July 2023

Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran

Portrait of Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran, 2023. Photograph by Mark Porkorny

Shristi Sainani speaks with the dynamic Australian artist about his early life, inspirations, and vibrant body of work.

Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran (b.1988) is a Sri Lankan born contemporary artist who explores global histories and languages of figurative representation. He has specific interests in South Asian forms, imagery, and politics relating to idolatry, the monument, gender, race, and religion. While he is best known for his irreverent approach to ceramic media, his material vernacular is broad. He has worked imaginatively with sculptural materials, including bronze, concrete, neon, LED, and fiberglass, as well as painting and printmaking materials and techniques.

What were your first memories around art? Was there a moment of epiphany when you thought you had found your calling?

In the context of a South Asian domestic household, you’re always surrounded by color and interesting sculptural objects. I was never really taken to galleries and museums to look at art, capital A for Contemporary Art. But my earliest memories of loving art were based on two things, which were observing Hindu sculpture and second, drawing. I always loved to draw. I’d get a full copy paper and just scribble. That would occupy me. When I was growing up, a lot of boys my age were playing sports, but I’d like to paint, draw, and look at books. I was interested in imagery. My first love was painting. That’s the kind of language that has stuck within my work, even though it’s primarily sculptural now.

I grew up near Parramatta, a region in Western Sydney, which is not just the geographic center of Sydney but also has one of the highest levels of South Asian populations in this country. There were places proximate to here I can look back to now and find references in my work. For instance, the Westmead temple, where I remember all the sculptures on the facade wall and the color of the flowers. I remember the peacocks and chickens roaming around. During my younger days, I wasn’t taught to be religious. I was put through Christian teaching at the start, but I always loved going to the temple for events.

My parents came to Australia when I was one, in 1989, and I believe we had quite a typical migrant experience—where we were living and experiencing the community through cultural festivals and contexts. That’s where my love of vernacular South Asian languages started. For me, at the time, there was a sense that it was a bit exotic.

From an artistic perspective, I’m primarily interested in the historical, religious, sculptural, and vernacular that emerged through trade and cross-pollination.

Multi-Armed Bi Head (installation view), 2021, Art Gallery NSW. Photograph by Mark Porkorny

Throughout your practice, have there been recurring references? Are there images, myths, sites, relics, or histories that you revisit from time to time?

I have had a lot of ideas and journeys, but something that has struck me over the last few years is Gandhāran Buddhist sculpture. Especially living in Australia, I am interested in thinking globally. What is fascinating about Gandhāran Buddhism is that it is regionally specific to the ancient region of Gandhāra. But at the same time, Greco-Roman, through the style of drapery that was emerged through contact with Alexander the Great.

Upon research, you can see different styles of ancient vernacular sculpture, which initially seem to be regionally specific sculptural discourses, but in actuality, are multi-regional. I find that concept of syncretism gripping. I assess these styles and objects academically, but I also think they’re visually moving. I love looking at them, being up close to see the intensity of carving and modeling. I admire the kind of reverence that comes through the skill those artisans had at that time for Hindu and Buddhist sculpture.

When you’re interested in Buddhist imagery and ancient sculpture from Asia, there’s recent dialogue about repatriation. The other day, I was watching a documentary on Al Jazeera about Cambodian sculpture and how skilled teams come together to match the heads with the bodies through scientific and art historical research. Looking at that and thinking about figurative sculpture today, there’s something enduring about ancient works. Contemporary art sometimes tends to be more fleeting in how it grapples with people and ideas, but my fascination in terms of art is in what someone might consider ancient or pre-historical, which may not necessarily be by an artist but rather by a school.

Studio portrait courtesy of the artist and Sullivan+Strumpf. Photograph by Jessica Maurer

Please tell us about your first solo exhibition in South Asia, titled Mud and Rainbow, presented at Jhaveri Contemporary, Mumbai. Was there a specific impetus that inspired the body of work presented?

The exhibition’s title, Mud and Rainbow, came from Diana Campbell’s essay. The essay was commissioned for my monograph, and what stood out about the title was the idea of mud and rainbow sitting together as synonymic but also in contrast.

Mud could be somewhat monochromatic. It has neutrality in color scheme, but it also is so complex. It is ecological; it is land, it is earth, it is earth that moves and also represents a kind of danger through occurrences of landslides or flooding. But at the same time, there’s a mythological dimension where various cultures across the world have tales of creation, where some being has modeled life through mud. There was also the idea of a rainbow as an aftermath of rain; a notion that rain, especially given these few years around 2023, can sometimes be feared because of the way that the climate is changing. From a material perspective, clay is essentially mud. I add highly polychromatic hues with a set of chemical processes (glazing) to bring a rainbow color scheme into play.

You often refer to your pieces as ‘Fertility Figures.’ What prompts you to call them that?

