On Shantha K. Herath's poetic 'Lakuna' in Sinhala literature
I
was gifted two books last week: 'Hithopadeshaya nokee kavi' (Poetry not
found in the Hithopadesha) and 'Digu patu manpeth' (Long and narrow
pathways). The first, a maiden collection of verse by veteran Divaina
journalist Chandrasiri Dodangoda and the other a verse-illustration
'mix' (musuwa) by well known poet Thanjuja Dharmapala and equally
well-known illustrator/artist, Shantha K. Herrath. They were gifted by
Shantha, who had illustrated both collections and designed the book
covers. They were not given for review as is usually the case with
book-gifts from authors/publishers.
This
is not a review of either or both but a few words would not be out of
place. First, Dodangoda, my friend and former colleague, a soft-spoken,
lovely individual: he has written a wonderful introduction titled
Kaviyeku novoo kaviyekuge satahana (A note from a poet who is not one).
Brutally honest with himself, 'Dodan' admits that he always wanted to be
a poet but that's what had eluded him all his life. He therefore submits
the book to the reader with trepidation. He ends his note with this
beautiful thought:
'Long years ago, when still a child, I wrote my first poem. It was
for my little sister, who had died. Although I no longer even remember
her face, at this moment when I publish a book of poetry, I remember my
little sister.'
That 'Dodan' couldn't really turn this or any of the poignant
thoughts that touch his sensibilities into verse is not a tragedy. It is
not his genre, that's all. He has strived, yes, and this needs to be
appreciated. He has been honest about it and this too needs to be
saluted. He has got his rhyme right, the elisamaya is perfect, but rhyme
doesn't necessarily give rhythm and words in neat lines do not
necessarily constitute poetry. Now had he taken those thoughts and wrote
some essays, they would have been excellent, I feel. Instead, we have
Shantha's illustrations appearing to be, by default, the poetry that
Dodan's 'poetry' is not.
The Thanuja- Shantha combination on the other hand was exquisite. I
know that it is hard to write poetry as comment on a line-drawing,
especially not on something conjured up by Shantha. What would have
happened was the reverse. And yet, this is not 'illustration'. Shantha
is not rendering into art something that has been expressed in words,
but is commenting on it and in the process elevating and/or giving fresh
and new meaning. The overall effect is extremely potent.
Let me give one example.
'Wenadaata
ahasa beloo mal pethi
mala para voo daa patan
balanne ma
polowa desa…'
The flower that looks upon sky
from the first moment of wilting
looks (forlornly) at the earth.
The word 'forlorn' or derivative thereof is absent in the verse, but
it captured in illustration in a manner that persuades the reading gaze
to consider all the universes projected by the relevant metaphors.
This essay is not a review. The books urged me to write about
something else. Illustrations. Shantha K. Herrath's illustrations.
Shantha, like 'Dodan' was a former colleague at Upali Newspapers Ltd. I
knew him through his illustrations. He gave that newspaper a shape, an
identity and it didn't matter that I did not notice his signature or
knew his name. That took some time to learn; readers don't notice
bylines, after all. It was after I joined the Sunday Island that I was
accorded a full view of the man's artistic versatility. I saw his
cartoons. I saw him 'do' layouts. I saw his illustrations, how he made
stories jump out of the copy or added a subtle enhancing element that
did not intrude.
In an early interview (I believe in 2002) to promote an exhibition of
his work, Shantha told me he considered himself a student and that his
exhibition a learning-process. As 'illustrator' the tag he got was
'applied artist'. That would flow from a restricted definition, I
believe. Graphics, cartoons, visual art, commercial art, installation
and illustration are all different genres within the larger canvass
that's called 'art' and those who could be called true connoisseurs
would not belittle one over the other for it would be akin to saying
that oil paintings are always superior to acrylic, colour to black and
white, impressionist to cubism etc. The superior item stands out of
medium and other 'frames'.
I wanted to see more. Shantha obliged. When I visited his home in
Pannipitiya a few days ago, Shantha said he had designed more than 300
book covers over the past twenty years. The quality of reproduction and
the dulling effect of time had taken inevitable toll, but not so much
that one could not recognize that illustration was not just translation
into line, space and colour a capture-all titled made of a few words. It
was more. And it had the creative strength and expressive weight to
stand on its own outside the confines of 'Cover'. If, for example, one
took the cover-illustration of Monica Ruwanpathirana's 'Angulimaalage
sihinaya' (Angulimala's Dream), it has so many expressive elements,
line-space blends and a many-dimensionality that would warrant comment
by someone far more competent than I in the matter of art appraisal.
This is true of many of his book covers as well as the illustrations
he has produced for individual poems in some of the books he showed me.
The book covers do the work they are required to do; they jump at us
saying 'purchase!' The illustrations within do something else: 'read me
too' they say, the emphasis being on the last word. I went through
Dodan's book pretty fast. I floated through the Thanuja-Shantha
collaboration. I returned to Dodan's book and did not see a single word
in the text; but read a universe in the black and white communications
inserted by Shantha. I even felt, for a moment, that I understood art.
Finally.
I had more than a dozen books to look at. I haven't had time to read
them. I looked at the covers. They compel me to read them all. The early
illustrations, like those sketched for poems written by Yamuna Malini
Perera (her 'Nayata gath saajjaya' or 'Party on rent') indicate the
promise of Shantha's 'experimentation' with the genre but suffer from
terrible reproduction. The illustrations in Ashoka Weerasinghe's 'Abhinikmanata
Pera' (Before the departure) are bold and confident and indicate a
maturing. His sketches for Buddhadasa Galappaththi's 'Nim nethi thunyama'
to my mind, salvage what is not the poet's best effort. The
illustrations for a book titled 'The Valley Below' (English translations
of selected poems by the same poet) illustrate Shantha's relentless
fascination with exploration. He's not being. He is becoming. There's
movement from the original Sinhala to the transliterated English.
We are living in a world where word is not enough, some feel. There
has to be image. On the other hand, we do know that some, for example,
Mahagama Sekera, Simon Navagaththegama, Jayatillaka Kammellaweera and
Ariyawans Ranaweera, painted and photographed with words, such was their
mastery over language. We know that there are others, like Dodangoda who
can paint with words, but only when employed to produce prose and that
when they try poetry, they need a Shantha K Herrath to rescue them. Then
we come across a book like 'Digu patu manpeth' and we know it's not
always about this or that, black or white, but blend is possible and
that neither white nor black is lost is each enhanced in juxtaposition
and in union. In this book, there is flourish, but not the kind of
finality that makes one read/gaze and close the thought-book, but a soft
brush stroke that coaxes us to reflect, on word, line and other things
too.
Some day, some student of art, will no doubt go through the Divaina
archives and also the other newspapers Shantha was associated with, The
Island, Mawbima and now Lakbima, and trace the development of his line
drawings. Theses might be written too. Someone will say something more
conclusive than I could ever say about his versatility. He has already
made a mark. He's busy honing it, I can see.
Malinda Seneviratne is a freelance writer who can be reached at
[email protected]
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