My body is a canvas

Paintings of women are defined by the male gaze. What happens when women paint on women? A nervous Shakti Swaminathan goes semi-nude for an art series that seeks to change women’s perception of themselves

I visited Europe last year. Like any other tourist, I was struck by the beauty of the art on display, especially the portrayals of the human body. Renaissance. Impressionism. Victorian — I saw art of all kinds. And everywhere, in smooth white marble sculptures, in colourful frescoes, and in Van Gogh’s strokes in the galleries.

I saw Michelangelo’s David standing tall, his shoulders broad, showcasing his strength while the women’s figurines looked coy. They had drooping shoulders. They shielded their breasts with lissome hands and they appeared vulnerable. I am no artist, art connoisseur or muse but I couldn’t help but notice that historically women always existed in the context of male desire and female sculptures were made for the male gaze.

The artist painted a mighty tree because the author's name reminded her of that.

And so I sign up

The trip got me thinking about women in art. India may boast of women artists such as Amrita Sher-Gil or Meera Mukherjee but it’s the women muses in Raja Ravi Varma and M F Husain’s paintings that tend to dominate the Indian artscape and grab more eyeballs. Do women models feel vulnerable or empowered while posing for artists? What is the relationship between the artist and the subject? Do women paint women? Hoping to find some answers, I signed up for artist Nidhi Mariam Jacob’s series ‘Breathing Canvas’ — as both its subject and ‘canvas’.

Having dabbled with various media — wall, fabric, paper, metal and wood — Nidhi felt a desire to paint on something alive, breathing and moving. The human body felt like the perfect canvas — our bodies come in different shapes, sizes and colours and Nidhi views each scar as a reminder of a lived experience. Nidhi was particularly drawn to the female form. She wanted to capture the narratives of common women by painting on their bodies, looking at the body not just as a tool of pleasure but as a medium of beliefs and experiences.

Empowering women to reclaim space was another goal. After all, the personal is always political. Thus, ‘Breathing Canvas’ was born in 2016.

Human narratives

It’s mid-December. I walk into Nidhi’s apartment in Bengaluru to be a ‘living canvas’ for a day. Tucked into a dead end in Halasuru and dazzlingly sunlit, her home studio feels like an oasis amid high rises. It is embellished with giant Monstera plants and she lives in the company of two lovely cats. 

Though Nidhi has been painting since childhood, she burst into the art scene in 2016. Her art is an expression of her love for nature. Childhood memories of taking evening walks with her grandfather, amid the fragrance of champaka and jasmine, inspire her. Nidhi feels connected with nature’s cycle of life, death and rebirth. Her art can be described as botanical. Vivid floral patterns are her signature motifs. Her most famous work ‘Fantasy Garden’ adorns many spaces, including the Bengaluru airport.

Nidhi welcomes me at the door with a big, long hug. This is the first time we are meeting. We chat about traffic snarls and an unusually warm winter. Her genial demeanour puts me at ease and I am soon sharing anecdotes about my family. I have many questions about ‘Breathing Canvas’ and I start with her process.

Nidhi says painting on the entire body is a day-long affair, and most women are “extremely nervous” to begin with. “They are not only conscious of the body but they also struggle with shame and worry about what others will say or think,” she says. But the women get comfortable once the painting starts and conversations flow. “We share stories. We laugh and cry. Slowly, many of them agree to shed more pieces of clothing and get more of their body painted. By the end of the day, they feel comfortable in their bodies and willingly pose for the camera,” she says.

I sigh with relief. Being an artist’s model sounded exciting when Nidhi agreed to paint on me. But as months passed, the excitement ebbed and anxiety crept in. Will I be okay to pose semi-nude? Can I trust an artist I have never met? What will my husband think? To beat the stress, I followed Nidhi on social media and read every article about her work. I fell in love with her paintings — they were evocative and empowering. I convinced myself to get my back painted.

But the worries came creeping back two days before the appointment. Overthinking was not helping, so I told myself to go with the flow.

The painting on the author's back took three hours to complete

Start with my name

I sit on a grey sofa in Nidhi’s living room as she fetches a big wooden box from the other room. It contains photographs from the two ‘Breathing Canvas’ exhibitions she has held so far — all black-and-white and captured in natural light. The women in the photographs have so much poise — they look relaxed, sensuous and powerful. I yearn to be like them.

Nidhi takes me through each photograph, recalling how each person came on board. Then she brings me a cup of tea, plays a track of soul music, gives me a silk robe to wear and motions for me to sit on a white stool in a corner. I am about to shed some clothing, be exposed and be painted on, but I feel at ease at her place.

Using black acrylic paint, she starts at the small of my neck, making short, gentle and quick downward strokes. “Your name Shakti reminds me of a tall, strong tree, like the tree of life. I want to capture that,” she says. The name and personality of the subject inspires her initial design. The rest is a spontaneous journey, guided by the body and its curves, she tells me.

The first few strokes feel ticklish. I wriggle. Nidhi checks on me if I am comfortable. After some time, she asks if I am okay to drop the robe a little lower so she can reach my upper back. I nod. As her brush moves to the shoulder and then down my back, the strokes feel bolder and longer, even soothing. I bring up questions: How did the project start? Who has Nidhi painted on so far? Has she ever painted on a man?

