Sarika Kumari in conversation with French artist Paul Beaudoin For his show, who I talk to when you are not here
Paul Beaudoin, born in 1960 in Hialeah, Florida, USA, is an interdisciplinary artist living in Tallinn, the capital city of Estonia. He has a Master’s in Music Composition from the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, Massachusetts, and a PhD from Brandeis University, specialising in music composition and music theory. Beaudoin is exceptionally versatile as an artist, educator, academician, music composer and writer. As an interdisciplinary artist, Beaudoin combines paint, sound, text, and image in a densely layered narrative to directly communicate with his audience.
Beaudoin’s multimedia works vividly depicted Indian culture in terms of mythology, spirituality, sacredness, and socio-religiouscultural aspects. As his artistic journey evolved, he began to infuse his artworks with vibrant hues, rough patches, aesthetics and abstraction inspired by the luminous city and hoariest city of Varanasi. His unique style of depicting Shiva’s sanctuary or a Shivlinga, Hanuman, Kali and Agni has left an indelible mark on Indian ethos. Use of limited shades of pigment on canvas such as dark red, blue, orange and yellow, rapid and dense Brushstrokes are remarkable. It reminds one of ‘Abstract Expressionism’ and an eminent artist from the 20th century, that is., Mark Rothko also known as ‘colour field painter’.
Sarika Kumari (SK): When and where were you born and brought up? Tell us briefly about your artistic journey.
Paul Beaudoin (PB): I was born in Hialeah, Florida (in the USA) and lived there until I went to a local University for music. I didn’t take music seriously at first. Growing up, my mom had always played piano when we came home from school, in addition to playing pieces by Haydn and Beethoven, she played pop songs, and we would sing along. I never took it seriously as I was successful at running. Then, one day, in the middle of running in a big race, I had this insight about why I was running – and at that moment, I stopped running and never went back. A few months later, I was teaching myself how to read music and decided to play the clarinet – I thought it looked like a challenging instrument.
I left Florida in the early 1980s for Boston, Massachusetts where I went to the New England Conservatory of Music for a Master’s degree in Music Composition. Simultaneously, I also went to a prestigious private school in upstate New York. It was an interdisciplinary Master’s in Arts program and I was serious about becoming a performance artist. I wanted to make music on visual art, film, text, and movement.
During my first semester, as all art students know, there was a critique of your work. For this session, the school had invited a scholar from Yale University who announced that I was not an artist. Stunned, I asked why, and she was quick to point out that while my use of colour was “okay,” my “brushstrokes went in every direction,” this was, for her, a clear indication of my incompetence. At that moment, I gave up and focused only on music. But my interest in visual art never waned. I spent decades studying art, teaching it, writing about it, but never making it. I stayed there for the next 40 years and eventually completed a double PhD at Brandeis University.
Conceptualisation and Inspiration:
SK: What inspired you to explore Kashi (Varanasi) in your artwork?
How did you integrate mythological elements into your abstract art? Can you explain the significance of Kashi in your artistic vision?
PB: I have told everyone you either love Kashi or you don’t – there is no middle ground. I am in the “love Kashi” boat. And I expect it will soon be a place I call “second” home. For me, the allure of Kashi is the very thing that first drew me to it – the visceral energy that comes from the smells, sounds, colours, and people of this remarkable ancient city.
In December 2022, I was in Kashi and had a spiritual experience. My mom had died earlier in the year, and I was sitting near Manikarnika. I was reflecting on life, as artists often do, and I had the suddenly overwhelming message that I needed to return to Kashi and work as an artist.
When I returned to my home in Tallinn, Estonia, I immediately began to search for an appropriate place to have an artist’s residency. It seemed the most suitable place was the prestigious ‘Alice Boner Institute’ – the home of the Swiss artist and Indian Art scholar. I submitted a proposal to the committee and was thrilled to be welcomed in late 2023. Living in Kashi for two months and working as an artist was a dream.
