A conversational interview between researcher and scholar, Candice Jansen and multidisciplinary artist, Lallitha Jawahirilal
Lallitha Jawahirilal (b.1951) is a multi-award-winning South African artist. Her paintings, poetry and collage centre aspects of the natural and spiritual world, the nature of identity and the ongoing need for historical transformation. Jawahirilal left South Africa during the 1970s and stayed in London where she trained at the Camberwell School of Art and Design with a First-Class Honours (1984-1987) before graduating with a Masters Degree in Painting from the Royal College of Art (1987-1989). The South African exile and anti-apartheid communities in London helped foster Jawahirilal’s socially-engaged practice as an activist, complemented by the critical and commercial acclaim that she achieved early in her career. She returned to South Africa, along with other exiles, after the formal end of apartheid and took up teaching positions at the former University of Durban-Westville’s (UDW) Art Department (1994-2000). Jawahirilal’s works have been widely collected and exhibited both nationally and abroad for more than three decades. She has been recognised with numerous awards and residencies, including the Pollock Krasner Award (1992), the Elizabeth Foundation Award (1994), Artist in Residence at Monash University (2001), Delfina Studios (1989-1992), the Staffrider Merit Award (1989) and the Casa Manilva Residency (1992). Jawahirilal lives between her hometown of Ladysmith, KwaZulu-Natal and Puttaparthi, India. She still paints for her own pleasure and lives a spiritually observant life, following the teachings of Guru Sathya Sai Baba and Guru Shivanand Swami from Matri Sadan. South African writer, Dr. Candice Jansen speaks with Jawahirilal about her life and work.
Figure 1: This white light floods my World. Undated. Oil and mixed media on canvas. 34 x 40cm. Photograph courtesy of the artist. Shown at Curwen Art Gallery, London. The artwork was inspired by research projects in the greater Ladysmith area in South Africa and Kumbh Mela festival in Haridwar, India.
Candice Jansen (CJ): In your conversation with Professor Sharlene Khan at Wits University School of Arts in 2019, I noted a throw-away comment she made before asking you about an artwork. Khan had mentioned that you don’t like to talk about your artworks. She co-founded an important research initiative, artonourmind.org.za, which holds primary resources on black women artists. Your collection there has been invaluable to my own introductory research for this interview. It includes the Masters’ thesis of Thavamani Pillay, entitled, ‘The Artistic Practises of Contemporary South African Indian Women Artists: How Race, Class and Gender Affect the Making of Visual Art’ (2014). Pillay also suggested a possible reluctance you have had in the past to speak on your artworks, writing, “Jawahirilal lives in India and chose not to discuss her work with me” (15). Then, later in her thesis, Pillay added, “On a personal level, Jawahirilal has always kept her private life and relationships from public knowledge. All that is known about her is that she never married and appears to have pursued her career as an artist and academic to the exclusion of all else” (42). What do you imagine happens to the life of your artworks in the absence of your thoughts about them?
Lallitha Jawahirilal (LJ): I write with every painting. This is my style. I also am very open about my work and I love to talk about my art. My private life also is an open book. Your characterisation of me is incorrect.
CJ: I was curious about the period: 1994-2000. You, like many South African exiles, returned. During this period, you started as a Fine Art Lecturer at the former University of Durban-Westville. While there, you and other colleagues such as Pitika Ntuli, Vedant Nanakchand and Vukile Ntuli were employed in this Art Department, which was in need of senior Black Artists to teach, mentor, and lead. How did the opportunity come about? To not only return and work in South Africa, but to return to the region where you were born as lecturer in the University of Durban Westville’s Art Department?