When I was at university, I majored in painting, and the reason I moved towards making sculptural figures was because the references I was looking at were sculptural. This idea of a fertility figure is about creation, from a broader metaphor about creation. Art is a creative act, but closely keeping in mind that a lot of fertility figures across history and time, or even as part of pop-cultural references, are represented in the context of heteronormative capitalism. For me, the idea of fertility goes beyond the notion of reproduction. It also extends towards a fertile intellectual and cultural field. It can be used to explore a range of issues pertinent to current times and the past.

For the Jhaveri show, the fertility figure was this kind of zoomorphic figure which was drawn from the classical Madonna and Child paintings. There was a triangular formation where Madonna had two children instead of one, to birth an imagined, regal, monstrous animal but human thing. Here, I was thinking about species and genders moving together in this open way but also keeping the narrative loose. I often like to gesture toward speculation.

The Mud and The Rainbow (installation view), 2022, Jhaveri Contemporary. Photograph by Mohammed Chiba

The Mud and The Rainbow (installation view), 2022, Jhaveri Contemporary. Photograph by Mohammed Chiba

You recently put out a monograph. Please tell our readers a little more about the book—what were the aspects you were looking to cover in the publication?

The book documents about 500 artworks from the time I was at university. The process of putting together this monograph was preceded by precise archiving from 2014. It is published by Thames & Hudson. I worked with an editor, Jaklyn Babington. She was also the curator of my first institutional solo at the National Gallery in Australia, in Canberra. I wanted to think about the publication’s structure and design, and it was important for me to stray away from setting the format in chronological order. So, we resorted to formatting the book into three thematic chapters: zoomorphic, polychromatic, and monumental.

The design also had to have discursive qualities. I wanted it to be reasonable and clear rather than obscure or conceptual. It had to function as an archive. I worked collaboratively with the designer Evi-O for the book’s design to include a variety of experiences that kept the reader engrossed visually while also spelling out the trajectory of my work. The book has a range of different fonts, with some being hand-written and seven essays commissioned for the book. Out of the seven, the last I wrote myself. Each has a personality of its own. The overall style is somewhat strategically unstable. The essay I contributed to the book is Performing Materials and Process because when I read the other six essays, I thought it was important to be honest about the artist’s intuition. We want to think that contemporary art is entirely cerebral when in reality, it’s a combination of many things. And intuition, as a creative process, is something that is very much present while being incredibly personal.

“Art is a philosophy. It’s a way of life. It’s a way of moving through the world.”

— Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran

Video courtesy of the artist and Sullivan+Strumpf

While speaking about the book, you also said you couldn’t imagine that there would be a book about your work, let alone you being able to live as an artist. Let’s go back a few years to your time at university. What were you like back then, and what are a few instances that you believe shaped you into the artist you are today?

Coming from a migrant household in Australia, there was no template of what life as a creative practitioner could be. I was always academic and knew that art was an industry with jobs, but I didn’t really know or have a sense of how or if people could live as artists. I still sometimes think, Oh, I can’t believe what my job is. Yesterday, I spent the whole day with oil pastels, scribbling on paper to work out some ideas, and it’s amazing! But there are other times when I look closely to realize that being an artist needs something of a balance between organization and efficiency, alongside having time and freedom to experiment, explore, and move languages in compelling or unexpected ways. The process of speculation is essential.

But yes, admittedly so, I didn’t ever think I’d be where I am now. I suppose it was during the time of my honors degree that I decided to be an artist. Because it was then, there was an opportunity to research ideas without too much pressure from a syllabus. Pre-honors, the syllabus I was learning was quite uninspiring. There was little space for presenting cultural views in tertiary education, and that’s what I really struggled with. It was only when I did my honors I was able to develop a divergent stream of research and was encouraged to actively pursue the idea of being an artist.

Bust with Serpent Head, 2023, courtesy of the artist and Sullivan+Strumpf. Photograph by Mark Pokorny

Double-headed Warrior, 2023, courtesy of the artist and Sullivan+Strumpf. Photograph by Mark Pokorny

Terracotta Figure with Multiple Heads, 2023, courtesy of the artist and Sullivan+Strumpf. Photograph by Mark Pokorny

Your interest in fashion has been long-know, from a Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran T-shirt on sale at Sullivan+Strumpf years ago to today walking for Jordan Gogos at The Australian Fashion Week. Please give us your two cents on fashion—what place does the art of clothing hold for you in your life?

Art is a philosophy. It’s a way of life. It’s a way of moving through the world. I’m an artist, and anything else I do is somewhat of a parallel. I continually think of divergent ways to elaborate my sculptures through different materials and scales without seeing myself as only a ceramicist or painter. A single material is not fair game for me. The contrast of texture, where ceramic is hard to textile that is soft, is a temperament that heightens certain aspects of surfaces. That’s why I started working with textiles in ways and printing onto them, almost dressing sculptures as if they were Barbies. This idea of elaboration was how I could add dimensions to their life.

It’s interesting when people ask me this question—I think the fashion industry is more interested in art than the art industry is interested in fashion. Contemporary art can seemingly be mystifying within a hierarchy of creative practices. Whereas, in some capacity, there’s some democratic dimension to fashion.

Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran wearing Jordan Gogos at Australian Fashion Week

Please tell us about a project you found particularly exciting—this could be in terms of scale, context, patron, or anything at all. What was thrilling about the project, the biggest hurdle, and what were your learnings from it?

I am often drawn to scale, whether it’s the scale of site or mass. I’ve never presented minimal exhibitions, and I’ve been consciously collaborating with practitioners like designers, fabricators, and technical specialists to produce work. Moreover, at a point in time, I was looking at many of the historical references often placed in civic or outdoor spaces. So I thought to work with public space or understand how the language of my work would shift if taken out of the context of a white cube.

My most technically ambitious work was for the Dark MOFO Festival in Hobart, Tasmania. There were two massive figures surrounded by a fire pit. Using parts of automobiles or found materials, I collaborated with a lighting designer and an engineer to present the works in a car park. There was a playful, industrial interpretation to make the two figures seem like they had emerged from the site. They were both breathing smoke.

If you have heard of the festival, you’d know the theatrics the festival demands. That was transformative in thinking about the two pieces no longer restrained to a conventional gallery space. In some capacity, spectacle becomes crucial in large-scale manifestations. And its biggest hurdle stemmed from the same—It was in the pragmatics, which did not allow for flexibility after execution. Unlike my work in ceramics, I can’t get a brush and start changing things. Once the scaffolding is taken off, there isn’t potential for alteration. We’d then need to get up on a scissor lift.

Earth Deities (installation view), 2021, at Dark MOFO. Photograph by Jesse Hunniford

What are you looking towards next?

There are elements of my practice I realize in solitude or choose for them to be handmade, whereas other components involve the minds or limbs of other people. I find what is sustaining creatively, professionally, or even emotionally is working on projects with different methods. Some projects are more collaborative, while some are mine to resolve.

The next show is a solo exhibition at Tramway in Glasgow, where there will be another large-scale installation, but this time of a fountain. I am still at the design stage and, funnily enough, haven’t resolved this conceptually yet. It’s been a process, working with designers to figure out what the result could be. It will be a complex project involving building on multiple sites, with substantial logistics.

The work revolves around idols of water, and I’m looking at the narrative of a big fountain that’s pumping mud. There is a sense that a deity is causing either creation or destruction in some capacity. And to that sits parallel the intent to have two hundred little sculptures that suggest a potential for flooding or disaster. It will be a theatrical, immersive installation, very MOFO style but with greater capacity to control the environment.

Do you have a few last words you’d like to leave for our readers before we close the interview?

My key reflection is to maintain a connection with the current zeitgeist. It’s important to know what people of different generations are thinking, experiencing, and feeling. Your artwork can quickly become irrelevant if you don’t engage openly with the world. You should refine your perspectives by encountering diverse dialogues and keeping tabs on what’s happening technologically and culturally while engaging critically. Interesting people make interesting artwork.

Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran’s work has been presented in museums, festivals, multi-art centers, and the public domain. This has included significant presentations at the National Gallery of Australia, The Art Gallery of New South Wales, The Dhaka Art Summit, Art Basel Hong Kong, and the Dark Mofo Festival. Nithiyendran recently installed his first major permanent public artwork at the entrance of the new HOTA gallery.

Nithiyendran is frequently presented to the public in a diverse range of print, online, and television media related to art, culture, and fashion. In 2019, he received a Sidney Myer Creative Fellowship, recognizing his outstanding talent and exceptional professional courage. This same year he presented work in the largest historical survey of LGBTQ Asian Art at the Bangkok Art and Cultural Centre. His first 368-page monograph, RAMESH, was published and distributed internationally by Thames & Hudson in 2022.

The Art Gallery of New South Wales acquired his monumental work Towers, an installation of 70 ceramic and bronze figures originally presented in the gallery’s historic vestibule. His work is in various other public collections, including the National Gallery of Australia, the Art Gallery of South Australia, The Art Gallery of Western Australia, The Museum of Applied Arts and Sciences, The Ian Potter Museum of Art, and the Shepparton Art Museum.

Shristi Sainani is a curator, designer, researcher, and writer currently based in New Delhi, India, where she functions independently. Her interest lies in dismantling and assessing core concepts of exhibition making, specifically focusing on Contemporary Art churned through the diaspora of the Global South.

She also writes poetry, having published three books in the genre, and has contributed to several art and architectural forums. Her independent research focuses on collections and architecture of private art museums. Shristi’s paper on inclusivity in museum spaces won the INSC Researchers Award in 2021.

Shristi is a formally trained architect. She completed her Bachelor of Architecture from the University of Sydney and her Master’s degree in Curatorial Studies from the University of Melbourne.

Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran
@ramesh__mario

Shristi Sainani
@shristi_sainani

Sullivan+Strumpf
@sullivanstrumpf

Jhaveri Contemporary
@jhavericontemporary