pain and heartache. He was an unsophisticated tribal villager with a rudimentary education. The first obstacle appeared right away when Swaminathan decided to give Jangarh an official position, a kind of artist in residence, at Bharat Bhavan. The bureaucracy balked and said he didn’t have the academic qualifications. Swaminathan exploded, “But he has the talent”, and then found a way around the problem. He appointed Jangarh as an apprentice in the printmaking department where he worked for many years. This posting gave him a standing and a position in society as well as a regular salary. Vivek recalled that Jangarh perfected the skill of printmaking quickly and his beautiful limited edition prints are greatly treasured until today. Swaminathan, a gifted and perceptive teacher, made sure Jangarh was given whatever materials he needed…paper, canvas and acrylic paints as well as the time and freedom to develop his own style of painting. Soon the birds, creatures, gods and goddesses of the Pardhan-Gond pantheon and the nearby enchanted forest which he loved began to take form. The powerful deities seemed to emerge at night from the thick vegetation of the trees, and I remember that Jangarh once told me that he was afraid that the gods would be angry with him because he had never asked their permission to draw and paint their image and no one had ever done it before. I told him that I think they would be pleased to be given form by your hand and he never mentioned his unease again. Bharat Bhavan, in its early years, was an exciting and creative place for someone like Jangarh. Swaminathan had an infectious bohemian spirit and he encouraged music, dance, art and poetry to ‘happen’ spontaneously in the corridors, halls, courtyards, domes and gardens of Bharat Bhavan’s large open spaces. Jangarh once told me that everyone who worked there or came to visit felt an unfettered freedom to create and express themselves through their art. He had a great natural talent and he could draw in black-and-white as well as paint in vibrant acrylic colours. To make extra money, he illustrated magazine articles, painted roadside tourist markers and created wall murals filled with intricate designs of raised and molded plaster. But, there was and still is a resistance to take folk and tribal art seriously. Vivek recalls a major exhibition Swaminathan planned to curate at Bharat Bhavan highlighting the work of both contemporary as well as indigenous artists. When the ‘modern’ artists from Bhopal and Delhi saw that their work would be displayed next to the work of indigenous artists, many refused to participate. Outraged, Swaminathan bellowed “Are you afraid they’re better than you? You will show with them or not at all!” And this ground-breaking show became the first major exhibition where the works of Jangarh and his fellow folk and tribal artists from all corners of Madhya Pradesh were given pride of place next to their contemporary colleagues. I first met Jangarh in Delhi at the Suraj Kund Mela, an annual art and craft festival, in the winter of 1987. A few of his beautiful black-and-white drawings had already surfaced in the Delhi art market and my wife and I had started collecting them but we had never met him. I remember how excited I was to meet him in person and I got up early so I could be one of the first through the gates. I found Jangarh carefully arranging the paintings and drawings he had brought from Bhopal, a day-long train journey, on a bamboo mat under a big tree. I remember how small and shy he seemed as this big lumbering American approached and told him in Hindi how much I liked his work. He was a little confused by my enthusiasm but, as in many other encounters in years to come, the artwork became the focus of our conversation and a bridge to a friendship that would become one of the most stimulating and rewarding periods of my life. I invited Jangarh to visit our home and show his work whenever he was in Delhi, and he did come, four or five times a year for the next sixteen years. Our collection of drawings and paintings gradually began to grow but what I remember most are the conversations Jangarh and I had about his art and who the gods and goddesses were and where his ideas came from. Unlike many tribal artists who migrated to urban centers and, along the way, severed their connections to their ancestral tribal roots, Jangarh never left his beloved Patangarh and the nearby forest. They remained within him wherever he went and a visual resource which sustained and inspired his art throughout his entire life. In the first few years we met, Jangarh’s works were often fairly small, perhaps because he couldn’t afford large sheets of paper or canvas. One day I told him that in America there is a a distinctive ‘trait’ that some artists seem to have which some of us like to call ‘wall power’. He asked what that was and I said simply, ‘They can paint big!’ He then asked whether I thought he had ‘wall power’ and I told him I was sure he had it, and that I had gotten him some large pieces of paper and a roll of canvas for him to try out. Jangarh smiled broadly, took them home to Bhopal and never looked back. From then on, his works on paper and canvas grew ever larger filled with majestic antlered deer and dragon-sized lizards leaping in the air snapping at tiny soaring birds just out of reach. (Image: lizard painting.)

There were also painful moments. Once Jangarh came to the house unexpectedly and suddenly began to cry. I asked what the problem was and he said that an exhibition of his paintings had opened in a small gallery in Delhi the night before. I congratulated him but he pressed on explaining that when he arrived at the gallery, the owner told him to take off his clothes, put on a loincloth and hold a spear since this is how he thought tribals should look. I said to get in the car and we went straight to the gallery. Enraged, I pinned the gallery owner against the wall and swore that if he ever came near Jangarh again that I would kill him. I then bought all the paintings without any commission to the gallery, took them off the wall and gave all the proceeds to Jangarh. Swaminathan carefully organized Jangarh’s first trip abroad in 1988 when he and fellow folk and tribal artists exhibited their work at the Saitama Museum of Modern Art not far from Tokyo. This was followed the next year by a life-changing invitation for Jangarh along with four other Indian artists to participate in what has now become a legendary exhibition, 100 Magiciens de la Terre, held at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. For reasons unknown, the master Warli artist, Jivya Soma Mashe, who had been commissioned to paint a large wall mural, could not come at the last minute. The curators asked Jangarh to step in and never afraid of a challenge, he worked day and night to finish the work on time. It was a sensation and gave Jangarh an international reputation that proclaimed here was an emerging artist to be reckoned with. I made the trip from London to Paris specially to see Jangarh and the show, and I can still visualize him standing alone in front of the powerful mural he had just completed, exhausted and nearly overwhelmed by a multi-headed cobra and the glowering image of a tribal deity looming over him. (Image from the Pompidou show.)

