Almost all cultural activity in Sri Lanka is inaugurated by beating magulbera and lighting the traditional oil lamp. Even if visitors at art exhibitions are sometimes spared of this inevitable ritual in private galleries, presenting a manifesto and a performance at an opening is indeed a novelty.

Manifestos, usually known as a program formulating the guidelines and objectives of a political party, have been formulated by different groups of artists like the DADA, Futurists and Surrealists in the early decades of this century in the European art history. As such, the manifesto is very much part of the international art movement as much as the paintings and the journals and almanacs to which the artists contributed.

The performance, a work of art which incorporates living persons performing, too was very much en vogue in the DADA meetings in Berlin, Zurich or Prague. The manifesto and performance was also revived once more among the more politically committed artists in the late sixties in Europe.

At the opening of the art exhibition of the No order Group on the eighth of August 1999 at the Vibhavi  Academy of Fine Arts, the group of artists constituting the No Order Group, Jagath Weerasinghe, Muhanned Cader, G. R. Constasntine, Kingsley Gunatilleke, Anoli Perera and Chandragupta Thenuwara formally presented their manifesto to the public.  The public presentation of the manifesto was followed by a performance by Constantine. It was for the first time in the Sri Lankan art history, that a manifesto had been declared by a group of artists who feel that they have common objectives which they firmly believe could be articulated in visual arts. 
 
They feel the need of presenting their works together which reflect common broad-based ideals. Having held a joint exhibition on the event of the fiftieth anniversary of independence and having brought their works of art to a public space like the Fort Railway Station to protest against the war, they do have a short but very intensive history of working together. Nevertheless, it was most relaxing to find that the artists in the group do not adhere dogmatically to their manifesto or feel obliged to follow any formal guidelines, may they be academically or aesthetically. They seek to convey their very individual statements through the medium of art without becoming too jarring and poster-like. Cader’s paintings using the most dissimilar elements of pop art and very original shapes, bring together a most grotesque patchwork. On the surface, these paintings may appear lighthearted and almost naïve. But, the fact that these most incongruous compositions also may contain symbols with a specific political connotation make Cader’s art an understatement of the grim political reality we are faced with. As against this, the Palmyrah tree, symbolic of the communities displaced in war ridden areas in the north, is a striking leitmotiv in Constantin’s paintings. 

Viewing the art of the No Order Group as a whole, one does not notice a conscious attempt to follow the modernist trends or get the impression that the New Order artists feel obliged to borrow from Gaugin, Matisse, Klee, or the Cubists like it was in the case with the 43’ Group. No sunsets, moonlit rivers, mothers carrying babies and moanfull faces begging for sympathy. These artists are faced with other political and social realities fifty years later. In spite of the unrelenting critique, that their art does not bear a true Sri Lankan identity, these artists do not try to demonstrate “indigenous roots”. Nor do they take refuge in a labyrinth of abstract art, because abstract art looks modernist. They also do not burden their art with hackneyed symbols. Still, one does discover a certain genealogy between the New Order artists and post war modernists:   Thenuwara’s barrels and Warholes tins, between Jagath’s “Neither life nor death is inspired” and Bacon’s portrait of the Pope.

In the Manifesto, the artists have expressed their wish to go beyond the concepts of modern art based on formalistic conventions to please the eye. Anoli Perera’s “ Erotic Journey” does please the fastidious eye in the quest of harmony of colour and appropriating space. At the same time, her miniature showcases exhibit males and females in conventional erotic postures, even going beyond the conventions of heterosexual encounter. These collages are highlighted by texts expressing the passion and sensuality experienced by the body.  The viewer is offered a peep into the intimate domain, almost like a voyeur, to judge intimate human interaction, which is not aimed at human reproduction. Here, she unhesitatingly appropriates the ‘gaze’ that is conventionally directed at the ‘erotic’ from the male.  She also changes the role of the woman as the giver of ‘sexual pleasure’ to one who receives and enjoys.

Very appropriately, the curators have hung works of two guest artists in this same room: Koralegedara´s “Chair” is occupied by a penis creating an utmost state of excitement. On entering the room too, one is given a warning of gender issues dealt in this room, when one sees a similar representation on his painting “Face and penis.” According to the artist, it is the hypocritical male who is de-masked here, who conceals his ulterior motive social interaction.

Nilanthie Weerasekara, the other guest artist in this room shows her “fabricated woman” as a reconstruction of male notions and fantasies. She once more brings together fragments of jewelry and ornaments into a collage with very bright colors, this time using prototypes from the women in the Sigiriya frescoes. This alienation and isolation from the original context is novel due to the fact that the images of the Sigiriya damsels have been overused in advertisements often for cosmetics. As such, the conventions of beauty are given a new reading through Nilanthi’s reconstruction. The isolated limbs and accessories of many figures can be seen in the original site and Nilanthi does site an archeological fact in this work of art. 

Jagath’s “Media Boss” and “Judicial Boss” add a cynical note to the exhibition. The blank face reveals to be the unpainted wood, making these Moguls not individuals. It is through their accessories and ambience that they get their identity, not the personality. A comment on the present society clinging to status symbols. Constantine’s “Untitled” gives a carpet like impression from a distance due to the boarder of the Kufic script. On a closer look, one discovers the palmyrah – this time in a new configuration, to express the displacement of the Muslim community from the north. Thenuwara’s “Thousand barrels” in their camouflage-colours too give the impression of decorative wallpaper – the bright blue dots most mischievously contribute to this effect. The barrel reduced to it’s essence is repeated like the thousand Buddhas in cave paintings, a facet taken for granted, like the barrel in the city. Kingsley in his “Year Planner” uses photos from newspapers reporting on violence, which have become very much part and parcel of our life. Each month of the year stands for an act of violence. Pradeep Chandrasiri’s “Broken Hands” and Sarath Kumara’s “No glory” voice the question on behalf of missing or tortured people.

Over half a century has lapsed since another group of artists (after the 43 Groups) has emerged.  A period of history punctuated by programs, explosions, assassinations and a continuing war that does not seem to end. Society too has undergone radical changes. It is not surprising that these artists wish to articulate their fears and aspirations under these circumstances.  It is a landmark in Sri Lankan art history that these artists are determined to work as a group formulating their collective aims and beliefs in a manifesto.