Naturally, I am a Westerner, and my perception of Hinduism is learned (and experienced). For many years living in the West, I considered myself a Buddhist. Only after coming to Kashi many years ago did, I realize that I was, in fact, more spiritually aligned as a Hindu. And on this particular sojourn, I learned I am a Tantric Hindu. Technique and Execution:
SK: What artistic techniques did you employ to convey the essence of Banaras? How did you approach the representation of abstract concepts within your artwork?
PB: I am a mixed-media abstract artist working mainly in acrylics – primarily for practical reasons. My initial plan for the residency at the Alice Boner Institute was to create four large canvases – each 4 x 6 feet. I also needed to find a way to work with some traditional Indian materials – most notably, Kumkum (vermillion). I quickly discovered a few things – Kumkum is a volatile material, and working with it required a lot of experimentation.
I arrived in Kashi with “Western” paint colours – and I soon learned it was impossible to achieve the vibrancy of the colours I saw on the streets of Kashi with them – I had to discover how the artists in Kashi made their colours and more importantly, how to combine the colours to create a vibrant and exciting contrast. To work with Kumkum properly, I had to learn how it was prepared for public use – particularly the Kumkum used at the Sankat Mochan Mandir – that beautiful vermillion is an essential colour for me. All the canvas paintings began as explorations of a particular Hindu deity or story. I often refer to them as my “Ganesha” or my “Kali” painting.
But in the end, the names had to be changed because most non-Westerners wouldn’t understand the implications of those titles.
A significant transformation took place early into my residency in Kashi. My works have often been done with calm pastel colours; this is not what I saw in Kashi. So, I had to find a way to open to the bold colours of the gulleys (alleyways) and ghats (piers) – and for me, “agni” is the turning point. The burning red background, with the tantric energies of all the saturated colours, is the first step into the new palette.
Sarika Kumari and there is absolutely no mistaking Shivling for something other than what it is – the root of Shiva and creation. I struggled to get that painting just right – and it was only after attending a traditional dance and music concert at Tulsi Ghat that I “saw” the inspiration – the tension between what I call Kashi orange and Turquoise. The vibrancy of that painting is quite spiritual (or, dare I say, Tantric).
My other learning process was that the interpretation of colours in India is often quite different from that of the West. Red – frequently seen as the colour of danger and emergency, is a colour of passion here in Kashi. It was moving to use it in “Surya’s tears” – a lament to the passion of love and the destruction we are managing to create on our living planet.
I should mention that I began my artistic life as a serious music composer, and sound has always taken a central position in my creative work. For my exhibition “who I talk to when you are not here,” it was integral An interdisciplinary artist, Beaudoin combines paint, sound, text and image to communicate with his audience.
That I have sound as an essential component. For this, I created an immersive sound built using the low-sounding pitch of a 40cm Singing Bowl I acquired in Sarnath. The bowl was available for anyone in the exhibition to play – adding an element of randomness, personal interaction, and depth to the show. I was fascinated by the visitors’ interaction while playing this large Singing Bowl.
SK: Were there any specific challenges you faced while creating this series called “who I talk to when you are not here”.
PB: Of course. But challenges are there to be used for growth. Let’s say that I grew “a lot.” I think the essential challenge is that I am not from Kashi – I don’t speak Hindi (except for some basic phrases) and don’t know how to navigate the labyrinthian gulleys. It was beneficial that two assistants from the Alice Boner Institute guided me to the proper shops to acquire the essential things I needed – everything from antique handmade paper to hard-to-get authentic materials for worship. These things are not typical for “tourists”, and working with the exact materials for making Kumkum at Sankat Mochan Mandir was a real blessing.
The energies I channeled in the making were, in some sense, private, and for that reason alone, should be only for me – however, many who saw the works as they were in progress quickly noticed the spiritual energies I was drawing from – Kali, Ganesh, and Hanuman.
Interpretation and Symbolism:
SK: What symbols or motifs did you incorporate to represent Kashi and its mythological associations? How do you intend viewers to interpret the Mythological elements within your abstract compositions? Are there any Underlying themes or messages you hope viewers will perceive?
