Introduction: From Evaluation of Portraits to Explication of Poems
Studying literature and visual arts together offers a unique perspective that enhances our understanding of creativity. This course unit focuses on bridging the gap between evaluating portraits and interpreting poetry, teaching us how to analyze and appreciate art in various forms. By understanding how artists convey emotions and ideas through portraits, and how poets do the same with words, students can develop sharper analytical skills.
The connection between visual arts and poetry lies in their shared ability to express complex thoughts and feelings. While portraits capture these through colors, lines, and expressions, poems do so with rhythm, language, and imagery. This interplay not only enriches our appreciation of art and literature but also helps us think critically—an essential skill for IGNOU exams.
Examining Two Portraits:
In the two portraits presented here, you will notice a fascinating contrast. The first cover depicts a woman with a string instrument, and many of my friends instantly thought she was Saraswati, the goddess of learning. However, upon closer inspection, this woman has only two hands, unlike Saraswati, who traditionally holds a veena, a book, and a lotus in her four hands. The woman on the cover appears more like an ordinary person.
So why did so many people, including my friends, mistake her for Saraswati? This question highlights a key lesson: our observations are often shaped by our prior knowledge and beliefs. We are influenced by theories or ideas we’ve learned, which can sometimes cloud our perceptions. Through , we aim to encourage you to rethink how you interpret the world, helping you become more aware of the theories that guide your thinking.
The Shepherd:
Let’s take a closer look at the portrait of the shepherd on the third cover page. Ketaki mentioned that the man in the portrait is Goddo Pahan, whom she met in Pandra village near Ranchi. But when I saw the image, it reminded me of several poets.
One such poet was Cædmon, an early English poet from around 670 A.D. He was a shepherd and lived at the Whitby monastery. According to Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, Cædmon was an unlearned man who never sang in public, until one night, he was inspired by a vision. He began singing about the creation of the world, and this led him to transform Bible stories into songs. He became famous for his work, even though he had no formal education.
Now, Goddo Pahan isn’t a shepherd in a monastery like Cædmon. He’s a farmer, and his life is far from the idealized stories we read in literature. Unlike characters like William Langland’s Piers the Ploughman, who had a confident and hopeful view of life, Goddo’s life seems more bleak and uncertain.
In many ways, Goddo Pahan’s life reminds me of the Scottish poet Robert Burns. Burns came from a poor farming background but found solace and expression in poetry. His work, like Man was Made to Mourn, reflects the struggles of the working class, much like the life of Goddo Pahan, who faces hardships in nature’s cycle without the idealism often found in poetry.
Burns, despite his personal challenges, believed in the unity of mankind and the harmony between people and nature. Similarly, when we look at Goddo Pahan’s portrait, surrounded by his sheep, we see a man in tune with nature, yet facing the harsh realities of life. His life is one of labor, much like the poets who wrote about the struggles of ordinary people.
The life of Goddo Pahan also brings to mind the American philosopher and writer Henry David Thoreau, who believed in simple living and nature. Though Thoreau was an intellectual, his thoughts on nature align with Goddo’s life, where there is a sense of peaceful acceptance of the world around him.
In the end, Goddo Pahan’s portrait shows us a life that is hard, yet deeply connected to nature. He may not have the grand stories of poets or philosophers, but in his daily life, he embodies the connection between humanity and the natural world, much like the characters from the poems of Wordsworth and Burns. His life is a reminder that not all poetry comes from grand events, but often from the struggles and joys of everyday life.
Nature, Country, and Artistic Inspiration:
Among Western poets, Wordsworth stands out as someone who turned away from the city to embrace the countryside. Growing up in the Lake District, he developed a deep connection with nature, forming a philosophy that saw it as a nurturing and guiding force.
In his work The Prelude, Wordsworth describes how the river Derwent influenced his thoughts, calling its constant music a source of inspiration:
- That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved
To blend his murmurs with my nurse’s song
And, for his alder shades and rocky falls,
And from his fords and shallows sent a voice
That followed along my dreams.
While Goddo Pahan cannot be compared directly to Wordsworth, nor is he a character like the Pedlar or Michael, Wordsworth’s philosophy teaches us to value even the humblest members of society. Wordsworth reminds us that those in power—politicians, scholars, and civil servants—should not look down upon the poor or uneducated. Instead, they should recognize their essential role in the world.
In one of his sonnets, Wordsworth laments how modern life is driven by appearances rather than substance. He writes:
Plain living and high thinking are no more.
For Wordsworth, wealth itself is not the problem, but the blind worship of wealth is. He believed that true happiness and wisdom come from simplicity and connection to nature.
Ketaki’s depiction of Goddo Pahan on the cover of the poetry collection serves as a visual reminder of Wordsworth’s ideas. The image evokes the somber beauty of nature and the value of simple, rural life. As Wordsworth wrote:
- One impulse fiom a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good
Than all the sages can.
Throughout history, many great individuals have lived away from the chaos of cities. Chanakya, who overthrew the Nanda dynasty and installed Chandragupta Maurya, lived in solitude. Valmiki and Vyasa, creators of epic texts, sought peace in nature. Even Gandhi, who dismantled the British Empire, lived simply at Wardha and Sabarmati. These examples echo the sentiment of Emerson, who once said:
In the morning—solitude, that Nature may speak to the imagination, as she does never in company.
