Press release | Zurich, September 2019

Gitagovinda – India's Great Love Story

24 October 2019 to 16 February 2020

The Gitagovinda, which translates in English as 'Krishna's song', is first of all one of the most
important works of Indian literature. Why, then, does a museum devote an exhibition to this
epic poem, composed by Jayadeva at the end of the 12th century?
The Gitagovinda is above all a poetic love story, a story of lust in love and love lost, dominated by the
cross-class relationship of the God Krishna with the cowherd girl Radha. The two main characters run
through the entire gamut of emotions that such a relationship has in store for lovers.
However, the Gitagovinda is also a masterpiece in the world of miniature painting. For the first time in
Switzerland, the Museum Rietberg shows the key scenes of a series of priceless miniatures illustrating
the poem. The quality of these paintings, realized by famous court painters of the 18th century in the
Pahari region, a region renowned for its impressive school of miniature painting, established the
reputation of the Gitagovinda as a remarkable work of Indian art as well.
The love between the all-too-human blue-skinned God Krishna and the simple cowherd girl Radha is
one of the most famous myths of the Indian cultural world. The poetic language and the refined
paintings of the Gitagovinda fuse in a unique fashion to produce an artwork of a great beauty, which
keeps the public under its spell, even today.
The paintings, sketches and drawings exposed in the present exhibition belong primarily to the
internationally renowned collection of the Museum Rietberg itself, completed by precious loans from
private collections, the Musée national des arts asiatiques Guimet, Paris, and the Government
Museum and Art Gallery Chandigarh, India.
The Gitagovinda composed by Jayadeva belongs to the great works of world literature, and the
pictures by the Guler painter are treasures of world art. Viewed from the literary angle, the story of
Radha and Krishna stands on its own singular merits, just as Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet does.
The painterly version is, from an art historical point of view, just as remarkable as the Giotto frescoes
in the Basilica of San Francesco in Assisi.
The exhibition also provides an opportunity to learn more about the particularities of Indian painting, as
well as about the work and the technique of some of its most famous artists.

Gitagovinda as one of the two most celebrated love stories of India

There are two world-famous love stories in Hindu literature written in Sanskrit. Both of them have
figured prominently in Indian art, notably painting, and were popular with devout Hindus for centuries,
and still are today. One of those works is the Gitagovinda, a love poem from the twelfth century that
describes the tortuous windings of the love between the god Krishna and Radha, a cowherd girl. The
other is the Ramayana, an epic that narrates the adventurous story of the legendary prince Rama and
his wife, Sita. This work was already presented in a large and comprehensive exhibition at the
Museum Rietberg in 2008.
The love trysts of Krishna and Radha were also, although only in excerpts, presented at two other
exhibitions: Liebeskunst [The Art of Love] (2002) and Mystik [Mysticism] (2011). Composed by the
poet Jayadeva, the Gitagovinda can indeed be read both as a story of lust in love and love lost as well
as a profoundly felt, religious encounter—a unio mystica—between a deity and a mortal.
This epic love story contains twelve chapters divided in a total of twenty-four songs.
Gitagovinda as a source of inspiration for artists and as a multimedia artwork
Indian painting from the sixteenth to the early nineteenth century was a court art executed for the
delectation of monarchs and their entourages. Commensurate with its preciousness, the visual
thematic was ambitious, exquisite, and choice.
What would, therefore, be more suitable for a series of pictures than the Gitagovinda? A poem in
which the verses are seamlessly joined in matchless Sanskrit, and love is extolled in song as a divine
gift, composed by the poet Jayadeva for King Lakshmanasena in eastern India in the twelfth century.
Jayadeva’s Gitagovinda has in fact inspired numerous artists working in a variety of media and genres
in the centuries since it first saw the light of day—in poetry, song, instrumental music, dance, and, of
course, also painting. The story of the conjunction of divine love and human passion has continued to
fascinate and inspire new interpretation.
Even the perhaps most famous and skilled family of Indian painters could not escape its charm. Within
two generations, these painters created two extensive series in which the love story of the Hindu god
Krishna and the cowherd girl Radha is captured in pictures (Figs. 2 & 3). The first series is the work
known as the 'First Guler Gitagovinda series of 1730,' painted by Manaku, who was from Guler; the
second is known as the 'Second Guler Gitagovinda series of ca. 1775.' The latter may have been
designed by Manaku’s brother, Nainsukh, but it was executed by direct descendants of the two
siblings, who belonged to the so-called 'First Generation after Manaku and Nainsukh of Guler.'