LJ: In 1994, a group of South Africans were invited to the London Consulate. I thought to myself that everyone was going to go back to South Africa. What will I do there? The following week, I had a dream. This dream was a very spiritual dream. My father had passed away three years before, and I was very close to him. I loved him very much, and he was very supportive of me throughout my childhood. He had developed leukaemia while I was part of a group exhibition at the Delfina Studios, owned by Delfina Entraconales, where I already had completed a three-year residency. I asked my father, “Please wait for me,” as his health was failing, to fulfil my artistic duties in London. He died thereafter, and my grief was tremendous. While I was on a residency in Spain, after my father died, someone gave me the biography of [Sathya] Sai Baba from Puttaparthi, India. I became fascinated and I decided with a friend to travel to his hometown. From then on, Sai Baha became my guru and I his disciple. This was after the death of my father. My life in London changed after that. My dress changed. I became more spiritual, more blissful. Sai Baba came to me in a dream and said, “Go and serve in South Africa for six years, and after that, you will live with me,” and I said, “Yes” in my dream. The next morning, Vedant Nanakchand called me at 6am and offered me a position at the UDW as a lecturer in the Fine Art Department. I loved the experience of UDW. I loved the students. They had such beauty in them.
Figure 2: Oh South Africa Keep moving, time is waiting to seduce us. Your eyes prophesy a sorrow, But tell me, whose ashes are they, who loves the Sun enough to throw body and Soul there. 1987. Oil on board. Size unknown. Photograph courtesy of the artist. The artwork was painted in Royal College of Art London.
CJ: Some of its students today are working as senior arts practitioners, such as Sharlene Khan, Gabi Ncgobo, Kevin Govender, Roland Timothy, Phahlo Mtangai and Geetha Rampersad. From the press clippings of that period, I saw local coverage of a mural-painting initiative that started institutionalising art practices in ways that could make expressive impact to start humanising the apartheid architectures we inherited. Murals within Ladysmith were located on Lyell Street and Francis Road, at Windsor Secondary, Aloe Park Primary Schools, the Children’s Ward at Ladysmith’s Provincial Hospital, as well as the surrounding locations of Ezakheni, Steadville, and Umbulwane. Why murals? How did the idea for that collaborative form come about? How did you see the impact of these murals within the spaces where they were painted?
LJ: We were reaching out to the public. That included the elderly, the disabled, the sick and poor, including the rich – all classes! Many of the audiences we worked with would not enter museums. Remember, it was very early in 1994. They had been kept out. So, with our murals, we took art to the people: to the bus and taxi rank, the marketplace, schools and hospitals. It worked. We also showcased some shows that the students created at the local town hall. Our public art deeply involved students. The community of all races worked together. The mural project was a huge success.
CJ: Why then did the department close down? Why has it remained closed? What did the closure of this Art Department mean for this potential impact?
LJ: It happened so quickly. I don’t know who closed the Art Department that was led by Professor Pitika Ntuli as Dean. Vedanta Nanakchand was Head of Department. Adam Habib was on the team that oversaw the closing. Please ask him. I really don’t have the answer. That Fine Art Department was very vibrant and exciting. By closing it, they destroyed a whole fabric of multi-cultural art forms. The art was shifted to Natal Technikon and ML Sultan. When that happened in 2000, it was six years after 1994. I knew that my worldly life was over, and I looked towards the spiritual life.
Figure 3: 50 cents water. 1990. Mixed media on canvas. Size unknown. Photograph courtesy of the artist. Shown at The Discerning Eye awards exhibition at Mall Galleries, London. The artwork was one of six prize winners. She received award from the Duchess of York. The painting was bought by Lord Gowrie, who was then the Chairman of Sotheby's in 1991.
Figure 4: Photograph of the artist at Delfina Studios in London. Date unknown.
CJ: The relationship between spirituality and art appears foundational to your artistic concern, to what you may paint or write about, but really, to how you move through the world, as a practice of being alive, living as an artist who observes a spiritual calling. Could you say more about your proposed photographic documentary on the Kumbh Mela Festival in India, called Puddled Sand and Red Ashes?
LJ: I had a limited amount of time at the festival, only three weeks, and the grant from the Elizabeth Foundation that supported it included the expectation of an exhibition. I decided to use photography to capture the festival. It was more ideal than drawing, which required time. I studied photography at Camberwell School of Art and was confident in the use of the camera. I was drawn to street art, Rangoli’s designs on the elephants, entrances to temples and ashrams and, most importantly, the Sadhus. I took these photographs back to UDW and began work on my paintings for an exhibition at New Academy in the UK. I produced a combination of large and small scale works for the size of the space.
