Many posts and half a world
away, (see here), it was pointed out that, contrary to staid classical expectations, the
traditional art of the gothic cathedral, like that of the ancient Greeks, was
bright and garish with an emphasis on primary colours. We might value the hewn
beauty of gothic stone, but medieval man did not. He had no hesitation covering
cathedrals and statues with bright colours in a garishly unsubtle array. The
author is reminded of this once again because the good people of the Himalayan
hills, where he is currently situated, display exactly the same love of bright
colour.
That previous post made reference to the shock of colours found in a
typical Hindoo temple. This is certainly true, and there are many instances of
it all about, but it extends further to the domestic and other architecture of
these quite traditional people. Darjeeling, queen of the hill stations, is
festooned with colour. The houses, doors, windows, lintels, panes – everything
– is typically painted in bright enamels, a splash of copious colours against
the sober green of the tea gardens and the forests of the region. Certain
colours are favoured, certain shades of blue and green, but the over-all effect
is of a patchwork. There is a festival of colours here, usually applied by
amateur painters as required, with little thought for the surrounds. Certain
combinations are favoured, and even what might loosely be called ‘colour
schemes’, but it is clear that personal preference prevails along with, most
probably, the demands of whatever paints might be available.
The patchwork is
part of the great charm of the hill station, but it is not by any means
peculiar to Darjeeling. The simple fact is that traditional people like bright
colours. They paint their houses bright, and if something is sacred – a temple,
an idol – then they paint it even brighter. Here are some samples of the
colours on domestic architecture, some of it the domestic architecture of very poor people, found
around the sloping streets of the town.
A point worth noting,
is that the people here – like traditional people everywhere, in fact – have no
particular affinity for nature, as such. It is a total fallacy to suppose that
these people – sturdy, poor hill dwellers – are “close to nature”. Not at all.
They are not hippies who try to make their houses blend into the forest. Earthy
as they are, they have no particular “earth consciousness”. If, out of
necessity, they have to construct their homes of crude natural materials, they
will quickly slap a coat of bright blue enamel paint over it, with glowing
orange trims, as soon as they can. Their connection to the earth and “nature”
is nothing like what romantic fantasies of Western ecologists imagine. If
anything, they have a very traditional fear of nature, if we may describe it so, and want to distinguish
their homes from the works of nature as much as they can. If a stone is sacred,
they will not leave it “natural” – they will paint it blood red, as primal and
as “unnatural” as possible. They have no respect for "natural". This is not New Age “biotecture” and is not related to it in any sense.
The one important exception
to this, let us admit, is found in Japan, for the Japanese do have a love of natural materials
and will let the colours and textures of nature prevail. Western sophisticates
have inherited this Nipponese aesthetic, but it is in fact part of modernity’s
debt to Japan – the Japanese set out to be authors of modernity, and we see it
in preferences for simplicity and naturalness in modern tastes. But it is not
the norm elsewhere, neither in the traditional (medieval) West nor in the East
today or yesterday. Primal man loves primal colours.
Below are some further
samples of the many colours of Darjeeling:
Harper McAlpine Black
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