Particularities of Indian miniature painting

In the context of Western art history, we define painting—with the exception of book illustration—
primarily as works that are painted on panels or are murals or frescoes painted on walls. In South
Asian art as well, murals and paintings on textiles used as wall hangings are common, yet many
painted works are traditionally made in such a way that they can be physically picked up and looked at
in the form of albums and books. This has influenced not only the choice of materials and ways of
working but also the size and formats of the objects. There are, nevertheless, various concepts for 'art
that fits in the hand' in Indian painting, depending also where and for whom it was produced.
From the sixteenth century on, illuminated manuscripts or books with continuous narrative content
were the main type of painting commissioned by the Mughal court. Albums or leporellos with pictures
and calligraphy of varying content were compiled according to criteria and concepts that even now in
some cases have yet to be thoroughly studied. Basically, it can be stated that pictures at the Mughal
court tended to be looked at in bound form. Individual sheets are rare, and those extant are works that
were intended for later codices. Others were used by artists and princes alike for exchanging ideas or
were rejects from planned book projects. Worksheets or artists’ freehand compositions are also
included in the definition outlined here. What is now in public and private collections in the form of
individual pages is, however, primarily due to the way the Western art market operates. On the one
hand, individual sheets are far easier to sell than entire books; on the other, a single sheet can be
conveniently framed and hung up on the wall according to Western notions of how art should be
treated. For the above reasons bound works were often cut up for sale.
At the courts of Hindu rajas or maharajas, on the other hand, painted pictures were not bound, but
kept as loose sheets wrapped in cloth bundles and stored in chests. These sheets comprise either
single images or form series illustrating a story or a treatise on a given subject. As far as content is
concerned, the single sheets tend to be iconic representations of Hindu deities, princes, court settings
with scenes in gardens or scenes of music making. However, single scenes with an open-ended
context such as a group of musicians or dancers are rare. Finally, single-sheet pictures of this kind
also belonged to princely collections that would have been deliberately compiled. Hence collections of
this kind are remotely related to the idea of an unbound album and may possibly also have been
inspired by albums as a collection of loose sheets. In the early nineteenth century, single-sheet
pictures were produced for travelers, tourists, and pilgrims as small, light, and, therefore, easily
transportable souvenirs.

Picture series in Indian miniature painting

Like manuscripts, pictures series are based on content that is complete in itself—whether this be due
to close ties with a text (usually mythological tales or poetry) or an established traditional genre (such
as omen books or ragamalas—music theory rendered in visual terms). Series based on royal portraits
and pictures of male and female deities, saints, or even the favorite elephants of particular princes—
here the content was determined entirely by the person who commissioned them or the artists who
executed the pictures—are very much freer in design. One thing is certain, however: individual motifs,
compositions, themes, figures, and so on can cross genre boundaries, by virtue of being an element of
an artist’s repertory in a series that may then be used elsewhere for a single sheet.
Series that deal with mythology or poetry have been very popular in Indian painting. Hundreds of them
are extant in museum archives and collections and in private collections amassed by art lovers, and
by descendants of the original owners. Still, it is safe to assume that a considerable percentage has
been lost over the course of centuries.
The links between such picture series and their source texts can be either very close or loose. Some
of these series tend to resemble retellings of the story while others illustrate the content in a loose
sequence. There are picture sequences that reproduce the most important events in a story, with
viewers expected to fill in the gaps themselves, so to speak. Other series are decidedly thorough,
incorporating the entire text to which they refer, word for word, as inscriptions on the pictures or on the
reverse of the sheets. However, unlike illuminated manuscripts, picture series definitely prioritize the
picture, which means that it has precedence over the handwritten text in terms of both aesthetics and
execution.
Indian myths are presented not only in short stories or anecdotes, but often as narratives on an epic
scale. Indian picture series from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries can easily consist of
hundreds of sheets. This may well partly explain why some picture series were never completed, why
only certain extracts or chapters were worked out, or why several different workshops were
commissioned to execute them.