The nineties were a busy time for Jangarh with new commissions and exhibitions but he was always open to trying something new. One day he turned up unexpectedly at the house and asked if I had heard of something called the Fulbright Scholarship from America and could he apply. I agreed to go with him to the Fulbright office in New Delhi, and I remember the director saying that he needed to have a working facility with English, otherwise, how could he manage in America. I said he’s one of India’s greatest and most original artists, surely you can send somebody with him to translate. It seemed to me that it was just as much an honor for the Fulbright Program to have someone like Jangarh participate as it would be for him to go, but, unfortunately, the logistics couldn’t be worked out. During this period, whenever Jangarh appeared to show his work, he would bring relatives or friends so that I could see what they were painting and, hopefully, buy. I then realized that he had assumed the responsibility as the ‘patriarch’ of the folk and tribal community in Bhopal to try and help them find outlets for their work many of whom were struggling financially. He even suggested that if they adopted a certain pattern or motif in their paintings, it would help distinguish them from the others and give an extra quality to their work. It was a heavy load to carry but one he took on willingly and I realized he struggled not only for himself and his own family but for all those around him as well. He was the most generous and kind-hearted man I ever knew. In 1997, Jangarh received a major and prestigious commission to paint the murals on the courtyard walls of the Vidhan Bhavan, the seat of the Madhya Pradesh state legislature in Bhopal, designed by one of India’s greatest architects, Charles Correa. I can still remember seeing him teetering on flimsy bamboo scaffolding creating Olympian figures of gods, birds and creatures from the forest and his fertile imagination. He told me proudly that he was paid handsomely but I remember thinking that it would have been far more if he were not a tribal. (Image: Vidhan Bhavan murals.)

In 1999 he was offered a short residency at the Mithila Museum in Oike in Japan along with other indigenous artists from India. He was clearly trying to earn more to pay for the increasing demands of his family and to help other artists. You could see from some of the paintings from this period that Jangarh was just sketching the outlines and then have the family fill in the patterns in order to produce and sell more. After two years back in India, Jangarh decided to take up a second residency at the Mithila Museum in 2001. His passport was taken away on arrival and he was told that he could only return home after six months and he should keep churning out new paintings. When the designated time had elapsed, the director said he had to stay longer. Jangarh had written numerous poignant letters to his family letters describing how unhappy he was and that he wanted to come home. He tried to call but he was isolated in a remote part of Japan where he couldn’t speak the language and had no one to turn to. Something broke inside him and on the sixth of July 2001, he hanged himself. With great difficulty, Jangarh’s body was returned to India and cremated in Patangarh with the respect and ceremony he deserved. Today his legacy lives on. A new style of art called Jangarh Kalam has grown up and many artists in the Pardhan-Gond tradition have been inspired to take up art as a profession. Two major books have been published on his life and work, several documentaries have come out and the definitive biography on Jangarh is being written by Dr. Aurogeeta Das, the leading scholar on the subject. My wife and I have placed three of our most important Jangarh works in the National Gallery of Australia in Canberra where they hang in pride of place with the best indigenous and aboriginal art of the region. International collectors of indigenous art are acquiring Jangarh’s drawings and paintings and in India, the Museum of Art and Photography in Bangalore, one of the most exciting new cultural centers in the country, under the inspired stewardship of Abhishek Poddar, has brought together one of the most important collections of Jangarh’s works including several important paintings from our collection. In many ways, he has transcended the label of being a tribal artist and he is now recognized as one of the finest artists India has produced in the second half of the twentieth century. In February of this year, I visited Patangarh for the first time. It was an emotional trip. I found the house where Jangarh was born and grew up. The villagers had erected a statue which I garlanded and reminisced with them about all the years we had known each other. But, what was most moving and encouraging was that many of the houses in Patangarh had been painted with Pardhan-Gond motifs and the village had become a living museum. The state government had also created a center for folk and tribal art perched on a hill above Jangarh’s beloved enchanted forest. When we entered the vibrantly painted central hall, it was filled with artists, young and old, wanting to show their work and in each drawing and painting there was a little touch of Jangarh living on.

Jangarh Singh Shyam – The Enchanted Forest: 
Paintings and Drawings from the Crites Collection
by Dr. Aurogeeta Das, Roli Books, Delhi, 2017.

Jangarh Singh Shyam: A Conjuror’s Archive by Dr. Jyotindra Jain, Mapin Publishing, Ahmedabad, 2019.

Issue #002, Winter, 2019 ISSN: 2581- 9410

SANDUR LAMBANI EMBROIDERY

The 'Sandur Lambani Embroidery' has joined the elite group of 'Darjeeling Tea', 'Mysore Silk', 'Kancheepuram Silk', 'Banaras Sarees and Brocades' and 'Feni'. It was granted the status of 'Registered Geographical Indications' on Sept. 03, 2010, by Shri. P.H. Kurian, I.A.S., Registrar of Geographical Indications. The Geographical Indications (GI) is one of the Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) under the Indian laws, just like patents, trademarks, designs, etc. With this registration, about 300 craftswomen of the Lambani tribe located in and around Sandur (a taluk in Bellary district, which was earlier a princely state) will benefit by this GI Registration. 'Sandur Kushala Kala Kendra' (SKKK), a NGO supported and promoted by Sandur Manganese and Iron Ore Ltd. (SMIORE) and The Karnataka State Handicrafts Development Corporation (KSHDC) running its business activities under the trade name 'Cauvery', together have jointly supported the GI endeavour. The legal assistance and expertise was provided by the author of this article.

