研究者：呂岱如
本文為「藝術如何成為⽣態的盟友？英國與印度草根實例訪查與永續研究」之部分成果內容，由國家文化藝術基金會支持贊助。
Researcher: Esther Lu
This article is a part of the research outcome of the project “How Does Art Become an Ally of Ecology? Field Research and Sustainability Report from the UK and India,” supported by the National Culture and Arts Foundation.
Published date: 25 February, 2026
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首次進到 Shri Biswajit Das 這戶農家用餐的時候是我抵達巴拉村的第一個晚上，夫婦二人住在相當簡樸的典型農舍裡，招呼著我們進到僅設有廚房灶台和一方餐桌的小屋裡，就著幽微約僅有二十燭光照度的燈光下，我們一行人坐著享用著香辣熱呼的阿薩姆農家菜，席間身形瘦削的、微拱著背的兩人從頭到尾頂著笑容，來回不斷給我們添菜加飯。[1] 除了米飯以外，每道菜的味覺譜系都陌生地將我直接扔向更遠的遠方，這裏不是我之前認識的印度。我細細品嚐著，還學不會用手抓飯的我，舉著逗人發笑的筷子，夾起盤裡每一粒裹上豆泥、咖哩的濕潤白米，努力辨別又迷失在各種滋味裡。那夜，我真的不確定自己的所在，夫婦兩人臉頰上隨著笑容展開的深紋所不禁洩漏的光陰記憶，加厚了夜色的深度，當晚我裹著星空沈沈睡去。
在印度東北阿薩姆邦首都古瓦哈提西郊30公里外的巴拉村（Bhalla village, Guwahati, Assam），目前依舊保持以傳統稻作為主要經濟模式的傳統農村狀態，同時承載著自英國殖民時期在周遭區域間的茶園和林園開發種植的複雜歷史。在我這異鄉人的眼中，此地四周環境秀麗：黑土平原、丘陵、溪流連結到遠處的山林，河川水源的來自季節性的雨水和遠處梅加拉雅邦（Meghalaya）的山泉，當地村落和鄰近範圍的村莊包括卡里巴拉（Karipara）、賽薩（Sesa）、歌卑咖昂（Khope Gaon）、加里（Challi）等有著原住民與非原住民群體組成的多元微型生態，許多傳統的農村文化儀式仍舊被保存，每年雨季帶來了局部性的河水氾濫、沃土與田裡的魚，原始森林棲地遭受壓迫而跟隨著祖傳記憶而遷徙覓食的大象也在區域內活躍。
各種關於大象的傳聞也引來當地藝術團體 Anga Art Collective 的關注，而在疫情的特殊條件催化下，他們的成員正好有機會在巴拉村找到新的工作基地，這裡質地純樸的人文環境深深吸引著他們，長期在藝術學院與藝術機制生態裡感到封閉窒礙的他們，自2016年左右以來，便逐步摸索出以公共性為關注、反思在地需求與在地知識的工作方向。他們在這個村落裡，以長期進駐與耕耘對話的方式，讓土地與村民帶領著他們拓展藝術實踐的各種潛力和可能。他們跟著大象的腳步聲而來，而我也有幸在四天三夜短短的訪問期間內，聽到了人們接近大象時的心跳與歌聲，並觀察到 Anga Art Collective 是如何彎腰在環境中向萬物學習。
從集體行動到公共性的探索
Anga Art Collective 的成員於他們在學期間相識，友誼自2005年開始滋養他們，而到2010年，他們開始在古瓦哈提市郊租下一個工作室、奠基更多的一起工作的可能，也自然地與當地居民產生互動連結，這些有機的活動包括了跨領域的合作、公共空間的介入與表演性展示、壁畫等，當時他們並沒有強烈的意識要以藝術團體（artist collective）自居，而是不斷提取這些互動經驗作為他們對於藝術的社會實踐與政治能動性的探針，並展開更強烈的在地社會關懷，關注水災、土壤流失、迫遷人口等議題。後來部分成員繼續深造，藝術團體的相關思維才慢慢進入到他們自覺的組織與活動方式裡，而「公共性」亦成為他們集體性的實踐元素，進一步去思考他們到底應該在古瓦哈提進行怎樣的藝術實踐、又用怎樣的方式與物質轉化方式來操作。在印度缺乏公共文化資源的藝術場景裡，這注定是漫長的摸索與實踐，十多人來來去去的團體也經歷了各種階段的聚散離合。