The viewing experience then and now

From today’s viewpoint it is difficult for several reasons to reconstruct entire series, on the one hand,
and, on the other, to ascertain precisely how they related to the source texts. For one thing, most sets
have not survived complete because, like the albums favored by Mughal princes, they were split up
and the individual sheets are now in collections around the world. This has led to the pictures being
presented in museums and catalogues as individual works, complete in themselves. The information
that a piece comes from a set is mentioned (if known); however, the picture sequence is scarcely ever
on view.
This means that the original connection between the visual presentation as a painting and the textual
narrative cannot be reconstituted. Obviously, looking at an individual picture also clearly reveals the
aesthetic achievement of the Indian painters, yet the viewing experience is different from what was
originally intended for the work.

Two Gitagovinda series from one family of artists

The Gitagovinda is one such story or textual basis for a picture series, to which the family of painters
Manaku and Nainsukh of Guler devoted not one but two series of pictures within a timespan of a little
over forty years. On the one hand, the 'First Guler Gitagovinda series of 1730,' painted by Manaku of
Guler, and, on the other, what is known as the 'Second Guler Gitagovinda series of ca. 1775.' The
latter may have been designed by Nainsukh, Manaku’s brother, but it was executed by the so-called
'First Generation after Manaku and Nainsukh of Guler.'
It is safe to assume that the 'First Guler Gitagovinda series of 1730' was the work of a single artist:
Manaku of Guler. The aesthetic achievement represented by thus visualizing the Gitagovinda is
impressive indeed. Without being able to refer to a comparable visual model or prototype, Manaku of
Guler succeeded not only in interpreting the figure of Krishna as strikingly poised between divinity and
humanity but also in creating an exciting blend of succinctness and intensity in his visual rendering of
the powerful lyrics.
By contrast, the 'Second Guler Gitagovinda series of ca. 1775' was painted by a group of artists. The
conclusion that it was the 'First Generation after Manaku and Nainsukh of Guler' who executed this
series is based primarily on stylistic comparison with other pictures from Guler. The first generation
referred to here included Manaku’s sons, Fattu and Khushala, but also their first cousins, Kama,
Gaudhu, Nikka, and Ranjha, who were the sons of Manaku’s brother, Nainsukh. Their joint efforts
gave rise to a family style so extremely uniform and consistent that it has been hitherto impossible to
distinguish any single artist as the one mainly responsible. There is also a lack of historical
documentation that might contribute to clarifying the issue. Unlike Manaku, these artists had recourse
to a visual model they could further develop as they saw fit. Their approach to handling and
composition attests to superior skills matching those commanded by their fathers: narrative skill and
sensitive visualization of emotions interact optimally in the pictures in the 'First Guler Gitagovinda
series of 1730.' Yet how this style emerged or, indeed, how the second Gitagovinda series came
about, what the division of labor in the family actually was, and which siblings and cousins participated
in it are all unknowns. Some art historians have attributed the composition as such of the “Second
Gitagovinda series of ca. 1775” to the painter Nainsukh, a conjecture based on six small preliminary
sketches, which would have preceded the actual series of paintings, and the striking similarities
revealed in them to Nainsukh’s late style. That might indeed clarify the issue of who headed the
project but would not shed light on the division of labor needed to execute it. Still, from the
chronological standpoint this second series would coincide with Nainsukh’s last works and lay the
cornerstone for all the other splendid works and groups of works produced at the later Guler
workshop.

The Gitagovinda series

The two series are identical in scope: each consisted originally of 151 sheets. In both cases, the
pictures are now strewn worldwide. However, the first series is now divided between fewer different
places, most of them in India, and is also more represented in public institutions, than the second
series.
The first, very noticeable difference between the two groups of works consists in the framing or border
color: for his broad border, Manaku chose a brilliant red, polished to a high gloss. The younger
generation opted for a dark blue—only a handful of sheets in the second group have red frames—but
the reasons for this also have (yet) to be clarified.
Unlike the 'First Guler Gitagovinda series of 1730,' the 'Second Gitagovinda series of ca. 1775' was
made in two versions: as finished pictures and as drawings. Since this is an extremely rare occurrence
in the world of Indian painting, which had so many materials at its disposal, new questions arise about
the genesis of the series described below. Although not all sheets are known, let alone published, both
sets—the painted pictures as well as the drawings—were probably once complete.
The Gitagovinda drawings are notable for their meticulous precision and refinement, at least as far as
the figures are concerned. They also reveal traces of several work phases: the first brushstrokes are
discernibly overlaid with a thin layer of lime, on which, in turn, the exact outlines and facial features of
figures have been captured.