Sandur Lambani Embroidery is unique not only because of its stitches but also because of the natural dyeing and printing which is done by these craftswomen. The print design used in printing which has been influenced by the elements of nature, makes this GI look different and unique than the other Lambani craft groups. The artisans of 'Sandur Lambani Embroidery' can now encash on this GI as its unique selling proposition (USP) in various marketing and advertising activities in India and abroad. Further, any organisation or individual interested in taking the benefit of GI Registration of 'Sandur Lambani Embroidery', will now have to register themselves as an 'Authorised User' under the GI laws. Else, it would be considered as 'illegal' to sell these handicrafts under the name of the said GI. Such 'unauthorised' use will result in a jail term ranging from 6 (six) months to 3 (three) years or paying a fine between Rs. 50,000- and Rs. 3 lakh.

The GI Registry encourages the producer groups themselves to come forward for such community registration. The actual producers / farmers / artisans, if not members of a formal group, can first form a legal entity such as a society or an association of persons, to avail the benefits of the GI registration. Due to the interest taken by some forward thinking Bureaucrats and certain Government Officials, several government bodies have come forward and have been granted registration of GIs in our state such as The Karnataka State Handicrafts Development Corporation Ltd., the Department of Horticulture, Govt. of Karnataka, The Commissioner for Textile Development and Director of Handlooms and Textiles, Govt. of Karnataka, etc. Karnataka, is the leading state in the number of Registered GIs (so far about 31 have been registered and Sandur Lambani Embroidery is Karnataka's 29th GI). Some of the GIs which are already registered in Karnataka are: Channapatna Toys and Dolls, Bidriware, Mysore Rosewood Inlay, Mysore Traditional Paintings, Kasuti Embroidery, Ilkal Saris, Navalgund Durries, Ganjifa Cards, Karnataka Bronzeware and Molakalmuru Saris. The rest relate to agricultural and horticultural products, most famous of them being Coorg Orange, Nanjanagud Banana, Mysore Jasmine, Monsooned Malabar Arabica Coffee, etc. In spite the efforts made by the State Government and Government Agencies, there is not much awareness in the state regarding the already Registered GIs and post registration activities.

Under the Post - GI registration activities, to take benefit of this USP, the users of the Registered GIs have to register themselves as 'Authorised User' with Geographical Indications Registry, Chennai. Under the GI laws, the 'Authorised User' has to adhere to quality parameters that are proposed and implemented by the Registered Proprietor in order to use the GI tag, failing which, he cannot sell or market his product using the GI tag or name. Hence, it would be in the business interest of the users, including individual producers / traders to apply for the GI 'Authorised User' tag and take full benefits thereof.

As on date, about 178 GIs have been registered and the Registry has received 385 GI Applications and the number is still counting. In India, every 10 kms. has a unique product whether it be an agricultural or horticultural produce or a handicraft item or a handloom or a food product. It is estimated that there are more than 5,000 GIs in India and we can surely surpass the number of products registered under the EU laws which are about 6000+. Few of the well known products from EU are Scotch Whisky, Feta Cheese, Champagne, Parma Ham, etc.

The main object of the Geographical Indications of Goods (Registration and Protection) Act, 1999 is three fold: Firstly, a specific law governs the GIs of goods in the country, which adequately protects the interest of producers of such goods; Secondly, to exclude unauthorised persons from misusing GIs and to protect consumers from deception and thirdly, to promote goods bearing Indian GIs in the export market." Thus, the GI registration helps in ensuring to maintain quality, reputation and uniqueness of the Registered GI Products.

Therefore, GI is a strong branding exercise if the GI user understands its long term implications. It is like a certification given for the product that it satisfies certain quality parameters and standards. 'Darjeeling Tea' is a classic example of how the whole community of 87 tea gardens have benefited from GI registration. Before registration, many countries were selling 'Darjeeling Tea' deceptively even when the tea was not procured from these specifically outlined gardens. The Tea Board of India moved in very quickly as soon as the GI law viz., 'The Geographical Indications of Goods (Registration and Protection) Act, 1999' was notified in the year 2003 and it became the proud owner of the first GI in India. Thereafter, to secure its rights and to stop deceptive marketing activities abroad, it took protection under GI laws in many countries.

Accordingly, if the Indian GI Registered products are being exported, to other countries, in order to prevent any counterfeit selling, it is important that the registered proprietor also seeks protection in such international markets. Most applicants hesitate to register such IPRs due to cost factors. However, an intelligent seller will probably look at it as a 'business investment' and not as a 'business expense' as he can then sell these registered GI products under a PREMIUM due to its genuineness, quality and authenticity. Once the consumers are aware that they are buying a product which is GI registered, they will be able to appreciate the genuineness of the product from the exact source. In turn, they are encouraging not only the genuine sales but also supporting artisans / farmers get their rightful due. Such sensitisation can keep the arts and crafts alive. Thus an image of 'exoticness' is created around the product and these are presented as 'sparingly' available. Accordingly, this enables the producers to obtain premium prices for products that would otherwise be ascribed as mere commodities. This helps to eradicate counterfeit and imitations. It is estimated that India is sitting on a wealth house of billions of rupees if it rightly exploits its GIs domestically and internationally. The point is how much is India ready with these handmade offerings, as they painstakingly take more time and effort. We need to gear up our artisans and farmers as quickly as possible before all this GI related activity loses its shine.