在疫情爆發後，Anga Art Collective 的成員多數返回了阿薩姆邦，也正好在此條件下，大家得以聚首並且回應當時特殊情境所激化出的問題，諸如公共衛生、社經條件的不平等、生態議題、教育問題等，這些銜續著更多溝通與社群組織的需求，也在這個機緣下，他們在 2020 年展開了 kNOw school 計畫 [2]，將他們探索、反思多年的各種問題，找到在地形式來演繹、實踐，重新建構知識的認識論框架，以去學習／再學習（unlearning/relearning）作為方法，回應阿薩姆邦的在地迫切議題。阿薩姆邦位於印度的東北地區，與印度次大陸有著相當不同的歷史文化，東北七邦有大量不同的原住民依舊保持著他們的信仰文化飲食傳統，該區與孟加拉、緬甸、中國、不丹等為界，也是地緣政治上飽受衝突的地方，在印度國內更經常是被視為帶有異國特色的他者，被賦予暴力、不穩定的想像。然而，這個地區也同時保留了更多元的少數民族文化與智慧，有著超過兩百種地方語言，小農經濟模式依存，作為思考反殖民歷史的座標，格外具有意義。而 2022 年後，在巴拉村這片鄉野間，Anga Art Collective 的進駐和介入為其地平線上抹上新的色調，他們在這裡所回應的是共生的需求、所倡議的是在地知識的生產與保存。而這裡是哪裡？成員 Dharmedra Prasad 給出了具體而詩意的回答：「我們位於文化時間與工業時間的摩擦間，位於鄉土哲學及掠奪搾取的印記之間，Anga Art Collective 處於地理上的流動、階級、慶典、生命過程裡的緩慢衰敗之間，這個地點是確切真實的，而不像國族主義那樣的虛妄。」
韌性與傳統實踐
巴拉村所在的周圍區域的確如同一個微型縮影，在印度緩慢而不均等的現代化過程裡，這裏是被拉扯與遺忘的。由於歷史上不同異族群的遷徙移入，原住民社群的耕種方式也隨之不斷改變，造就了這個區域的複雜歷史，並保留了部分傳統農業經濟模式、耕種技術、節慶習俗。這些罕見的傳統實踐方案，包括了朱盼巴里（Jupangbari）村的集體經濟：當地的羅哈部落（Rabha）他們依舊維持著某種以部落為單位的社群經濟：部落的居民一起在他們所屬的私有農地上種稻、收割，而土地持有人將由稻米收穫賺取的金錢或是部分稻作，歸給由部落共有，婚葬儀式、生病、各種私人急用狀況也由共同基金支付或借用。自英國殖民以來直至今日，當地傳統原住民一直不斷地協商他們的土地合法權利，然而法令的不延續、不執行以及鬆綁，以及2022年新修訂的森林保護條與原有的森林權利法案相互矛盾，且轉向與企業利益對齊，高速加劇撕裂對土地和原住民的關係。[3]
在過去三十年間，基礎建設工程、工業開發項目、開礦活動、在 Rani 森林保護區的非法伐木活動等因素，讓環境負擔呈現指數型的增長，干擾原有大象廊道的連續性，當地住民與野生動物皆處在極大生存壓力之下，象群前往田裡覓食，破壞稻田的事件層出不窮。這裏的農夫雖然不享有任何經濟優勢，卻可看到他們用各種傳統的智慧保持集體生存的韌性，更可以看到他們樂天和對同享大地的生物所存有的同理心。外界稱為衝突的人象爭地議題，在當地農夫的眼中，卻有完全不同的現實，即便他們需要每夜輪流看守農地，搭上通電的鐵絲網來嚇阻象群，他們依舊刻意在收割稻米時保留更多的梗莖以及部分稻米供給大象食用，從來沒有想過要以射殺大象來解決問題。他們用關懷疼惜的態度來和大象相處，而這份動人的同理心也是 Anga Art Collective 深有共感而在此不斷思考的議題：我們要怎樣克服現實環境的層層壓迫和各種衝突來找到未來的共生之路？如果我們把這些問題都放在「生態」的擴延框架下去思考，我們怎樣重新去理解在這之間的社會關係？