The genesis of a series

Size alone ensured that making a large picture series necessitated a highly complex work process
requiring exact planning and overarching organization definitely comparable with modern project
planning because the division of labor in a painting workshop exacts meticulous coordination.
Whereas workshops at large courts, such as the Mughal court, were highly specialized, employing a
great many artists and assistants, painters whose works were appreciated at Hindu princely courts,
some of which were much smaller, made do with operating on a more easily manageable scale.
These were often family businesses, to which all family members (and possibly also servants)
contributed their share. Nonetheless, it is safe to assume that, whether at court or in family workshops,
a master artist was in charge of overseeing serial projects. This is the only explanation for the
aesthetic and content-related consistency, uniformity, in fact stringency, distinguishing known picture
series.
Several factors determined the scope of a series. First of all, the length of the source text, of course,
but also the resources available to workshop and patron alike: time, personnel, material, costs—they
all contributed to influencing the size of a project. The wishes of the later owners of the works and the
style in which the artists worked also played a major role. The series bequeathed to posterity by the
immediate descendants of the brothers Manaku and Nainsukh tend to be very large in scope.
Today it is assumed that it was a single artist who had worked out the concept and execution of the
'First Guler Gitagovinda series of 1730.' The inscription on the last sheet, the colophon (now in the
Indian National Museum, New Delhi), allows the conclusion to be drawn that this painter was Manaku
of Guler. Even though he may have had support— for instance, in making the papers, mixing the
pigments, and for other minor tasks—the set is regarded as his work. It also seems to have been the
only one of his series to have been completed. Comparison with two other, albeit incomplete, series
painted by Manaku provide insight into the way he set about his work.
Before Manaku began to paint the pictures, he jotted down his ideas and composition schemes in the
form of relatively precise preliminary drawings. They were numbered and provided with content
summaries of the scenes the designs referred to, written in the regional Pahari dialect. The drawings
were not colored with pigments until the second phase of the work process, when they were worked
out to become the brilliantly colored drawings we are so enthusiastic about today. On the reverse, they
bear neatly executed inscriptions with Sanskrit quotations from the original texts. The fact that no
complete picture in the two incomplete series has a preliminary drawing and that no preliminary
drawing has a known finished painting suggests that two work phases can be assumed: successful
preliminary drawings were afterwards worked out as paintings.

The poet Jayadeva, author of the Gitagovinda

The text entitled Gitagovinda was composed in Sanskrit by Jayadeva in the late twelfth century.
A host of legends have grown up around Jayadeva’s life, but he probably lived and worked as poet to
the court of King Lakshmanasena in eastern Bengal. The poet’s own name occurs several times in the
Gitagovinda: he is named in it as the author of the work. Sometimes he praises himself or remarks
rather smugly in the third person that Jayadeva hopes the poem will please the gods. The author’s
chief source of inspiration for his work was India’s mythology, which teems with deities of all kinds.
The idea that the god Krishna grew up among mortal herdsmen in a rural region was not Jayadeva’s
own invention, however. In using this story line, he is referring to the traditions transmitted in the
Bhagavata Purana and the Harivamsa, religious texts that are older than the Gitagovinda by several
centuries and are about Krishna’s childhood and adolescence. As the tales tell it, Krishna – while still a
baby – was in danger of being murdered by his uncle, Kamsa, who not only lusted for power but, to
make things worse, descended from demons. For this reason, the infant Krishna was spirited away to
a rural hideout, where he grew up in the small village of Gokul near Vrindavan. Apart from a long list of
heroic feats accomplished by Krishna, pranks and all sorts of mischief are also imputed to him in his
youth. In addition, even in these early texts there are anecdotes relating how, with his already
glamorous looks, Krishna used to turn the heads of the village women and cause them to neglect their
domestic obligations.
This is the motif that Jayadeva picks up. Yet he also introduces an important innovation by
amalgamating the anonymous herdswomen to invent a single figure, giving her a face and a name:
Radha. By condensing and individualizing the tales of lovesick cowherd girls, Jayadeva has created a
new heroine for Indian literature, but also—as we will see—for the history of religion. Jayadeva uses
this female character to describe the emotions and passion a youthful god like Krishna can unleash in
a young woman. But the object of adoration does not leave this love unrequited.
What is so outstanding in the literary sense about the Gitagovinda is, however, not just the poetic
language in which the love story is clothed; the work represents a high point in the classical canon of
Indian poetry and became the model for later religious poetry.