Lallitha Jawahirilal. SA Artist. London. 1985. Photography by George Hallet in the custodianship of the Iziko South African Gallery.
CJ: But why choose this festival as a subject for your art? What is its significance to you? Why the title? I have never experienced a festival that can be likened to it. I also am curious about your use of photography in these paintings. Many painters use photography in their practice. From the images you shared, it looks almost as if you were using the camera to record not any place or activity specifically, but you appear to have used the camera to record more of a mood that perhaps you anticipated wanting to remember. The bold colours, the varied shapes, patterns and lines, the sculptural expression of worship, the colourful ways that people live within the natural environments. What was the process like, translating these photographs into paintings?
LJ: As you may have seen from the images of the festival that I shared, I chose the title, Puddled Sand and Red Ashes, because it relates to water and to important aspects of the festival’s spiritual and aesthetic practices. That includes bathing in the Holy Ganges. Then Red symbolises energy, divine energy. Ashes comes from the outcome of the process of making fire offered to the Divine Gods and Goddesses. The ash from these festival fires is used by the Holy Saints as protection by smearing it on their foreheads and bodies.
Figure 5: A strange quiet invades at times blissful, but now the Sun fades into the dark of the Night. Now sad trees drooping with thirst. And Holy Ganga lovingly flows by. 2021. Mixed media on paper. 38 x 28cm. Photograph courtesy of the artist.
Figure 6: And then there was flood 1. c. 1987-89. Oil on board. Size unknown.
CJ: How you described your process of creation drew me to the teachings of Indian philosopher J. Krishnamurti in his book of dialogues, The Beginnings of Learning (1975). I referred you to his chapter discussing the state of creativity, what it means to be sensitive, and the awareness of beauty. What do you make of his remarks? What do you imagine spirituality teaches about art and, vice versa, through your lifestyle as a conscious spiritual being?
LJ: Being a conscious spiritual being, in a day-to-day sense, is to live in the present moment, responding to what is in front of you. No two days of mine are the same. I meditate in the mornings for a few hours. I spend some time listening to spiritual music, or talks by Eckhart Tolle, Sadguru or Swami Shivanand (Matri Sadan) on saving the Ganges from pollution. Even though I observe specific spiritual practices, I respect all religions. Nature is very important to me. So, I give salutations to the Sun in the morning, bow down after that to all the Divine Energies. Then my physical day starts. I'm also involved once or twice a week with service. We go to schools, orphanages and hostels to give love and share with children how to care for animals, nature, rivers and trees. We encourage children to express themselves and recite poems, prose, songs, and drama. The surrounding areas are mainly rural. This keeps me grounded. I no longer am under pressure to do shows or to produce work for a commission. My pace is very absorbed and deep at the moment, working with water based paints and mixed media. Krishnamurti was a highly evolved, realised being. In the dialogue you shared, he answered perfectly.
Figure 7: Who knows The way? Neither here Nor there. Oh Gentle folks Times are Wild
A strange breeze blows. Become still Who knows Some of that Light May Just Enter
Deep within. 2020. Mixed media on water colour paper. 38 x 28 cm. Photograph courtesy of the artist.
CJ: How do you understand Krishnamurti when he says: “So is the state of creativity the absence of the ‘I’? When there is the absence of the ‘I,’ do you know that you are creative”?
LJ: He means that, when ‘I’ is absent, that is when one gets very absorbed in creating a work of art the one is no longer thinking.
Observe
your mind and thoughts,
forever thinking.
Thinking this, thinking that,
Creating a lot of stories
Many that don’t belong to you.
So, one gets absorbed in a work of art when the mind becomes silent. This creativity comes from Cosmic Consciousness. Divine Consciousness is everywhere, but if we are continuously involved in body and mind, we close the door to the Cosmic Divine Energy. By getting absorbed in the art of creation, the creator and the creation becomes one. No duality.