駐地藝術家的再定義：作為在地觀察者
我跟著他們的日常作息的腳步穿梭在附近的村莊與田野裡，看到了某種幾乎讓人震撼的「駐地藝術家」的角色詮釋。騎在摩托車後座的我，跟著晃噠在路上，不停地被各種真摯的招呼與微笑簇擁，那些往來在空中的應答，驗明了他們經營在地關係的深度。在拜訪森林部落時正逢他們集體收割一年一獲的稻米之際，整村的人手持鐮刀歡快熟稔地採收著金黃的稻穗，我也受邀跟著一起下田體驗了一把，參與這場盛事，他們並向我耐心地解釋著他們的稻作作為族群集體資產的運作方式。我對於這個混種社群經濟模式的智慧感到欽佩，這既是一種社群共生關係的建立，同時也提供了某種自主性的社會福利與保護網，除此以外，他們個人還是可以依靠各自其他的工作與收入換取私人財產，同時保持了社群和個體的彈性張力與韌性發展。
我們前往當地鸚鵡群聚生活的章杜比湖區（Chandubi lake），景色如織的風光金燦燦地落在眼前，湖面上幾葉扁舟搖槳而過。成員 Dhrubajit Sarma 向我解釋這片被多方覬覦的風景區即便屬於受保護的傳統原民部落用地，卻可能面臨的土地開發與生態浩劫，而當地居民在觀光潮的壓力下，依舊堅持不讓動力船駛入湖中，用他們的方式盡力守護著生態底線。我們在湖邊的餐廳享用午餐，盤中湖魚的鮮美滋味卻讓我惆悵。開發的勢力顯然不可能放過此地，這裏的生態平衡正在經歷倒數計時。而我也不禁回想 Anga Art Collective 工作室牆面上多幅田中魚的小幅作品，所有的生物都在相互依賴著，而我們的手是否僅有破壞之力？
某夜，我們拜訪了當地一位年逾八十的耆老 Shri Jogen Das 家中，參觀他經年獨立創作的竹根雕塑，數量龐大的雕塑群展現出各種奇幻動物姿態，他們不處於任何現實向度而是通往自由與想像的樂土，這些雕塑在素人的手中生動奔跑、恣意展現生命力。「我只是跟著竹根的形狀而已，」纖瘦卻依舊健壯的老先生說道。這些樣貌更接近混種傳說生物的雕塑，上演著獨一無二的傳奇。Dhruba 熱切地直說他從老人身上學到好多，他們深受感動與啟發，跟著在此深掘藝術的原點和初心。而老人也在與他們的往來對話裡，感受到藝術語言的交流並在近年對於自己的創作產生更多的熱情。他們邀請老人一起合作、參展，而面對藝術市場與生態，Shri Jogen Das 也有各種自己的堅持，什麼能展、什麼不賣，底線清晰俐落。我望著他們忘年之交的情誼與信任，那裡存有的是人性與藝術最燦爛而樸實的碰撞。
短短幾天裡，我悠悠隨著他們一起聆聽村民與土地。離開的前一天，我跟著他們來到一處已經收割完畢的稻田裡追蹤象群，進行他們日常的野外寫生素描。我在那田裡見到滿滿一片大象腳印，那是過去一週多次累積的印記，而當我把自己的腳印在他們的足跡上行走時，我的心跳加快、神經都拉緊了，被眼前巨大的力量完全震攝。原來，我們距離野生象群如此之近，他們的生命體、留下的足跡與排遺是如此具有份量！Dharmedra 教我辨識大象媽媽與小象的足跡，而我們也跟著來到象群穿過林地的狹小入口。Dhruba 說，「象群移動時是很安靜地，即使他們這麼龐大，人類無法用聽覺來判斷和示警。當地農民有的能夠憑藉嗅覺來得知象群的到來。」當我站在那片原野上靜靜等候三名成員用如此純樸的方式各自完成素描時，我感覺自己的身體內在感知力正被這份與象群的親近重塑、牽引著，某部分的我也被帶進了叢林山區，而那深處和這片大地的脈動緊緊相連而具有精神性的樣貌才是我心跳加速的原因。那個感知力並非是理性邏輯的思考覺察或是單純感官刺激聯覺，而是一種跨物種間頻率連結的感受——我閉上眼待大象踏上我的背脊，而我也走向他們的林徑。
