“Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off from the journey.” ~ Pat Conroy
When an invitation to relive or extend a journey offers itself, I will always take it, no matter in what form. Often, after visiting a foreign country, I will bask in a book set in that locale, extending my experience of that place. When I come across buildings or gardens with particular architectural styles, those commonly found in exotic locales — European Gothic cathedrals, Chinese dragons or gates, Japanese gardens, Islamic mosques — my heart skips a beat; I ease back in time to my wanderings through those magical places. Whenever I take urban hikes through cities or natural landscapes, I feel that same sense of adventure I had when immersing myself in an exotic place; I remember the anticipation as I set off to explore China’s Longji Rice Terraces or Nepal’s village to village trails.
I felt a sense of exhilaration, as well as nostalgia and longing, on visiting the new South Asian Galleries at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I was taken back to a not-so-long-ago time when I lived and traveled extensively in South Asia. I loved meandering through the happy reminders found in this place.
We had already visited the “Paint the Revolution” special exhibition and, rather than exhausting ourselves trying to see the rest of this great and sprawling museum, we picked one part of the permanent collection to visit. We walked up to the second floor via the Great Stair Hall Balcony and headed for the reopened South Asian Galleries.
We passed through the European Art Gallery from 1100-1500 on our way to the South Asian Galleries.
First we came upon some mosaic tiles from Iran. As these are Islamic, they reminded me of so many beautiful tiles I found in Oman, UAE, Egypt, and even in southern Spain, originating from the Moorish conquest. These Tile Mosaic Panels from Iran (Isfahan) are from the Safavid dynasty, 1501-1736.
I visited what seemed like infinite numbers of Buddhist temples in Korea, Japan, China, Myanmar, Vietnam, Singapore, and Thailand, and, to this day, I always feel a sense of peace when I see Buddhist figures anywhere in the world. Here, we found a gilded bronze White Tara, Buddhist Goddess of Compassion (1700s-1800s) from Inner Mongolia, Autonomous Region (Dolon Nor, Chahar province, China). The compassionate Buddhist goddess Tara is a bodhisattva (Buddhist savior). The eyes on her palms and forehead show that she sees and helps all living beings.
This Chinese cabinet is covered with symbols from ancient China: cranes as symbols of longevity and immortality; two deer, a stag and a doe, symbolic of domestic harmony between husband and wife; pot-shaped vase designs, painted in blue and green, suggestive of endless wealth; and lotuses representing purity.
The man in the detail of one panel is a successful merchant and the bolt of cloth next to him likely refers to his source of wealth.
In Tibetan Buddhism and Hinduism, a mandala helps seekers of enlightenment along their spiritual path. It represents both god’s palace and the entire cosmos in a geometric-circular format. It may be two-dimensional (a drawing or painting) or three-dimensional (a sculpture or architectural space).
By meditating on a mandala, a person undertakes a mental journey, beginning in the outermost circle – which can hold human patrons, teachers and lesser deities – and progresses inward to become one with the god or divine couple at the mandala’s center (according to a sign at the museum).
This Satchakravarti Samvara Mandala from Tibet is made up of six smaller mandalas. Each holds a different Buddha in sexual union with his female counterpart.
Mandalas are also found throughout Nepal; I bought a couple in Kathmandu to bring home. I still need to find a place in my house to hang them.
A thangka is the Tibetan term for a painting made on cloth that can be rolled up for travel or storage and unrolled and hung for use. Thangkas most often depict Buddhist deities, renowned religious teachers, or a mandala (a god’s cosmic palace). In Nepal, these types of paintings are often called paubhas. I bought one of these in Nepal, as a memento of my journey.
I cherish the mementos I have of my Asian travels, and of all my travels. They preserve and extend my travel experience. Collecting these items turns my travel into a collective experience of my repeated immersions into different cultures. Displaying them in my house surrounds me with happy recollections of travel moments and what I gleaned from them – a sense of independence, resilience, adventurousness and camaraderie with fellow travelers. These mementos spark a yearning to return to places I’ve been, to explore them again with fresh eyes and a new depth of appreciation.
In a traditional residence of a Chinese nobleman, a reception hall was the most formal building, where official activities were conducted. This Reception Hall from the Palace of Duke Zhou, displayed in its entirety here, was originally part of a Beijing palace built in the early 1640s. The hall has a thirty-foot ceiling and brilliantly painted floral and animal motifs on its beams and brackets that convey auspicious wishes. This hall is presently furnished with works of art dating between the Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) dynasties, the period during which the hall was in use.
It was dark in the room where this reception hall was exhibited, so it was difficult to get a photo of anything but one of the painted roof beams. Beams such as these in China delighted me every time I encountered them and remembered to turn my eyes to the ceiling.
I love the grand vision of the museum’s Director Fiske Kimball (1888-1955), who envisioned architectural elements providing historical context to objects on display. This whole reopened South Asian Gallery has architecture displayed in a grand way; I felt as if I were walking through ancient Asian cultures.
The hall in one large room is constructed as part of the Madana Gopala Swamy temple complex, dedicated to the Hindu god Vishnu and his avatar Krishna. Apparently a woman, Adeline Pepper Gibson, purchased sixty granite carvings she found piled in the temple compound from local authorities in 1912. Most of the complex still stands in the famous temple-city of Madurai in southern India.
A visit to South Asian galleries wouldn’t be complete without something from Japan. Some Japanese tea houses were set up here, but it was hard to get decent pictures in the strong light.
Surihaku theatrical robes are used exclusively in Noh drama to symbolize the uncontrolled passions of certain female roles. This Noh Costume from 1700s Japan is a silk satin weave decorated with patinated metallic leaf applied to a stenciled paste base (surihaku), representing the reptilian skin of the character, who has been transformed into a serpent or demon by the corrosive power of jealousy and hatred.
A modern piece from 2008, Kotodama (the soul of language), is embellished with word-filled fragments from antique books and accounting ledgers and layered scraps of red silk from kimono undergarments. For the artist, Maio Motoko, words had spiritual power. Here, the assembled fragments create a visual world of words.
Finally as we exited the South Asian galleries and made our way back out through the European galleries, we stopped to admire the French Gothic Chapel. I am always enamored by decorative doors, and these doors I find particularly beautiful. This one reminds me of doors I found during the two years I lived in Oman.
The chapel was composed of elements from two buildings that were part of a large religious community at Aumonieres near Dijon in central France that was administered by the Knights of Saint Anthony. This nursing order, founded in the 11th century, established many hospices.
We finally walked out of the Philadelphia Museum of Art by 3:20, only an hour and a half after we entered. It was a good visit and not too tiresome, and we were able to enjoy the special exhibition and one part of the permanent collection. We used a number of suggestions from the compact but interesting book, How to Visit a Museum. I hope to take to heart more of David Finn’s ideas for exploring museums during these winter months, when it’s too cold and generally miserable to explore outdoors.
~ Thursday, December 29, 2016