Painting the Goddess

A story

Heather Dawe

‘Images of the goddess Nanda Devi are almost kaleidoscopic—she is Parvati, the gentle daughter of the mountains who illuminates the minds of sages meditating on the mountains and bestows wisdom on them; she is the angry goddess who protects her devotees by hurling her weapons at their enemies...

...she is the jealous maiden who feels threatened by mortals; she is the soft protective mother who is pleased with her devotee and loves her so, that she cannot live away from her, the radiant and gracious goddess of bliss...

...who bestows her name on the mountain, who owns the mountain, and who in fact, is the mountain.’

Vasudha Rajgopalan¹

‘But every morning brings clear blue skies and the sun breaking over the chaotic mass of peaks that ring the Nanda Devi Sanctuary.’

John Porter²

It was the twin summits of the mountain that were first illuminated by the sunrise. Beneath them, and under a shroud of light grey cloud, the mountain was a heavy navy-blue. On the eastern flanks of the peaks, the snow glistened a lemony yellow, edged with pastel pinks that complimented the wispy clouds illuminated vividly behind.

The scene before her was a photograph. She found it midway through a book she was reading and had stared at it transfixed. A feeling of calm filled her, along with one of wonder, eyes absorbing and picking out the different colours. Such variation; at times rich, but often subtle. And the light! Through her experiences as a painter, she knew it was the light that made everything.

Reading further, she found the mountain’s name. Nanda Devi. The book told her a little more—hints of the mountain’s surrounding Sanctuary and of the bliss-giving goddess, the sacred deity of this place, revered and worshipped by so many.

That first painting was the start. Standing at her easel, palette knife poised between fingers and thumb, stretched blank canvas and a line-up of oils before her, she began her journey to the mountain.

There was a thrill in trying to capture the look and feel of Nanda Devi. She had experienced such feelings before, but none so intense. As the oils layered upon the canvas and the mountain began to take shape, it felt like the freedom of painting took on uncontrolled direction. Guided by desire, she let her intuition take her. Up, up, into the sky the two ethereal peaks grew.

Oil painting rewards patience. As the layers of paint and delicate texture built, waiting for the canvas to dry, she researched further. She found more stories of the mountain’s rich heritage and culture. She began to collect further images that inspired her—the mountain at sunrise, cast in evening’s long shadows, vistas of the majestic twin spires from every direction.

She learned more about the Goddess. The nature of her festivals, mythology and folklore. And of her Sanctuary: so hard to reach, yet so sublime and peaceful. Despite the physical distance from the mountain, she felt connection. As she painted she could see, smell and hear the heady celebrations of the Nanda Devi Mela, feel the calmness and beauty of the untouched wilderness.

After that first painting there came another. Fixated with the place, she went on and on and on.

She began to show other people her canvases, gaining acknowledgement and accolades for her work. Prior to painting Nanda Devi, she had never come close to achieving such stature. In time she had gallery and society exhibitions devoted to her scenes of the Goddess, glowing reviews, deeply considered criticism, and became an honorary member of prestigious art academies.

These accolades showed no end of ceasing, they only grew. As she travelled the world to show her paintings, her patrons would marvel at the spirituality of her work, feeling that they could gaze into the works forever and be filled with calmness like never before. For the first time in her life, she had enough. More than enough, she wanted for nothing.

A mountain never looks the same way twice. The appearance and feel of Nanda Devi altered with the mountain’s mood, the weather, time of day and season of the year. Despite this, the original exhilaration she found in painting the Goddess began to wane. Even though she had never been in the physical presence of the mountain, she felt she knew Nanda Devi. She yearned to refresh herself by visiting other places in her paintings.

She began with a painting of her local mountain, Blencathra, which she had lived beneath for over 30 years. A massif of ridges, crevices, peaks and plateaus, this was a place she knew intimately, she had climbed and wandered about thousands of times. She chose a moody scene. Heavy, dark-grey cloud, rays of sun breaking through and illuminating the summit, what should have been easy turned out leaden and dull. She had not captured the essence of Blencathra; the painting carried no emotion, no meaning. No matter what hints at colour and light she added, the vibrancy, that had been so easy with Nanda Devi, would not appear before her.

She tried again with Cadair Idris; her earliest mountain love, the first peak she had climbed as a child. It should have been easy to capture the emotions she’d felt for this place in her younger days. A summit of Welsh kings in ancient Meirionnydd and location of epic battles between mythical giants of old. But as she layered paint on canvas, while the shapes that appeared formed the place, there was no sense of spirituality, mystery, desire or calm.

She pushed on through the sombre mood, determined to create a new exhibition of this work: scenes of mountains other than Nanda Devi. In time, a collection came together. Critics declared it lacklustre, way below her previous quality. Left bereft, she was filled with a sense of failure and despair.

What had begun as something wonderous in her mind now possessed a sinister edge. She was trapped in a creative prison. From afar, the bliss-giving Goddess had a hold of her. But this bliss has its limits, the Goddess demands devotion.

She tried harder to escape. Putting down her paints, she stopped trying to capture mountains and their mood through her art. She ceased to paint anything at all.

A heavy fog sank down upon her. And then the darkness came. Riddled with feelings of despair, she sought inspiration as a means of escape.

For what seemed like months, she lived through this darkness. It pervaded everything, her waking time and her dreams. She had been there before and found a way out. But only through painting. With this door closed the despondency seemed endless.

In time, she realized she no longer wanted to escape the pull of the Goddess. Sliding her paint-loaded palette knife across the chalkwhite canvas in front of her, she again finds connection with Nanda Devi. She is in the Sanctuary, all around her rich pastures, in a damp patch of mud the pawprint of a snow leopard. Around her is utter beauty and inside her, for the first time in what feels like forever, she senses complete peace.

 

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