當晚，我們迎來更多 Anga Art Collective 的來訪友人，也包括了那位第一個晚上我們去用餐人家的 Shri Biswajit Das 先生。他們說，昨晚半夜，大象在他家後面的田裡待了兩個小時，他的田被踩壞了，損失慘重，他整夜沒睡，看起來精神疲憊，卻參雜幾分過度興奮後的抖擻。他先是在屋內靠牆安靜地蹲坐在地，安靜著聽著我們談天喝茶，後來喧鬧後氣氛一轉，現場開始出現了歌聲，而他也加入高歌，那歌聲飽滿忘我，宣洩著他積壓了一整天的各種情緒，或許參雜著恐懼、憂愁、哀傷、失落和不捨，但是聲音裡面沒有怨念，眼神與腔調裡盡是溫柔。我收下自己眼底心疼的眼淚，跟著陌生的音調哼哼跳跳的。原來如此啊，在這村裡生活，這些日常就教人謙卑地不停學習、獲得新的生命連結與力量。在這些有機自然展開的過程裡，人會不覺鬆開成見、慣性、心理疆界，在這些生態關係的相互碰撞之下、在四季地景物種交織的節律中，學會保有更多的同情、不同的感性、情緒價值以及深植於這片大地的鄉野知識。
Anga Art Collective 將自身放在這樣的處境下去展開理解，透過深度的觀察和對話，他們提出的是一套地方知識的轉化工程。透過舉辦工作坊，他們讓年輕學生成為知識生產的主體，讓孩童們來建構對於地方知識的敘事和描繪，他們相信孩童們所對地方的認識遠超過我們的想像。藉由思考給未來的教育結構來創造內容與關係，從真實生活場景、日常張力、祖傳智慧和各種草根力量的展現中汲取知識。始於 2022 年且為期三年的 Granary 計畫，便是在 Sher-Gil Sundaram Arts Foundation 補助下展開的一項公共藝術計畫 [4]，他們在村中一片公用空地上，與當地工藝師、原住民社群合作，用在地自然素材搭蓋起了一棟象徵穀倉的空間，作為教育功能、檔案儲存的空間，讓村民對於在地知識的文化生產也建立起公共性的盼望，舉辦各種說故事、社區互動、放映、視覺裝置等多項功能活動，也讓村民一起管理這個空間的使用，創造更具對話意義、更聚焦的體驗空間。而這項計畫的初始目標，便是在這個區域裡深度去描繪出在人、象、森林之間更複雜深刻的動態，在這些對人象衝突、共生挑戰的觀察裡，去思考關於集體性的生態實踐，探索這裡所能激發出來的教育性、美學性、表演性的潛能。
為現代性除魅與認識論的轉向
我們要如何思考藝術在這長年的對話與實踐過程裡，究竟作為什麼樣的媒介與角色，怎樣在此地特有的摩擦與磨合裡思考藝術的形式、語言、特質、機制與觀眾？Anga Art Collective 可以說從零開始打造了自己進駐該村落的文化基礎建設，他們自租房子、自行發起計畫、申請經費來進行長期的投入，在完全沒有任何官方或機構的媒介下，他們靠著自己有限度的力量、透過一點一滴的對話與分享，經營他們與村民的關係。他們隨身攜帶的素描本忠實地記錄了他們的觀察日記，成為他們創作的重要基礎，卻也同時是時刻隨身與村民分享他們工作內容的樸實媒體，讓村民了解他們所思所做。而不論是 kNOw School 或 Granary 計畫，都是面向當地社群的計畫，而這樣的屬性也讓他們的角色擔負了雙重責任：一部分是在地的觀察、實踐與介入，另一部分是如何以藝術家的身份在村落以外用其他的展演形式來轉化、傳遞他們實踐的內容，甚至在國際藝術場景裡找到語言來轉化這些內涵並不落入這些系統的支配。而若當這些內容無法被翻譯的時候，又要創造什麼樣的語言來闡述和貼近那些真實？更關鍵和困難的也在於這樣的運作模式要如何找到長遠發展的經濟基礎與現實？這個村落，是否有能力供養得起這樣的駐村藝術家？或是如何合作創建新的經濟模式以達到自營與永續？又則，當他們引入外界資源到村落裡，並帶來新的經濟權力動態時也肯定碰撞到地方政治角力，他們又要如何自處在這些動態裡？這樣的藝術計畫又如何與其他的社群建立或地方再造活動有所區別呢？