In the dialogues you shared, Krishnamurti also talks about one’s motives for creating. He asks one to question why: are you creating to become famous, to become rich? So, then the absorption is on fame and wealth, not on the act of creating. But if there is no such desire behind the creation, and total absorption is there, the mind becomes silent, and one is no longer aware of body or mind. Vincent Van Gogh painted like that. During his lifetime, he hardly sold paintings, but his mind and body were absorbed in the art of creation, not in the process of becoming famous. That’s why his works are so Divine. So beautiful.
Figure 8: Photograph of the artist in Ladysmith, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. Date unknown.
CJ: Vincent Van Gogh also lost his mind and not in the blissful way… Have you seen Julian Schnabel’s film, At Eternity’s Gate (2018)? I wouldn’t call it a biopic but almost more of a moving painting of Van Gogh. There is a scene in the film where Paul Gaugin asks Van Gogh, “Why do you always have to paint from nature?” Van Gogh replies, “I feel lost if I don’t have something to look at. I need something to see.” An almost exasperated Gauguin kept probing: “Why don’t you paint what’s in your mind. What your brain sees?” Van Gogh becomes serious and says, “Because the essence of nature is beauty. When I look at nature, I see more clearly the tie that unites us all, a vibrating energy speaking in God’s voice. Sometimes it’s so intense I lose consciousness.” Gaugin goes on to disagree, insisting that there is no nature, only mind.
LJ: Van Gogh and Gaugin had different habits and impressions. They saw things differently. Van Gogh had an inner opening. Otherwise he could not have created those paintings.
CJ: Have you ever painted from nature?
LJ: I have painted from life and nature… especially in my London days.
CJ: I find the natural world such a visual force in your work, both in your writings and your paintings. The experience, recollection, and imagination of water especially surfaces as a spiritual cipher. The phenomenon of floods and flooding in particular resonates. You have grouped a number of paintings under this theme. In several of these ‘flood works’, a feminine figure recurs in the midst of uncertainty or some catastrophe that simultaneously is beautiful and melancholic. The band Latin Quarter used one of these works on their cover for the album Nothing like Velvet (1990). On why your work was selected, band member Steve Skaith explained: “This particular cover was chosen because of the enigmatic expression of the figure. She can be seen as a little sad, maybe overwhelmed by all the chaos around her, but still standing and still resilient.” Your recent experience of floods that affected your hometown during our interview inspired painting and poetry. In one that you shared, a figure along with a bird-like creature finds peace or refuge within heavenly light and protection. Its accompanying poem is written in a voice filled with peace and trust in what you call God Nature’s intelligence. How do you see the role of water and what you call “God Nature” in your work? Why do you imagine floods or water recurring in your creative life?
LJ: Water, if seen in a dream. has spiritual meaning. Birds are a symbol of freedom. The figure does not represent anyone in particular. The Klip River, where I remember spending my childhood, was a beautiful river with clear flowing water. Many fish and other animals lived there, where I spent my days in immense joy. Now the river has dried up. Land is not cared for. Trees are cut. Forests are destroyed. Mountains become houses...bigger and bigger houses. Greed for more and more. We have disturbed nature. But I spent time in Soweto in 1984 with inhumane water cuts and restrictions. So much water in South Africa is not shared. Humans created so much misery and pain in South Africa to suppress, oppress, control. If this was done to humans, then how much more was done to destroy the Earth? As we speak, Ladysmith in South Africa is suffering the impact of floods.
Figure 9: A dream A Saint Arrive...Oh Gentle Folks Ganga Lovingly flows by.
Spread your cloth Sit Quietly. There is a secret If you dip your feet in Wild Waters Who knows You may just come out Complete. Floating Flying. 2022. Mixed media on water colour paper. 38 x 28cm. Photograph courtesy of the artist.
CJ: The town where you grew up, Ladysmith in KwaZulu-Natal, is a place you returned to often in your works that, early on, established you as an artist.
