SET IN STONE

15 minute read

Berlin. November 2024

As I prepared for my trip to India, I tried to visualize the next few months. I thought it would do me some good to work in a lighter medium, perhaps paint again. In fact, I tried very hard to project this possibility, but subconsciously, I think my mind was set in stone.

For some years now, I had been seeing artists go to Italy for marble-sculpting courses. It seemed almost customary for a sculptor to attempt a version of their work in marble, and I can understand that appeal, because if you closed your eyes and had to imagine a sculpture, it would likely be one made of marble, if not another kind of stone. Marble certainly intrigued me, but not in Italy. 

My earliest memory of the material takes me back to the marble-laden roads of Kishangarh, a small town in Rajasthan, India, which I would pass for the next nine years to reach my boarding school in Ajmer. So, when I thought about working in stone, it almost felt fated to return to India.

I had all these questions amassing even before I had started. What would it feel like to create something with the least amount of materials: no paints, no brushes, no kilns, no screens, just a rock and the simplest of tools. What would I create given such circumstances? The thought alone felt very primal, like one of these early humans in the stone age. As many times before, it promised to be this starting point that I long to feel again and again in my work, and with every new medium, the challenge gets greater. Firstly, one needs to understand a material, its structural composition, that largely directs its use & application and then there are many ways to play with it, break that expectation while all the time asking yourself, why? 

With regards to motive I should also admit to a long-standing dream of creating a public art sculpture at some point in my life. Stone is the durable material of choice here and then there’s Modigliani, Moore, Noguchi, Shah, Radhakrishnan, and a few more sculptors whose work I see now more as an ‘artist-making’ than as a ‘viewer-watching’ and I want to experience that ‘creators-high’.

Fortunately for some people who take an interest in my work, I am burdened by an old habit of mine, an urge to document my creations as they are near completion. This isn't about the final outcome; it’s about the process and the myriad elements that shape the result, yet remain concealed within it. When that experience comes to an end, I often find myself overcome with a sense of sadness, a melancholia. Writing serves as a remedy. It provides closure to that state of elevation, preserving a record of the experience, the method, and the practice, extending the pleasure just a little longer.

Though, recently I’ve come to hear of a prevailing belief in the ‘art world’, that explaining (too much) about the process, can reduce the aura of the work itself. A contradiction to my way of doing things, and so the way I am going about to resolve this depends purely on the type of work. Most works can speak for themselves, but at times I have had more to say, especially when the story is not about me alone. Which brings me to this lengthy write up encapsulating such an experience, chasing stones, breaking some, working with metal and coming home to Jaipur, in India.

Image 1&2: A marble sculpting workshop in northern Italy, & a marble dumping ground in Kishangarh, Rajasthan, India

NEW DELHI

DECEMBER 2024

“With clay, force shapes, but with stone, restraint works better.”

To get things started, I enrolled at an introductory stone sculpting course in New Delhi at the Triveni Sangam Kala Academy. The stone I worked on was a black marble from the Mehslana region of Rajasthan. I was given a hammer, a few chisels and was directed to carve fully by hand to get a feel for the stone. It took a few days, a couple of hours each day to get a grip of the hammer and chisel. The chisel felt too thin in my hand to withstand the force of the big hammer in the other. I broke many chisels in my first two weeks. These were hand-crafted, with iron and carbide tips, and looked rather inexpensive. I assumed they were meant for training students and rookies like me. It wasn’t until I went to Jaipur that I saw where they were being made and also that nearly all craftspeople were using the same chisels. 

If you’re fortunate enough to not suffer from extremely sore wrists and shoulders, which is highly unlikely, you may be able to chip away the very bare minimum by the end of the first week. By the second week, along with strange body aches, you'll have gained some strength, a bit of rhythm, and more confidence. However, too much of that might be counterproductive since it will eat your stone, and there's no coming back from that.

For a ceramic artist, it’s a reversal in the process to work from negative to positive and it made me think of writing with my left hand while being right-handed. With clay, force shapes, but with stone, I felt, restraint works better. My teacher taught me how to work my way through in contours, it’s a principal technique of sculpting stone. You have to visualise your shape inside of the stone, and genuinely believe it lives inside it, so your task becomes to bring it out. Michelangelo Buonarroti said it before & better:

“Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it”.

Learning how to yield the hammer & chisel was an essential starting point, but given the limited time I had, I knew I had to get my hands on some power tools. A growing curiosity for experimenting with other stones had begun to take root as I walked around central Delhi, increasingly noticing sculptures in public spaces. I visited the public library in Delhi only to browse through the books available on my new current obsession. There was a frightening amount on the subject and I was left feeling very timid seeing how little I knew. I browsed through the book titles. This shallow literary endeavour gave me a directory of words that outlined a rich stone carving tradition in India.   

