One fact I appreciate about the observable universe is that it appears to be spherical in shape. This contemporary astronomical observation hearkens back to Aristotle’s own belief in heavenly spheres and the Han dynasty astronomer Zhang Heng’s assertion that the earth is square, while the heavens are round. Earth, it turns out, is round, even while it appears flat, and perhaps one day we’ll find out that the universe is another shape entirely. But circularity holds a certain appeal for those of us who study time, space, and everything in between.
Mandalas: Mapping the Buddhist Art of Tibet at the Metropolitan Museum of Art takes us into cosmology of Vajrayana Buddhism, a form of Buddhism that originated in India in the 12th and 13th centuries and is now most strongly associated with Tibetan culture. The titular artistic objects, mandalas, are maps of the universe. They frequently take the shape of circles and help monks practice rituals for both spiritual enlightenment and shaping the world around us.
Each mandala in the show rewards careful study and time. “Chakramsvara Mandala,” a 12th-century cloth work from Nepal, centers the deity Chakramsvara with his consort Vajravarahi, surrounded by the eight great charnel grounds, above-ground sites for bodies of the dead to decompose or be consumed by carrion birds — and that also serve as places for meditation on existence. (The practice was explored in the Venice Biennale by Mongolian artist Ochirbold Ayurzana, which Hyperallergic’s Editor-in-Chief Hrag Vartanian and I discussed in a Hyperallergic podcast.)
“Hevajra Mandala,” a 15th-century cloth work from Tibet, portrays the blue wisdom Akhsobaya Buddha, who represents knowledge and consciousness, and Nairatmya, a consort without ego, as they come together sexually. Dancing around them are dakini, powerful Buddhist goddesses who protect esoteric knowledge. Arrayed in a circle around Akhsobaya Buddha and Nairatmya, they look like a ring of dancing guards.
Complementing the rich mandalas are installations of important ritual and votive objects that bring context to Vajrayana practice. Two 19th-century lamps, for example, resemble chalices in a Western context and would have stood before deities to receive offerings of butter. A khatvanga, or ritual staff, depicts three decomposing heads, representing impermanence and change, while the staff destroys objects that stand in the way of enlightenment.
One of the most beautiful aspects of Buddhist art included in this exhibition is how intertwined an image is with its philosophical meaning, bringing viewers into realms that can give us a deeper understanding of the mind, the spirit, and the world around us. At the same time, the works themselves, often many centuries old, are aesthetic objects in their own right, rich in color and composition, that invite us to simply look and appreciate.
The exhibition itself is arranged like a mandala, with the major historical works in a circular gallery surrounding the atrium-wide “Biography of a Thought,” composed of acrylic on canvas and woven carpet, by contemporary Tibetan-American artist Tenzing Rigdol. The installation plays out primarily across four walls, each one representing themes around humanity, conflict, the digital world, and our own limits of understanding. Waves crash amid multicolored clouds, with a mix of contemporary figures, like George Floyd in the form of Maitreya, a buddha of the future, alongside traditional deities such as Kalachakra, signifying the circularity of time. Rigdol depicts himself shrouded in cloth, as a guide who, like us, knows and understands very little in the journey, yet his clever illustrations help raise important questions, much like the traditional mandalas in the show.
The physical arrangement, in which paintings, carpet, and external light all interact, makes the experience feel like dipping into an actual mandala, our own contemporary charnel grounds, where unspeakable violence projects from our digital screens and in the news. Referencing the epidemic of school shootings, one image shows a baby with a rifle in its hands, while colorful lotus flowers bloom around it; these are, in turn, surrounded by hands in the anjali mudra, often interpreted as prayer hands. Another image appears to show the Vietnamese monk Thich Quang Duc, whose death by self-immolation protested the treatment of Buddhists in South Vietnam and established this as a recognized protest tactic in contemporary politics.
An uneasiness about technology occupies the work. Illustrated in the form of Mt. Rushmore-style statues are Frances Haugen, Chelsea Manning, Edward Snowden, and Julian Assange, while a reclining Buddha, about to enter nirvana, listens to an iPad with sandals on the screen. Rigdol described this scene in an interview with curator Kurt Behrendt: “I’m talking about how, in our present-day life, we are surrounded by digital media, with everybody trying to collect data. Individuals are even discussing whether this whole world is a simulation or not. That’s been happening in the East for thousands of years, where even the Buddha himself says, ‘I am Buddha,’ meaning, I am awake, I have woken out of a simulation, and he says, ‘You guys are in a dream state.’”
While harrowing, the violence we see today has also sparked broad social movements and awakenings that challenge existing power structures and even our own cosmologies. Charnel grounds, as Lourdes Argüelles writes in the Buddhist magazine Tricycle, can be anywhere we see tremendous suffering, and by not turning away, we aid our enlightenment and that of others. Rigdol’s work, which he developed over the course of five years, seems to be guiding us in this direction.
The final painting in “Biography of a Thought” pictures an empty chair amid calm waves, with clouds settled atop the water’s surface. In Rigdol’s rendering, the waves represent the emotions and the clouds represent our minds and thought processes. This stillness of this work after a long journey through the mandala reminded me of the 19th- or 20th-century skeleton dance costume elsewhere in the show, a silk and flannel outfit from Tibet assembled with a papier mache mask from Bhutan. White bones and flesh reveal the realities of our own physical bodies.
One point that’s difficult to appreciate about many of the traditional works on view is that they weren’t always accessible to the general public, as they were by their nature designed for monastic practice. But skeleton dances did make their way to lay practitioners, according to the exhibition’s text, and they were considered auspicious for those fortunate enough to see them. Rigdol’s installation, like the skeleton dance, takes us on a journey with someone who’s clearly dedicated time to a deeply meaningful practice and wants to help others along the way.
Mandalas: Mapping the Buddhist Art of Tibet continues at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (1000 Fifth Avenue, Upper East Side, Manhattan) through January 12. The exhibition was organized by Kurt Behrendt, associate curator of the department of Asian Art.