當我們在觀察多數以過程為主的藝術實踐時，這些兩難和困境是無可避免的。於此同時，一項難以忽略的特質也在相處的幾天內浮現：Anga Art Collective 所實踐的時間性是非斷裂的、充滿孔隙特質的、是附著並隨著多物種共同經歷不同季節增長與代謝的，他們真實創造的是那些串連在各種生命體之間的有機關係，而如何讓這些發酵作用成為不同的社會效應，亦或是地方面對自身的在地知識生產，反向提煉出為現代性除魅的力量，是他們更深層的提問。不消說，以西方藝術史為範式的藝術內容早已完全不適用，他們在巴拉村所能滋養出來的藝術究竟要用什麼樣的語言來描述？這些真實的「在一起」——沒有到點打卡下班的時間，沒有分開於土地的身體，對於全球資本、氣候、科技之於在地農民的壓迫的深刻洞察，讓我深深感受到藝術在這個村子裡的重要性，那絕對不是關於這片土地作為靈感而催生出的某種藝術物，而是這片早已扎根、交織在一起的生命關係網絡。那是關於尊嚴、平等、懇切的牧歌，關於大象如何從田裡返回森林、魚如何游在乾淨的水系裡。這些無疑就是最迫切需要回答的問題啊！我深刻體悟到他們是如何在這個小小的村裡，建立一套對於生態也是對於藝術的、獨一無二的認識論，在我未知的邊界上，掛上新月。巴拉村也無私地為我更新一套感知系統：我到現在，耳邊還繚繞著每位成員以及 Shri Biswajit Das 厚實的歌聲；也總在夜裡，思量象群以為的荒蕪與豐饒。
我以為我離開了巴拉村，但是短短幾天內我所感受到的問題，才開始，長成一片鮮活盎然的森林。
I was brought to the farmstead of Shri Biswajit Das for dinner on my first night in Bhalla Village [1]. The farmer couple resided in a modest, quintessential farmhouse. They ushered us into a small outbuilding—a space comprising only a hearth and a single dining table. Under the dim glow of a twenty-candlepower bulb, our group sat and savored steaming, spicy Assamese rural cuisine. Throughout the meal, the two hosts—thin-framed with slightly arched backs—moved rhythmically back and forth, tirelessly refilling our plates. Beyond the rice, the flavor profiles of every dish felt utterly unfamiliar, casting me into a strange land; this was not the India I thought I knew. I tasted each morsel mindfully—still unpracticed in eating with my hands, I wielded a pair of chopsticks that were met with smiles, picking up moist grains of rice coated in dal and curry, struggling to identify tastes only to lose myself within them. That night, I was untethered from my sense of place. The deep furrows on the couple’s cheeks, revealed by their smiles, leaked memories of time that thickened the depth of the night. I fell into a deep sleep, cocooned by the starlight.
