Who is the snake charmer at Bvlgari’s new exhibit?

WHERE DOES THE SNAKE SLITHER?

As evidence of the universality of this image, the serpentine motif has long been associated with subaltern communities. In the subcontinent, often under the noses of Brahmanical hegemony, the Nāga has routinely been worshipped as a deity, tied to ecology, agrarian life, fertility and protection. This is not to say that the serpent was never acknowledged; it often found its way into canonical worship associated with Shiva, or was exalted as the Shesh Nāga. Yet its acceptance beyond folk practices almost always posed a threat to the patrilineal institution of Hinduism.

All of this is perhaps a long-winded way of asking what it means for the Roman jeweller Bvlgari to bring the Serpenti Infinito exhibition to India: two distinct identities from entirely different temporal and geographical contexts.

“For me, it’s a conundrum. I’m also critiquing myself,” says Sean. “I do recognise that the exhibition is in part sponsored by two huge companies: Reliance and Bvlgari. Within that spectrum, I felt it was essential to show India what it means to exhibit or display Indian art in dialogue with, rather than as a backdrop to, a Western European brand.” It is a mammoth task, considering the vastness of the subcontinent. Yet across the three stories, the roster of artists takes a sharp detour from what we had come to expect in art galleries.

MULTIPLICITY OF MYTH-MAKING

“When you are standing in front of a work of art, whoever you are, wherever you come from, whether you like the artwork or not, it doesn’t matter. If something jars you, the artwork is doing something,” says Sean. Through a series of provocations, he poses frameworks of understanding. The first floor, characterised by a deep emerald shade, conjures new meanings. It sets a premise for contextualising the Nāga, containing the oldest work in the exhibition: a 15th-century manuscript of the Sapta Nadi Tantric Text, alongside numerous decorative and ritualistic representations such as the Bhuta Theyyam breastplate and masks from South India, and the 108 Karanas of Natyashastra by R. Srinivasan and L. Rathakrishnan. A few feet away is Bvlgari’s Heritage Collection, including Serpenti Tubogas jewellery watches from the 1960s and a yellow gold Serpenti belt inspired by a 1970s original.

Upstairs, in a grounded sienna orange, high jewellery from the brand’s collections is displayed beside what many, even in India, would consider ‘folk’ art. Sean elaborates this sleight of hand: “By placing indigenous and contemporary artists in the same space, I’m also saying that the so-called art world has long diminished one group of practitioners in order to create value for another sect.” Padma Shri awardee Baua Devi’s Bal Basan, in the Bharni style of the Madhubani and Mithila districts of Bihar, draws from the collective narrative of the snake as a harbinger of fertility. Bharti Kher’s Medusa, draped in resin-covered sarees and adorned with numerous serpentine bindis, exemplifies this dialogue.

On the final floor, wrapped in saffron and light, Subodh Gupta’s Infinite Sleeper, evoking the Ananta Shesha as protector and progenitor, stands in contrast with the AI Data Sculpture by Refik Anadol, a hypnotic reverie of technological metamorphosis, almost channelling the mesmerising charm associated with the serpent.

REINTERPRETATIONS THROUGH TIME

In popular culture, there is perhaps no text more relevant in this regard than Sukumar Ray’s 1923 poem Baburam Sapure, a tale about the snake and the snake charmer. Ray describes the demand for a snake “that has no eyes, no horns, no fangs. Doesn’t run or walk, doesn’t bite, hiss or fume. Consumes only milk and rice.” Penned amid unrest against colonial rule, when press freedom was severely curtailed, he ends the verse with the passion to “capture the live snake to beat it with a stick and cool it down.” It raises numerous dilemmas: why do we long for a snake that betrays its very nature? And thereafter, why do we feel compelled to suppress a subaltern that has been systematically subdued? Take Bharti Kher’s Medusa, for instance. Historically, the Greek figure has been viewed as a fearsome monster, but upon closer reading, her secluded lifestyle appears rather peaceful — only to be weaponised by Perseus after her demise. The latter’s heroic act of slaying Medusa was praised as a triumph over evil. Who benefits from turning cowardice into celebrated courage?

Sean refers to the idea of desire throughout the exhibition. The same idea, he acknowledges, benefits from exclusion. Desire, he notes, exists only alongside the elusive. By creating space for narratives often relegated, he invites the viewer to question their beliefs about art, luxury, and the society in which they operate, challenging hierarchies, identities, and entrenched notions of value. Yet this dual nature of the serpent still leaves one perplexed. Between reverence and repulsion, who is the snake, and who is the snake charmer in the context of today?