Mount Kailash From His Pen: The Painter Sonam Banjo
Known as “the roof of the world’s roof,” Ngari in Tibet is where all mountains originate and all rivers rise; for a painter, it is the starting point of the soul and the dwelling of the spirit. In this land, the sky shines clear as rinsed blue, snow-capped peaks extend without end, and grasslands spread boundlessly.
Sonam Banjo spent his childhood in the pastoral areas of Ngari. Now a teacher who paints with both brush and chalk, he shows through his own experience that some lands, once they enter your heart, become a lifelong source of creation. "You stand on the Ngari grassland, watching clouds rise from behind the mountains...
Sonam Banjo recalls: " My father was very skillful. He could sew clothes, embroider patterns, and also carve Mani stones. When I was little, I often stayed by his side, watching him slowly turn an ordinary stone into a living object." Although there were no art studios or paints, the surrounding world supplied an unmatched educational setting for artistic growth. For him, the earliest visual references came from the Tibetan robes his father stitched, the Mani stones engraved with sacred texts, the yaks and sheep scattered across the grasslands, and the towering presence of distant Mount Kailash. These sights constituted his initial "art textbooks.
According to him, "You stand on the grassland, watching clouds rise from behind the mountains, seeing rivers shimmer under the sunlight, observing cattle and sheep running in the wind... That kind of beauty isn't taught—it's something you feel yourself." This appreciation of beauty, which he described as felt rather than learned, grew out of his herding days, when he developed an almost intuitive bond with nature. Earlier, those quiet times of companionship and imitation had provided the first spark for his artistic sensibility.
Those seemingly unremarkable moments of daily life were what sowed the seeds of mental images within him. "It’s a hazy, yet profoundly real, sense of beauty." He never consciously chose to become a painter; rather, almost without realizing it, he took up a brush and started to put those lively scenes from his imagination onto paper.
The 'Wedding Song' that echoed at weddings during his childhood is what gave birth to Sonam Banjo's most important 'motifs'—Mount Kailash and its four sacred springs. These springs, which are the rivers Sengge Tsangpo, Langchen Tsangpo, Macha Tsangpo, and Yarlung Tsangpo originating from the mountain's foothills, form the core of his art. If Ngari is the soil from which his work springs, then this mountain and these rivers serve as its central images.
O river flowing north, where do you come from? O river flowing north, where do you go? O river flowing north, you come from the Lion's Mouth, O river flowing north, you flow to Ladakh. Those ancient melodies and words functioned as cultural genes, imprinted deep within him. Adults raised their voices in song while children echoed them, the lyrics repeatedly celebrating the origins, paths, and civilizations fostered by these four rivers.
The foundation of his understanding came from knowledge transmitted through his family. In addition, his late maternal uncle, the renowned Tibetan scholar Guge·Tsenjen Jiebu, methodically recorded and expanded upon the cultural importance of these four rivers in his academic work *The History of Ngari Civilization*. As for the great courage of the Ladakh people, it originates from you.
Through the interplay of folk songs and scholarly writings, he came to grasp a rich, multi-layered worldview in which these rivers are not simply bodies of water, but carriers of civilization. The Yarlung Tsangpo River, whose source is Mapcha Yumco Lake, is celebrated as the "mother river" of Tibetan culture, representing both origin and sustenance. Meanwhile, the Langchen Tsangpo River, a key birthplace of the Guge civilization, once acted as a historical meeting point for diverse cultures.
The Macha Tsangpo rises in Purang. For him, the Sengge Tsangpo carries a uniquely personal meaning, as his hometown stands on its shores. Along those banks, countless ruins quietly attest to the former splendor of Ngari's civilization. With its extensive grasslands and abundant wildlife, the Sengge Tsangpo basin appears to naturally cultivate a spirit of bravery and openness.
The people of Ngari often remark that Purang is home to many beauties, a trait credited to the nourishment of the Macha Tsangpo, a river that imparts grace and elegance. Sonam Banjo's creative journey is a practice of constantly pushing past his own boundaries. He sets aside brilliant pigments and uses soil and rivers to paint. In his early years, he worked on canvas with heavy colors, rendering the four rivers as separate subjects and interpreting their spiritual essence through color and composition.
Encouraged by Professors Pema Chodak and Tsewang Tashi during his postgraduate studies, he started exploring contemporary art forms including installation, photography, and performance. In his work, the four colors of white, red, yellow, and blue were mapped to water, fire, earth, and wind respectively. Additionally, the paths of rivers shaped his compositions, linking the cultural heritage found along their banks.
According to him, the artworks contain no artificially shaped forms or deliberately crafted narratives. The *Four Great Rivers Gangsar Series* stands out because Gangsar (གངས་བཙག) is a red ochre stone sourced from the foothills of Mount Kailash, which he ground into powder and then combined with water taken from the four great rivers to make pigments, ultimately producing four monochromatic paintings.
After graduating from university, Sonam Banjo became an art teacher. His approach to "stripping away narrative" reflects a profound commitment to cultural authenticity: rather than turning Ngari culture into a collection of symbols, he lets the raw materials of Gangsar—their natural colors, textures, and tactile presence—convey the solemnity, brightness, purity, and vitality of the four rivers. In this way, he hopes viewers will encounter the land’s living energy directly through its most elemental forms.
His creative work was never drained by teaching; rather, it enriched his artistic life. He observed, "I am fortunate that my specialization is fine arts, my profession is art education, and my passion is painting. These three dimensions are unified within me." That self-awareness, he humbly stated, gave him a valuable equilibrium between "painter" and "teacher." He also remarked, "I cannot yet call myself a 'painter'—I am merely someone who loves to paint and consistently maintains a creative practice.
As a teacher, he carries forward cultural heritage through his canvas and also plants an appreciation for beauty in his students. He remarked that the unpolished honesty and unrestrained imagination in children’s drawings frequently amaze him, describing it as a kind of liberty that adults can hardly match. That same liberty constantly reminds him to stay authentic and fearless in his own art—never trying to please others, never putting on airs, and painting only what he sees, feels, and believes.
My uncle Guge·Tsenjen Jiebu told me about Sonam Banjo's work: he introduced a course called "Campus Ground Painting" in which students painted on manhole covers, and he also arranged outdoor sketching trips so that children could draw inspiration from engaging with nature. "I hope they not only learn to paint but also learn to observe, feel, and express," he said, adding, " Art is not just a skill—it is a way of seeing the world ." Even though Sonam Banjo has lived away from his hometown for many years, the importance of Ngari culture to him has only deepened.
The artistic creation must not stop at the level of form; it should also involve the exploration and contemplation of cultural depth," my late uncle, Guge·Tsenjen Jiebu, once told him. Reflecting now, the artist said that as a child, he was steeped in that culture without knowing it. Growing older and more distant from it, he has started to look back and examine it through an artistic lens. "For me, Ngari culture has gone beyond being just a subject for creative work—it forms a part of who I am, constantly being rebuilt and reshaped as I evolve," he added.
For young people who likewise aspire to express regional culture through their art, he offers sincere advice—advice that also reflects his thoughts on and response to the generational gap. These words have become a beacon for his own journey. Perhaps our generation needs to “look back” at our own culture before we can truly see the road ahead. This means touching the earth’s warmth by bending down, while raising our heads to take in the world’s vastness. Then, in the language of our times, we must sing ancient songs anew—clumsily, yet with sincerity.
I am exploring this hard road with you. As we look back to our beginnings, may we all summon the strength to press onward.