Emerson, however, also quotes Hobbes in his essay on culture, acknowledging a different view. Hobbes notes that living in the countryside for too long, without good conversation, can dull the mind, like moss growing on a wooden fence.
Cities, on the other hand, offer stimulation and connection. Emerson observed that cities like London and New York challenge people, refine their thoughts, and provide space for creativity. They attract poets, mystics, and heroes who thrive in the diversity of human experience.
While the countryside has been praised for its peace and simplicity, the city has its own value. It is a product of generations of human effort, a place where intelligence meets industry, and where people improve themselves and others. The culture and opportunities in cities inspire growth and innovation.
Even the Latin poet Horace, who praised the countryside in one of his epodes, acknowledged the pull of city life. A moneylender in his poem claims he wants to leave the city for a quiet village, but after collecting his loans with interest, he quickly returns to urban life.
Anjali, or Angelica, a woman with a stringed instrument in another portrait, reflects a balance between rural simplicity and urban refinement. Like Goddo Pahan, she embodies calm and poise but also possesses the culture and sophistication born from social interaction in cities.
In conclusion, both nature and cities have unique roles in inspiring art and thought. Wordsworth’s deep love for nature reminds us of its timeless wisdom, while Emerson and others highlight the dynamism and opportunities cities provide. Both realms are essential to human creativity and growth .
The Woman Holding a String Instrument
The image of the woman holding a string instrument, featured on the first cover, is a reproduction by Ketaki of a 16th-century Mughal painting currently housed at the Musée Guimet in Paris. Interestingly, this woman isn’t shown standing on a carpet or in a garden. Instead, she stands atop a mask of a man with heavy features and a sullen expression. To make the figure of the man appear more ferocious, the artist gave him two sharp, tusk-like teeth protruding from his mouth. His face reflects the style of the Gujarat school of art.
The Mughal art style, however, began taking shape during the reign of Humayun (1530–1556). Humayun, exiled to Persia between 1540 and 1545, invited two renowned Persian artists, Mir Sayyid Ali of Tabriz and Abdus-samad of Shiraz, to India. Together, they built an impressive art studio, recruiting talented painters along the way. Some of their early works include illustrations in manuscripts such as Dastan-i-Amir Hamzan and Tutinama (The Tale of a Parrot), created for the young emperor Akbar, who couldn’t read. Unlike the soldiers of the Gujarat school, Mughal soldiers in these illustrations have small eyes, long faces, and flat noses, showing a Mongoloid influence.
The influence of European art on the painting of the woman holding the string instrument is clear. By comparing this painting to a typical Mughal portrait of a lady under a tree, likely created around 1635 for Prince Dara Shikoh, the Western touch becomes evident. Traditional Mughal paintings reveal the outline of a woman’s body through her dress, but in this painting, the dress folds and the pose reflect Western techniques.
The connection between Mughal art and European styles began in 1580 when Jesuit missionaries from Goa, led by Rodolph Acquaviva, visited Akbar’s court at Fatehpur Sikri. They brought with them the Royal Polyglot Bible of Philip II of Spain, which had intricately engraved frontispieces. Akbar’s artists were instructed to copy these engravings. The Jesuits also gifted European prints and engravings of Christian themes, which fascinated Akbar’s court, particularly his son Prince Salim (later Emperor Jahangir).
Jahangir’s appreciation for European art is well-documented. One painting by the Mughal artist Payag (c. 1650) depicts European artworks, both religious and secular, above the emperor. Another shows Jahangir sharing a frame with Jesus Christ, holding a globe and a pearl necklace. Portuguese Jesuit priest Fernao Guerreiro noted that Indian artists at Jahangir’s court created frescoes of Christian themes, including the Madonna, Saints, and biblical scenes.
Among Mughal artists, Basawan stands out for his deep understanding of European art. His depiction of Majnun with an emaciated horse showcases his grasp of European techniques. Surprisingly, the German painter and engraver Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528) had a significant influence on Mughal art. Dürer’s works reached the Mughal court through Italian traders and craftsmen. Artists like Abu’l-Hassan, a child prodigy who grew up under Prince Salim’s patronage, copied Dürer’s engravings, as did Kesavdas, whose St. Matthew is now in the Bodleian Library at Oxford.
The painting of the woman holding a string instrument, called Anjali, shows greater finesse than some other Mughal adaptations of Western works, like the Madonna and Child at Windsor Castle.
The symbolism of the painting is equally intriguing. The act of standing on someone to signify dominance or suppression dates back to South Indian Shiva iconography. Shiva is often depicted dancing atop a dwarf who represents qualities like jealousy and pettiness. Similarly, the unknown Mughal artist of Anjali used this motif creatively to convey subjugation.
Another Mughal example of this symbolism is a 1620 painting by Abu’l-Hassan, where Jahangir is shown standing on a globe while embracing Shah Abbas of Persia. Though Jahangir appears affectionate, his stance symbolically pushes Shah Abbas into the Mediterranean. This painting blends Islamic and Western elements, such as cherubs and halos, reflecting the merging influences of the time.
In contrast, Anjali is simpler and more expressive, showcasing the elegant balance of Western techniques and the artistic traditions of Akbar’s reign.