Located 30 kilometers west of Guwahati, the capital of Assam in Northeast India, Bhalla Village maintains the traditional rhythms of an agrarian economy centered on rice cultivation, while carrying the complex historical development of tea and timber planation tied to the British colonial expansion in the region. The current landscape is exquisite in my foreign eyes: black soil plains, rolling hills, and streams connecting to distant forests, fed by the seasonal rain and from the mountains of Meghalaya. The village and its surrounding area, including Karipara, Sesa, Khope Gaon, Challi, etc. house a micro-ecosystem of diverse indigenous communities and non-indigenous groups where various traditional rituals and cultural practices remain active. Each monsoon brings floods, fertile silt, and fish to the paddies; meanwhile, wild elephants—displaced by the encroachment on their primordial forest habitats—frequent the area with their ancestral memories in search of food.
Rumors of these elephants drew the attention of the Anga Art Collective. Catalyzed by the unique conditions of the pandemic, the collective’s members found an opportunity to establish a new base of operations in Bhalla. They were deeply drawn to the village’s unadorned humanistic environment. Having long felt stifled by the insular nature of art academies and institutional ecosystems, the group has, since 2016, gradually developed a practice centered on the commons, reflecting on local needs and indigenous knowledge. Through long-term residency and dialogical engagement, they have allowed the land and its people to lead them toward expanding the potential of artistic practice. They followed the footsteps of the elephants; during my brief four-day visit, I was fortunate enough to hear the "heartbeat and song" of those experiencing approaching elephants and observe how the members of Anga Art Collective bend their backs to learn from all living things within this environment.
From Collective Action to the Common
The members of Anga Art Collective met during their student years, their friendship nourishing them since 2005. By 2010, they began renting a studio on the outskirts of Guwahati, laying the groundwork for collaborative labor and organic interaction with local residents. These activities included interdisciplinary collaborations, public space interventions, performative displays, and murals. At the time, they did not have the conceptual framework nor the self-identification of an "artist collective"; instead, they treated these interactive experiences as probes to test the social practice and political agency of art. They turned their focus toward acute local issues: flooding, soil erosion, and forced displacement.
As some members pursued advanced studies, the discourse of the collective began to inform their organizational logic. The common became a central element of their practice, prompting them to question what form art should take in Guwahati and through what material transformations it should operate. In an Indian art scene largely devoid of public cultural resources, this was a protracted journey of trial and error for a group of over ten members who ebbed and flowed through various stages of convergence and dispersal.
Following the COVID-19 outbreak, most members returned to Assam. This shared displacement allowed them to gather and respond to the crises exacerbated by the pandemic: public health, socio-economic inequality, ecological precarity, and educational gaps. These issues necessitated deeper communication and community organizing. In 2020, they launched the kNOw School project—a local enactment of their years of reflection [2]. The project seeks to reconstruct epistemological frameworks, utilizing "unlearning/relearning" as a methodology to address Assam’s urgent regional issues.
Northeast India possesses a history and culture distinct from the mainland; the Seven Sister States are home to numerous indigenous groups who maintain their own faiths and dietary traditions. Bordering Bangladesh, Myanmar, China, and Bhutan, the region is a geopolitical flashpoint, often "othered" by the rest of India as an exotic, volatile, or violent periphery. Yet, it remains a repository of diverse ethnic wisdom and over 200 local languages. As a coordinate for rethinking decolonial history, it is profoundly significant. Since 2022, Anga’s presence in Bhalla has added a new hue to the rural horizon. They respond to the need for symbiosis and advocate for the production and preservation of local knowledge, especially the region is heavily loaded with government’s neoliberal development interventions and degraded environmental protection. To the question of "where" this is, member Dharmendra Prasad offers a poetic, concrete reply:
“We are situated in the friction between cultural time and industrial time, between vernacular philosophy and the marks of extraction. Anga Art Collective exists amidst geographical flux, class, celebration, and the slow decay of life processes. This site is tangible and real—unlike the illusions of nationalism."
