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Lot Essay
More than a portrait, this exquisitely cast figure of Krishnavati captures a fleeting moment of grace and spontaneity. With her right arm raised, she holds a gem-studded bouquet, as if caught mid-performance. Her expression, gentle and open, conveys a sense of innocence and quiet confidence, setting this figure apart from the more rigid, devotional representations common in conventional Nepalese royal portrait sculpture.
This lifelike portrayal stands in contrast to traditional portraiture where historical figures are often depicted in veneration or mimicking the posture of deities. Here, Krishnavati is depicted in a relaxed, naturalistic pose that suggests vitality and personality. The subtle articulation of her garments, the rippling sleeves and trousers, the layered jewellery, and the carefully rendered hair ornaments all speak to the sculptor’s attention to nuance and individuality.
She stands gracefully on a single-lotus openwork base, wearing a long, flared tunic that parts at the centre to reveal her bare torso and a long, tasselled scarf below the waist. Her clothing is sparsely adorned with floral motifs, and she is richly ornamented with garlands, multi-strand necklaces, bracelets, anklets with bells, and earrings. Her elaborate headdress rests atop a precisely arranged coiffure, from which long tresses fall over her shoulders.
This figure belongs to a broader tradition of portraiture in Nepal that gained prominence in the 17th century, particularly in metal and stone. While depictions of historical figures appear in painted paubhas as early as the 12th century, three-dimensional representations such as this became increasingly refined and individualised in this later period.
A closely related figure, believed to depict a young prince, is in the Aalderink Collection. The prince is of a similar scale at 13 cm. high, it was exhibited in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, during the Oosterse Schatten exhibition in 1954 (p. 114, pl. 51, no. 570). Both sculptures share the same flared tunic and densely rippled sleeves and trousers, suggesting they may have originated from the same workshop or even as part of a set. The present inscription dates the Krishnavati figure just two years before the death of King Pratap Malla, further supporting the likelihood that both portraits are connected to his court.
Additional and more conventional comparisons can be drawn with a donor figure in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (acc. no. 2020.288.1), which depicts a nobleman in Rajput-style dress similar to that seen in 17th- and 18th-century Nepalese courtly attire. This style also appears in the lower register of a 1681 Vishnu mandala in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (M.73.2.2). Additionally a paubha of a Tuladaan ceremony dated 1669 now in the Collège de France, Paris (see Pal, The Arts of Nepal: Volume Two: Painting, Leiden, 2978, no. 220) that features Pratap Malala’s youngest son Chakrabartendra Malla. The Met figure bears an inscription identifying the donor as Sri Muni Vajracharya, a member of the Varyacharya caste. Another relevant comparison is a kneeling female donor figure, also in the Met (acc. no. 2020.288.2), believed to represent Lady Bharamayi. That figure features a more restrained rendering of garments, contrasting with the dynamic presence of Krishnavati.
Together, these rare and intimate portraits offer a compelling glimpse into the sophisticated visual culture of 17th-century Nepal, where portraiture served not only as personal or devotional objects but also as records of status, identity, and courtly life.
(We are grateful to Ian Alsop for providing the translation and sharing his research for this essay).
This lifelike portrayal stands in contrast to traditional portraiture where historical figures are often depicted in veneration or mimicking the posture of deities. Here, Krishnavati is depicted in a relaxed, naturalistic pose that suggests vitality and personality. The subtle articulation of her garments, the rippling sleeves and trousers, the layered jewellery, and the carefully rendered hair ornaments all speak to the sculptor’s attention to nuance and individuality.
She stands gracefully on a single-lotus openwork base, wearing a long, flared tunic that parts at the centre to reveal her bare torso and a long, tasselled scarf below the waist. Her clothing is sparsely adorned with floral motifs, and she is richly ornamented with garlands, multi-strand necklaces, bracelets, anklets with bells, and earrings. Her elaborate headdress rests atop a precisely arranged coiffure, from which long tresses fall over her shoulders.
This figure belongs to a broader tradition of portraiture in Nepal that gained prominence in the 17th century, particularly in metal and stone. While depictions of historical figures appear in painted paubhas as early as the 12th century, three-dimensional representations such as this became increasingly refined and individualised in this later period.
A closely related figure, believed to depict a young prince, is in the Aalderink Collection. The prince is of a similar scale at 13 cm. high, it was exhibited in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, during the Oosterse Schatten exhibition in 1954 (p. 114, pl. 51, no. 570). Both sculptures share the same flared tunic and densely rippled sleeves and trousers, suggesting they may have originated from the same workshop or even as part of a set. The present inscription dates the Krishnavati figure just two years before the death of King Pratap Malla, further supporting the likelihood that both portraits are connected to his court.
Additional and more conventional comparisons can be drawn with a donor figure in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (acc. no. 2020.288.1), which depicts a nobleman in Rajput-style dress similar to that seen in 17th- and 18th-century Nepalese courtly attire. This style also appears in the lower register of a 1681 Vishnu mandala in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (M.73.2.2). Additionally a paubha of a Tuladaan ceremony dated 1669 now in the Collège de France, Paris (see Pal, The Arts of Nepal: Volume Two: Painting, Leiden, 2978, no. 220) that features Pratap Malala’s youngest son Chakrabartendra Malla. The Met figure bears an inscription identifying the donor as Sri Muni Vajracharya, a member of the Varyacharya caste. Another relevant comparison is a kneeling female donor figure, also in the Met (acc. no. 2020.288.2), believed to represent Lady Bharamayi. That figure features a more restrained rendering of garments, contrasting with the dynamic presence of Krishnavati.
Together, these rare and intimate portraits offer a compelling glimpse into the sophisticated visual culture of 17th-century Nepal, where portraiture served not only as personal or devotional objects but also as records of status, identity, and courtly life.
(We are grateful to Ian Alsop for providing the translation and sharing his research for this essay).