作者／吉萬・拉喬帕德亞（Jeevan Rajopadhyay）
作為一名年輕而懷抱志向的加德滿都藝術家，我經常聽人提起那位曾旅居歐洲十年、此時任職於尼泊爾皇家學院的現代畫家——萊因・辛格・班德爾。在藝術圈中，人們談論他時總是帶著敬畏與好奇心，特別是他獨特的色彩運用，那與我們在加德滿都所熟悉的視覺語言迥然不同。
在那些早年的時光裡，我從未與他謀面；公務纏身，使他始終顯得遙遠。然而，我曾在尼泊爾美術學院及其他展出場合見過幾件他的作品。當時的我尚無法理解其抽象語彙，卻已深深被那些色彩的組合所吸引。我在心中默默期盼，終有一日能向他學習。巴黎於我而言遙不可及；而班德爾，便是我所能抵達的、最接近巴黎的存在。
在他卸任尼泊爾皇家學院院長之後，班德爾於尼泊爾藝術理事會舉辦了一場大型回顧展。
Buried Civilization-Lumbini, 1979
Lain Singh Bangdel (1919-2002)
Oil on Canvas, 95 x 171 cm
我前去觀展，原本只是單純想親眼欣賞他的作品，若能幸運地與他見上一面，便已心滿意足。出乎意料的是，他溫和謙遜、談吐親切，毫無距離感。甚至在我尚未看完整個展覽之前，對我說了一句徹底改變我人生的話。
他表示有意親自指導我——或許也包括幾位朋友——並低聲對我們說道：「我在歐洲十年學到的東西，可以在幾年之內教授給你們。」對他而言，將所知所學傳遞給下一代，從來不是一種選項，而是一份無可推卸的責任。
起初只有我們寥寥數人，很快便發展成約十名學生的學習團體。自 1989 年末至 2002 年，我們追隨他，在尼泊爾藝術理事會的大廳、他位於薩內帕的住所，以及各處戶外寫生地點學習。他為我們準備了一切——紙張、顏料、畫筆，甚至茶水、餐食與交通，並且從未收取任何學費。我們大多出身平凡；在當時，向一位受過巴黎訓練的藝術家學習幾乎難以想像。我們無法前往巴黎，但他將巴黎的嚴謹與專注，帶回了加德滿都給我們。
學習約五年後，班德爾認為我們已經準備好面對公眾。他將我們的團體命名為「新藝術圈」，並將我們的首次展覽定名為《色彩革命》。每位學生展出了九至十件作品，總計近百幅畫作。加德滿都的藝術界都知道他正在培養新一代藝術家，因此對我們即將展示的作品充滿無比好奇。部分評論家認為我們的作品與班德爾的風格過於接近，但更多觀者意識到，一種新的狀態已然降臨：清新明快的色彩感，與此前加德滿都繪畫中主導的深棕色與黑色形成鮮明對比。在許多方面，班德爾的存在與教學，標誌著尼泊爾現代藝術所謂「班德爾時代」的開端。
繼《色彩革命》成功之後，班德爾於 1998 年舉辦了一場藝術比賽，以紀念他摯愛的父親蘭加・拉爾（Ranga Lal），比賽設有油畫、水彩和壓克力等多個媒材類別。他鼓勵我們十名學生參加水彩組。那是一場競爭激烈、投稿眾多的比賽，而我很幸運地獲得二等獎——那一刻我感到無比驕傲和激動，尤其當獎項是由我的老師班德爾親手頒發，更令這份榮耀難以忘懷。
對我而言，班德爾遠不止一位指導老師。他既是嚮導，也是守護者，很多時候甚至像我的第二位父親。他傳授我們的不僅是繪畫技巧，更是作為藝術家的生活方式——如何在展覽中舉止得體，如何與記者交流，以及欣賞他人作品時應注意的細節。他會邀請我們到家中享用正式晚宴，餐桌上還擺放著席位卡，耐心地為我們示範刀叉和湯匙的使用方式，讓我們在參加國際會議或酒店宴會時能夠從容自若。他特別強調學習南亞及海外的前輩藝術家，並細緻講解李奧納多・達芬奇、米開朗基羅、提香、格列柯、委拉斯開茲、戈雅、倫勃朗以及梵高等大師的作品與精神。
當時，我是一名商業藝術家與平面設計師，收入體面，足以讓家人放心。然而，這份工作要求硬朗精確的線條，而向班德爾學習現代繪畫，則需要柔軟靈活，以及截然不同的敏感度。漸漸地，我的專業工作與學習開始發生衝突。我清楚明白，能跟隨他學習的機會彌足珍貴，並非永遠存在。於是，我冒著巨大的風險辭去了工作。這個決定讓家人極為擔憂，也讓我在經濟上陷入困境，但對自由創作的強烈召喚始終讓我無法妥協。
即使在課堂上，我的進步也相當緩慢。起初，我感到無比困惑，對抽象藝術幾乎毫無頭緒。然後，我開始仔細觀察他——觀察他如何混合顏色，如何挑選大大小小的畫筆，以及他的手如何在畫布上移動。他擁有一種非凡的內在眼光，能精準地評估我們的作品：一個看似簡單的手勢，在恰到好處的位置點綴一小塊顏色，就能突然間讓一幅畫活過來——如同陽光穿透陰雲密布的雨天。
隨後的七八年裡，我才慢慢理解他的色彩語言和抽象表現。當這一切終於豁然開朗時，那種感覺宛如涅槃重生：所有的掙扎與奉獻突然之間都有了意義。若非有他，我或許仍是那名機械化的商業創作者，過著安穩卻空洞的生活；正因為有他，我成為了一名尼泊爾現代畫家。他帶給我的，無異於一場徹底的蛻變。
他透過改變我的習慣，從而改變我的創作實踐。他將我對空白畫布的恐懼，化作隨時提筆的勇氣；將我在插畫中的舒適圈，推向喚起感性的冒險。他教我如何構築一幅畫、如何暫停、如何刮掉重來、如何等待層次乾燥，以及如何傾聽作品自身的需求。隨著時間的推移，我的色彩開始更緩慢地呼吸，形式得以拉長，邊緣漸趨柔和，空間逐漸敞開。畫作變得不再只是「要如何命名」的物件，而是「可以從中感受到什麼」的存在。
Untitled Abstract, 2025
Jeevan Rajopadhyay (b. 1960)
Acrylic on canvas, 90 x 120 cm
人們有時會問，他在我的作品中最常「糾正」我什麼。真正的答案是：他糾正了我的目光。他教我以更長久、更耐心、更誠實的方式凝視外在世界，也凝視內在自我。由目光化作紀律，由紀律孕育形式，由形式蘊生情感。向他學習的這段日子，他從未將某種固定的風格強加於我們。相反地，他給予的是一種工作的方法，更重要的是一種生活的態度。