Two new books based on Indian folk stories with beautiful folk art illustrations have just been published by The National Mission on Bamboo Applications (NMBA), yet another valuable contribution to the growing list of folk-art based books available today. The two books share a theme – the origin of bamboo but are very different in terms of style and content. The Bamboo Maiden is based on a Gond folk tale and has beautiful black and white illustrations done in the typical Gond art style while Durva’s Bamboo Forest is a story from the Mithila region and is done in the Madhubani style of painting.

NMBA is a technology initiative of the Department of Science and Technology (DST), Government of India and is working on capacity building measures to boost new usages of bamboo. Bamboo is a readily renewable natural resource and thus, offers great economic and ecological advantages. As part of its efforts, NMBA publishes manuals and books on various aspects of bamboo usage and these bamboo folk stories aim to ‘create a better understanding of the linkage of bamboo with humankind’.Spurred on by the National Mission on Bamboo Applications (NMBA) initiative to publish folk stories related to bamboo, the hunt was on for me as project co-ordinator for the perfect bamboo story. With over 1500 documented uses, bamboo is a miracle grass and is one of the fastest growing plants in the world. Bamboo is found in many parts of India and is used for housing, fencing, agricultural implements, basketry, bridges, musical instruments and much more. However, bamboo is regarded as ‘poor man’s timber’ in many parts of India and its use has been replaced by metals, plastic, wood and other materials.

Dipping into the vast ocean of folk stories in India looking for stories related to bamboo proved to be a rewarding experience. Mangru Uike, a young and promising Gond artist narrated the story of the Bassein Kanya (literally Bamboo Maiden) which he had heard in his childhood. This was a treacherous tale of seven brothers and their only sister who lived together. By a strange twist of fate (for which you have to read the book), all but her youngest brother conspire to kill her. Subsequently as the story progresses, she is then reborn as the bamboo, one of the most useful plants known to mankind and is highly revered by the Gonds, who are one of the oldest tribes on earth.

The Gonds who refer to themselves as Koi or Koiture live in the verdant jungles of Central India, particularly in Madhya Pradesh. Gond homes are decorated for weddings and other occasions with two kinds of traditional art – digna which is more geometric and bhittichitra which is figurative, both of which were done using mineral and vegetable colours. Contemporary Gond art as practiced today owes a lot to Jangarh Singh Shyam. Artist J Swaminathan, then the director of Bharat Bhavan, Bhopal, brought the young Shyam to Bhopal where he had access to paper, canvas, paints of different kinds and exposure to another world, far from his home in the forest. Shyam soon dazzled people with his bold compositions and with the dramatic colour combinations and decorative patternings in his paintings. Sadly, he died under mysterious circumstances while on an artist residency in Japan. Today, his wife, children and other relatives as well as other Gond artists have created an amazing body of contemporary Gond art.

Mangru Uike in illustrating the Bamboo Maiden story drew on his heritage from the village as well as contemporary Gond art. However, he eschewed the typical bright colour palette of contemporary Gond art for dramatic black and white drawings. He has used multiple patterning devices such as crosshatching, parallel lines, shading and stippling. The resulting drawings are amazingly minimalistic with a poignancy that is more pronounced as both text and image seem to float on the stark white pages. The graphic quality of Gond art is a visual delight in this book – the heaviness of the wood the brothers cut coming through in the dense patterning, the bountiful mango tree lush with fruits and leaves. The most powerful imagery is that of the body of the young woman transforming into the Bamboo Maiden.

Kumar felt inspired by Durva’s complex tale to illustrate the various events as they unfolded. He has created beautiful, colourful Madhubani paintings on cow-dung washed paper with a wealth of details on each and every page. Each illustration is like a tapestry, replete with interesting imagery and a wealth of details, making one linger at the page to discover more and more clues. Madhubani paintings from Bihar was once upon a time the private ritualistic art of high-caste women but today it is amongst the most popular folk art forms of India and is made by men and women.Pradyumna Kumar, the first Indian to ever win the Grand Prize at the UNESCO NOMA Concours is an amazing Madhubani artist with a vast repertoire of stories. Turning to the myths and legends he had heard, he unearthed the fascinating story of Durva, a grass who is granted a boon (detailed in the book) by Lord Vishnu which results in the Prince of Mithila becoming the bamboo plant. The Prince is entrapped by Durva and has to forsake his wife and life in the palace. His father, King Maithil decrees that bamboo is to be used by people in his kingdom both for utilitarian objects and in rituals and rites.

The Bamboo Maiden and Durva’s Bamboo Forest are wonderful testimony to the important place bamboo has in Indian culture and to the wealth of our folk culture. Designer Paulomi Shah has laid out the books in a way that highlights the artworks beautifully and Maneesha Taneja did a great job with the translations. For the artists, it was a good experience to illustrate an entire story and they enjoyed the process greatly. Thanks to the NMBA initiative, two folk tales have been not only documented but are also available for worldwide readership .

The books are available from the National Mission on Bamboo Applications website http/w.w.w.bambootech.org

It is a still life water color…With no glass on the windows, there is a clear view of the cloudy sky above, leading one’s thoughts to questions like – what happened to the window panes, what shattered the glass and what left the deserted houses to the mercy of the weather and its present inhabitants – wasps, spiders, pigeons and the dog…? The crumbled bricks and dust cover the once warm, shining wooden floors. Hues of grey and browns cover the once vibrant colors of this paradise. Many stories were lost forever in these tattered houses when they were deserted and left for decay; the decay which now has its own story to tell, speaking of mutability – the process of our life. In this decay the people of Kashmir look for the stolen gaiety, the splendor, and the colors of the past. Living in this world of optimism and hope, they celebrate every day of their life for being alive.

