Clothes are political, highlights Kallol Datta’s first solo exhibition

For visual artist and researcher Kallol Datta, clothing has always been inseparable from politics. For example, the assumption, “that Muslim men who wear the black kurta and salwar are dangerous. That has been my uniform for the last few years but it immediately puts me under a scanner of sorts,” the 41-year-old observes. He adds, “When you see a Dalit boy being lynched because he dared to wear jeans or glasses, it is a reminder that the clothes you wear mark you in a way.”

Titled Volume IV: Truths, Half-Truths, Half-Lies, Lies, Datta’s newest exhibition at Experimenter—and first ever solo show in Mumbai—focuses on this age-old connection between clothing and politics. It all began, he reveals, when he came across an excerpt from Lessons for Women by Ban Zhao, China’s first known female historian. Written between 99 and 105 CE and in wide circulation between the 16th and 20th centuries across the Korean peninsula and Japan, the text listed regulations women must abide by, such as concentrating on household tasks like weaving and cooking, speaking only when the time is “right”, and not engaging in “silly play or laughter”.

The first chapter of the show—titled ‘Truths Our Clothes Told Us’—traces these restrictions on women’s public and private lives through the evolution of the jeogori, an upper garment worn by both Korean men and women as part of the traditional hanbok. Twelve jeogori-inspired forms in various colours, materials and sizes hang from the ceiling. Every piece is created from reclaimed or donated textiles, including saris from Datta’s late grandmother’s wardrobe. Some, such as a golden and black shirt at the front, will likely cover the chest if worn. Others are too short to cover much.

A shift in the jeogori, Datta explains, was seen around the 17th century, when Confucian principles began to infiltrate the Korean peninsula, leading to women’s rights being revoked. “Both men and women used to wear the jeogori, but the jeogori for women kept getting shorter; its armholes became tighter and it was more constricting until it reached a stage where its length ended above the breast, so it wasn’t even covering what it was meant to cover,” he elaborates. “As a result, women had to start wearing chest binders, which meant they weren’t afforded a public life anymore, whereas for men the jeogori evolved into an undershirt worn underneath their jackets when they went out to work.”

Needless to say, these restrictions on women’s rights creeped into the household too. In 'Half-Lies Our Clothes Told Us’, the third chapter of the show, Datta points out that women were only allowed in certain parts of their own homes: the kitchen, their private quarters (separate from the husband’s), the shrine, and an inner courtyard. Through nine maps surveying Edo, or present-day Tokyo, the chapter highlights the restriction of mobility for women across classes and castes. “There were constraints even upon women from higher classes, such as the wives of the shoguns, or military commanders in Japan,” Datta notes. “These wives were kept hostage in Edo so that the men couldn’t abandon ship and had to return home.”

Datta’s practice is research-heavy, not only challenging dominant histories but also reinterpreting them. Motifs of resistance, such as the camellia and hibiscus, are used across chapters.

It is perhaps the second chapter, ‘Half-Truths Our Clothes Told Us’, that viewers in the gallery spend the most time trying to decode. A series of 22 textile posters based on advertising signs displayed in the Meiji, Taisho, and Showa periods of Japan, the artworks have secret codes such as ‘Conduct, conduct, conduct’ embroidered onto them in English.

“These posters, created in the time that Japan was trying to colonise Korea, were normally used by merchant associations—let’s say by a kimono store with new patterns for the spring,” Datta explains. “But even advertisements were heavily censored. If any material was seen as blasphemous towards the imperial family or system, then the model who posed for the block print, the print maker, and publisher would be exiled from the kingdom. These half-truths show that what we think is benign is not really benign. Social, behavioural and dress codes are all dictated by the laws of the land,” he elaborates.

By digging into the past, Datta’s work evokes the present. From the assault on abortion rights in the US to the UK’s revoking of trans rights and religious conflict in India, dominant forces across the world continue to push human rights violations, making Volume IV’s source material as relevant as ever. Datta’s use of repurposed textiles only adds to the sense of clothing as a political force that carries memory. Viewing his works, it is not uncommon to notice a stain or a tear on some of the textiles. Despite his admission that this is his first time experimenting with scale—he is used to creating smaller works—a sense of intimacy and intensity is retained throughout the show. “Clothing is an important record of history, episodic events, of certain kinds of memories,” Datta finishes, “It has to bear witness across time and cultures.”

Volume IV: Truths, Half-Truths, Half-Lies, Lies is on from July 10 to August 20, 2025 at Experimenter, Colaba, Mumbai