What is bhakti?
To the present day, the Gitagovinda has remained one of the most important reference texts and
sources of inspiration in India for bhakti, a devotional form specific to Hinduism.
The world of Indian religion is diverse and embraces a wealth of denominations, practices, traditions,
ideas, and observances. A large majority of Indians, more than eighty percent of India’s population,
identify as Hindus, yet this religion, too, is as diverse as India itself, and many a scholar has wondered
whether it is really a single religion. What is perhaps best known about Hinduism is the large number
of gods and goddesses it has in its pantheon: countless tales in all sorts of variants are told about
them, and there are many forms in which adherents of this religion can imagine the divine and
venerate it. Hinduism is unthinkable without this diversity.
An important facet of religious life in India is called bhakti, which means sharing in devotion to a deity.
The pivotal aspect of this concept is a mortal’s devoted love for a god or goddess. Faith is equated
with love, and, ideally, human beings give themselves over to this love entirely. Thus acting in
accordance with religious beliefs becomes a profoundly emotional matter, especially because this love
is strongly shaped by yearning and desire for something that is unattainable, absent, constantly
eluding the worshipper’s grasp. Hence this form of love for god entails not only moments of rapturous
fulfilment but also all the other feelings and ambivalent aspects that (presumably) unrequited love
arouses.
The consequence of thus emphasizing love and emotionality (the observable physical and behavioral
side of emotion) is that the physical side of the deity venerated plays a large role in how the devout
imagine him or her. Emotions and feelings are for the most part sensorily and physically
experienceable and palpable. Poetry, music, art in all its forms make it possible to express the full
emotional power of those experiences; hence veneration in bhakti often takes place in a markedly
aesthetic way, an aspect which contributes to its appeal and vividness.
The Gitagovinda has, as it were, been associated with music since it was composed: not only is poetry
in Sanskrit recited in particular ways depending on the meter; Jayadeva appended precise instructions
to his work concerning the rhythm (Sanskrit: tala) and the key or melodic mode (Sanskrit: raga) in
which it should be sung.
According to Indian tradition, an art form (this concerns mainly poetry and music) must have a
particular rasa, a 'flavor' or 'juice'—that is, a particular poetic basic mood or undertone—in order to
elicit the appropriate bhava, 'impression' or 'feeling,' as a response from the public. Rhythm and
melodic mode contribute to this basic mood, which, in the Gitagovinda, is one of erotic love. It is the
mood that is experienced in bhakti: love for god. Since it is a poetic work, the Gitagovinda has as its
aim to put its public strongly into the mood that is truly appropriate to that love and, in so doing, also
becomes a profoundly religious text.

The Gitagovinda, its poetic language and its translations

The Gitagovinda was written in Sanskrit, in incredibly varied and shimmering incandescent language.
Full of allusions and newly coined words, it is distinguished by sonorous polyphonic figurations and a
rich range of vowels. Its rhyme schemes are abundant, featuring both alliterative meter and end
rhyme, and sparkling with alliteration—a succession of words beginning with the same or similar
consonants. All these qualities make it terribly difficult to translate this sonorous, rhythmic sacred song
into any other language.
The first translation into English was by William Jones (1807), and it was rapturously received by none
other than J. W. von Goethe. In 1837 Friedrich Rückert (1788–1866), a poet and important linguist,
translated the Sanskrit text into German. This translation still possesses, if one takes the trouble to
immerse oneself in the wondrous text, an enchantingly mesmeric quality—ingeniously coined words
abound, with the translator trying to emulate the rhythm and diction of the 'singing' of the original text.
The most recent, and the first complete, translation of the work into German by Erwin Steinbach
(2008), which we are grateful to be able to draw on for the German text in this exhibition and in the
catalogue, is also a highly poetic translation with the same aim of doing justice as far as possible to
the original text. In English, many very different translations have been realized, both in prose and in
verse. For the English text in the exhibition and in the catalogue, we are happy to be able to quote
from the translation in verse by Lee Siegel (2009).

