Mughal miniatures get an athleisure facelift

“Meet Lemon Singh,” announces London-based artist-musician Jatinder Singh Durhailay, pointing to his rescued pet canary chirping away in the background. Located in the quiet solitude of Oxfordshire, the Sikh artist’s studio is a colourful space filled with stories that bridge the old and the new. The 36-year-old has managed to carve a niche for himself by reimagining the miniature painting tradition. Currently making waves at Drawing Now Paris with Purdy Hicks Gallery, he was also at Art Singapore with Anant Art Gallery in January.

In more than one way, Lemon Singh, found almost frozen on the streets of Oxfordshire, mirrors the artist’s core ethos—a harmony of nurture, resilience, and colour. His name, inspired by his bright yellow plumage, ties into Durhailay’s own love for the colour. “Yellow strikes a chord with me. It’s peace and contentment. My love for it stems from Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’ and raga Kalyan, a melody that feels yellow to me,” he shares. 

Despite growing up in Leytonstone, East London, in a part of the city synonymous with punk-rock enthusiasts, rebellious graffiti art, and gender-bending sartorial silhouettes, Durhailay’s childhood was steeped in Sikh teachings and the vibrant rhythms of prayer. At home, there was no fence dividing his garden from his Jain neighbours’—an open space symbolic of shared values and cultural exchange. “We’d watch episodes of Mahabharata and Ramayana together on borrowed VHS tapes. Those stories stayed with me, shaping my fascination with characters and heroes,” he recalls. In many ways, he is a thorough London boy to the core—just one who didn’t join his mates for that Friday-night pint of Guinness at the local pub. “Friday nights were reserved for me to learn the dilruba, which I was fascinated with,” he says of his bowed instrument. “It was who I am, and I loved doing it.” 

Over time, this fascination deepened into a profound connection with Indian classical music. He also plays the taus, surmandal, piano and guitar, and revels in composing his own music inspired by the long hours he spends working in his quaint studio. “I love that Indian classical music is something you can never master and there is unlimited learning, with an ocean of raags, taals and compositions,” says Durhailay, who has composed albums inspired by his experiences, including Yatra, recorded during his travels in India. In 2023, he fulfilled a dream by opening for Anoushka Shankar in Brighton.

The youngest of three siblings, Durhailay, when not learning an instrument as a child, kept busy with pastels and pencils. As a boy, his maths books were filled with doodles of Bruce Lee, Sikh gurus, and epic battle scenes. (Mine had margins flooded with the lyrics of Christina Perri and Taylor Swift). “I’d even animate flipbooks in my textbooks,” he grins.

Durhailay’s journey to professional artistry is anything but linear. A Digital Media Design graduate, he dabbled in graphic design but quickly realised that tight deadlines and corporate structures stifled his creativity. A small stint in fashion retail, followed by modelling experiments for publications like GQ and Style magazine, also failed to spark any abiding interest. A turning point came when he shadowed Irish-British street artist Conor Harrington, assisting him on large-scale oil paintings and travelling to exhibitions as far as New York. “It opened my eyes to the art world—the people, the conversations, the possibilities,” he says. 

After returning to London, he dove into his own practice, working in monochromatic oils and eventually breaking into the international art scene (on a self-funded ticket) with a show at Miami’s Scope Art Basel, alongside legends like Cheryl Dunn and Erik Brunetti, no less. With Soho’s Ivory and Black representing him, Durhailay’s work proved an instantaneous success with his canvases winning the hearts of curators and collectors alike. “It was surreal,” he says. “I went from nothing to Art Basel. That gave me the confidence to pursue this full-time.” 

While oil paintings marked his early career, Durhailay’s now-signature style—miniature paintings with modern subjects—evolved during a time of personal and physical transition. In 2013, he moved to Berlin for two years, where space was limited. Very soon, he found himself gravitating towards smaller canvases. Influenced by Mughal miniatures and Japanese minimalism, he began incorporating contemporary themes. “Mughal art is maximalist. Japanese art taught me about space,” he reflects. Some of his best works from this period depict the fabulous tales of Sikh gurus and warriors and are a complex negotiation of space and perspectives, peppered with excruciatingly outlined material details.

This combination of influences—a vibrant South Asian heritage tempered with mindful restraint—has now become the cornerstone of his work. In 2019, the Montreal Museum of Art acquired one of his works as part of their permanent collection. But when the pandemic isolated him from his community, Durhailay turned to friends and acquaintances, painting their portraits in traditional poses infused with their modern realities. “I missed going to the gurudwara and seeing people at the sangat. So, I asked them [friends] to pose and send me selfies so I could paint them as miniature paintings.” And this marked his inflection point as an artist.

“I began moving away from just historical subjects to real subjects,” he adds. One of my favourites by him is as real as it gets: a measured portrait of a fierce lady wielding a dagger and shield—in an Adidas tank top. 

Durhailay’s wife, Johanna, an interdisciplinary artist herself, whom he met during his time in Berlin, has played a crucial role in shaping his creative outlook. “She introduced me to colour,” he says. “Her pastel tones and nature-inspired collages inspire my compositions.” Together, they’ve built a shared studio where critiques and ideas flow freely. “She is the first to see my work, and the first to offer praise and critique,” he adds.

At the core of Durhailay’s recent work is a celebration of South Asian women. His latest works draw from the strength of goddesses like Chandi and everyday heroines, including the women in his own family. One of my favourite paintings, I tell him, is a watercolour piece illustrating his wife Johanna pleating his mother’s hair, rendered on handmade wasli paper. “It’s about pride—in their skin, their hair, their roots. I want to celebrate the power and resilience of these women,” he says.

There is a quiet wisdom in Durhailay’s work. It’s where, rather than a clash, he blends contemporary identities with cultural traditions. But in his mind, colour is what binds it all together, and it’s probably where his miniatures find its sophistication. He explains, “When I walk into the studio, before sketching or thinking of an idea, I lay the colours out. By looking at them, I know what I want to paint. Almost like a configuration.” Because, for Durhailay, art is not just a practice; it’s a vibrant, ever-evolving conversation with life itself.

Jatinder Durhailay’s work will be on exhibit between March 27 and 30 at Drawing Now Paris in Paris