Nidhi started with a list of 50 women that she wanted to paint on — teachers, singers, musicians, divers, and cyclists. Most of them were hesitant to model, while many did not understand the project’s intention. Then a few friends stepped in, and a photographer expressed interest in documenting the work. As the first pictures came out, more women volunteered to model.

In 2018, with the support of her partner, and using her savings, Nidhi decided to host an exhibition. A few days before the show, her 68-year-old mother volunteered to be painted on. The show was held again the same year, during a women’s festival. More than 25 women, including Nidhi’s domestic worker, have been part of the project since.

Battling body image

The strokes become bolder and more frequent. I feel my body easing and slowly letting go. Sensing my muscles loosening up, Nidhi remarks that I am “surprisingly a very calm subject”.

I try to recall the last time I felt physically intimate in a non-sexual space. Was it at the beauty parlour? Was it with my mother? While delivering my baby, I felt a complete loss of control over my body. With nurses and doctors accessing the most intimate regions, I remember having no energy or time to feel shame. But was there ever a moment when I felt exposed yet comfortable? Perhaps not until today. Thanks to centuries of internalised male gaze and the pressure of pandering to them, most women have fraught relationships with their bodies and I am no different.

I like my body on most days. But I perhaps like it less than other people do. I hate my hair in the summers when it becomes frizzy and looks like a bird’s nest. I hide my stubby toes in sneakers. My ‘flat nose’ has often borne the brunt of ridicule in family circles. I felt powerless during my teen years but as I grew up, I found the agency to make my features desirable. I straighten my frizzy hair. I indulge in expensive pedicures. Every two weeks, I weed out body hair. Yet some days it feels like fat is oozing from above my waist and under the arms, or it is showing a bit too much on the cheeks. When my thighs chafe, confidence takes a dip. At times I imagine my body to be smaller or bigger than it is. Body image, body positivity, body dysmorphia, I drown in these terms, unable to process my feelings.

Most of Nidhi’s models went through the same range and order of emotions, starting with tension, ease and acceptance, then surrendering to the present moment, shedding ego and inhibition, and finally reclaiming their body with pride and dignity.

Discovering mom

During the project, Nidhi noticed many mothers coming to terms with their stretch marks. I am curious to know if Nidhi learnt anything new about her mother. Perhaps she discovered a scar? Did painting over her mother’s wrinkles make her look at her differently? I ask this because we think we know our mothers intimately. As a child, we look at her as an extension of our body. “My mother and I share a tumultuous relationship, and we’ve had many ups and downs. But when she decided to come on board, I was so happy,” Nidhi says.

One of Nidhi’s favourite memories is her domestic worker’s metamorphosis. Lakshmi (name changed) transformed from a shy woman to a confident model, sprawling in a red petticoat. Lakshmi never showed the pictures to her family, but after being called “fat, big and dark” since childhood, modelling gave her a sense of “freedom”. Most women who modelled carried childhood memories of being body-shamed and getting their bodies painted liberated them from the pain, at least momentarily.

Nidhi has painted on a man only once — salsa choreographer Lourd Vijay. He had survived kidney failure and wanted to celebrate the moment. Though Nidhi was sceptical about dealing with “the male ego”, she found the experience of engaging with a man’s body in a non-sexualised context, as a canvas, “interesting”. 

Nidhi also painted on herself while staying on a farm. She walked around in the open, feeling like “the child of nature”, wild and carefree. “Once the paint covers your body, you don’t feel naked. You feel covered and protected,” she says. I agree. Her painting feels like a cover on my body too.

Confidence check

Nidhi’s cook wafts in and out of the studio. It’s a woman. By now I have stopped turning and checking who is who — Nidhi’s house is a women’s bastion. I feel safe in this sisterhood. The strokes start tapering towards the centre of my back. I pull down the robe, without Nidhi asking. I don’t feel the urge to look at my phone or the time.

The brush is now reaching more intimate regions, like the edges of my lower back. I get conscious of my love handles and wonder if they are looking unaesthetic. “Big hips run in my family,” I quip. But Nidhi is too immersed in her art to notice.

After three hours, the painting is done and I am ready to pose for the camera. We climb up to her terrace. Walking around in a silk robe, with a mighty tree painted on my back, I almost feel like a royalty. I do a quick recce with my eyes to see if people are staring at me from buildings nearby. All my shyness seems to have flitted away and I sit amid plants in the terrace garden as Nidhi guides the photographer. As I pose, Nidhi adds spots to my shoulders, a little design at the end of my tailbone, and more lines, layers and details here and there.

The photos are taken and I walk back to the studio to change into my clothes. Water will wash off the paint, Nidhi tells me as I get up to leave. It sounds like a metaphor for life, that everything is impermanent. While exchanging goodbyes and hugs, I tell Nidhi that I would love to be a subject for her next ‘Breathing Canvas’ exhibition. I notice a glint in her eyes. This is what Nidhi aspires for — to see women willingly claim their bodies and space, be it in art or public.

Back home, I shut myself in the bathroom to admire Nidhi’s painting on my back in the full-length mirror. I feel bold and beautiful. I click a selfie. I want to share pictures of this celebratory moment with my friends. I don’t. I don’t know why. I turn on the shower. The hot water washes away all the paint at once, but hopefully, one day, the confidence will stick on.

Like the story? Email: [e-mail]