• Kandy’s quiet creative renaissance

When conversations turn to Sri Lanka’s arts and culture scene, Colombo almost inevitably dominates the discussion. It is the city where galleries constantly unveil new exhibitions, where production houses and recording studios are concentrated, where theatre companies regularly stage productions, and where artists often believe the greatest opportunities await them.

It is therefore easy to assume that the country’s creative heartbeat exists almost exclusively within the capital. Yet, far from Colombo’s busy streets lies Kandy, the famous hill country city whose artistic identity is often overshadowed by its reputation as Sri Lanka’s cultural capital.

Best known for the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, the Esala Perahera, and centuries of Kandyan tradition, the hill capital quietly nurtures another artistic ecosystem, one filled with painters, actors, musicians, playwrights, educators, and filmmakers who continue to create despite a very different set of realities.

The question, then, is not whether Kandy has artists. It clearly does. Rather, it is whether Kandy provides the environment necessary for artists to flourish professionally, or whether it remains a place where creativity is cultivated before careers inevitably migrate to Colombo.

Speaking to practitioners across theatre, visual arts, music, and film revealed a fascinating picture of a city that offers inspiration, community, and creative freedom, while simultaneously struggling with the practical realities of funding, audiences, and artistic sustainability.

Perhaps the most striking discovery was that no one described Kandy as lacking talent. Quite the opposite. Every artist spoke of a city rich in creativity, but one that often lacked the infrastructure required to sustain that creativity as a profession. In many ways, Kandy appears to be a city where artists grow, but not always where they stay.

The importance of passion

For theatre actor, educator, and writer Fazmina Imamudeen, artistry begins not with success or recognition, but with passion. Asked whether she considered herself an artist, she hesitated not because of uncertainty, but because the word itself encompasses so many forms of expression. “I am very passionate about the craft,” she said. “I also write, I love to express myself through acting, I take opportunities to direct, and I train children in the arts. I don’t know what defines an artist, but I think it’s about being passionate about your craft.”

That passion, however, rarely translates into financial security. Fazmina spoke candidly about the realities of dedicating one’s life to theatre. “There is no financial incentive. It doesn’t pay, but really it doesn’t have to make sense to anybody else.” For her, the value of artistic practice lies elsewhere. As a literature teacher, she believes the arts cultivate empathy in ways few other disciplines can. “When you engage in the arts, people become more empathetic. They become more tolerant because when you’re acting, whether you’re playing someone stronger than you, weaker than you, a villain, or a hero, you’re looking into another person’s life.”

Yet passion alone cannot solve structural challenges. Fazmina believes Kandy possesses an unmistakably strong artistic identity, but one that differs depending on the discipline. English language theatre, where she primarily works, remains particularly limited. “There are only a few groups involved in English theatre,” she noted, pointing to a shortage of funding, sponsorship, and institutional support. More challenging still is the relatively small audience. “It’s the same group of people. It’s the same audience.” Producing theatre demands time, money, and extraordinary commitment. “Unless you are madly passionate,” she said, “it’s difficult.”

Despite these constraints, she sees reasons for optimism, particularly among younger generations. Schools continue to provide important opportunities for artistic development, and she proudly recalls leading Good Shepherd Convent to second place in a theatre competition last year. She herself is currently preparing to bring her original play ‘Talk of the Town’ to the stage, another reminder that creative ambition continues to flourish despite limited resources.

Cause for optimism

That cautious optimism is shared by theatre practitioner and academic Rochana Jayasinghe, who recently returned to Sri Lanka after spending time acting in the UK. Today, much of her focus lies in teaching at the University of Peradeniya, where she witnesses the next generation of performers discovering their own voices. Her students recently staged original productions inspired by Elizabethan and Jacobean theatre, while another group adapted the contemporary Indian play ‘Harvest’.

Looking beyond the classroom, Rochana believes Kandy’s theatre scene has matured considerably over recent years. Venues such as Karaliya have become important cultural spaces, offering regular Sinhala theatre productions in the heart of the city. The University of Peradeniya’s iconic Ediriweera Sarachchandra Open-Air Theatre, popularly known as the Wala, continues to serve as another cornerstone of the city’s artistic life.

Although activity slowed after the pandemic, productions celebrating the 70th anniversary of ‘Maname’ and performances such as ‘Sinhabahu’ have reaffirmed the importance of these spaces. “It is definitely less since Covid,” she acknowledged, “but it is certainly getting better.”