Image (in order of view):  Sculpture court at Triveni Sangam Kala, New Delhi. Beginning with hammer & chisel.  “Maiya” sculpture by K. S. Radhakrishnan.  Archaeological survey of India, New Delhi. Index cards at the library in Delhi.

The stone carving "scene" (to speak in very reductive terms) in India is deeply embedded in the country’s history, culture, and religious practices and spans several centuries, with both ancient and modern examples: ancient temples, like the Jain temples in Rajasthan and the Chola temples in Tamil Nadu; rock-cut caves, such as the Ajanta and Ellora caves in Maharashtra; and stupas and monuments with inscriptions. Religion (Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, and Islam) plays a significant role & influences the type of stone carvings, from statues of deities to facades depicting mythical scenes to ornate architectural elements. 

Contemporary stone carving in India began in the early 20th century, especially after independence, with a reawakening of traditional arts. Artists from the Bengal School of Art tired to blend traditional Indian art with contemporary styles. Not surprisingly, the influence of modernist art movements and styles, like abstraction and expressionism gradually began to shape how artists approached stone as a medium. Some artists I discovered and whose work I enjoyed include Dhanraj Bhagat, Leela Mukherjee, Dhruva Mistry, Himmat Shah, Pilloo Pochkhanawala, and Satish Gujral.

Many regions in India still maintain workshops where traditional stone carving skills are taught, especially in areas like Rajasthan, Karnataka, and Tamil Nadu. In my personal case, I’m not sure what came first, the desire to work from Jaipur (in Rajasthan) because I was born here, thus always feeling this need to re-connect or because it happens to have a huge traditional marble & stone sculpture scene, as well as a lot of jewellery, textiles - it’s fair to say: a massive crafts scene in general. 

So when I got the chance to work from my uncle’s farmhouse on the outskirts of Jaipur, I jumped on it, borrowed my grandmother’s car, dusted off my driving skills, and began my self-initiated art residence, or as friend calls it ‘Art in exile’, because for the next one month I was going to be by myself. Well, not entirely, there was Ramsingh, the caretaker and Simba, the dog.

Kailasa Temple, carved entirely out of the solid granite hillside, 8th century, Ellora.  Kandariya Mahadeva Temple, 11th century, Khajuraho, (Photograph by Raghu Rai.)

JAIPUR

JANUARY 2025

At my uncle’s farm in Jaipur, a big part of me wanted to retire, right then and there. I thought of all those bags of clay I had lifted, the studios I had moved, the coils rolled, kilns unloaded, photos taken, text edited, images posted..ah! 

Surrounded by green fields in a semi-arid landscape, I pulled veggies from the soil, collected milk from the neighbors, and cooked à la local cuisine. I took the dog on long walks, encountered wild camels, and spent a lot of time reading in the yard under the winter sun. Simple, nourishing days, that in retrospect feel like a preparation for what was to come.

Field-trip

In India, things work just as much through word of mouth as they do through Google, if not more. And so a lot of my research was done by inquiring from people I knew in the city. I visited areas with different styles and scales of stone carving production, ranging from industrial-scale manufacturers to traditional sculptors and craftsmen working in and around the city. Based on my own experience, it seems there are two distinct categories, though there are overlaps, but for the most part:

There are those who work with white marble, sandstone and granite, the ‘Murtikars’ (sculptors) to create ‘murtis’ (religious art: statues of deities, altars, e.t.c). This work has been going on for generations, and such a profession is often linked to their caste. Knowledge and guilds are passed down from one generation to the next. They work particularly with the white marble from Rajasthan, which is highly valued for its fine texture and ability to capture intricate details as well as its symbolic purity.

The second kind are those that work at an industrial scale, cutting stone with CNC machines for large-scale production. They specialize in flat stones and produce Jali-style (lattice) designs for various applications: balcony railings, wall and floor engravings, temple facades, pillars, and other decorative elements for interior spaces. They primarily use sandstone, but also marble, and supply work for massive projects, such as the recent Ayodhya Temple, as well as facades and pillars for important government buildings. They also cater to clients who have a penchant for constructing houses that are a confused combination of eastern and western castles.

The third type, which surely exists but whom I did not get to meet, are the modern and contemporary artists working in stone. Perhaps next time around!

 An industrial production unit & a CNC machine in action.