PB: The meaning of something is shaped by the person observing it. Anthropologist Margaret Mead said we needed five things to build a civilisation: the builders (those who find/build places to protect us from the elements); the hunter/gatherers (those who feed and nourish us); the law-givers (be it a council of elders or judges), the shaman (that one navigates the worlds between the known and the unknown) and finally the storytellers. The storytellers are the artists, dancers, poets, musicians, and all of us who preserve the stories of our time for future generations.
While I am the maker of my work, and others are the viewers of that work, the actual exchange occurs in that space between the work and the viewer. I suppose this is also why I choose abstraction over representation. If I paint a fish and present it, there is no question that it is a fish. There is not much work to be done by the viewer. And with no work to be done, the viewer moves on to the subsequent work. In my abstractions, I want to give enough information to allow the viewer a door to enter them and, using their own experience as a guide, traverse the work in their own time and meaning.
Personal Connecti on and Experience:
SK: Can you share any memorable moments or reflections from your artistic journey with this Alice Boner Institute Artist’s Residency Project?
PB: It felt like every day was a memorable moment – each thing and person I discovered uncovered another layer that enriched me and, consequently, my work—for example, sitting with Daya Shankar, the esteemed miniature artist, in his home, where he described making his paintings and showing them to me.
Spending many hours at the Southpoint School and their director, Nita Kumar, was insightful as I learned how the school continues to promote arts learning for their students. Perhaps the most important experience was that I often went to Godowlia Chowk alone and wandered in the gulleys, occasionally stopping to see what was being sold. Finding small places of devotion – not meant for tourists – is a powerful memory for me. As are the innumerable chat, sweets, and chai stalls.
In the West, we are often so preoccupied with the perfect bank account, job, partner, and “everything”, and in pursuing that “perfectness, “we miss the things that make this living, breathing organism a vital being. Kashi teaches us to let go of all things, embrace the moment of nowness, and keep nothing precious. This is a difficult lesson. But when you least expect it, there is a call on the street to move aside as another body is brought to Manikarnika. A reminder that we are all here for just a short time.
Kashi taught me that I am on a never-ending quest – a kind of unquenchable thirst – for experience, memory, and defining moments that build the life of Paul Beaudoin. My artwork is a kind of diary of the life I live.
Audience Engagement and Impact :
SK: How do you envision your artwork contributing to the broader discourse on
Kashi and its mythological significance? Have you observed any particular reactions or responses from audiences to your depiction of Kashi?
PB: What is important to remember is that an artist makes work. My work is a way of meditating, protecting my mental health, and expressing those parts of my life where words fail; I cannot be thinking about how my work impacts others – as I mentioned, that will always depend on the viewer’s experiences. What I am careful of, which is essential to me, is that I do not use religious symbolism in a very literal sense. I am not a religious painter; I am not a Tantric painter; I am someone who participates in post-painterly abstraction. What inspires me to make a work may not be the motivation that inspires others – in fact, I would like that not to be true at all. Instead, I would want my work to be portals for the viewer to enter to explore their perceptions, emotions, and the like.
Like so many, Kashi is a spiritual source that I am sure has so much more to offer. Without a doubt, I will return. What I find a bit alarming is the Kashi that is being sold is a bit “romanticised” for Western tourists. While it is essential to modernise and transform parts of
Kashi (to improve the lives of its full-time residents), I worry that part of that transformation will lead to what I might call a “Disneyfication” of Kashi. For example, I am awakened every morning by the beautiful chants awakening Shiva from the Ganges, followed by a proper rag. But immediately following is a “laughing yoga” program, indeed designed for tourists, played blaring loud over poor-quality audio speakers. Alas, there is more to say, but I must get back to my canvas – we have an ongoing discussion to continue.
The author Sarika Kumari is pursuing PhD 4th year (History of Art) Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi, U.P. This interview is based on excerpts from the exhibition titled, “who i talk to when you are not here”.
