Now came the question of finding a name for the Society. Some proposed to call it the Oriental Art Society. I said, “No, let it be named the Indian Society of Oriental Art.” Not Bengalees only, but Europeans too joined us. My elder brother Gaganendranath was with us, and quite a number of people became life-members. We rented a house in Park Street where artists could carry on their work and, if necessary, reside. Two or three exhibitions of pictures were held in the spacious hall of the Art School. Woodroffe lent his collection of Japanese prints. A European lady named Mrs Gesiking had painted flowers of the different seasons in Indian style; her paintings were also exhibited.

Our society rapidly grew and flourished. The members were drawn from all ranks of society- merchants, civilians, judges and magistrates, governors and lieutenant governors, rajas and maharajas. Every one helped in some way or other. Woodroffe engaged himself in the preparation of a catalogue which might well be described as a piece of literature. Every picture had a detailed story printed beneath it. My English was inadequate for the purpose; I used to jot down what I could in broken English, to be corrected and polished up by Woodroffe.

In our society, Indians and foreigners could all come together without distinction, to plan for the improvement of art and hold exhibitions of art belonging not only to India but to the East in general. Private collections were also exhibited, and parties were held in private houses where all the members would assemble. There would be feasting and amusements, as well as discussions on art. When Woodroffe gave a party, he used to offer even pan [2] to his guests,- to offer pan and garlands of flowers to guests was then quite usual in European homes. Besides, we would collect beautiful objects of art from wherever we could get them for our exhibitions, which were often on a very large scale. Glass and porcelain ware, carpets, dolls, ornaments, pictures- nothing was omitted. They had to be things of the first quality, of course, for nothing common would do…

On one occasion we were arranging to have one of these big exhibitions. Woodroffe said we must have exhibits from every part of India. So three months before the opening date, letters were despatched to different places, and men were sent to collect the exhibits or money remitted to cover their transit charges. Soon the exhibits began to come in, packed in boxes of all kinds- small and big, light and heavy. Imagine our eagerness and enthusiasm to open one after another of these packing cases that littered the rooms. From Delhi came lovely specimens of pottery, from Kashmir shawls of various kinds and samples of handicrafts- among them an old inkstand of papier mache exquisitely designed, which I still remember. Then there were big carpets, clay dolls from Krishnagar, terrific pictures from Bombay, playing cards from Lucknow with miniature paintings of the nawabs and begums for whom they were made, and pats from Orissa. From Ganjam came three ivory figures, one of the Kurma-avatar (the second incarnation of Vishnu in the form of a tortoise), another of Radha and Krishna embracing, and the third of Krishna alone, holding his flute near his mouth, a figure about nine inches high, with a posture and expression so beautiful that I was struck dumb with admiration. It was a wonderful piece of work, and the old ivory of which it was made looked like pure gold.

Abanindranath Tagore

Translated by Somnath Maitra from Jorasankor Dhare (Vishva-Bharati). Published in The Journal of the Indian Society of Oriental Art, November 1961.

[1] Surendranath Tagore

[2] Betel leaves