Walls of Expression: Posters as Public Discourse in Kannur

By Akhila Krishnan

In the lively and colourful streets of Kannur, walls speak. They don’t merely murmur with the bright hues of posters advertising the next voting cycle or the forthcoming Theyyam season—they share stories. Tales of strength, vigour and identity. These murals and flyers are not inert objects in society; they are key players in facilitating a discourse that ties a collective community. It is through these visual accounts, the folks of Kerala’s northern gateway scout a canvas for their shared aspirations, honour and memory.

The Technical Craft of Theyyam Posters

In Kannur, the sacred doesn’t yield to the private. Once a year, as the Theyyam season looms large, Malabar literally transforms itself into an Al fresco gallery with posters inscribed across every single screen and retail outlet. In the making of Theyyam posters, it includes a mix of skilled artistry and digital printing, and yet it remains true to its local heritage. More often than not, the posters are crafted in small, independent printeries that are often in tune with the cyclical nature of festivities. These stores adopt offset printing—a technique uniquely tailored for developing plenty of high-resolution prints promptly and cost-effectively. The offset method relies on the relocation of an imprinted image to a metallic surface, then moves to a rubber die and finally it reaches the mantle of a printing plate. This process is preferred as it gives room for reproducing true-to-life images associated with Theyyam, such as totems, artists and deities.

The paper stock harnessed for these posters is usually a slim, low-end product, selected primarily for its convenience. The material is typically characterised by soft lustre, allowing bright colours to gleam under sunlight. Distinct from artworks that need to withstand time, Theyyam posters are made to catch the eye during the season. They are normally produced and distributed in bulk to flood the local vicinity, securing the limelight throughout the festival period. This quest for attention, instead of durability, inspires a vibe of hype and enthusiasm that is in line with the cultural context of Theyyam.

The use of such glossy paper also gives a way for impromptu homegrown art. Local artisans play a crucial role in the creative journey by tapping into the shades of cultural motifs, thereby establishing a link with the community’s identity. The availability and affordability of these materials, along with the ease of printing, empower artists to experiment their designs. By extension, each poster personifies fresh artistic insights, rendering them beyond mere advertisements for upcoming festivals to expressions of shared heritage. The fast-track printing capacities hint that as creative visions evolve, new themes and symbols could be merged into posters with moderate effort.

Owing to the revolution in technologies, in terms of design, modern posters are now built by digital applications but the frame of reference continues to be shaped by conventional aesthetics. Designers frequently employ thick fonts, sturdy letters and luminous shades—especially red, black, orange and yellow to metaphorically tie up the posters with the ritual. Generally, the imagery is a collage of performers draped in full costume placed alongside the icons of deities. In a sense, this seemingly irrelevant poster is thus a finely-tuned design intended to draw the gaze of a passerby, precisely showcasing the dates and venues of the attam.

Once printed, these posters are circulated by local groups who are adept at “pasting”—a time-honoured approach featuring wheat paste to mount the posters onto walls, storefronts and public venues. The paste is traditionally made in great volume, using a mix of wheat flour suspension, sometimes augmented with adhesive materials to enhance cohesion and endurance. This hassle-free, budget-conscious solution shields posters from wear and tear, despite its exposure to sunlight, rain and wind in the long haul of the Theyyam season.

In a lot of ways, this production sequence, from creation to circulation, mirrors a local artisanal ecosystem that is intertwined with the cultural rhythm of Malabar. It entails several tiers of labour and civic engagement, and even then it functions with the adequacy necessary to satisfy the rising demand for Theyyam promotions. The technical decisions—lightweight paper, offset printing, wheat paste application—all converge to manifest a convenient yet a colourful pictorial representation that appeals to the people in Kannur. All in all, these posters that fill the sidewalks during the festival represent moments where the divine immanence graces the mortal world of man.

Heritage in Colour: Theyyam Posters as Chronicles of Culture

Theyyam is more than a festival; it is a sacred rite that elevates the mundane. The banners promoting the attam are also laced with this similar sense of veneration. The revered motifs of Theyyam performers steeped in garnets, whites and saffrons reflect not just the etheric presence but also ignite a shared sense of collective enthusiasm. More than giving out information, these banners are designed to kindle awe and wonder. Standing amidst the bustling streets where sight and sense converge, individuals are pulled into a knot of culture, reviving percussive memories and the glimpse of deities in their kavu or sacred shines.

