Why My Thangkas Aren’t For Sale…
…in a Capitalist mass-produced, commodifying spirituality kind of way
Thangka drawing has been part of my practice for many years now. I’ve written previously about learning the form, what it’s taught me about patience, and how these powerful images support cultivating wisdom and awareness.
When I share my work, I’m often asked when it will be sold, or why I haven’t sold it. Under capitalism, it’s a compliment to encourage the sale of something someone has made. It’s a way of saying something is good or appreciated.
As a white Buddhist practitioner, I am cautious with how I share an art form that originated in what we now know as India and Nepal, was adapted to Tibetan Buddhism, and has been incorporated into so-called “Western”1 Buddhism. Cultural appropriation has led to the mass marketing of Buddhist imagery as an aesthetic, devoid of meaning. I do not want to contribute to the ongoing commodification of the spiritual path I’ve chosen.
Thangkas are a form of spiritual technology that has lasted for centuries and spanned the globe. The symbolism of them transcends written or spoken language, helping Buddhism in its crossing from one culture to another.
Thangka images are spiritual tools — representations of qualities we cultivate on and off the cushion. They are sacred, powerful, and compelling. Their symbolism is rich, and the teachings that accompany them abundant and far-reaching. Each one is a reminder of our intention, where we put our attention, and our interconnected reality. As a practitioner, I find new meaning and understanding in Thangka imagery all the time. They offer as much to work with as a verse from a sutra or the chanting of a mantra.
Knowing all this, I refrain from selling any of my Thangka work for personal profit. I most certainly won’t mass produce these pieces. It would be counter to my practice to sell my work for personal financial gain. But this doesn’t mean I can’t sell them at all. Indeed, Thangkas are not given away freely. The funds from sales support monasteries where the form is taught and practiced, temples where people go to meditate, and other means of spreading the dharma.
Each of my Thangkas takes anywhere from twenty to fifty hours to complete. That’s a lot of time to contemplate and be present, to cultivate awareness and spaciousness that I can then apply to explore how else these works can be of benefit.
I hold the complexity of wanting my art and writing to serve in a way that moves beyond my own practice of presence, while also wanting to make a living as a writer and artist living under capitalism. It requires experimentation and playfulness to get it right — How do I get paid for my labour without commodifying the sacred? How do I ensure I can afford supplies without “selling out”? How do I share this imagery in a way that serves all beings, remembering I am part of that?
The first experiment I did was in 2018. Using funds from my patrons, I had a run of twenty-four shirts printed with my depiction of Green Tara. I gave these shirts away to the nine individuals who joined me in a year-long contemplation of justice and love, inspired by the Cornel West quote: “Justice is what love in public looks like.”
I have since given most of the remaining shirts away to people in my Buddhist Chaplaincy Cohort and my anti-racist dharma circles. Still, I am asked about these pieces and if people could, in some form, purchase them for themselves. Most often those asking are fellow practitioners, kin on the path of liberation who have their own relationships with the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas depicted in Thangkas. Many others are not Buddhists, but still practitioners on the path of liberation, informed by other modalities. Regardless, the imagery compels them in much the same way it does those who study and practice in the Tibetan Buddhist schools of the Kagyu, Nyingma, Sakya and Gelug.
When I had that first run of Green Tara shirts printed, I’d pondered using them to raise funds for organizations working towards our collective liberation. This idea arose again last summer as the Movement for Black Lives gained a new level of visibility and more people began to wake up to the interconnection of white supremacy, ableism, capitalism, and cisheteropatriarchy.
So much of my practice over the last three years — a practice informed by an ever expanding understanding of anti-racism, anti-capitalism, and disability justice — has been supported by the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas I spend so much time drawing. Manjushri cutting through ignorance, Mahakala standing in protection with fierce compassion, Ekajati’s unwavering, wrathful clarity. I see the energy of these deities in protestors gathering in the streets, in the calls to defund and abolish the police, in pipeline and logging blockades. I see the qualities of wisdom they represent in community gardens, mutual aid projects, and eviction protests.
I want to wear all three on shirts and see them out there on the aspiring bodhisattvas who want them. I want to support local, small business owners who are threatened by big print-to-order warehousing corporate entities. I also want to ensure that any income generated from selling such shirts is used to support organizations that uphold the virtues of these beings.
I’ve taken my time and done my research. I’ve found a screen printing company, locally owned by a woman of colour, rather than using a print-on-demand service. This means more work on my end with shipping and storage, but that work translates to better transparency and further assurance that these pieces won’t end up mass-produced.
I’m starting with just one image for now, Manjushri, but intend to have the others printed in time. The income from the sale of any shirts made with my Thangka images on them will be donated as lump sums to organizations befitting these Bodhisattvas. I am also looking at having art prints available— when I can ensure sourcing from an independent local business similar to the one printing the shirts.
Should you be a practitioner seeking a Thangka on commission, I’m happy to connect and work with you to create an image suitable to your practice. In the case of commissioned pieces, the income will support me as a writer and artist while also enabling me to make ongoing monthly contributions to various organizations, including paying “rent” to the Duwamish Nation.
Regardless, my intention is that these images be of benefit.
May they inspire curiosity, compassion and clarity,
Galvanize us on the path of awakening,
And contribute to our collective liberation.
Toodle on over to www.KaitlynSCHatch.com to find out more about what I do and see a Gallery of my art work. If you have questions about any of my work, you can get in touch with me through my website or Instagram.
The use of the term “Western” is one I am wary of as it can be imprecise. Often it is used as a way to avoid being direct about white culture and colonized countries, or assumed to be about ‘developed’ nations. In the context of this piece, I mean white dominated Buddhist organizations based in the UK, the United States, and Canada.
Thanks for your thoughtful writings and reflections Kait. I love seeing the in process pencil drawings of your Thangkas.