As I walked through the streets in downtown Srinagar, dotted with such cold skeletal houses in a cesspool of misery, I could feel warmth in the ice cold streets –warmth of the people, their hearts, almost as if rekindling an alluring candle. Scratch the upper crust of Kashmir soil, and what comes to light is the culture and civilization which is not dead in time, but living and pulsating…This is the hope and confidence I saw in the eyes of artisans with whom I was conducting a workshop in Srinagar, with the papier mache craftspeople.

While I sat in the cozy room of the naqashi karkhana of Nazir Ahmed bhai, I heard the unending stories of this craft, these stories are part of their precious intangible heritage, so passionately and proudly narrated by the kaarigars. “The ushering in of papier mache craft in Kashmir can be credited to a Kashmiri prince, Zain-ul-abadin, after the return from his captivity in Samarkand, Central Asia. During his confinement there, he saw the art of using paper pulp as a medium to make laquerware. Naqashi was earlier adorned on mud walls, wood and birch bark, and introducing this on paper pulp was a significant step in the evolution of this craft.” The technique followed in producing papier mache products is still the same old traditional one. The forms and the products though have evolved with times. Earlier the products made were mainly kalam daani, palanquins, ceiling panels, etc where as now one gets to see products such as Christmas decorations, jewellery boxes, photo frames, vases etc.

The main processes involved here are Sakhtasazi, making the basic form, and Naqashi, painting the surface with intricate patterns. Sakhtasazi is derived from sakht (Persian word for basic), and sazi (the act of evolving). Sakhtsaz, therefore is the maker of the basic form, object. A Sakhtasazi karkhaana is normally owned by an individual craft worker, and is an extension of his household. The number of karkhanas have now-a-days reduced tremendously, owing to the reducing demand of this painstaking method of production, which is being replaced by the easier and cheaper substitute – wood. Traditionally, a sakhtasaz grinds thoroughly soaked paper in an okhli, with rice flour paste, copper sulphate, which is an insecticide and sometimes shreds of cloth, into a pulp. The pulp is then pressed on moulds, made of wood, metal or clay. These are then left in the sun to dry thoroughly. Once it solidifies, it is cut from the mould with a fine saw. The two halves are joined together with glue. The surface is evened and then coated with a white layer of gypsum and glue. When this layer is dry it is rubbed with a chunk of over baked red clay called “kurkot” to produce a finely burnished surface.

The naqash, the artist, then paints on the forms prepared in the karkhana. The ustad in a naqashi karkhana normally owns the place and is held in high esteem by the shagirds, The place of work is also the most comfortable room in the household, giving it the due respect and importance. The designs used in papier mache naqashi are very intricate and their application requires great skill and accuracy. The patterns are painted in free hand and are drawn from the reservoir of the naqash’s memory. Traditionally the brushes used for the purpose were made of cat’s hair. Even the colors that were used earlier were produced very painstakingly through a long and laborious method, out of stone, minerals and vegetables and flowers. In some exquisite pieces real gold or silver leaf is used in naqashi. Gold leaf is applied by first painting the desired portion with a mixture of glue and sugar. While the mixture is still sticky, the gold leaf is applied to the surface and it adheres only to the portions painted with glue and sugar. For liquid gold or silver paint, the leaf is mashed with fingers, in glue, salt and water until it completely dissolves. Gold work is burnished with an agate stone. While painting, the detailing in gold is done in the end, after which a coat of lacquer, made of linseed oil and pine resin is applied. The main motifs that one traditionally finds in papier mache of Kashmir are derived by the naqash from the valley – lotus and iris – sosan ; water lily – gule-nilofar ; narcissus – nargis ; chinal leaf motif ; tree of life – kalp vriksha ; and apple and rose blossom – gule – vilayat. The most descriptive patterns representing the grandeur and spirit of Kashmir are the “gul-andar-gul” and the “hazaara”. Non figurative patterns are normally enclosed with a border, “dauadar”. If the pattern forms a complete circle, it is “chand-dar” and if in a quarter moon shape, it is “chand-chautahi”. If the pattern forms an arch, it is “mehrab”. The traditional designs and patterns witnessed the artisans’ affinity with nature and admiration for the rich color and beauty found in the environment surrounding them. However, in the present circumstances, they look beyond the winter frost and the summer dust, trying to hold on to what little they have got, trying to shine light back on b eauty and get a feel of the walk-in-paradise, called Kashmir.