This union is intensely personal yet concurrently inclusive—an association that Erving Goffman’s dramaturgical lens can illuminate. A key theme of the concept is based on the notion that social interactions are akin to acts on stage. Goffman proposed that individuals “perform” in day-to-day life so as to influence the perception of others. Parallel to actors in a play, people modify their speech, including their words and actions to suit the immediate context. Since this manipulation follows cultural norms to satisfy societal expectations, Goffman named it the “front stage.” In the meantime, in private quarters or “backstage”, people are less burdened to perform, and they act more or less uncensored. This viewpoint exposes the ways in which individuals sail social roles, altering their “performances” in tandem with the alpha and omega of social rules.

In Theyyam, the kolam takes on over-the-top costumes, expressions and signs to transform into the extra-ordinary. This conversion echoes Goffman’s concept of the “front stage”, where the kolakkaran—like actors on stage—step into the role of a deity evoking devotion among the audience. The “backstage,” in Goffman’s analogy, is the behind-the-scenes episodes where the performers not yet transformed settle into their role away from public gaze. This switch from the backstage to the front stage shows the in-between state of the performer who reverts from a local inhabitant to that of a token of divine potency. In this perspective, Theyyam is a cultural performance as much as it is a ritual and it allows the community to partake in an experience overriding the banal, saturating the rite with both artistic and spiritual weight.

While Theyyam does conjure divinity by making reference to ancestral spirits, the material-ritual aspect of it also holds equal importance. Theyyam is not a one-off event; it exists mostly throughout the year, interrupted by seasonal trends and local traditions. Historically, the ritual of Theyyam gave a forum for the marginalised communities to procure a momentary esteem in society. In a place where caste hierarchy ordered social relations, the very act of “being-a-kolam” enabled these people to escape their habitual realities. This elevation to the status of divine allows them to acknowledge their significance and worth, albeit temporarily.

To a certain degree, posters are sites of negotiations and banners function as a prelude to giving a snapshot of the upcoming kaliyattam. They don’t simply publicise an event; they create an experience. It signals the liturgical roles that will be embodied, laying the groundwork for both performers and onlookers. Through a careful trade-off of space, the populace is informed of their own responsibility in the ceremonial rite—whether as performers, participants or observers. In a way, these posters offer twin purposes of reminiscence and announcements. As they are a part of the public architecture, these advertisements easily assimilate into the day-to-day visual panorama. The omnipresent quality of advertorials ensures that the festivals, which are often transient and time-sensitive, transcend their immediate consumption to encompass a lasting public memory well beyond its conclusion.

The universality underscores that the visuals associated with Theyyam fade into everyday consciousness, whispering to the ebb and flow of life in Kannur. This prevalence creates an atmosphere where Theyyam is always “in the air” kindling a sense of kinship, regardless of their engagement with the festival. For the passive stakeholders, these posters mark an entry into the world of divinity, enabling them to be drawn into rituals and the wider community even from afar. They act as cultural storytellers affirming that the essence of Theyyam is not erased into the nodes of history. This unfading prominence sponsors a memory that blooms and thrives, empowering future generations to explore these legacies in ways that speak to their lives.

The Aesthetics of Theyyam Posters: Beyond Kitsch

When looking at the aesthetics of Theyyam posters, it may be appealing to contrast them with the more extensive film posters that embellish the same public spaces. Upon first look, both are inclined to bear similar traits: rich, often lurid colours with a scramble of texts and imagery. Having said that, while film posters commonly strive for mass attraction via visual grandeur, Theyyam posters exude a notable cultural heft. They are not merely aimed at sensory delight but also serve as cultural signifiers.

The colour palette in Theyyam posters—the remarkable use of red—signifies the deeper ritualistic symbolism that it holds in the attam. The fonds are generally bold and visually compelling, not just to capture attention but to relay a feeling of haste anchored to the event’s sacredness.

