Non-Conformists and Wizards of Himalayan Art

In February a new exhibition opened at the extraordinary New York City repository for Himalayan art known as the Rubin Museum of Art. Fortunately for us, it will continue until September 4. Titled "Holy Madness: Portraits of Tantric Siddhas," this literally enlightening show features numerous depictions of strange and bizarre legendary holy people.

Jalandhara, Tibet, c. 15th century, metalwork, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore (Photo courtesy of Rubin Museum of Art)

Harry Potter has nothing on these wizards, who could stop the sun in its tracks (Virupa, the Ugly One, used these powers to avoid paying for his drinks), ride tigers, cut off their own heads and regenerate, levitate, and contort their bodies into impossible yoga positions.

The Sanskrit word "siddha" means "accomplished one." The definition of tantra, much misunderstood in the West, has to do with secret teachings, initiation rites, and texts. And the goal is enlightenment or liberation within a lifetime. Eighty-four of these curious "saints" were said to have transmitted Tantric Buddhism from India to the Himalayas from about the 7th to 11th centuries.

Running rampant with their eccentric behavior, dress, and activities, many of these ostensible madmen (and a few women) can be seen at the Rubin in the forms of colorful tangkas (religious scroll paintings) or marvelous sculptures. Frequently grotesque, these crazed creatures defy social norms. Purposely wearing their hair and beards uncombed, unkempt, or matted, they cavort naked or in rags. Whether kings and queens, workers, or peasants, they sought to break down societal restraints, most particularly the caste system. Often passionate and enraptured, they dance, sing, have cosmic sex, and recite poetry. Many of the siddhas consort with the dead and disembodied; they meditate or even copulate in the so-called charnel grounds, where Himalayan peoples cremate their dead or set out bodies for the vultures ("sky burial") because of the impossibility of burial in the rocky grounds. Here they confront head-on the impermanence and immateriality of this earthly world, in an effort to achieve transcendence.

Shakya Senge with Ten Mahasiddhas (8th in a set of 9), Tibet, 19th century, mineral pigments on cloth, Tibet House Museum, New Delhi (Photo courtesy of Rubin Museum of Art)

The show begins on the museum's sixth floor, its highest one, and continues on the fifth. A large, gilt copper sculpture (Catalog No. 82) sparkling with inlaid jewels, the "Madman of Tsang," greets you at the top of the stairs. Seated on a throne-like elevation ornamented with an animal head, he holds two symbols in his hands, a skullcup (made from the upper portion of a human skull) and vajra. The former reminds us of death, while the latter, a small diamond or thunderbolt scepter, is associated with the enlightened mind. His black topknot contrasts with his gleaming gold body, and he smiles slightly, indicating that he has found "inner bliss." One gets the sense that this man was "crazy like a fox," since he managed to escape the monastic life for which he was ordained at a young age. Instead, he became a great biographer and compiler of poetry (still considered the finest in Tibet). His full name was Tsangnyon Heruka, Sangye Gyaltsen. He lived from 1452-1507 and was not a siddha himself, but rather, what is called an epigone, or incarnation of an earlier Indian mahasiddha (great siddha), named Tilopa.

The second major work to captivate me was, by coincidence, a depiction (Catalog No. 72) of this very Tilopa, who lived from 988-1069. A large, well-preserved, two-dimensional appliqué of silk brocade and velvet sewn together, it dates back to the 18th century. The ascetic Tilopa sits on an animal skin (symbolic of his renunciation of worldly pursuits). His facial hair and the whites of his eyes are meticulously textured with separate stitches, contrasting with the painted strokes suggesting animal fur. Tilopa wears a crown bedecked with jewels and skulls, while holding a skullcup in his hand.

Tsangnyon Heruka, Sangye Gyaltsen, Tibet, 16th century, gilt metalwork with semiprecious stone inlay, Pritzker Collection, Chicago (Photo courtesy of Rubin Museum of Art)

Jalandhara, the Net Holder (Catalog No. 67), was another superb piece that caught my eye. A small metalwork sculpture, it depicts a siddha whose miniscule consort sits on his thigh, offering him a drink from a skullcup. Both figures are elegantly decked out.

On the top floor, a set of nine paintings depict Padsambhara (Lotus Born) and his Eight Emanations (Catalog Nos. 227-35). These paintings incorporate stories of some of the female deities. Mekhala and Kanakhala, for example, were two sisters who decapitated themselves because they possessed nothing else to give to the mahasiddha. (He brought them back to life as a reward for their selflessness.) Manibhadra, the "distracted wife," dropped a jug of water, causing her to have a sudden insight; she flies through the air. Throughout this unusual set, other siddhas commune in charnel grounds, ride animals, and engage in tantric activities.

Both the sisters and Manibhadra appear repeatedly throughout the show. Manibhadra, for example, is revealed in another scene from her life in the form of a small 11th- or 12th-century terracotta (Catalog No. 43). In this piece, the ripeness of life is strongly juxtaposed with death's horrors. Here a graceful, full-breasted, sexy, dancer-like woman stands under a leafy mango tree. But above the woman, in the tree's branches, there sits a bird, holding a severed human foot and leg in its beak. At the bottom right, another bird eats the entrails of a dead dog. According to legend, Manibhadra was one of the young maidens who went at night to the charnel grounds for an assignation with her lover. The tiny sculpture evokes her fear and dread, but also her determination.

Tilopa, Tibet, c. 18th century, applique of silk brocade, Nancy L. Rapoport (Photo courtesy of Rubin Museum of Art)

Another colorful female siddha, Lakshminkara, appears in several paintings. She was a royal princess who feigned madness to escape marriage to an unsuitable husband. Lakshminkara hid in the charnel ground, and became a mahasiddha through tantric meditation with the sweeper of the royal latrines.

Interspersed with the many depictions of siddhas are contemporary photos of sadhus, aspirants to siddha-hood. Siddhas and sadhus meditate and/or practice yoga in isolation, in caves, forests, and by streams. Depictions often hover between the real and the supernatural. It should be remembered that most of the legends described in the show are just that. Most siddhas are based on real historical figures, but little is known for sure. The powerful legends, however, form an integral part of the culture and religions of the Himalayas.

The well-displayed, clearly labeled exhibits at the museum are impressive; magnifying glasses for examining the details are provided on every floor, along with well-informed guides who will answer questions.

The Rubin often features music; I have heard a Chinese pipa, Mongolian horse-head fiddles, and attended an ongoing jazz series, "Harlem in the Himalayas." Films, discussions, and workshops can be found in the calendar on their Web site (www.rmanyc.org). The Rubin Museum of Art is located at 150 West 17th Street. Hours are Monday and Thursday, 11 a.m.-5 p.m.; Wednesday, 11 a.m.-7 p.m.; Friday, 11 a.m.-10 p.m.; and Saturday and Sunday, 11 a.m.-6 p.m. The museum is closed on Tuesday.

Art historian Greta Berman has been on the liberal arts faculty since 1979.