Resilience and Rooting Traditions
Bhalla Village and its surrounding area serve as a microcosm of India’s uneven modernization—a place caught between conflicting forces and often forgotten, where economic conditions remain meager. The pressure of shifting cultivation practices of the indigenous communities due to the resettlement of heterogeneous groups driven by historical developments and the new infrastructural push in the area build up different tensions. Despite these shifts, the region preserves some traditional agrarian economic models, farming methods, and festive customs.
These rare traditions include a communal economy maintained in Jupangbari village, where the Rabha community plant and harvest rice collectively. In exchange for this labor, landholders contribute cash or a portion of the harvest to a communal fund used to cover weddings, funerals, illness, or private emergencies as an autonomous social welfare to empower their resilience against the changing political circumstance. The indigenous communities have been negotiating their land rights since the British colonial era, navigating the shifting legal relations to their native land. The recent 2022 Forest Conservation Amendment goes against the spirit of the previous Forest Rights Act now opens the door to favor the corporate interests, threatening to tear through the region at an alarming speed [3].
In the past three decades, infrastructure projects, industrial development, mining activities and the illegal timber smuggling in the Rani Forest range have largely disrupted local elephant corridors, leading to frequent foraging and damage in the paddy fields. Although these farmers lack economic advantages, one observes a resilience rooted in traditional wisdom and a profound empathy for the creatures sharing the earth. What outsiders label as "human-elephant conflict" is viewed quite differently by local farmers. Despite guarding their fields with electrified fences, they intentionally leave behind stalks and grain for the elephants during harvest. Culling is never considered; instead, they treat the animals with protective tenderness. This moving empathy is a central inquiry for the Anga Art Collective: How do we overcome layers of environmental pressure to find a future of co-existence? If we frame these issues within an expanded "ecology," how do we re-read the social relations therein?
Redefining Artist-in-Residence: The Artist as Embedded Observer
Accompanying the collective in their daily routines, I witnessed a staggering interpretation of the "artist-in-residence" role. Riding on the back of a motorcycle, I was swept up in a tide of sincere greetings and smiles; the shorthand exchanges between the artists and villagers testified to the depth of their situatedness. Our visit to Rabha community coincided with the annual rice harvest. The entire village, sickles in hand, joyfully harvested golden ears of grain. I was invited to join them, experiencing firsthand this communal event. They patiently explained their collective asset model based on rice production—a system that builds community symbiosis and provides an autonomous social safety net while allowing for individual economic growth and resilience through other garden crops and labor incomes.
Later, at Chandubi lake populated by parrots, member Dhrubajit Sarma explained that although this protected indigenous land is coveted by developers, the residents refuse to allow motorboats, guarding the ecological bottom line against the pressures of tourism. While eating lake fish at a local stall, the sweetness of the meal was tinged with melancholy; the forces of development are relentless, and the ecological balance here feels like a countdown. I recalled the small paintings of "fish in the paddy" on the studio walls—a reminder of our mutual interdependence.
One night, we visited Shri Jogen Das, an elder over eighty who creates bamboo root sculptures. His vast collection of fantastical animals exists in a dimension of pure imagination and freedom. "I simply follow the shape of the root," the wiry, vigorous man said. Dhruba spoke passionately about how much he has learned from Jogen, finding in him the original authenticity of art. Through their dialogue, the elder has found renewed passion for his work. They have invited him to collaborate and exhibit, yet Jogen remains firm on his own terms regarding the art market—clear boundaries on what can be shown and what is not for sale. In their intergenerational friendship, one sees the most brilliant, unadorned collision of humanity and art.