An evolving ecosystem

If theatre reveals one dimension of Kandy’s creative landscape, visual artist Amaresh Pereira offers another entirely different perspective. Unlike many artists who immediately seek public recognition through exhibitions, Pereira spent years questioning his own artistic language. After holding a solo exhibition at Barefoot Gallery Colombo in 2005, he felt something was missing. “I felt my paintings lacked Sri Lankan input,” he explained. “What I was representing was too trivial.”

Rather than simply producing another exhibition, he embarked upon an intensely personal period of research. He immersed himself in low-country drumming, learnt the tradition from the ground up, participated in processions, and combined those experiences with martial arts. “I believe sound can detect colour better,” he said. “I didn’t want to listen through a tape. I felt I was missing out if I didn’t practise it at that grassroots level.”

Today, Pereira teaches art to engineering students at the University of Peradeniya, helping analytical minds think creatively. He designed the course himself, believing that artistic thinking can benefit students regardless of the discipline. “They are mathematical and logical,” he said. “What I do is teach them to think differently.”

When discussing Kandy itself, Pereira speaks almost affectionately about what the city offers artists. “Kandy definitely has the environment of peace of mind to practise,” he said. Yet he is also realistic. Artists everywhere struggle financially, and Colombo remains essential when it comes to exhibitions and sales. “The audience simply isn’t here.”

Perhaps his most interesting observation concerns something less tangible. Artists, he believes, do not meet each other often enough. Creative communities thrive on conversation, collaboration, and accidental encounters, and Kandy still lacks some of that organic interaction. He praises fellow theatre practitioner Aslam Marikar for actively bringing artists together over coffee and conversation, believing those seemingly small gatherings are essential for building a stronger creative community.

Marikar himself sees encouraging signs. While acknowledging gaps, particularly the absence of a contemporary dance community, he believes theatre remains one of Kandy’s liveliest artistic disciplines. Poetry readings, café performances, Karaliya, and the Wala all contribute to an ecosystem that, while smaller than Colombo’s, continues to evolve.

Challenges and opportunities

For film actor Prince Charith, however, geography presents an entirely different challenge. His career has included international productions such as ‘The Counter,’ massive local productions like ‘Gaadi,’ and the forthcoming Tamil language horror film ‘Dark Spell’.

Ironically, many of these productions have been filmed in Kandy’s picturesque landscapes, including Galaha, Hanthana, and Peradeniya. Yet while Kandy frequently serves as a cinematic backdrop, it rarely functions as the industry’s operational centre. Production companies remain concentrated in Colombo, requiring actors to travel frequently. “There are a lot of actors from Kandy,” he noted. “But many of them don’t work in Kandy.”

He also believes opportunities for aspiring performers remain limited. While dance schools and private classes have increased in recent years, much of Kandy’s artistic identity still revolves around traditional cultural performances rather than contemporary film or television industries.

Musician and composer Jonathan George also offered perhaps a broader reflection; he observed that many creative individuals eventually left the city in search of higher education and wider opportunities. As a result, the city’s artistic scene often feels quieter than it actually is.

Looking back, he recalled school productions, music concerts, and talent competitions as vital spaces where young artists first discovered their abilities. Today, he believes young people arguably enjoy even greater opportunities to showcase their work through digital platforms than previous generations ever did. Much of his own recent career has centred on faith-based music production while continuing to pursue personal creative projects beyond that sphere.

A community of artists

Taken together, these conversations paint a remarkably consistent picture. No one argued that Kandy should compete with Colombo. Instead, the two cities appear to fulfil different roles within Sri Lanka’s artistic landscape. Colombo remains the country’s commercial and professional centre, where artists seek exhibitions, productions, sponsorships, and audiences. Kandy, meanwhile, offers something less measurable but equally valuable: space to think, experiment, reflect, and create.

Perhaps that is why so many artists continue choosing to remain there despite the practical difficulties. They are drawn by the city’s own rhythm, its cultural history, its educational institutions, and the sense of creative possibility that comes from working within a close-knit artistic community.

There is, of course, still work to be done. Stronger funding mechanisms, greater institutional investment, broader audiences, and more opportunities for artists across disciplines to collaborate would undoubtedly strengthen the city’s creative ecosystem. Yet the foundations are already present. Venues such as Karaliya continue expanding opportunities. The University of Peradeniya remains a powerful incubator of artistic talent. Schools continue nurturing young performers, while individual artists tirelessly create work because they believe in its value rather than its profitability.

Perhaps the greatest lesson from our conversations is that art has never simply been about commerce. It has always been about curiosity, expression, and connection. Kandy may not yet rival Colombo in terms of industry or infrastructure, but it possesses something equally important: a community of artists determined to keep creating.

Perhaps that is what defines a creative city most of all. Not the number of galleries or production houses it possesses, but the determination of the people who continue making art within it.