Teachers, Sages, and Serpents
A Review of The Art of Knowing in South Asia, Southeast Asia, and the Himalayas
On view at the Smithsonian National Museum of Asian Art, Washington, DC, March 2023–ongoing
by Cheryl Sadowski
Book cover, probably for the Dharani Samgraha (Collection of Dharani-Mantras), 1650–1700, Nepal, opaque watercolor on wood, 4 1/2 x 20 1/16 x 1/2”, National Museum of Asian Art, Smithsonian Institution, Gift of Joyce and Kenneth Robbins, Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Courtesy of the Smithsonian National Museum of Asian Art.
“Are you a teacher?” a woman asks me upon entering the National Museum of Asian Art.
The museum is hosting a seminar on art and mindfulness in the classroom, and the woman, a docent, is busy directing teachers toward the session. “No, I’m here to see The Art of Knowing,” I reply. “But I can’t imagine a better compliment.”
Are you a teacher?
No, I’m here to see.
Already my visit sparkles with serendipity.
***
I’d long looked forward to this exhibit highlighting Hindu and Buddhist wisdom traditions from India, Nepal, Tibet, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia, and Indonesia. Featuring stone sculptures of gods and goddesses, gilt bronzes, and painted manuscripts from The Smithsonian’s Asian art collection, The Art of Knowing explores the role of visual culture in conveying religious and practical knowledge across time, space, and cultures.
The Art of Knowing explores the role of visual culture in conveying religious and practical knowledge across time, space, and cultures.
Ganesha—Hindu god of beginnings, remover of obstacles—is firmly planted at the gallery entrance, with his elephant head and round belly, one hand raised in blessing, the other holding an Indian sweet (of which Ganesha is fond). His forbearance suggests the appetite for knowledge cannot be sated hurriedly, only through patience and restraint. It is a fitting preamble to meeting other hallowed teachers who await further on in the salon.
There is Shiva—Ganesha’s father, cosmic dancer, god of creation and destruction—often misinterpreted by Westerners overlooking the message of recreation encoded in the snake around his neck and the body of ignorance on which he stands. Not far from dancing Shiva is stout Agastya, scholar of India’s diverse languages, considered by many to be the father of South Indian mysticism.
Do we learn by perception, wisdom, or revelation? What is the relationship between learning and divinity? And (most compelling!)—is knowledge a state of power, bliss, or heightened consciousness?
As I travel through the exhibit, I encounter provocative questions: Do we learn by perception, wisdom, or revelation? What is the relationship between learning and divinity? And (most compelling!)—is knowledge a state of power, bliss, or heightened consciousness? It seems only fitting to grapple with these questions beneath the gaze of some of the most revered teachers and sages from across South/Southeastern Asia and the Himalayas.
Near Agastya is a magnificent copper alloy and pearl statue of Padmasambhava, the “Lotus born,” held in highest esteem for bringing Buddhist teachings from India to Tibet during the 8th century. The opulence and juxtaposition of all these statues emphasizes a special reverence for teachers who traveled great distances to share their belief in knowledge and wisdom as instruments for living a good life.
The Art of Knowing reserves a special place for goddesses and bodhisattvas, purveyors of pragmatic wisdom on earth. They are not timid wallflowers but rather the embodiment of fierce, feminine wisdom. A small crowd gathers around a stone yogini from Tamil Nadu, carved between the 9th and 10th centuries. She is curvaceous and wild-haired, dual symbols of fertility and danger. She is also depicted with a broom and dustpan (not for housekeeping but for her temple), while missing from her hand is a skull cup from which she drinks blood—altogether a radical combination of elements.
The provenance of the Tamil yoginis is fascinating. Their temple no longer exists, and no one is entirely sure where it once stood as a roofless venue for 14, possibly more, flying yoginis. Almost all the statues were looted and sold to museums and private collectors around the world, so the sight of one yogini without her sisters is an historic rupture yearning for correction. Fortunately, there are a number of researchers and historians interested in trying to reunite the goddesses after centuries apart.
Padmasambhava, central Tibet (mid-18th century), gilt copper with turquoise and pearl, National Museum of Asian Art, Smithsonian Institution, photo by author.
Continuing in the realm of the feminine divine is a ruby-colored wooden cover from 17th-century Nepal adorned with seven goddesses, their arms interlocking in protective cover of the folio pages inside the box. Each folio contains a set of dharanas, short texts meant to be spoken aloud as a mantra for reaching higher consciousness. The goddesses are both guardians and visual representations of tantric chanting.
Animal spirits are part of classical wisdom traditions. The exhibit features several nagas, superhuman serpents that resemble a Chinese dragon without legs, and Garuda, the divine eagle, with nagas coiled at his feet. The appearance of animals in South/Southeast Asian art contains multiple meanings: they are benevolent bearers of the good fortune that accompanies the quest for knowledge, while warning of the cost of persistent ignorance and non-knowing.
***
In the arena of civic education, it’s important to articulate not just how you know something, but the nature of that knowledge.
Why this emphasis on knowing? Ways of knowing (how we “know” what we claim to “know”) is a critical aspect of Western liberal arts curricula. In the arena of civic education, it’s important to articulate not just how you know something, but the nature of that knowledge. Is it empirical, institutional, rational?
While it can be a mistake to draw a simple dividing line between West and East, The Art of Knowing is dedicated to the unique modes of spiritual storytelling found in South/Southeastern Asian symbols and statues, mantras and manuscripts. These art forms were not created for the sake of their own beauty or aesthetics, although those attributes are undeniable. The artworks function as agents in conveying how transforming ignorance into wisdom destroys suffering.
***
It may be happenstance the exhibit is bookended by a map of South/Southeast Asia and by a canvas titled, Text Decoded, painted in oil and wax by the artist Jagdish Swaminathan. The map is extraordinarily helpful for seeing how Hindu, Buddhist, and Jainist wisdom traditions blossomed across the continent throughout the course of history, while the painting plays with the idea that such knowledge can be decoded, whether in one lifetime, or several.
Text Decoded by Jagdish Swaminathan (1993), oil and wax on canvas, National Museum of Asian Art, Smithsonian Institution, gift of Mahinder and Sharad Tak, photo (with digital Buddha overlay) by author.
I wasn’t entirely surprised when a digital image of the Buddha from one installation floated across the glass-encased painting as I prepared to exit the gallery. Buddha’s silhouette stayed just long enough for me to capture a photo, and then he disappeared.
“Okay,” I said, sotto voce, to the teacher. “The rest, I suppose, is up to me.”
Cheryl Sadowski writes about art, books, landscape, and nature. Her essays, reviews, and short fiction have been published in Vita Poetica, The Ekphrastic Review, After the Art, and other publications. She is a 2023 Pushcart nominee and winner of a Grantchester Award by The Orchards Poetry Journal. Cheryl holds a Master of Liberal Arts from Johns Hopkins University and lives in Northern Virginia.
