Madhuri

This lyrical, luminous, somehow humane collection of leaf paintings has a back story: the artist spent a few halcyon years in a big, quiet house in a 3-acre oak grove in the Missouri Ozarks. On her daily walks some fallen leaf or other would seem to reach up to her, telling her its name, its description. She would take it home and, next morning, paint its portrait. These are leaves that overlap with our own lives, showing us to ourselves with compassion, whimsy, and humility. A celebration of random moments of nature, coloured by our own helpless fealty to the species that we are.

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Review by Anugyan

When Madhuri asked me if I would like to do a review of her new book, I clearly wasn’t paying attention. Which is ironic, as the book appears to be largely about paying attention. Whatever she said, I’d heard that it was to be a book with Japanese translation alongside the English about fallen leaves, and assumed it was to be more of her haikus, many of which I’d loved in the past. On receiving a digital preview, I was astonished. I’d never seen anything like it. I don’t know if anyone has. Within minutes I contacted Madhuri to say it would be an honour to do the review, even though secretly I was wondering if I could do justice to such a thing.

Even the preview hadn’t quite prepared me for having the physical book in my hands. I couldn’t leave it alone, kept dipping into it, marvelling at the different pages. It’s a thick tome, beautifully bound and printed on subtly figured paper, and – much like her earlier Flying Lady With Cat – rich with life, insights and profundities whilst masquerading as a coffee-table book. And owning it, actually having it in one’s hands, is more than having a book to read, it’s like attending an event; like getting front seats at a Beyoncé concert, only not as expensive and lasting immeasurably longer.

So what is it exactly?

The easiest way to describe it initially is to provide some background, that it originates from a special time Madhuri spent in the Ozarks with her lover. She would walk regularly in the (mostly oak) woods and every day a fallen leaf would attract her attention. She would see/hear/perceive its nature, description and identity very clearly. Having taken it home, she would then paint its portrait the next day, using a rich variety of mediums including – but not limited to – fabric paint, ink pens, crayons, bindis, poster paints, little mirrors, fake jewels, metallic craft paint and coloured pencils; upon cardboard, parchment, handmade and watercolour paper. The result is over two hundred pages of unique experiences available to all who open the book.

I left it alone for a while, just to see how I got on with it, approaching it uncertainly, tentatively, dipping in occasionally with delight. I even experimented, wondering if it could be like a Tarot deck, with different leaves for different situations. The first time I tried this, was on a fairly grim day for me and I opened on ‘guffawing leaf’. This had an immediate effect, resulting in me… guffawing with laughter. It went way beyond the intellect, transforming my energy and my day instantly.

The next time I tried this, I got ‘leaf with bowed back’. This seemed appropriate as I’d made an appointment for later that day with a masseuse who would discover serious knotting in my back, perhaps the worst I’d ever had. What I liked about the ‘leaf reading’ was that it wasn’t esoteric or transformative this time, simply stating the facts, albeit beautifully illustrated.

The reason this works so well is that Madhuri has got the identity of each leaf exactly right. It doesn’t feel at any time that she is imposing her own world views on them. She is paying attention. A reader may well attempt to apply their own interpretation and is welcome to do so, but as far as I am concerned it is unnecessary. Madhuri has unlocked the magic that is required. The variety of interpretations alone is impressive.

On the cover is ‘leaf which has really had it’, and that earthy humour is a recurring aspect throughout, alongside pathos, transcendence, joy, grief, love, passion, warmth, anger, lust, compassion… The list goes on, for much of the human experience seems to be covered here. Not only that, a complexity arises with some of the subjects, sometimes singly:

touch the stars, even if you don’t have enough of a head for figures to keep your bank account straight

And even more so when relationships between the leaves start to reveal themselves:

japanese leaves rushing off to work

Or

two old leaves comforting each other

As if this weren’t enough, some are arranged into stunningly original mandalas such as

bliss of the swirling heart

Or

bliss-mandala beguiled by the convention of Time

On the page opposite each painting or group of paintings is a Japanese translation of the descriptions. For the non-Japanese speaker this serves extremely well as an illustrative support, the lettering itself being something of beauty, and evocative of haikus, which was something I felt right from the start. Where I got this wrong was that Madhuri has accomplished something very different, which may – consciously or not – owe a great deal to Japanese tradition, but is actually startlingly new. This project could very easily have become cute and sentimental, yet right from the start goes way beyond by plunging into the depths of human experience, and rising to skies unknown, often one after another. You don’t know what’s going to come next. This makes you more a participant than a reader and, as stated earlier, the whole thing an event as much as a book.

So here I am, having spent some time with this latest masterpiece, wondering – as right at the start – if it is possible to do justice to what we have here. Words fail me. I open up the book randomly again and get

faceted leaf-mandala

with its vibrant colouring, chaos and symmetry combined, a force of nature and something – a gift from – beyond.

And that is what we have here.