Learning Warli Art

Stepping into Warli art has become a gentle yet powerful extension of my Artwork. Each triangle and circle now feels like a small act of devotion - to Lord Rama, Hanuman and the simple, sacred world of village life they continue to guard and bless.

Above : Paintings by Shri Madhusudanji

I recently completed a workshop on Warli art under Shri Madhusudanji, who holds a world record in this tradition. It’s been quite a journey. Sharing some of my artwork below.

Discovering a new visual language

My explorations in different art forms - writing, photography, painting - have always been ways of exploring beauty. Each helps me understand my ability to stretch the limits of my creativity . Warli, though, feels different. It’s a language both ancient and alive - born in tribal roots, shaped by village rhythms  and expressed through geometry so simple it can still hold the vast stories of the Ramayana in three A3 size papers! 

Perhaps my background in Geometry and Technical Drawing helped, along with a basic sense of art, but more than that, Warli spoke to something instinctive in me.

On the hand-drawn canvas filled with multiple scenes, figures, and movements, I learned to slow down - to layer stories and see how an epic like the Ramayana could unfold as one continuous frieze of devotion, battle and grace.  When I moved to the iPad for my second painting, something shifted. I could refine my lines, play with composition and still feel that same sacred bhava. I realised that even digital tools can carry expression when the intent is to offer, not to perform.

                                     Above: from class

In the Ramayana series, Lord Rama, Hanuman and their companions appear as stylised Warli forms - triangles for bodies, circles for heads, spirals for tails. Yet their posture, weapons and gestures still radiate courage, loyalty and bhakti.  This simple visual grammar helps me focus on essence rather than ornament. Whether it’s Rama blessing Hanuman, the vanara sena crossing forests and rivers and making Ram Setu, or the moment Hanuman carries the Sanjeevani herb over Lanka, each panel becomes a quiet meditation on dharma, friendship and surrender. 

Every line I draw feels like an offering - a form of seva. It’s my way of serving my deities not just through flowers or mantras, but through time, patience and creative energy shaped into form.  Because a single Warli story often takes days or weeks to complete, the process itself becomes meditative. My breath syncs with the brush, my mind learns to stay steady with each detail until the picture feels whole.

The long hours spent composing, balancing figures and refining tiny elements keep my senses alert. My eyes, hands and imagination remain in constant dialogue - sharpening focus rather than draining it.  Most of all, there’s a quiet bliss in knowing that when someone sees these paintings, they might feel a flicker of the same joy, devotion and stillness I felt while creating them. In that shared moment, my art finds its purpose.