Nomadic art travels well

0 Comments | Insight on the News, August 28, 1995 | by Gayle M.B. Hanson

Mongolia is held in almost hypnotic fascination by the West, offering visions of galloping horsemen cutting a swath from Korea to the Danube in relentless pursuit of empire. At their head was the Mongol lord Chinggis Khan, better known as Ghengis Khan, whose escapades in the 13th century resonate to this day. But even as his name evokes the blood-thirsty conqueror, that of his grandson, Khubilai Khan, conjures visions of the exotic Eden celebrated by English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

This twin legacy -- nomadic warrior and cultural aesthete -- guided the resurgence of Mongolia in the late 16th century, when a series of ambitious khans set about to reestablish the empire. And the same dual spirit is celebrated in "Mongolia: The Legacy of Chinggis Khan," a landmark exhibition of art and objects from Mongolia at San Francisco's Asian Art Museum. The show of 115 works from the 17th through 20th centuries, which Mongolia has allowed outside its borders for the first time, is a heady mixture of the fabulous and the arcane.

The Mongols are nomads. Their horsemanship is world renowned, and Mongolian saddlery has both a utilitarian and spiritual purpose. In the time of the Khans, it not only provided transportation but also signified wealth and status as well as region of origin. Even the highest members of Mongolian ecclesiastical society rode horses, eschewing carriages granted to them by the Manchu emperors.

The three early-20th century saddles on display at the entrance to the exhibit exemplify this equestrian aesthetic. The Khalkha and Buriat saddles are masterful examples of skilled Mongol work, but it is the third saddle, created for a high lama of the early 20th century, which enters another realm entirely. Constructed of wood, leather, brocade silk and silver, it was intended for a man of great standing. The buttery golden yellow of the silk, a color used only with the approval of the Manchu emperors, is so rich it shimmers. The dragons embroidered upon it, the ornately cast silver stirrups hanging from a red woven silk cord, evoke an image of a stately lama on a long journey, perhaps to Tibet for a religious festival.

Like most nomads, the Mongols did not build great monuments. Their wealth was concentrated in what they could carry with them. Mongol women, for example, wore elaborate garments of woven and embroidered silk and headdresses and jewelry encrusted with gems and filigree. The knotlike patterns of the silver-and-gold headdresses recall the complexity of Celtic knots. Mongol women wore them from marriage until death.

Mongol women were not alone in elaborate dress. The men, too, wore garments that today seem fantastical -- none more so than a golden riding jacket given as a gift by the Chinese to Bogdo Khan, Mongolia's theocratic ruler in the early 20th century. The jacket, woven of silk threads wrapped in gold, is elegant and simple -- if anything made of solid gold can be described as simple. But it is the legend surrounding the jacket that brings a touch of magic. According to Mongolian folklore, Bogdo Khan wore the jacket whenever he ate mutton. When the jacket became dirty, he removed it and threw it on the fire, which burned away the dirt but left the jacket unsinged.

"Mongolia: The Legacy of Chinggis Khan" is truly the stuff of legends. To view it is to gain a glimpse into a culture that has survived for centuries, despite repeated attempts at annihilation. The show will travel to the Denver Museum of Art in November and will be featured at the National Geographic Museum in Washington in April 1996. It is a must-see.