On my final day, I followed the members into a harvested field to track elephants for their daily field sketches. I saw a carpet of elephant tracks—accumulated imprints from the past week. Placing my feet within their massive strides, my heart quickened. We were so close to these wild beings; the sheer weight of their physical presence, their tracks, and their dung was overwhelming. Dharmendra taught me to distinguish between the prints of a mother and a calf. Dhruba noted: "Elephants move silently. Humans cannot rely on hearing to sense them; some local farmers can smell their arrival." As I stood in the wilderness, my internal perception was reshaped. This was not a rational awareness, but a cross-species frequency connection. I learned to close my eyes and let the elephant walk upon my spine as I stepped into their forest path.
That evening, Shri Biswajit Das joined us, with more visiting member and friends from the town. He reported that elephants had spent two hours in his field the previous night; his crops were destroyed. He looked exhausted yet possessed a trace of post-excitement vigor. He sat quietly against the wall, listening to us talk. Later, the atmosphere shifted, and singing began. The fellow joined in, his voice full and selfless, venting the accumulated emotions of the day—fear, sorrow, loss—but without a hint of resentment. His eyes and tone remained clear and tender. I swallowed down my own tears in silence and hummed along to the unfamiliar melody. This is life in the village: a constant, humble learning of new connections. Within these organic encounters, one sheds prejudice and psychological boundaries, learning a different sensibility and a vernacular knowledge rooted in the earth.
Anga Art Collective positions itself within this "friction" to facilitate a transformation of local knowledge. Through workshops, they empower youth and children to become subjects of knowledge production. Their Granary Project (est. 2022), supported by the Sher-Gil Sundaram Arts Foundation [4], involved building a symbolic granary using local natural materials and indigenous craftsmanship. This space serves as a functional archive and a site for storytelling, screenings, and visual installations—a place where villagers also manage their own cultural production.
Disenchantment to Modernity and the Epistemology Shift
How do we define the role of art in this long-term practice? Anga Art Collective has essentially built their own cultural infrastructure from scratch—renting houses, initiating projects, and applying for funding without official mediation. Their sketchbooks are both diaries and a low-tech media shared with villagers to demystify their work.
Projects like kNOw School or Granary carry a dual responsibility: local intervention and the translation of that practice for the world outside. How does one translate these contents for the international art scene without falling into a subject of institutional instrumentalization? If certain elements are "untranslatable," what new language must be created? Furthermore, how can such a model find a sustainable economic base? Can a village sustain such artists, or must new collaborative economic models be forged? Furthermore, when they introduce external resources and new economic dynamics into a village, how do they re-situate themselves amidst local power structures? How do such art projects different from other community building or social revitalization project?
These dilemmas are inevitable in process-based art. Yet, a distinct quality emerged during my stay: the “temporality" practiced by Anga Art Collective is non-linear and porous; it is attached to the seasonal metabolism of multiple species. They create organic relationships between living entities. Their work is a reproduction and fermentation of local knowledge that serves as a disenchantment to modernity.
The Western art history paradigm is wholly inadequate here. The art nourished in Bhalla is about a profound "being together"—no clocking out, no separation of body from land. It is a deep insight into the pressures of global capital and climate on the local farmer. Art here is not an "object" inspired by the land; it is the woven network of life relations. How can we have words to describe them? It is a pastoral of dignity and equality—about how elephants return to the forest and fish swim in clean waters. These are the true urgent questions. I realized that in this small village, the collective has established a unique epistemology of ecology and art, hanging a crescent moon on the borders of my own unknown. Bhalla Village has functioned as a site for the selfless recalibration of my sensory apparatus; the sonorous voices of the members and Shri Biswajit Das remain a persistent acoustic memory. At night, I am still lost to meditate on the elephant’s unique cartography of scarcity and plenty.
I thought I had left Bhalla Village, but the questions I felt and gathered during those days have only just begun to grow into a living forest.
