New Horizons: The Aesthetics of Statecraft

Partha Mitter, in his introduction to the book, The Arts and Interiors of Rashtrapati Bhavan: Lutyens and Beyond, traces the context all the way back to the debates regarding the colonial administration’s approach to the governance of Indians, in the early nineteenth century; between those that championed notions of European progress versus those who believed in preserving time-honoured traditions of the East, which were exemplified in the views of Thomas Macaulay and William Jones respectively, in matters of education. These debates had far-reaching implications in the architecture of colonial India, which Lutyens had to contend with even after a century.

The latter half of the nineteenth century, particularly following the suppression of the 1857 revolts, witnessed the projection of the British Raj’s political ambitions onto architectural forms. Art and architectural historian James Fergusson’s disdain towards ‘Hindu’ architecture, which he characterised as florid, and appreciation for the ‘scientific’ nature of Islamic architectural elements of the dome and the ‘true’ arch, championed a style which he called Indo-Saracenic. Embedded within the popularity of this style was a colonial conviction: that only the ‘civilised’ and ‘enlightened’ West could successfully achieve such a synthesis: something believed to be beyond the reach of Indians, who were seen as perpetually divided by communal tensions.

The early-twentieth century, however, saw impassioned supporters of indigenisation of art and architecture, parallel to the popularity of the Arts and Crafts movement in Britain. Perhaps the most outspoken in his support of Indian artisans and applied arts was Sir George Birdwood, curator at the V&A in London and later the Victoria and Albert Museum in Bombay (now the Bhau Daji Lad Museum).

It is within this atmosphere of debate that one must understand Lutyens’s decisions in designing the new capital of the Raj. His appointment itself was contentious, raising the key question of how Indian the new seat of power ought to appear. While some supported a classical, grand, and imperial style, others, such as Birdwood and E. B. Havell, the influential head of the Madras School of Art and mentor to Abanindranath Tagore, argued for a distinctly Indian architecture, built by Indian hands. The final decision, shaped by Viceroy Lord Hardinge, reflected an uneasy compromise: although sympathetic to the pro-Indian position, Hardinge ultimately considered a classical aesthetic essential, and thus entrusted the task to Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens, who was asked to incorporate indigenous elements into his designs.

The Rashtrapati Bhavan’s design, therefore, while employing the unmistakable vocabulary of Palladian classicism, is adorned by Indian ornament and elements everywhere—the temple bells around the otherwise classical pillars, the chajjas, or the jalis, or the imposing dome that would recall to any citizen of India the stupa of Sanchi.

The art within the Rashtrapati Bhavan complex, deserves as nuanced a reading as the design of the complex itself. Unlike the murals which adorn the Rashtrapati Bhavan, the paintings which hang from its walls are not part of the material fabric of the structures and yet form a crucial layer of its cultural and political fabric. While the collection of paintings and their placement have been in constant flux over the decades, the decisions to include or remove works, are symptomatic of the concerns that framed the canons of Indian modern art.

Lutyens’ vision for the aesthetics of the house emerges in the paintings which were specifically designed for certain spaces in the house. For instance, the Long Drawing Room, has two fireplaces facing each other above which hang two large landscape paintings. Both were painted by English artist Oliver Hall based on engravings by the eighteenth-century Dutch artist Jan Van Ryne, depicting Fort St. George in Madras and Fort William in Calcutta. The choice of the two fort settlements harks back to the early colonial past and creates an acknowledgement of the link between the some of the earliest colonial edifices and the newly built Viceroy’s house. In the paintings, Hall chooses to highlight the imposing built-forms and neglects Van Ryne’s focus on the river and sea vessel activity in the landscape—perhaps as a nod to the majesty of the building which houses them. Lutyens had niches built specifically for these works; so their form and placement, when read in conversation with his overall architectural choices, foreground a lexicon of the aesthetics of diplomacy he constructed.

However, the art at the Rashtrapati Bhavan, brings forth more than just the sensibilities of Lutyens, and the debates led by Havell, Birdwood, W. E. Gladstone Solomon (who was the Principal at Bombay's J. J. School of Art) and others regarding Indian art and the schools within. Even during colonial rule, Lutyens’ grand design was intervened in, and perhaps even interrupted, by the inhabitants, of what was after all a residence. The most famous example of this perhaps, is Lady Irwin’s redecoration of the ballroom in 1929, now known as the Ashoka Mandap, where she introduced tinted black mirrors and Lady Willingdon’s installation of a Qajar dynasty painting to the ceiling.

The central painting, dated c. 1820, was done in oils on canvas by an unidentified Persian artist, commissioned by the Qajar monarch Fath ‘Ali Shah, offered to George IV of England. Lord Irwin arranged for it to be transported from the India House in London, and once it was installed by the Willingdons on the ceiling, Italian artist Tomasso Colonello was commissioned to paint the surrounding area around the Qajar work’s centerpiece.

Atul Bose also served as the first curator of the paintings at the residence in 1945. With independence, the art collection also underwent radical shifts, with imperial and aristocratic portraits being moved and newer commissions taking their place. Notably, Bose also painted the portrait Dr Rajendra Prasad, India’s first president—a fitting nod towards a continuing tradition of portraiture adapted to suit the new democratic nation. Other modern artists, such as K. S. Kulkarni from the Bombay, G. R. Santosh, and Biren De, were also commissioned to paint portraits while B. C. Sanyal was commissioned for sculptural portraits. Kulkarni’s oeuvre is filled with abstracted figural forms like Sanyal’s, while both Santosh and De were part of the neo-tantric movement—strands of modernist practice that were seen as new horizons for the canons of Indian art.

The choice of these artists for the presidential portraits, reflects a thoroughly modern attitude, although it is worth noting that these artists were not without institutional affiliations. Both Sukumar Bose and Sanyal were founding members of the All India Fine Arts and Crafts Society, which set the foundations for the establishment of the Lalit Kala Akademi by the Indian government in support of the visual arts in 1954. Sanyal later served as the Akademi’s Secretary while Kulkarni went onto serve as its President.