Inside the workshops of one of these industrial manufacturers, filled with machines busily slicing stone, there was hardly a sign of any humans. It was noisy, dusty, and the floors were wet with stone slurry. I glanced around at what was being carved by these CNC machines. To one side, traditional designs consisting largely of floral motifs were being carved into what seemed like a doorway; on another side, some modern geometric patterns that looked like they were pulled straight from a Pinterest board. What was common in both was the characteristic of the Jaali-style, a tourist guide at the Jama Masjid in Fatehpur Sikri would explain this best, but for now Wikipedia shall do: “A jali or jaali (meaning "net") is the term for a perforated stone or latticed screen, usually with an ornamental pattern. This form of architectural decoration is common in Indo-Islamic architecture and more generally in Indian architecture.”

The ‘Jaali’, full of purposes, was commonly used for cooling by allowing air to flow in while blocking much of the sunlight. Socially (or anti socially?), it provided privacy and allowed women in the house to see the outside world at a time when stepping out for them was likely forbidden. As I explored this massive workshop, I was struck by the enduring use of this technique to this day. Though today, you mostly see it fulfilling its decorative purpose on walls, through furniture, and objects like lamps. 

I turned my attention back to the output of these machines, I observed them this time with a bit more openness & intent, looking at the design not as a whole but in the micro: in textures, depths, chisel angles, layers, and volumes. Here I saw the opportunity to transfer some of my own ideas using this technology, and what that could be? 

Jaali (outside view), period of Shah Jahan, Agra, India, circa 1600. Jaali (Inside view), Salim Chisti Tomb, Jama Masjid in Fatehpur Sikri, circa 1500.

Inside the walled city (in central Jaipur) on Khazane-walon-ka-Rasta, traditional artisans were absorbed in their craft. In a small scale, it was a mass-production of divinity, with men carving one deity after another. Work could be observed at all stages, from just a rock, to an almost Hanumanji to a fully arrived, glossy Lord Ram. The sellers’ shops had a lazy atmosphere but the makers' shops were busy and completely absorbed in the task, enrapt in a haze, literally, as the air is thick with marble dust. Men could be seen chiseling out the initial rough geometric shapes with angle grinders, refining the details with die grinders, and tirelessly sanding away with emery stones, sandpaper, and tin paste. 

As I watched, I also paid close attention to the tools they used and how they handled them. Of course, I hadn’t gone unprepared, I’d done my research, contacted a few sculptors online, scoured blogs and Youtube to know all about the power tools I would need. So, whenever someone looked at me like I was lost, or did not belong there, I’d casually drop some very specific question like “Do you know where I can find a collet for 3mm diamond burr?” That was enough to impress all the menfolk. Equipped with this superficial knowledge, I spammed many craftsmen and technicians with more questions, which they generously answered. There is no gatekeeping in markets and bazaars. One of those things I love: the people, and how they go out of their way, and time, and literally out of their shop to help you find your answers.

Before I get too carried away with romanticizing it, it's important to remember that the craftsmen who built the Taj Mahal had their hands amputated afterward to ensure no one could replicate its beauty.

A craftsmen at work inside the walled city and the geometric rough cuts of a Goddess in the making in Marble.
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Leaving no stone unturned

Speaking of stones (again), I was able to get blocks of sandstone, limestone, quartzite and marble from the areas and workshops I visited and literally everything for free because though those blocks were mostly discarded they were perfect for me to try out my machines. Oh yes, did I mention that I did some shopping? In one of my favourite places on the planet - Hardware Stores. Although this time it was a big level up as I was buying power tools. I thought the amount of street-cred this would have earned me when I was in my 20’s back in college. Now, in my 30’s I was thinking more of safety gear that I also needed to look into.  

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that one of the most important things to consider before using power tools is safety gear, in fact, even if it was just hammers & chisels. When you hammer a marble or sandstone with a point-chisel, there are chips of stone, from big to very fine, that splash back, into your face, your eyes, nose, hair, clothes, shoes, everything. Every time I finished working for the day, my skin was crusty all over. The dust from cutting sandstone is quartz and it causes silicosis, an irreversible lung disease. That’s why you need a good respiratory mask, eye-protection and surely some gloves won’t hurt.

However, what I noticed is that rarely anyone seemed to use any masks, gloves or protective glasses while working. I thought of this meme going around, ‘India is not for beginners’, an internet trend highlighting distinctive Indian antics, ranging from public transport acrobatics to shocking street foods, creative problem-solving, showcasing a vibrant culture and a bold, sometimes careless and fearless approach to life. It all felt so true and somehow sad because it also shows how there is little value for the life of manual labour & craftsmen doing the hardest and most dangerous work. When I asked a few managers and senior artisans (who probably don’t do the work themselves anymore) they’d always say something to the effect of “these people don’t listen & don’t like to wear”, in a tone suggesting that they are not knowledgeable enough to care for such things. Surely, if the master craftsmen or owners of such guilds and workshops enforced safety gear people would use them.

