Olympe Ramakrishna interview: ‘My work aims to tell a universal story of femininity’

Born in a small village in Normandy, northern France, into a family of artists, Ramakrishna was raised in an environment that nurtured her creative instincts from an early age. Her formal training at the Beaux-Arts, the Académie de la Grande Chaumière, and the Battersea Art Centre refined her technical acumen, but it was in India — where she eventually settled in Bangalore — that she discovered a deeper thematic resonance. Inspired by everything from Mughal miniatures and Company paintings — hybrid Indo-European style of paintings made in British India by Indian artists — to the symbolism of the Flemish Primitives and the bold compositions of Amrita Sher-Gil, her work fuses varied influences that is most evident in ‘Women of Urban India.’

In this interview to The Federal, she asserts she chose Dupion silk for its textured appearance, which adds depth to her portraits. By positioning middle-class, professional Indian women within the visual lexicon of power — whether through the regality of their postures, the presence of symbolic motifs, or the interplay of fabric and form — she challenges entrenched notions of gender, authority, and representation. Excerpts from the interview:

How does the materiality of Dupion silk shape the way you perceive and construct femininity in your work? Do you see it as a metaphor for resilience, fluidity, or something else entirely?

I chose to work with Dupion silk for its textured, slubbed appearance — a result of its irregular silk fibers — which adds profound depth to my portraits. These irregularities serve as a powerful metaphor for women’s stories; a smooth, shiny silk wouldn’t have conveyed the same richness or subtle nuances in expression. The printed Dupion silk work also reminds me of tapestry art — a connection that is deeply personal, as I grew up in Normandy, where the famous Bayeux Tapestry influenced my work.

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Dating from the 11th century and spanning approximately 70 meters, the Bayeux Tapestry recounts the events of the Norman Conquest of England in 1066 through its intricate embroidery and narrative detail. Yes, the floating fluid silk panels in the gallery symbolise women’s capability of adaptation, their resilience, creating a striking contrast with my rigid, straight lines and the frozen expressions of my models. It reminds us of the inherent complexity, sometimes even contradictions within human nature.

How do you negotiate between two distinct artistic lineages? How does this interplay manifest in your portraits of urban Indian women?

Rather than choosing between Western and Indian art, I naturally blend both traditions to reflect my own identity. There isn’t a sense of internal negotiation or conflict; the fusion is intrinsic to my practice. I am merely translating my journey between France and India — an expression of my Indo-French identity. Although I am not deliberately constructing an artistic identity that transcends borders, I find it rewarding if my work resonates on a universal level.

In the curatorial note, Shankar Tripathi describes your portrait of Sneha as an evocation of both power and vulnerability, drawing from Bernard Boutet de Monvel’s portrait of Yashwant Rao Holkar. By positioning a female lawyer in the visual language of male aristocracy, what are you suggesting about gender in contemporary India?

In this portrait, I sought to tell the story of women who are asserting their place in the professional world — fields that were once closed off to them. Here, Sneha, the lawyer. By dressing the subject in the attire of a Maharaja, I evoke a sense of divine power and authority. This visual language not only signifies the reclamation of this power but also highlights the ongoing redefinition of gender boundaries, especially among the emerging middle classes.

Symbolism plays a critical role in your portraits — Arpitha with a crown of pomegranates, Chandu with Lakshmi’s mudras, Charisma with a black-hooded oriole. How do you see the role of symbols in reclaiming or redefining the narrative of the ‘Indian woman’ in art? And in embedding these references, are you alluding more to historical continuity or disruption?

My fascination with symbolism began around the age of 14, when my French teacher introduced me to Gustave Moreau’s work, L’Apparition. Later, I discovered the art of Pierre Puvis de Chavannes and Paul Gauguin, further deepening my interest. The Bayeux Tapestry, as mentioned earlier, is also rich in medieval symbolism. Its borders are populated with animals — both real and imaginary.

In Indian art, symbolism is an essential visual language — integral to religious iconography. More generally, colours and motifs carry significant meaning throughout India. Even today, contemporary Indian artists use symbolism. For instance, Shakti Burman incorporates symbolism throughout his work, weaving together mythological, cultural, and autobiographical elements with symbolic imagery drawn from both Eastern and Western art traditions.

In my work, I invoke symbols to emphasise historical continuity. I believe that the changing role of women is part of a long, ongoing narrative of human history, and my role is to capture and narrate the observations. This approach allows me to layer multiple meanings within my art, inviting viewers to engage in a deeper interpretation of my work.

How do you see yourself within the continuum of female artists in India?

I aspire to be part of the continuum that stretches from Amrita Sher-Gil to contemporary Indian women artists. Reading Amrita’s letters — Amrita Sher-Gil: A Self-Portrait in Letters and Writings by Vivan Sundaram — transformed my understanding of Indian art after I read her account of returning from her studies in Paris and rediscovering Indian art herself. I have modestly tried to follow in her footsteps by studying the frescoes of the Ajanta caves, the nuances of miniature paintings, the temple art of Mahabalipuram, etc.

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This study is integrated into my artistic practice. I also admire contemporary Indian women artists such as Rithika Merchant, who continues the symbolist tradition with a deeply feminist approach, and Nilofer Suleman, whose vibrant, narrative-rich works echo the influence of traditional miniature painting.

The solemnity in the expressions of your figures contrasts with the rich hues of their portraits. This stillness seems to resist easy legibility — refusing either victimhood or overt defiance. Is this ambiguity intentional? How do you want viewers to engage with the emotional registers of your muses?

The fixed expressions of my subjects are a deliberate choice. I find that subtle, restrained expressions often communicate emotion more powerfully than overt displays — for those willing to take the time to observe. My goal is to capture complexity and nuance. In a fast-paced world dominated by fleeting images and short social media videos, I invite viewers to pause and engage deeply with the eyes of these women — where they may uncover layers of emotions. The work of Colombian figurative artist and sculptor Fernando Botero — whose static yet profoundly emotional portraits I studied during a six-week stay in Colombia — has been particularly inspiring in this regard.

The exhibition stages your work as a ‘muraqqa’ — an album of portraits that, taken together, construct a collective feminine truth. Since ‘urban Indian woman’ is increasingly seen as a political category, do you see your work as personal, political, or both? In what ways does your cosmopolitan perspective complicate this framing?

For this exhibition, I focus on active, urban Indian women from the middle class, aged between 20 and 40, whose lives are interwoven by shared experiences. My work exists at the intersection of the personal and the political, with each portrait capturing a unique narrative while collectively exploring broader themes — emancipation, access to rights, and empowerment — in our rapidly evolving society. At the same time, I engage with the challenge of remaining rooted in cultural heritage, acting as a conduit for its transmission. Ultimately, my work aspires to tell a universal story of femininity.