LJ: Where I was born and spent my childhood is where my obsession with rivers, birds and cows in my paintings comes from. My mother's parents lived in Glencoe, a nearby town and, during school holidays, we went there by train. Granny had cows that they would milk and a big garden in which peanuts were grown that attracted birds, monkeys and rabbits that we would play with. Later, when we moved to the hills, we used to have lovely birds in our front yard. I remember one day in the garden, my mother said to me, “Lallitha, do you see those beautiful birds? What would happen if you put them in a cage?” I said to her, “They would die.” My mother then turned to me and said more seriously, “You are a unique child. You must remain free like that bird. Then you will achieve a lot.” Mum was very intelligent. She married young and could draw beautiful designs. I think I inherited my love of art from her.
CJ: An important aspect of your work is the dance you stage between poetry and painting. How do they work together when you work? Does one follow the other? Does a poem come to you and then inspire a painting? Or do you paint and imagine a poem as your paintings take form? Or do they happen simultaneously, moving between words and brush strokes?
LJ: When I start working on a painting, I start creating without knowing the end result. The coming together of painting and prose happens like meditation, really. I never plan it that way. Sometimes, when I’m happy with a painting, I start writing. I have an idea of the feeling of the painting and pairing it with poetry or prose happens when I’m in a heightened state of mind, when I feel blissful, sometimes very blissful, and words then flow. When I paint, I get absorbed, unaware of body or mind, totally absorbed in the present moment, beyond and above mind. I do not imagine. To imagine is a process linked to the mind. The best of my works come this way. Same with writing. Or while I’m sleeping, I suddenly see a flow of words that I quickly write down. Although, painting happens separately. Writing also happens separately. Both, as art forms, come together later. My poetry, dreams, visions and writings occur daily according to my inspirations.
Figure 10: And then there was flood 2. c. 1987-88. Oil on board. Size unknown. Photograph courtesy of the artist. Painted at the Royal College of Art.
CJ: You say, “Sometimes when I’m happy with a painting, I start writing.” So when are you not happy with a painting or with writings? Creating from such a detached yet feeling place that you describe sounds almost too idyllic. Now I am not suggesting that art has to come from a place of suffering. Maybe I am asking you something more practical or tangible about the way that you create. When do you know that a painting or a flow of poetry or prose that you began is complete? What satisfies you about how painting or writing renders your inspirations?
LJ: When I look at a painting’s colours, its composition, and everything has heightened sparkles, then I know it's done. But working on a painting could take many days. If I get truly absorbed, then the end result sends me on a high. It’s an ecstatic feeling. That's when I stop. But it's not always like that. Some works can look overworked or contain something that does not work. Try as I may, it just does not work. I set that aside. After some months, I can return to it with a fresh outlook. So in that sense, I try not to destroy any work but, rather, to return to them as memory beds where experiences are stored. Now, of course, I'm in a body. So suffering is there. But I'm detached. That's how I survived South Africa. When you told me about an episode where you went to buy medicines and the chemist made a racist comment at you, that's rampant in South Africa. But in order to live and concentrate on your work, you have to find a clear path where you no longer get affected by these things.
Roses on one side.
Thorns on the other.
Figure 11: Photograph of the artist at Matri Sadan ashram in Haridwar, Ganga riverbed in India. Date unknown.
CJ: Your poem, Caversham Center (2002):
What a lovely place
away from all worldly life
mountains, rivers, solitude
hard work
art working out
the team was great
malcolm was very dedicated to his work
brought out the best in us
the more i try to renounce the world
the more I get sucked in
now I am at Greatmore Studios
what next, where to
where will my soul lead me to
I want to live with the Gods
so desperately
to become divine
so desperately
to merge with my Beloved
so desperately
In our exchanges you often mention several experiences of residencies that touched your practice and you have had many over your career: Delfina Studios in London (1989-1992), Karl Hofer Gesellschaft in Berlin (1991), Maryland Studios in London (1992-1994), Monash University in Australia (2001), Thupelo International in Cape Town (2001), Casa Manilva in Spain (1992), Greatmore Studios in Cape Town (2002) and Caversham Press in KwaZulu-Natal (2002), Monash University (2001). Can you talk about how residencies were important to your artistic practice?