After I got all my tools, I began very slowly and carefully testing their use & potential on different types of stones. It was only then that I understood that different skills and pressure would be required to treat each stone. One rule did not apply for all.

in order of view: a worker at a workshop. Sandstone dust. Tool-kit. Power tools. Testing hand & power tools with different samples of stones; Sandstone, quartzite & marble.

A lot of people asked me if I was going to be making murtis (religious statues of deities) since I had mentioned I would be working in stone. Maybe that is really what comes to people's mind when you say art and stone in a sentence in India. I would politely decline this expectation, sometimes shrug it off by dropping in a few names of modern & contemporary sculptors. Without doubt making a murti is very serious work, but I had no intentions to carve a Ganesha in stone, at least not at the onset.

In my first attempt in New Delhi, I decided to carve out one of my own abstract forms. It was very good to start with a large shape, instead of intricate patterns. Shapes with fuller planes allow you to understand curves and see how to turn around corners. I remember hammering for 5 to 6 hours and feeling I barely removed anything. In Jaipur, with my power tools things moved a little faster. I got through more of the stone but using them requires a kind of strength and technique that at first almost made me miss the hammer and chisel. It was great to achieve some depth with the angle grinder and come near to completion in my first form.

in order of view: Form worked on with chisel & hammer. In Jaipur at the workshop, working with angle grinder. Coming close to completion.

Whenever I begin something new I almost always find inspiration in something old. When I began working in ceramics it wasn’t contemporary ceramics and 21st century tableware that fascinated me, it was the prehistoric pottery, Jamon pottery of Japan, and the excavations of Mohenjodaro of the Indus valley civilisation that got me interested in the field. 

Sometimes I wonder if it is an OCD-ness of sorts that wants to comprehend things in an order, to have all information settle in a timeline before all the many cross-connections can begin. To trace all the way back to what's been done and to what currently exists in any particular field or focus, not extensively, even if it’s just to get a whiff, can be extremely helpful. With stone, I was instantly taken back to murtis; carvings and sculptures of religious themes expressed in temples, figurines of gods & goddesses in the facades depicting the epics, the wars & the celebration. I haven’t even really begun to grasp the length and breadth of this domain. It’s vast, dense and rich, difficult to avoid and even more to not be inspired by and that was the important part. 

To be inspired.

The thought of tinkering around with my design using one of those CNC machines had already been conceived. What the design was going to be was the question, though not for very long. 

The last work that kept me occupied in Berlin before I came to India was a two-dimensional tile work. It depicts one of my often used motifs of an abstract human figure in a science fictional narrative that alludes to cryo sleep, transhumanism, and space travel. These simple line drawings, very Schlemmer, android-like, are neutral, sexless, yet playful. They have been a part of my work since the beginning and I recently came to see how a lot of my fluid, three dimensional sculptures that look like human limbs in motion or postures are somewhat an expression of these sketches as well.


In Jaipur, back on my home turf, steeped in the intricate details of Jaali art forms and other wondrous religious expressions in stone, I found a direction in the book I was reading:

“AI might find its greatest relevance and most widespread and durable expression not in national structures but in religious ones.” - Genesis: Artificial Intelligence, Hope, and the Human Spirit by Henry A. Kissinger, Eric Schmidt, and Craig Mundie. An eerie prediction, but also a wonderful cross-connection for my work. After the goosebumps settled, I began to sketch out my android forms as the holy trinity: Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva.

It was the perfect extension of my past work, merging my current learnings with a futuristic expression. Sketching, abstracting, and translating ancient motifs into a digital language for physical output was a strange, yet fun ride. The real challenge, though, was creating artworks that encapsulated all visual aspects while keeping the file readable for the CNC machine.

maybe it’s a Murti after all !

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I had hoped to share my journey up to where I’ve arrived and how I got here. The work is still in progress, and this is just the beginning. I haven’t yet expanded on some insights from the Jaali artworks, but I will focus more on that next time. In the meantime, you can take a look at some videos and photographs I’ve shared on my Instagram over the past month, which show things more in action.

Towards the end of my project, I collaborated with metal artisans to create custom frames for the work. So far, I’ve only revealed snippets of that part, as I hope to add more pieces to this body of work and unveil them later in the year at an exhibition in Jaipur. yieyie!

xx latika

Rest lives in the future

PS: The first image is an unfinished self-portrait I painted in 2022 in Berlin. It's me working with stone, somewhere in India. I now call this painting, 'A prophecy'.
I would love to hear from you. You can write to me at hello@latikanehra.com.
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