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By Revathi Siva Kumar The sculptors of Shivarapatna in Karnataka are keepers of 1,000-year-old artistic secrets, but scores are opting for other occupations. For the last three years, however, they have been working with a French designer to create modern products in an effort to make their traditional occupations more sustainable
 Fine grains of stone swirl over the callused hands of Narayana Acharya as he coaxes an exquisite lotus motif out of a granite block. “What am I doing? What I know how to do best. Sculpting,” he says, with a rather scornful shrug at the dense question.
This was at a week-long exhibition at the Chitrakala Parishath in Bangalore recently, where he, along with 12 other sculptors from Shivarapatna village in Karnataka, showcased the adaptation of their traditional knowledge and skills to modern French designs. Although they are well aware of their awesome artistic heritage and prowess, the sculptors have a more immediate and worrisome, if prosaic, concern: the need to earn their daily bread. It is with that in mind that they ventured out of their traditional framework, for the first time, to participate in an interesting experiment. They collaborated with Mireille Arnaud, a French designer, who harnessed their talent to work on secular themes that could make their creations accessible and digestible in the contemporary world. The result is a fascinating blend of traditional and modern talent: a lamp with an interesting snake motif, candlesticks rising up with the sleekness of Grecian elegance, a floral design that radiates the beauty of utter simplicity. “The products feature neutral themes that set off the softness of form with the hardness of stone,” says Chandra Jain, from Kadambari, the non-governmental organisation responsible for getting the French designer to work with the sculptors. “The motifs are simple, but require detailed science, patience and hard work. A lot of taping, measuring and chiseling have gone into the deceptively simple pieces to create this sand-like effect, for instance.” She held out a suvarna champa motif with a grainy surface. It all began three years ago, when Kadambari, a cultural organisation that encourages traditional Indian arts and crafts, stumbled upon Shivarapatna in Kolar, a vast and valuable repository of traditional knowledge. The shilpis, or sculptors, had migrated 400 years earlier from the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu, but are keepers of artistic secrets dating back a thousand years. They carve exquisite sculptures and stone idols for temples out of the Krishna shila stone, based on the precepts of Shilpa Shastras, their Bible. The shastras specify the measurements and proportions of every line and design. 
For centuries artisans have sculpted the beautiful stoneware found in temples, based on these precepts. All the symbols of the Creator are the creations of these simple, straightforward craftsmen. They are the custodians of tradition as well as accuracy. Their sculptures have been exported to temples and devasthanas such as Varanasi, Kashi and Bengal. The main idols in the sanctum sanctorum are made by the Vishwakarma community, a rather tight-knit caste within this village. The other castes work on the pillars, pithas, dwarapalikas, elephants, Nandi the bull, lamps and lights. Women are not traditionally allowed into the actual production process, due to the ‘sanctity’ factor. They are only permitted to offer support activities. Kadambari was struck by two things: firstly, the immense artistic potential of the village that had lasted for a thousand years; secondly, the possibility that it may not be sustainable for much longer. At 30, Manjunatha Acharya could not agree more. “With modernisation, we feel the pressure,” he says. It requires a little more coaxing to make him confess that, on an average, an artist earns between Rs 3,000 and Rs 5,000 per month, which appears almost ridiculous considering the amount of labour that is invested in their work. Moreover, it is a rigorous calling. The artists import stones from Heggade, Karikal and Narayankere, which are about 30 km away from their little village. The usual permissions have to be taken, forms have to be filled (and, perhaps, palms have to be greased, although that aspect is not mentioned). The cost of transportation works out to an average of Rs 35,000 per month, at about Rs 5,000 for every truckload. And every piece of sculpture takes 15 to 20 days in a month to execute. The demand too, as might be expected, is not too high, as gods are not a very perishable commodity! Kadambari thought it would be worthwhile to promote and encourage these talented shilpis by enabling them to diversify their products and bringing them into the limelight, thereby helping them to preserve their craft while taking care of their own livelihood needs. They have lobbied with the government to adopt and promote Shivarapatna as an important tourist centre, and even have ideas of developing it as a heritage hub, on the lines of similar villages in Indonesia and Thailand. “We decided to set up channels of self-management to help the villagers,” explained Chandra. “Our main motivation is to connect the artists with ways and means to sell their wares to a larger, interested public.” Realising that the traditional craft of the village need to be marketed for a modern world, they tried to find an artist who could help present the traditional art in a fresh format. It is in the course of this search they came across Mireille Arnaud. 