In contrast to film posters, which aspire for a pristine look, Theyyam posters unveil an uncommon wisdom in structuring their visual elements. The deity or Kolam habitually fills the main visual frame, emphasising the spiritual figure in the forefront, almost as if it were a holy invitation. The text and schedule, although crucial, take a backseat, shaping the image as a prime medium of communication. This judicious balance between the sacred and the factual brings into light a nuanced aesthetic that favour both the customary and communal elements of the kaliyattam. In a qualified way, Theyyam posters in Kannur are not only confined to art as it is also an initiator, a memory trigger to conform and bequeath traditions.

Each sign conveys a narrative—a story of companionship, and of the dappled canvas that makes up life in Malabar. It notifies the congregation of its heritage—of a legacy that rises above the printed paper and penetrates the soul. For someone who is new to Kannur, these banners provide a visual storyline about the social gatherings that occur at festivals. The cyclical existence of them, in most cases, elicits cross-cultural dialogue with those who may be unacquainted with the tradition of Theyyam. This will result in inclusive discussions about cultural affinity and sensitivity in the face of globalisation. For a layperson, these posters throw out a simple access route for grasping the region’s cultural ethos and building rapport with its community narratives.

In the context of socio-spatial urbanisation, where new frontiers of interaction jeopardise venerable rites, Theyyam posters offer a counter-argument. According to the thirteenth five year plan, “Kerala is now the third most urbanised state in the country after Goa and Tamil Nadu and is reckoned by the 2011 census to be the fastest urbanising State in the country.” As urbanisation in Kerala differs from rest of the country by following an out-of-the-ordinary pattern: ie; instead of absorbing the masses into a limited urban landscape, Kerala’s development trajectory matures into a chain of interconnected towns and settlements with urbanisation streamlined throughout the state in some form or manner. This mode of urbanisation may sometimes fill the public arena with commercial messaging, which subsequently creates a standardised aesthetic across townships.

In spite of this uniformity in ongoing designs, Theyyam posters defy this erosion of locality by offering a different framework for urbanisation. In streetscapes flagged by high-end advertising, Theyyam posters revive a visual expanse that may be vulnerable to exclusion from local identity. Since these posters adorn the performers, deities and traditional regalia of Theyyam at the frontline, standardisation would struggle to establish itself in the first place.

By doing so, Theyyam posters play a dual role—resisting homogenization and a challenge to other rites that have been recast or adjusted with respect to lifestyle changes. A case that reflects this shift is the Vishu festival, traditionally celebrated in Kerala with the ritual of Vishukkani. As a part of this practice, a curated set of items (rice, flowers, coins, etc) is created so that people see the Kani first upon waking, emblematic of good fortune and aspiration for the upcoming year. Conventionally, this rite would be held early in the morning at home with relatives uniting to experience it together, followed by a community celebration.

On the other hand, with the pressures of busier schedules in Kerala’s flourishing townships, Vishukkani is now condensed into a quick morning task to make room for work commitments. Furthermore, many community spaces have in hand “symbolic Vishukkani” for co-viewing, for the community to participate in the rite without upsetting their daily plans too much. While Vishu revised itself to fit the pace of today, Theyyam’s timing—rooted in seasonal cycles and regional calendars—is not inclined to conform to these demands. The ubiquitous nature of Theyyam posters placed strategically in public areas represents a tradition that lasts for a long time. They emphasise exposure by reminding the folks of Malabar that gods still walk among them.

Election Posters: Silhouettes of Aspiration; One Wall at a Time

In the next instance, the election cycle begins and the walls of Kannur embark on a different mission. Campaign images adorn the streets, often contrasted against the mystic symbolism of Theyyam. As the Theyyam billboards concede to the radiant smiles of the nominees, the attention moves away from the divine to the political. Since these posters are blunt and gutsy, they hover beyond the campaign as it involves creating a room—literally and metaphorically—in the public domain. If Theyyam banners transport us to the supernatural realm, election flyers summon us back to the volatile, belligerent world of ideological warfare.

Often scattered on all available planes, these campaign signs are inescapable and inevitable. The candidate profiles accompanied by their mottos of growth, development and camaraderie overwhelm the visual expanse. However, underneath the exterior, a tussle for dominance ensues in the public sphere.

