One of the last uses of Indian yellow, reportedly, was by Van Gogh in The Starry Night (1889). The famous yellow moon held within a cluster of radiant orbs was a blend of zinc yellow and Indian yellow.
Indian yellow subsequently travelled to studios across Europe, becoming a preferred pigment on many palettes.“The pure pigment has an incomparably beautiful, deep and luminescent gold yellow in shade which is achieved with no other pigment,” write Rebecca Ploeger and Aaron Shugar of the art conservation department of SUNY, Buffalo State, US, in a 2016 article titled The story of Indian yellow — excreting a solution. Elsewhere, the colour has been described as “a luminous, deep-mustard pigment widely admired for its depth, body and radiance”. Yet others say it resisted fading, even acquiring a stronger presence when exposed to sunlight.
In Pahari paintings, this yellow was used to drape gods as well as all royalty, to depict spring and summer, and to convey a bright mood in general.
The most important of all the yellow pigments used in Indian paintings — according to the Government of India’s Geographical Indications Journal No. 55 — is gaugoli. Gaugoli or gogili is an Indian version of the Persian term gaugil, meaning “cow-earth”. This pigment is also known as peori, piuti, peoli or the hardwari peori. The article further states: “This pigment is prepared from the urine of cows who had been fed exclusively on mango leaves and water. After heating and drying in the sun, the residue is rolled with hands into lumps.”
Artist Partha Dasgupta recalls Lalu Prasad Shaw, his teacher at Visva-Bharati’s Kala Bhavana, talking about the pigment — prepared from the urine of goats fed on mango leaves. Perhaps goat urine was a source too, who can tell. “Basically, it was the bilirubin that was extracted,” says the Calcutta-based artist. An artist’s job is to create, out of whatever is available around — plants, the earth and even animals. Sculptor Ramkinkar Baij worked with laterite gravel found around the Kopai river in Birbhum district mixed with cement, thus rejecting plaster which was rather expensive. And that sthaniyakaran or the property of being regional, Dasgupta explains, is a function of names such as Indian yellow and Indian red. The latter being a rich, opaque colour derived from red laterite soil.
The colour yellow has a long history. “In the Ajanta caves, for example, there was a great deal of use of yellow. This yellow was derived from ochre, which is a mineral,” says Benoy Behl, who is a Delhi-based art historian, documentary filmmaker and photographer. Most of the pigments used at the time were minerals available locally: red ochre, vivid red, yellow ochre, indigo blue, chalk white and so on. Behl agrees that some of the most brilliant uses of yellow are in miniature paintings, particularly the Pahari paintings. The fascination of the Europeans, he says, “is more like an outsider’s response to the vibrant colours in Indian paintings, since they were used to their own more subdued colours”.
Large quantities of this beautiful but “strange-smelling” pigment began to be shipped to London from Calcutta in the 1780s. By some accounts though, the Dutch painters were the first in Europe to get their hands on it in the 17th century. The Dutch East India Company was founded in 1602 and flourished till about the early 18th century.
Winsor & Newton, a London-based manufacturer of fine art products, had been getting sealed packages of the pigment. The company website reads thus: “The dirty yellow balls would be washed and purified, and the greenish and yellow phases separated. The precise ingredients of these pieces of pigment were unidentified, but they gave off a strong odour of ammonia and were suspected of containing snake urine, ox bile or, according to a more popular theory, camel urine.” The Winsor & Newton archive is one of the few places in the world wherein pieces of the original Indian yellow pigment are preserved.
The curiosity among chemists and pigment makers continued. Some contended the colour came from plant sap, but none was able to establish anything with certainty. While all this was happening, the colour spread in the hands of luminous patrons such as the Dutch masters Johannes Vermeer and Vincent Van Gogh, and English painter J.M.W. Turner. Think Van Gogh’s wheat fields or sunflowers — the whole range of interactions, between strokes and tones, time and temperament, amidst the greens, blues and whites…
Mandar (who goes by one name), a Delhi-based artist who nurtures a fondness for yellow, believes “you have to have faith in your colour and intention”. His preferred shade is Naples yellow, which is perhaps the earliest known synthetically produced yellow pigment. “At times after application, I just let it be for a few days, to see if it turns out the way I want it to, to get the right feel,” says Mandar.
Although most indigenous pigments now have synthetic versions, it’s not quite the same, as artist Arpana Caur will say. Caur — along with her mother — is also an art collector with over 200 Pahari paintings among others. They are 150-200 years old and are displayed in two museums. Caur tells The Telegraph, “There was a flood a few years ago, and unfortunately water seeped in and the Indian yellow was washed out. I got a lot of them restored, but it is not the same.”
Caur began to paint when she was nine, now she is 70. She says, “I find
Indian yellow very transparent. I used to buy it earlier but by temperament, I like opaque colours. Now I use Indian yellow only when I have an opaque colour under it, perhaps the solid cadmium yellow.”
In 1883, the story of Indian yellow took a definite turn. Joseph Hooker, director of the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, London, drew the attention of officials in India, leading to an investigation into the origins of the pigment. A few months later, Hooker received a reply from T.N. Mukharji, who was a government employee. Mukharji had found a group of gwalas or cowherds in Munger, now in Bihar, feeding their cattle a restricted diet of mango leaves and water. These cowherds, he said, produced the “mysterious” yellow pigment. He also commented that the cows “looked very unhealthy”.
Mukharji’s report was published in the Journal of the Society of Arts and in the early 20th century, Indian yellow was outlawed. And it disappeared from the market.
One of the last uses of Indian yellow, reportedly, was by Van Gogh in The Starry Night (1889). The famous yellow moon held within a cluster of radiant orbs was a blend of zinc yellow and Indian yellow.
source/content: telegraphindia.com (headline edited)