LJ: Residencies were important to my development because they expanded my ideas about art methods that I was exposed to. Also, living in different countries was very exciting. I met many artists and students that allowed my creations to grow. My residency in Berlin was also very lovely. I had my first divine experience in a studio in Wedding, Germany. One night in a dream, I saw a huge bird enter my room. In that state, higher than a sleep state, I recognised the bird as Garuda, a bird vehicle for the Hindu God, Vishnu. The next morning, I felt lightheaded and had a floaty feeling. I went out to the local town and felt even light on my feet, very blissful. I realised that a blessing had been given to me.
Figure 12: Brown girl Black stones Black girl Brown stones Crossing midnight
A beautiful silence. C.1999. Oil and mixed media on board. Size unknown. Photograph courtesy of the artist. Painted at University of Durban-Westville. Private collection of Professor Pitika Ntuli and Antionette Ntuli.
CJ: Throughout our exchange, I was frustrated by not being able to see your works in person to be able to almost touch your brushstrokes or understand the scale at which you render. At the same time, I was fascinated by how your paintings were mediated through the screen. Throughout our exchange, you also sent me images. You have kept a good record of not only your works but the process involved in making them, the moments you have shared with other artists during residencies or Swamis during your travels, or with audiences during exhibitions. You have created interesting GIFs that pull all these images of varying quality together that communicate a rich artistic life that you have enjoyed. I saw one of your works behind Prof. Pitika Ntuli in an online SABC interview clip after the passing of Desmond Tutu. It was exciting to see one of your works hung on a wall at a more realistic scale. But overall, getting to look at them in a miniaturised form on my phone, having them live among my own personal images, has opened up new kinds of intimacies for me with your life and works. Do you have plans to donate works and ephemera to an institution or loved one that will consolidate your legacy and make it available for purposes of education? How are you thinking about your art living as an archive?
LJ: I do have my work archived in some museums, but I am not sure which institution would collect my work in South Africa. The Durban Art Gallery did not support me during the 1994 to 2000 period. Same with the Johannesburg Art Gallery. So, I think this is not possible, but I will let the Divine take care of things.
Figure 13: Floods came Beds moved Bodies ached Most felt the pain Minds groaned
Thinking this, Thinking that. Sky rolled, Black Clouds. Water upon water, Wondering minds were confused . Now Earth, Mother of all Beings Rose once more Sweet Land
Let's care. Let the River flow freely with clear crispy water. And the birds will sing in harmony. Oh Gentle folks, remember, times are Wild. God Nature has her way, soon, sweet winds will blow. 2021-ongoing. Water colour and goache on water colour paper. 46 x 32 cm. Photograph courtesy of the artist.
CJ: Your achievements and experiences as a South African artist who has enjoyed a measure of commercial and/or critical success overseas is significant, but to a certain degree, you have been locally under-considered. Sadly, that is the story of what it means to be a certain kind of South African artist during apartheid and, tragically, still today. In a 1989 interview with Andries Oliphant, you said, “School in South Africa neither encouraged nor generated any creativity in me.”From my understanding of where we are currently with arts education in this country, I imagine that the reasons you would cite for why you said this about your experience of South African schooling then wouldn’t have changed much for young people in our rural areas now. Am I assuming incorrectly? Why do you think our country still continues to fail the arts?
LJ: This is a complex question. South Africa is the only country in the world that went through legalised apartheid rule that legally only ended in 1994. Yet, practically, people remained apart. A lot of trauma and pain was experienced, and it takes many decades to come out of this mental trauma. There is also the question of race and class. Divide and rule was a British strategy. In any country, there are majorities and minorities! Patrons of the Arts were the whites that promoted white artists and patronised some black artists. They owned the galleries and had the money. Since 1994, equal education was put into place, but the advantages still remained with the white communities. They controlled the galleries and buyers’ markets, the museums were mainly controlled by them, so it was very difficult for the artist who was oppressed during apartheid, who suddenly became free but had very little tools to work with. It may take up to 50 years to bring South Africa back to its former glory, before apartheid. The system of apartheid destroyed the culture, confidence and material empowerment of people. The way forward also depends on the new black elite, and white gallery owners and educators. The country will take a long time to heal.
Figure 14: Photograph of the artist in Prasanthi Nilayan, meditation tree in Puttarpathi, India.
