This work from the 10th Century portrays Vishnu, the Hindu God, and several of his avatars. It is currently on display at the Frist Museum in Nashville, as part of an exhibit entitled Vishnu: Hinduism’s Blue-Skinned Savior. The exhibit includes a paintings, sculptures like this one, and several Hindu shrines from people’s homes. There is an excellent guide [.pdf], from which the above picture is taken, and there have been several lectures on aspects of Hinduism and the role of these works in people’s lives.
The figure in the center is Vishnu, with four arms. He holds a conch shell, a discus, and a mace, symbols of the God. The fourth hand is held up thumb touching forefinger, a position called gyan mudra, a sacred hand position, which my yoga teacher says harnesses the divine energy flow to the human, but which has other meanings as well. He is richly dressed: a large head piece, long earrings, a necklace or two, an asymmetrical belt over his left shoulder hanging down and circling around his waist, a loincloth, dangling jewels, arm and ankle bracelets, and a long cord draping from his upper arms. He wears a halo, perhaps lotus leaves or flames. His face is stylized. The most notable thing to me is that he is smiling.
On either side there are small images, nearly the same on either side. From the top left down, there are seated musicians, a seated figure holding what looks to me like a torch and a scroll, and horsemen, perhaps on an elephant head.
At the bottom, there are six figures, male and female, each holding different things. These are avatars, personifications of one aspect of Vishnu. The guide tells us that Vishnu is all-in-one, all things worthy of worship. The avatars are expressions of one part of that perfection, each in a form we mere humans can understand and relate to. The Guide says that people use the avatars as focal points for devotion, because they are easier to grasp than the transcendent splendor of Vishnu.
Years ago, I was at the Uffizi looking at the Annunciation by Simone di Martini. As I stood there, several groups of Japanese tourists came through, looked at everything and moved on. Later I wondered what that altarpiece meant to them. Did they know that the lily is a sign of purity, a fact taught me by the Holy Cross nuns at St. Joe Grade School? Did they understand the significance of the mantle over her head, or the nature of the angel? Did they feel the same way I did when I saw this frieze of Vishnu?
I can appreciate the craftsmanship in this work, and I understand whatever the curators choose to tell me about it, and I could learn more if I wanted to, but at the end, there is only an intellectual appreciation of the work. It will never have the deep meaning for me created by years of contact with a sophisticated culture and religion, passed on to me by parents, family, friends and society, imprinted from birth, and enriched by my own study and my own efforts to comprehend.
John Dewey says that art is a communicative experience. (This discussion is based on the chapter on aesthetics in Dewey, A Beginner’s Guide by David Hildebrand) The artist feels there is something to be said, and goes through a process of manipulating physical materials into the communication of an mental construct or emotion, then attempting to perceive the work as the perceiver will, then reworking the physical materials, back and forth until the work is complete. Perceivers do the same thing, experiencing, processing the experience and sinking back into the act of perception, until we feel in ourselves the things that the work can produce in us.
In the words of this theory, my perception is too limited to see the full extent of the accomplishment of this unknown artist.
