In Madhya Pradesh, the land hums with stories and the walls speak in dots. The Bhil people have been painting prayers for centuries. More than decoration, their art is a bridge — between the past and the present; the seen and the unseen; the sky and the earth. Nina Sabnani’s animated short film, 'Hum Chitra Banate Hai' (We Make Images), breathes life into this tradition, not just as a tribute but as an invitation — to step into a world where painting is both memory and magic.
The film opens with a rooster, its voice a storyteller’s incantation. Calling it a documentary or an academic essay on tribal art would be reductive. It's a myth retold; a living piece of oral history spun into motion. The rooster recounts a time of desperation, when the Bhil people faced a merciless drought. Desperation drove them to seek a shaman. The shaman asked them to paint their homes. The act turned blank walls into prayers, and as the paintings grew, the rains followed. The story is as much about survival as it is about faith — faith in art, tradition and the rhythm of life itself.
Sabnani, known for her engagement with visual ethnography, collaborated with Bhil artist Sher Singh Bhil to ensure authenticity. The animation does not impose an external aesthetic. Instead, it allows the Bhil’s signature dot work to pulse and breathe on screen. There is a kind of hypnotic quality to the visuals: dots coalescing into figures, landscapes blooming from nothing, and colours dancing like embers. The narration, voiced by Raghubir Yadav, adds warmth and depth, making the film feel like a story that's being told by a bonfire.
The use of animation as a medium in Hum Chitra Banate Hai captures the organic and evolving nature of Bhil art. Traditionally, these paintings were made on walls, dissolving with time, only to be reborn with the next festival. In translating them into animation, Sabnani and her team have created a version of this art that moves, breathes, and refuses to be static. The animation allows the paintings to unfold as they would in real life — dot by dot.
Beyond its aesthetic and narrative beauty, the film carries an important ethnographic purpose. It serves as a record; preserving a tradition that might otherwise be lost to the march of modernity. Bhil art has long been overshadowed by more commercially celebrated folk traditions like Warli or Madhubani. But Hum Chitra Banate Hai ensures that the Bhil people's visual language is seen and understood. It extends the reach of a once-insular practice, allowing it to be appreciated by audiences far removed from the forests and villages where it was born.
This film is also a reflection on the act of creation itself. Why do we make art? For the Bhil people, painting is an act of devotion, of balance, of ensuring harmony between human beings and nature. But in a broader sense, the question extends to all of us. Art, in all its forms, has the power to heal, to transform, to call forth what is needed — be it rain, remembrance, or revelation.
By watching Hum Chitra Banate Hai, we become part of a tradition — dot by dot; stroke by stroke; prayer by prayer. Sabnani’s work is storytelling in its purest form. She ensures that the community’s voice emerge and be amplified through a medium that augments its resonance. When many indigenous traditions struggle to find footing, Hum Chitra Banate Hai stands as a testament to the enduring significance of art as a cultural lifeline. As we step away from the screen, we are left wondering:
If a painting can bring rain, what else might art awaken?
Watch Hum Chitra Banate Hai here.
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