“She just happened to be around. We were looking out for a long time for a designer who could work with the village craftsmen and she, too, was looking for a group she could work with. So we fit each others’ requirements beautifully. She was very willing to live in the village and work with the craftsmen, and I know very few people who would do that. She brought her dynamism, energy and vitality to the pieces, a sincerity and discipline that are not locality-specific. The craftspersons understood her drawings, and produced a sense of comfort and belonging.” The designer developed 12 designs and each of the 12 participants had an opportunity to work on every one of them. “The beauty lies in the simplicity,” explains Chandra Jain. The pieces blend the elegance and precision of French sculpture with the delicacy and intricacy of the traditional Indian work. In the village, the artists formed a group they called Shila. The coordinator of Shila, Lakshmanan, pointed out that the village craftspersons belong to seven groups of 20 members each, among which seven groups are made up of women who perform supportive activities. “It is a measure of the popularity of the work that has emerged through this collaboration that the stone products are already almost sold out, points out Chandra Jain. They made roughly Rs 41,000 per day during the exhibition, on an average -- quite a large sum compared to their usual earnings, which fluctuate according to demand. How do the newer designs rate in terms of artistic merit and quality? Such comparisons are, of course, unfair and pointless. And it does not really matter if the main point is to continue the tradition of artistic creation. The new designs are graceful and simple, and have utility value. Their themes are secular and modern, and they stand as self-contained pieces of exquisite beauty, uniting clean lines and forms with traditional execution. A visitor from the Netherlands, who identified himself as just Dewinter, for instance, admits that the French designs are alluring due to the ‘science’ and the ‘themes.’ Clearly they are a reflection of universality. The religious vigrahas, on the other hand, are idols that do not reach out to everyone from different backgrounds, he points out. To the village artists the French designs are bold and different. Pradeep Acharya is 22 and has been engaged in this occupation for as many years -- “and perhaps more,” as he puts it, with wry self-deprecation. When asked about what he thinks about the artistic merit of the new works, he is not too articulate. His sense of beauty is inherent, yet the new designs need time to get used to. It is clearly an exercise in emerging from their comfort zones, and moving on. There is a slight, subconscious trace of resentment and defensiveness about the traditional forms, but he quickly adds that the “new designs are good, too.” Would Pradeep ask his son to continue with the craft? His answer is cautious and ambivalent, not directly addressing the question. This could be due to a combination of his personal reactions, as well as the collective guilt of abandoning a traditional form of art. “From one point of view, I agree that we need to continue our traditions, but from another point of view I want to know, how can we continue to perpetuate our traditions when the demand is dying out?”
Subramanya Acharya, 17, is an apt and interesting illustration of the change that is enveloping the youth today. He is a diploma holder in Electronics and Communication, with one hand on the chisel and another on his book. He has no brothers, but three sisters who are pursuing college degrees. Thus, he is the sole guardian of the family tradition. What would he like to do? He is not too sure. “Both,” he says, as he bends over his work, and fiercely chips away at the nose of a figurine to hide his confusion. “I study to do something different and modern and earn, but I sculpt because I love it, as every person in my village does.” He confesses, though, that hordes of young men are defecting to become brokers, accountants and electricians. “We think it is difficult to remain in the village and continue with our tradition,” he says. “Exhibitions like these teach us something interesting -- that it is possible to pursue our craft, and perhaps think of making a good income out of it too.” Maybe it is too early to reach such a major conclusion. Yet, as he bends over his craft, Subramanya has unconsciously summed up the hopes and aspirations that have suddenly bloomed from the unique experiment. (Revathi Siva Kumar is a Bangalore-based freelance journalist who is interested in socially relevant, development issues.) InfoChange News & Features, October 2007
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