The collection of paintings from the Gitagovinda series owned by the Museum Rietberg
The Museum Rietberg's collections include eighteen paintings from the second Guler Gitagovinda
series (among which five are permanent loans), sixteen drawings from the second series (among
which one permanent loan), three paintings from the older series (among which one permanent loan),
and twelve other paintings.
The Museum Rietberg owes its important Indian painting collection, of which numerous Gitagovinda
pictures and drawings represent a precious highlight, to the intensive collecting activities of Dr.
Eberhard Fischer, former director of the Museum. Thanks to the groundbreaking research conducted
by the Indian art historian, Professor B. N. Goswamy, and the commitment to collaboration between B.
N. Goswamy and Eberhard Fischer, who have jointly dedicated themselves to studying the eighteenth-
century artists and their family studios in the Pahari region, we now have a good idea of the art of that
region in northern India.
The exhibition centers on the pictures and drawings from the 'Second Guler Gitagovinda series,'
dating to about 1775, which are well known in today’s art world and fetch top prices on the art market.
Between 2014 and 2017, exhibition curator Caroline Widmer began to study the Guler pictures of the
Gitagovinda under the auspices of a research project supported by the Swiss National Science
Foundation. Since 2018 she has been employed at the Museum as our curator for Indian painting and
has continued her work on the Gitagovinda series, curated several smaller exhibitions, and
collaborated on other book and exhibition projects.

Website of the exhibition: rietberg.ch/gitagovinda_en

SUPPORTING PROGRAMME (selection – see rietberg.ch/calendar for all events)

Kathak Dance Performance 'Krishna – A Dance Drama' with the Panwar Music and Dance
Sun 27 October 2019: 5–6pm On the first weekend of the exhibition 'Gitagovinda' the internationally
renowned Indo-Canadian ensemble Panwar Music and Dance will perform at the Museum Rietberg
during their extensive European tour. The performance in the traditional Indian 'Kathak' dance style
narrates the mythical love story between the Hindu god Krishna and the shepherd girl Radha.
Auditorium, Park-Villa Rieter, CHF 35/25 (including admission fee for the exhibition on Sun 27 Oct), number of places limited,
registration at rietberg.ch/tickets

Song Workshop 'Sounding Images from Krishna's Life'

Sat 16 November 2019 and Sat 18 January 2020: 10–11.30am The singer Matthias Stöckli invites
participants to experience the Gitagovinda exhibition with him in song. In this case, the love story
between the shepherdess Radha and the Hindu god Krishna is underscored by sound, thus granting
viewers quite a new and different access to the magnificent paintings. Participants learn more about
the background to the story and the extraordinary painting technique applied by the artists in the
workshop.
Smaragd, from 5 years in company, CHF 20 per adult / CHF 10 per child, registration required: +41 44 415 31 31.
Headed by Matthias Stöckli, singer and Vera Fischer, art educationalist
Language: German

USEFUL INFORMATION

– What’s on, preview, guided tours, history and more at rietberg.ch

– Opening hours Museum and Café: Tue – Sun 10 am – 5 pm / Wed 10 am – 8 pm
– Admission CHF 18 / 14 (reduced)
– Getting there Tram 7 to Wollishofen as far as stop Museum Rietberg (four stops from
Paradeplatz). No parking spaces, except for disabled persons.

MEDIA CONTACT AND INTERVIEW REQUESTS

Elena DelCarlo Alain Suter

Head of Marketing & Communications Communications & Cooperations
Tel. +41 44 415 31 27 Tel. +41 44 415 31 34
elena.delcarlo@zuerich.ch alain.suter@zuerich.ch

For media information and images for editorial contributions: rietberg.ch/press