As Lefebvre posits, space is not impartial—it bears the burden of social structures, emotions and histories. In Kannur, where the political is invariably personal, election banners provide an avenue beyond decoration—they shape the public discourse. By symbolically asserting their presence and affirming their claim to the future, it transforms into reference points that not only indicate political affiliations but also the wider aspirations of the commune. Each display, unique in its own way, pertains to a shared vision in terms of reforms, security and prosperity.

In all likelihood, these posters steer the political forum to the streets, modifying everyday spaces into sites of ideological conflicts. They are not wallflowers, they ordain a voice. Whether you are in favour or opposed to a specific candidate, these posters solicit interaction. While Theyyam posters articulate the preservation of tradition, election posters foreground the compulsion for change. The adoption of relatable scenes—frequently representing nominees in mundane environments—seeks to fabricate a sense of intimacy.

Through this process, the contenders evolve as “one of us” easing into the nexus of local culture. In such posters, nominees are routinely displayed in postures that exude warmth or harmony. With gestures of goodwill including handshakes or folded hands, it introduces the politician as an individual who walks alongside the people through thick and thin. To someone who is new to the dynamics of this local polity, these visual markers could come off as basic. Nevertheless, the intentional use of visual shorthand—such as logos, colour schemes and facial cues—can stir affective reactions, inviting intrigue and engagement. They urge non-Malayalis to ponder on their own insights into identity, community and representation. As observers wrestle with cultural references depicted in these posters, they may also identify similarities in their personal political environments, opening up avenues for policy-making, leadership, and civic responsibility.

Moreover, to evoke such specific emotions, photography also pivots a key role. It mediates as a persuasive medium through which politicians fashion their public profile to reach out to their constituents. The meticulously arranged photos of candidates are not just snapshots; they are performances in and out. The nominees, akin to Theyyam artists, enact the part that skillfully captures the hopes and expectations of the electorate. Hence, both types of posters are instilled with multiple layers interpretation.

Photographic syntax—such as light, posture and backdrop—project not only the charisma of the candidate but also their ideology. For instance, the donning of ethnic wear by a candidate can very well induce a sense of cultural affinity while a radiant smile could advance optimism about the future. Through this, posters evolve as sites of contention between image, performance and audience. It admits that posters are not passive entities but active agents in influencing public opinion. In the dance between performance and photography, posters illustrate how politicians present themselves within the broader social structure.

The Silent Storytellers of Malabar

What unites these two apparently disparate duo of posters together—Election and Theyyam—is their association with the public sphere. In Kannur, walls embody more than what meets the eye. Usually, they serve as a medium where narratives are rendered, removed and re-rendered. The kind of posters that hoist a kaliyattam may, probably, in a few weeks be superimposed by those for the elections, generating a mosaic of community life. In Kerala, where social and political consciousness is keen, it is not rare for festival posters to undertake dual obligations—endorsing both the celebration and a party manifesto.

These visual narratives reveal a lot about the region’s composite nature. To a certain extent, this visual synthesis illustrates the two elements of the collective: the sacred and the profane as well as the normative and the political. In fact, this mashup showcases a multi-layered reality where Kannur traverses between its spiritual heritage and present-day politics.

Yet, this involves an asymmetric interdependence—partially stressed, partially peaceful—all of which unfolds before the public gaze. In essence, Malabar is both time-honoured and progressive, neither world negates the Other, rather they prevail in a tenuous equilibrium, where faith in tradition meets hope in politics. As you meander in Kannur, these eclectic posters elevate to the level of silent storytellers, accumulating layers in the community’s visual spectrum. Although they seize a moment in time, they also stretch far outside their limits, revealing latent anxieties. But what if you remain aloof? What if the banners diminish into the obscurity of your everyday reality, unseen and unheard? Even then, they maintain their discourse. Its power is not impaired by neglect; it simply gets adapted, navigating from the immediate to the symbolic, from proactive involvement to contemplative observation. In the era of digital media, the materiality of these posters delivers something uncommon. It is a reiteration that politics and culture are lived experiences and not abstract concepts.