對我們而言，蛻變並非抽象的展覽主題——它就是日常的真實。我們目睹他在結束漫長公職生涯後，全心回歸畫布，看見由良知引領的重生究竟是何模樣。1990 年民主運動期間，他的畫作並未高喊口號，然而《自由》和《民主之戰》系列的作品卻透過色彩與節奏，承載了那個時代的動盪與希望。在畫室裡，他向我們示範了自發性如何與掌控共存，內斂的調色板如何能釋放強烈能量，以及稀薄的顏料塗層如何讓光線於層次間流動，營造出深邃感。他總是將我們引回一個簡單的問題：「此處真正必要的是什麼？」
當我思考蛻變時，我想起他教給我們的那份緩慢而堅定的勇氣：勇於重新開始，去除那些聰明卻虛假的表象，保留那些簡單而真實的核心。我想起在等待顏料乾燥而學會「耐心」的時光；想起那些夜晚，藝術不再只是職業，而是一種更細緻、專注地對待生活的方式。我想起他所熱愛的國家——那裡的空氣、光線與儀式——以及他如何讓我們明白，現代主義既能擁有喜馬拉雅的氣息，也能以普世的語言傳達給大眾。
班德爾改變的不僅是我的生命，更是尼泊爾現代藝術的整個軌跡。如果他沒有在 1961 年回到尼泊爾，我們的藝術史將截然不同，現代藝術界也可能需要更長時間才能達到今日的水平。如今從事創作的現代與當代藝術家——無論風格如何——在某種程度上都受到了他的影響，即便他們未必意識到。除此之外，他於1963 年所創立的尼泊爾藝術理事會，為全國提供了首個專門用於藝術與文學展覽及對話的公共場域，並持續向全球推廣尼泊爾的藝術與文化。六十年前，他便洞見了這種制度性的需求，而這一體系至今仍在滋養當代與未來世代的藝術家、作家與詩人們。
如今，他的作品在香港巴塞爾藝術展上展出，我感受到那些在加德滿都歲月裡的寧靜課程，已延伸至更寬廣的國際視野。如果我的畫作如今能承載更穩定的靜謐；如果我的色彩傳達的是天候的變化，而非喧囂的噪音；如果我的線條學會了呼吸，那是因為 萊因・辛格・班德爾爵士 相信我能成為一名畫家，並日復一日地示範給我看，如何成為自己生命深處所呼喚的那個人。他教我如何運用色彩，更重要的是教我如何去繪畫；而透過繪畫，學會以更真誠的方式生活。
關於作者
吉萬・拉喬帕德亞（Jeevan Rajopadhyay，1960 年生於加德滿都）是尼泊爾領先的現代抽象畫家之一，也是爵士萊因・辛格・班德爾的忠實學生，自 1989 年至 2002 年間在其指導下學習。他的抒情抽象畫作——以流動的筆觸、沉思的色彩與結構性的平衡為特徵——承載了他在班德爾位於薩內帕的畫室中所吸收的精神與美學教誨。拉喬帕德亞是現代藝術家協會（SOMA）的創始成員，同時也是尼泊爾藝術理事會的活躍成員。他持續指導年輕藝術家，並在國內外舉辦展覽。他的作品生動展現了班德爾持久的影響力，以及藝術中真誠、謙遜與奉獻所帶來的蛻變力量。
Himalayan Modernism, Firsthand: A Student of Bangdel Speaks
—Jeevan Rajopadhyay
As a young and aspiring artist in Kathmandu, I often heard the name of the modern painter who had spent a decade in Europe and was now working at the Royal Nepal Academy: Lain Singh Bangdel. Among artists’ circles, people spoke of him with awe and curiosity—especially his colour palette, completely unlike anything we were used to in Kathmandu. I never met him in those early years; he was busy with official responsibilities. But I saw a few of his paintings at the Nepal Academy of Fine Arts and other venues. I did not yet understand his abstractions, but I was mesmerized by his combinations of colour. Quietly, I wished I could learn from him. I knew I could never afford Paris; for me, the closest thing to Paris was Bangdel himself.
After he stepped down as Chancellor of the Royal Nepal Academy, he organized a large retrospective exhibition at the Nepal Art Council. I went simply hoping to see his work and, if I was lucky, to meet him in person. To my surprise, he was gentle, humble, and easy to talk to. Before I had even finished viewing the exhibition, he said something that completely changed my life. He expressed interest in teaching me—and perhaps a few friends—and then told us quietly, “What I learned in Europe in ten years, I can teach you in a few years.” For him, passing his knowledge to the next generation was not a choice; it was a responsibility.