Issue #008, 2021 ISSN: 2581- 9410 I will share my thoughts on the relevance of Gandhian Science in the Indian Cotton Textile Industry and I would like us to consider why it was that Gandhi chose the spinning of cotton yarn as the vehicle of swaraj Could anyone meeting Gandhi in say 1893 in South Africa, when he was a London trained barrister dressed in Western dress, representing a prosperous merchant in a civil court case, could such a person ever have thought that Gandhi would one day not only change his attire to become what the Prime Minister of Britain Winston Churchill sarcastically called a ‘half-naked fakir’ but be able to put his finger on the crucial issue of village India’s poverty? How did this middle-class urban person from a prosperous Kathiawadi family take up the cause of a simple wooden gadget on which cotton yarn was spun? Which, by the way he only saw for the first time in Bijapur village in Gujarat in 1917, when he was already 48 years old? But with his sharp insight into Indian village life Gandhi was quick to figure out that cotton yarn spinning as part of the making of cotton cloth was the key to the self-sufficiency of the Indian village, since it employed literally millions of people and was one in which no other country could match India’s strength. This is what he writes in his weekly paper Harijan in 1940: ‘The spinning wheel represents to me’ he writes ‘the hope of the masses. The masses lost their freedom, such as it was, with the loss of the Charkha. The Charkha supplemented the agriculture of the villagers and gave it dignity. It was the friend and the solace of the widow. It kept the villagers from idleness. For, the Charkha included all the anterior and posterior industries - ginning, carding, warping, sizing, dyeing and weaving. These in their turn kept the village carpenter and the blacksmith busy. The Charkha enabled the seven hundred thousand villages to become self contained’ Cotton cloth has been made in India for around 5 thousand years. Since at least the time of the Roman Empire there had been a demand for Indian cotton fabrics in Europe, and they had been exported from India in great quantities from then until the nineteenth century. But it was a one-way trade, since there was nothing the West produced that Indians wanted in return, so India had to be paid in gold and silver, creating balance of payments problems for even the mighty Roman Empire: Pliny, the Roman historian of the 1^st century AD calculates the value of the cotton textile trade between India and Rome at a hundred million sesterces [equal then to 15 million rupees] every year, and he complains that India is draining Rome of her gold. The gold and silver which poured into India went into the hands of the millions of farmers who grew the cotton, the millions of women who spun the yarn, and the millions of weavers who wove the cloth. It was certainly the largest manufactured trade item in the world in pre-industrial times. Indian cotton cloth, paid for in gold and silver, was arguably the source of India's fabled wealth. Not just the quantity, people marveled at the quality and variety of Indian cotton fabrics. Suleiman, an Arab trader who visited Calicut in 851 AD writes in his diary “..garments are made in so extraordinary a manner that nowhere else are the like to be seen. These garments are wove to that degree of fineness that they may be drawn through a ring of middling size”. Tome Pires, a Portugese traveler of the 16^th century writes in 1515 from Malacca describing the ships that came there from Gujarat and the Coromandel coast, “…worth eighty to ninety thousand cruzados”, he says, “carrying cloth of thirty different sorts..” a hundred years later Pyrard de Laval, a French mariner says that Indian fabrics clothed “ everyone from the Cape of Good Hope to China, man and woman, …from head to foot.” It was not just fine cloth that India exported. Excavations in Egypt of pieces of cloth dating from the 5^th to the 14^th century AD have brought to light the ordinary cloth that India made for ordinary people, which was also exported, samples of which can be seen today in the Newberry collection housed at the Ashmolean museum in Oxford. The many different regions of the Indian sub-continent, with their specific soils and their specific micro-climates, nurtured different varieties of cotton plants, each one specifically adapted to its particular conditions. Farmers used the best of their own seeds for the next year’s planting, so that over the centuries each variety of cotton plant was constantly refined and improved while retaining its distinctive character Then the cotton seeds were separated by hand from the lint on small household gins in the farmer’s house and the best ones were stored for the next year’s planting. Cotton lint was spun into yarn on household charkhas, producing the variety of yarns that gave Indian fabrics their fabled diversity. There was a charkha in every household, rich and poor. For the poorer folk, spinning was livelihood, for the richer ones it was a leisure pastime. Dhunkars/carders walked the streets twanging their carding bows, waiting to be called in by household spinners to make their ginned cotton lint into slivers. This idyllic picture was disrupted by the Industrial Revolution in England. It’s a well known story: the first machines of the industrial revolution were spinning machines. They ushered in the age of mass production: in the late 18^th century the first spinning mill was set up in England, followed by many others. The mills needed large quantities of cotton as raw material and so Indian cotton became a commodity for export rather than raw material for small-scale local weaving. Household ginning was no longer adequate to gin the large quantities in a short time that export production required, so large ginning machines were introduced into cotton growing areas. In these large ginning machines the seeds of the different varieties of cotton which had been so carefully kept separate for centuries were all mixed together and desi varieties carefully cultivated over the ages became mongrelized, dealing a mortal blow to the legendary diversity of Indian cottons. The English spinning mills began turning out huge quantities of yarn. And who was to buy these huge quantities of mill spun yarn? the weavers of India of course! Mill-spun cotton yarn began to be exported from England to India, destroying the livelihoods of millions of Indian spinners. Here is an extract from a letter written in 1828 and printed in the newspaper Samachar, by one such unfortunate person. This is what she says: When my age was five and a half gandas (a ganda is 4 years so she would have been 22) I became a widow with three daughters. My husband left nothing at the time of his death wherewith to maintain my old father-and-mother-in-law and three daughters.... At last as we were on the verge of starvation God showed me a way by which we could save ourselves. I began to spin on takli and charkha. In the morning I used to do the usual work of cleaning the household and then sit at the charkha till noon, and after cooking and feeding the old parents and daughters I would have my fill and sit spinning fine yarn on