Jeevan Akash Jayavarthanan – Before the Strings
The first sound is not music. It is the strike of metal against wood.
In a narrow workshop in Thanjavur, before a Veena ever reaches a stage, before it rests against the shoulder of a musician, before it carries devotion into an auditorium – it exists as resistance. As weight. As raw timber refusing form.
Jeevan Akash Jayavarthanan stands in that space silently.
He does not photograph performances first. He photographs what makes them possible.
An undergraduate engineering student by discipline and a street photographer by instinct, Jeevan’s work is rooted in walking without urgency. He arrives without a script and stays without a deadline. What reveals itself does so slowly – often when nothing remarkable seems to be happening. And that is precisely where he positions himself.
In a narrow workshop in Thanjavur, before a Veena ever reaches a stage, before it rests against the shoulder of a musician, before it carries devotion into an auditorium – it exists as resistance. As weight. As raw timber refusing form.
Jeevan Akash Jayavarthanan stands in that space silently.
He does not photograph performances first. He photographs what makes them possible.
An undergraduate engineering student by discipline and a street photographer by instinct, Jeevan’s work is rooted in walking without urgency. He arrives without a script and stays without a deadline. What reveals itself does so slowly – often when nothing remarkable seems to be happening. And that is precisely where he positions himself.
“Where Labour Becomes Legacy”
In Before the Strings, Jeevan turns his attention to the makers of the Thanjavur Veena – artisans who carve heritage from jackfruit wood with a patience that feels almost anachronistic in today’s velocity-driven world.
Inside these workshops, time moves differently. There are no digital calibrations here. No automated precision. There is the “eye-measure.” The apprenticeship that begins in adolescence. The muscle memory of thirty years.
Jeevan observes this devotion with restraint. His lens stays on surfaces – the grain of yellow wood under workshop light, the silent tension in fingers aligning twenty-four brass frets, the carved Yali emerging not as ornament but as inheritance. These are evidence of continuity. The Veena, in his photographs, is not yet divine. It is vulnerable. Mid-formation. Dependent on hands that are themselves aging.
And that tension – between permanence and fragility – becomes the center of the series.
Inside these workshops, time moves differently. There are no digital calibrations here. No automated precision. There is the “eye-measure.” The apprenticeship that begins in adolescence. The muscle memory of thirty years.
Jeevan observes this devotion with restraint. His lens stays on surfaces – the grain of yellow wood under workshop light, the silent tension in fingers aligning twenty-four brass frets, the carved Yali emerging not as ornament but as inheritance. These are evidence of continuity. The Veena, in his photographs, is not yet divine. It is vulnerable. Mid-formation. Dependent on hands that are themselves aging.
And that tension – between permanence and fragility – becomes the center of the series.
“The Thin Line Between Spectacle and Sincerity”
Across Jeevan’s broader practice, a recurring curiosity unfolds:
Where does performance end, and where does truth resume?
In public spaces across India – in festivals, rituals, gatherings – devotion often carries spectacle. But Jeevan resists the obvious crescendo. He does not chase the loudest frame. He waits for what follows it. He is drawn to thresholds – pauses where roles soften and humanity reappears unguarded.
Coming from outside formal art training, Jeevan approaches photography less as aesthetic pursuit and more as inquiry. Each walk becomes a study. Each frame, an attempt to understand how people inhabit belief, labour, and identity simultaneously.
Photography, for him is proximity without interruption.
In public spaces across India – in festivals, rituals, gatherings – devotion often carries spectacle. But Jeevan resists the obvious crescendo. He does not chase the loudest frame. He waits for what follows it. He is drawn to thresholds – pauses where roles soften and humanity reappears unguarded.
Coming from outside formal art training, Jeevan approaches photography less as aesthetic pursuit and more as inquiry. Each walk becomes a study. Each frame, an attempt to understand how people inhabit belief, labour, and identity simultaneously.
Photography, for him is proximity without interruption.
“Listening to What Precedes Applause”
In Before the Strings, what moves us most is not nostalgia. It is attentiveness.
The artisans speak of disappearing groves. Of jackfruit trees replaced by housing. Of young generations reluctant to commit to five-year apprenticeships in a culture that rewards immediacy. These concerns are not foregrounded as lament. They exist in the background – much like the scent of beeswax and wood dust that fills the room.
Jeevan chooses not to sentimentalize. Instead, he gives us textures:
The roughness of a palm against polished resonance. The curvature of the kudam slowly emerging from weight. The final glow of lacquer that signals readiness – not for fame, but for function.
Through his work, we are reminded that music begins long before sound. That devotion often hides in labour. That heritage survives through repetition.
The artisans speak of disappearing groves. Of jackfruit trees replaced by housing. Of young generations reluctant to commit to five-year apprenticeships in a culture that rewards immediacy. These concerns are not foregrounded as lament. They exist in the background – much like the scent of beeswax and wood dust that fills the room.
Jeevan chooses not to sentimentalize. Instead, he gives us textures:
The roughness of a palm against polished resonance. The curvature of the kudam slowly emerging from weight. The final glow of lacquer that signals readiness – not for fame, but for function.
Through his work, we are reminded that music begins long before sound. That devotion often hides in labour. That heritage survives through repetition.
Jeevan Akash Jayavarthanan photographs as if he understands something essential:
the world does not reveal itself to those who rush.
It reveals itself to those who stay. And in staying, he offers us images that do not shout for attention – they ask for it.
We are proud to feature him as a Rare Storyteller.
It reveals itself to those who stay. And in staying, he offers us images that do not shout for attention – they ask for it.
We are proud to feature him as a Rare Storyteller.
The pictures and perspectives expressed above are those of the author(s) alone and do not represent the views of Rare Storyteller or its team.
to the world.