What began with just a few of us soon became a group of about ten students. From late 1989 until 2002, we studied with him in the hall of the Nepal Art Council, at his home in Sanepa, and on outdoor field trips. He provided everything—paper, paint, brushes, tea, food, even transportation—and never charged a tuition fee. Most of us came from modest families; under normal circumstances, studying with a Paris-trained artist would have been unimaginable. We could not go to Paris, but he brought the rigor and seriousness of Paris to Kathmandu.
After about five years, he felt we were ready to face the public. He named our group New Art Circle and titled our first exhibition Color Revolution. Each of us showed nine or ten works—nearly one hundred paintings in total. The Kathmandu art community knew he was training a younger generation, and there was real curiosity about what would emerge. Some critics said our works were too close to his, but many viewers recognized that something new had arrived: a fresh sense of colour that stood in contrast to the dark browns and blacks that had dominated earlier painting in Kathmandu. In many ways, his presence and teaching marked the beginning of what we now recognize as the “Bangdel era” in modern Nepali art.
Following the success of Color Revolution, he organized an art competition in 1998 in memory of his beloved father, Ranga Lal, with categories in oil, watercolor, and acrylic. He instructed all ten of his students to enter in watercolor. It was a tough contest, with many entries, but I was fortunate to receive second prize—a deeply proud and emotional moment, receiving the award from my own teacher.
For me, Bangdel sir became much more than an instructor. He was a mentor, guardian, and often felt like a second father. He taught us not only how to paint but how to live as artists—how to behave at exhibitions, how to speak to journalists, what to look for when viewing other artists’ work. He invited us to his home for formal dinners with place cards and quietly showed us how to use forks and spoons, so that if we ever found ourselves at international conferences or hotel banquets, we would feel at ease. He emphasized studying senior artists in South Asia and abroad, speaking in detail of masters like Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Titian, El Greco, Velázquez, Goya, Rembrandt, and Van Gogh.