the takli. Thus I used to spin about a tola. The weavers used to visit our houses and buy the charkha yarn at three tolas per rupee. Whatever amount I wanted as advance from the weavers, I could get for the asking. This saved us from cares about food and cloth. In a few years' time I got together seven ganda rupees. With this I married one daughter. And in the same way all three daughters. There was no departure from the caste customs. Nobody looked down upon these daughters because I gave all concerned, what was due to them. When my father-in-law died I spent eleven ganda rupees on his shraddha. This money was lent me by the weavers which I repaid in a year and a half. ...And all this through the grace of the charkha. Now for 3 years we two women, mother-in-law and I, are in want of food. The weavers do not call at the house for buying yarn. Not only this, if the yarn is sent to the market, it is not sold even at one-fourth the old prices. I do not know how it happened. I asked many about it. They say that bilati yarn is being largely imported. The weavers buy that yarn and weave. I had a sense of pride that bilati yarn could not be equal to my yarn, but when I got bilati yarn I saw that it was better than my yarn. I heard that its price is Rs. 3 or Rs 4. per seer. (she sees that even though the yarn is smoother it is also cheaper) I beat my brow (she continues) and said, 'Oh God, there are sisters more distressed even than I. I had thought that all men of Bilat were rich, but now I see that there are women there who are poorer than I’ I fully realized the poverty which induced those poor women to spin. They have sent the product of so much toil out here because they could not sell it there. It would have been something if they were sold here at good prices. But it has brought our ruin only. Men cannot use the cloth out of this yarn even for two months; it rots away. I therefore entreat the spinners over there that, if they will consider this representation, they will be able to judge whether it is fair to send yarn here or not. This letter is reprinted by Gandhi in his paper Young India in 1931. It is the arrogance of imperialism that allows manufacture of yarn in England from cotton grown by slaves a thousand miles away, in America, to be sold in markets more thousands of miles away, in India, undercutting local manufacture. And it is Gandhi’s perfectly tuned intuition that grasps this and makes the charkha the symbol of the antithesis of imperialism: Swaraj. An opportunity for change comes when India throws off the colonial yoke and becomes independent. Independence from colonial rule provides a chance for the country to get rid of the colonial spinning technology it is burdened with. If Gandhi’s ideas on yarn spinning had been considered at this seminal moment, perhaps this could have come about… but this was not to be; his ideas were rejected outright by fellow patriots. Nehru and the scientist Meghnad Saha unfortunately did not engage with Gandhi’s ideas, but brushed them aside on the grounds as Saha said, that he advocated a return to ‘old world ideology’, to be discarded in favour of modern science and technology. Tagore repeatedly warned of the oversimplification he considered was inherent in Gandhi’s call for all to spin: “It is essential that the responsibility of swaraj should be accepted fully”, he said “and not as a matter of homespun yarn alone”. In fact Tagore famously dismissed the charkha as a distraction from “our task of all-round reconstruction”, while the All India Congress, with Nehru at its head, disowned it. As to Gandhi’s companions they unquestioningly accepted his ideas, but none of them took up a deep study into the relation between the cotton plant and the spinning process. Perhaps if Gandhi’s life had not been so tragically cut short soon after India’s independence he would have looked deeper into the question of yarn making. Perhaps he would have pointed Maganlal, his research-minded nephew, towards developing a spinning technology that could innovate machines that used the principle of hand-spinning to produce the vast quantities of yarn that the millions of hand weavers of the day needed. It could have been done with persistence and belief in the importance of yarn-spinning, but instead independent India chose to retain the spinning technology introduced by the EIC. Which meant that if our indigenous cottons the herbaceum and arboreum strains of the gossypium plant did not produce the long, strong cotton fibre this technology demanded then they must be abandoned in favour of foreign varieties, the American and Egyptian hirsutums and barbadenses. In other words, the demands of the machine began to dictate what nature should produce. A change of cotton varieties meant a change of the whole ecosystem in which they were grown: while the desis had been grown as rain-fed crops, the American varieties needed irrigation – a major change with 3 results – it added the huge costs of irrigation to the expenditure that the farmer had to incur, it depleted precious ground water and it increased humidity in the cotton fields. A humid climate is what encourages pests and in irrigated fields they increased by leaps and bounds, so that more technology was introduced to control them, laying the path for genetically modified cotton seeds in which the gene of an insect, Bacillus Thurigiensis is introduced into the cotton seed, producing the BT cotton which is in general use today. It is in this specific instance – the introduction of foreign varieties of cotton to suit an alien spinning technology - that I particularly miss the presence of Gandhian thought. Newly independent India should have framed science and technology policies for specific Indian circumstances and the strengths of the Indian samaaj. If technology development had been in the hands of Gandhi and his followers this is what they would have done - they would have come up with a spinning technology that could handle the different varieties of cotton that grew in the different regions of the country, as our hand-spinning and hand-weaving technologies were designed to do. The Gandhian way would have been to reject a spinning technology unsuited to desi cotton varieties, unsuited to handling diversity. Perhaps then we could have avoided the replacement of our indigenous cottons with the Americans, that have brought so much despair to Indian cotton farmers that lakhs of them have committed suicide..part of the farm suicides that P Sainath, chronicler of rural India calls ”the largest wave of suicides in history” I myself have been involved with cotton yarn spinning for many years and at this point I would like to share with you a brief insight into what we call the Malkha initiative, in which some steps have been taken towards making yarn on a small scale suited to the small scales of cotton growing and hand-weaving, what Gandhi refers to as “the anterior and posterior industries”. Malkha spinning units have a hundred times fewer spindles than commercial mills, (400 as compared to 40,000) and they produce a hundred times less yarn (40 kilos) per 8 hour shift, enough for 40 hand weavers. And here are a few slides to show you how the Malkha units work:

1.Malkha buys unbaled cotton lint rather than the lint that has been steam-pressed

2. In the Malkha unit the lint is fed into a carder, which produces

3. Carded sliver This carded sliver then goes through various stages

4. Before it becomes

5. Yarn.

6. The yarn wound onto bobbins then reaches the loom

While Gandhi was supremely confident of India’s ability to take a path to the future based on its own civilizational values and suited to its own circumstances, the new rulers of independent India preferred instead to follow the direction of its erstwhile colonial masters. They felt that the science and technology developed in the West was the best for India. They thought that India’s historical mastery of cotton cloth making was irrelevant in the modern world, that in this modern world small-scale, decentralized hand-production must be replaced by mass production in large, centralized, energy-intensive mills and factories. Mass production, they thought, would increase India’s material wealth and the well being of the country would automatically follow. They were wrong. Seventy-five years after independence India lags behind in providing food, health and education to large numbers of the people of the country We see the deficiencies of our health systems particularly in these covid times. Inequality between rich and poor is at stratospheric levels, with the richest 10% holding 77% of the country’s wealth, while the poorest suffer from poverty similar to that of the countries of sub-Saharan Africa, as Jean Dreze and Amartya Sen point out. And of course the wealth of the country is increasing at the cost of the exploitation of natural resources by industrial production.... of course the profits made through that exploitation of natural resources are accumulated by those who control that industrial production, while the costs of the destruction are borne disproportionately by the poor. Cutting down forests to build highways, building big dams to generate energy has benefited big industry while destroying local environments and disabling the local industries that for ages have used the resources of the forests and rivers without causing them any harm. Look for example at how river waters had been used for centuries: Local dyers such as the kalamkari hand-painters of Kalahasti and the indigo dyers of Ilkal attributed the brightness of their colours to the flowing water of local rivers and streams: “The water of Hirehalla nala was what gave our indigo dyeing its sheen” says one of the dyers of Ilkal. These waters no longer flow, they’ve been dammed upstream to generate electricity for big industries. Indigo dyeing has been given up altogether in Ilkal, while the artists of Kalahasti have ironically to resort to the water being pumped into fields for irrigation to wash their paintings. There are other ways in which the rights of villages were breached by colonial administrators, and which have not yet been restored by the rulers of independent India. Activities in the village which were the prerogative of local communities were snatched from their hands by colonial administrators. For example, fishing in local village ponds was a right allocated to local fishermen, but during colonial times were sold to the highest bidder. Bamboo from the forests from which local bamboo artisans made things of village use was now sold to be pulped for paper in the large paper mills set up in colonial days. Similar fates befell the collectors of minor forest produce, as well as to tappers of toddy trees and to sea-side salt makers. As artisanal industries declined the village as a community made up of people providing their skills to an interdependent village economy, an economy firmly rooted in its specific place now turned the village instead into a collection of individuals with no professional relations amongst each other, and no reason to remain where they were. They became rootless, a supply of cannon-fodder for the new mass-production industries that sprang up in urban centres far from their village homes. These new industries were structured around the technology of machinery, creating as Jacques Ellul, the 20^th century French philosopher says “an artificial world and hence radically different from the natural world”. No longer were tools made to serve humanity, now humanity had to service the needs of the machine. This is the direction of technology development that India continues to follow today: in the view of the vast majority of the twentieth century Indian westernised elite the dominant position of Newtonian science is unquestioned. It seems as if that ‘science’ is synonymous with modernity and progress, and under its banner, it is possible to dub traditions as superstitions and to consign whole cultures to the dustbin of the unscientific. For example State policies devalue the knowledge of weaving communities, imposing alien technologies among skilled weaver communities that they have designated as primitive, such as the recent effort to introduce jacquard weaving on frame looms among the loin-loom weavers of North East India. If Gandhi’s views on the contrary had steered India’s technology development, it would be in the direction of flexibility rather than the uniformity necessary for mass production: we would have a plethora of flexible technologies that would adapt to the diversity of this vast subcontinent, as traditional Indian technologies, the charkha and the handloom are designed to do. Flexible technology is what makes the spinning of multiple varieties of cotton possible, turning out different kinds of yarn in different regions that can be woven into a variety of cloths reflecting the heritage of each region. There’s no reason why modern technologies that enhance flexibility cannot be used for this purpose. Modern communication technologies such as social media can break the hold of the monopolistic market that demands large quantities of identical products; social media can broadcast information on small-scale local markets where the knowledge of the maker meets the expectation of the user directly, with just returns for the makers and made-to-order products for the buyers. In the Indian situation diversity should be seen as an advantage, not a drawback. Diversity is the poetry of India’s cotton cloth; and it begins with the lint of the diverse cotton plants and needs spinning technologies suited to each. In our particular circumstances and considering our particular strengths we should encourage the development of a plethora of spinning technologies suited to spinning a diversity of yarns from a diversity of cotton varieties. We should do away with the dominance of industrial spinning machinery that demands from the farmer the one kind of cotton that it can process, and doles out to the weaver the one kind of yarn it can spin. We should go in the opposite direction to that monoculture: growers, spinners and weavers of cotton in different regions should develop the particular technologies that suit them, which would make them confident in their own domains, participants in a network of equals. Technology development should be in the hands of the producers, anchored at the actual sites of production. Today in the 21^st century there are still millions of hand looms weaving cloth in India, distributed in the different parts of the country. A textile policy derived from the philosophy of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi would ensure that India would establish in this country a diverse, producer-owned, ecological industry in which local environments would be respected: the burden on nature would be limited by nature’s own boundaries. Subsistence for all rather than profit for a few would reign. This would be true swaraj, in tune with Gandhi’s maxim that “Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's need, but not every man's greed.” Talk delivered at the Gandhi Science Lecture Series, Indian Academy of Sciences. 28 May,2021 [embed]https://youtu.be/oPq_OvVHwB0[/embed]

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