At that time, I was working as a commercial artist and graphic designer, earning a decent income that kept my family happy. But the job required hard, precise lines, while learning modern painting with him demanded softness, flexibility, and a very different sensitivity. My professional work began to clash with my learning. I knew the chance to study with him was rare and would not last forever. One day I took a huge risk and resigned from my job. My family was upset; financially, I struggled. But I could not ignore the pull toward painting.
Even in class, my progress was slow. I was genuinely confused at first and did not understand abstract art at all. Then I began watching him closely—how he mixed colours, how he chose large or small brushes, how his hand moved across the canvas. He had an extraordinary inner eye for evaluating our work: with a seemingly simple gesture, a tiny speck of colour in just the right place, he could suddenly bring a painting to life—like sunlight breaking through on a cloudy, rainy day. It took seven or eight years for me to begin to understand his language of colour and abstraction. When it finally clicked, it felt like a kind of nirvana. All the struggle and dedication suddenly made sense. Without him, I would likely have remained a mechanical commercial artist, earning a decent living but feeling empty inside. Because of him, I became a modern painter of Nepal. What he gave me was nothing less than a transformation.
He transformed my practice by transforming my habits. He turned my fear of the blank canvas into a readiness to begin. He moved me from the safety of illustration toward the risk of evocation. He taught me to build a painting, to pause, to scrape back, to wait for layers to dry, to listen to what the work itself was asking. Over time, my colours began to breathe more slowly. Forms lengthened, edges softened, spaces opened. The paintings became less about what could be named and more about what could be felt.
People sometimes ask what he “corrected” most in my work. The real answer is that he corrected my gaze. He made me look longer—more patiently and honestly—at the world outside and the world within. From that gaze came discipline; from discipline, form; from form, feeling. He never handed us a style. Instead, he offered us a way of working and, more importantly, a way of being.
For us, transformation was not an abstract exhibition theme—it was daily reality. We watched him return wholeheartedly to the canvas after long years of public duty and saw what renewal looks like when guided by conscience. During the pro-democracy movement of 1990, his paintings did not shout slogans, yet his Freedom and Struggle for Democracy series carried the turbulence and hope of that time through colour and rhythm. In the studio, he showed us how spontaneity could coexist with control, how a restrained palette could yield intense energy, how a thinner application of paint could create depth by letting light breathe between layers. He always brought us back to a simple question: “What is necessary here?”
When I think of transformation, I think of the slow courage he taught us: to begin again, to remove what is clever but false, to keep what is simple and true. I think of paint drying while we waited and learned patience. I think of evenings when art was not just a career but a way of attending to life more carefully. And I think of the country he loved—its air, its light, its rituals—and how he showed us that modernism could be Himalayan in breath and universal in language.
It was not only my life he changed. He altered the trajectory of modern art in Nepal itself. If he had not returned to Nepal in 1961, our art history would look completely different, and it would likely have taken many more years for the modern art scene to reach where it is today. Modern and contemporary artists working now—no matter their style—are influenced by him in some way, whether they realize it or not. His founding of the Nepal Art Council in 1963 created the country’s first dedicated public venue for exhibitions and talks on art and literature, and it continues to promote Nepali art and culture globally. He saw this institutional need six decades ago, and it still serves current and future generations of artists, writers, and poets.
As his work is now presented at Art Basel Hong Kong, I feel that the quiet lessons of those years in Kathmandu have reached a wider horizon. If my paintings now hold a steadier silence; if my colours carry weather rather than noise; if my lines have learned to breathe, it is because Sir Lain Singh Bangdel believed I could be a painter and showed me, day by day, how to become the one my life was asking for. He taught me how to use colour—and, more importantly, how to paint—and through painting, how to live with a little more truth.
About the Author
Jeevan Rajopadhyay (b. 1960, Kathmandu) is one of Nepal’s leading modern abstract painters and a devoted student of Sir Lain Singh Bangdel, under whose mentorship he studied from 1989 to 2002. His lyrical abstractions—marked by fluid gesture, meditative colour, and structural balance—embody the spiritual and aesthetic lessons he absorbed in Bangdel’s Sanepa studio. A founding member of the Society of Modern Artists (SOMA) and an active member of the Nepal Art Council, Rajopadhyay continues to mentor younger artists while exhibiting nationally and internationally. His work stands as a living testament to Bangdel’s enduring influence and to the transformative power of sincerity, humility, and devotion in art.