• The radical performance art of Janani Cooray

In Sri Lanka, where art is often expected to remain palatable, contained, and easily understood, Janani Cooray has built a practice that does quite the opposite. 

As one of the country’s earliest performance artists, her work does not simply invite observation; it demands confrontation. Through her body, her materials, and her lived experience, Cooray has spent over two decades questioning the cultural, political, and gendered frameworks that shape women’s lives.

A graduate of the University of the Visual and Performing Arts, Cooray’s artistic beginnings were rooted in more traditional forms. “Painting was my main subject, and I also did sculpture,” she said. Yet even in these early stages, her work carried a critical edge. 

Her final-year project, ‘Beauty Queen and Me,’ challenged globalised beauty standards and the dominance of a singular, commercial female body type. “I questioned why the slim Barbie-doll type is considered the standard of beauty,” she explained. “In my case, as a dark-skinned, short, stocky body type, I didn’t see myself represented at all.”

Her research revealed that this ‘ideal’ was not incidental, but systemic. She noted that the Barbie doll shape had become the globally adopted form for women’s bodies in commercial representation, replicated across cultures and industries. This early interrogation of the female body as both object and construct would go on to define her later performance work.

Cooray’s introduction to performance art was almost accidental, yet deeply transformative. At the Theertha International Art Camp in 2003, held in Lunuganga, she had initially been invited as an installation artist. However, inspired by her studies in archaeology and water rituals, she proposed a collaborative performance involving artists from multiple countries.

“I was always of a radical spirit; I had no fear of proposing something new,” she said. Despite having no prior experience in performance, she stepped into the role of curator and spokesperson for the piece. She admitted that the process was intimidating. “I had a lot of stage fright because I had never done this before; I was a painter and suddenly this was a brand-new world,” she recalled.

That moment marked a turning point. She explained that the experience taught her how to construct a performance piece as an artwork, how to manage time, and how to use space effectively. What began as experimentation quickly became a defining practice.

The female body as a site of control

From early on, Cooray’s work centred the lived experiences of women, particularly the restrictions imposed by culture and tradition. One such work, ‘Cage,’ explored the moment of transition into womanhood within Sri Lankan society. Wearing a physical cage, she embodied the expectations placed on women after puberty.

“This is the turning point where you go from being a girl to a woman,” she explained. “And from that point onwards, you are expected to follow a certain set of rules.”

She noted that her work was often inspired by her own experiences, but also by the broader reality of women whose voices remained unheard. “I was always driven to showcase experiences of women, whose voices are not often heard,” she said.

Performing around conflict

One of the most striking moments in her career came during Sri Lanka’s civil war. During a temporary ceasefire, Cooray travelled to Jaffna to perform at the reopening of the Public Library, during a time when even travel to the north was uncertain and feared.

She said that despite concerns from her loved ones, she felt compelled to go ahead with the performance. “I felt it was necessary that I did an art piece,” she said. Her work subtly suggested that responsibility for the conflict was not one-sided. She explained that her intention was not to sugarcoat reality, but to present it in a way that invited interpretation.

Cooray noted that even within a politically sensitive environment, audiences, including military personnel, were receptive. “Everyone understood what I was talking about; they were understanding enough to allow me to say my piece,” she said.

Hair as medium, identity and constraint

A defining evolution in Cooray’s practice came during an international residency in Bangalore, where she began to explore hair as a material. What started as a playful interaction with fellow artists became something deeply symbolic.

“That’s when I realised this is connected to my identity,” she said.

Her work ‘My Hair Web’ saw her braid purchased human hair into her own, wrapping herself until she was physically restricted. She explained that the piece reflected how personal connections could also become limiting. “The connections I had made had also restricted me,” she said.

The process itself was intense. She admitted that she was unsure if her own hair could be salvaged after the performance. “I was ready to cut it off,” she said. She described how her peers carefully untangled her hair afterward, an act she viewed as deeply symbolic.

Cooray’s work has often entered public discourse through unexpected channels. Her 2015 performance ‘Barbed Osari’ became widely circulated online, turning into a viral image that crossed borders and contexts.

She said the message resonated strongly because it engaged directly with a traditional symbol. “I think it was so powerful because I was targeting the most traditional outfit,” she said.

However, she also noted that the virality led to professional challenges. As a school teacher at the time, she faced criticism within her workplace. “Parents and teachers don’t like it when a fellow teacher becomes a meme,” she said.

Similarly, during the Covid-19 lockdown, her performance of burying herself in the ground circulated globally. She explained that the constraints of lockdown shaped the work. “We couldn’t go out, we had to use what was around us,” she said.

‘Hair Weaving’: A collective act of resistance

Cooray’s most recent work, ‘Hair Weaving,’ performed for International Women’s Day 2026, represents both a continuation and expansion of her exploration of hair as medium. Unlike her earlier works, this was a collaborative performance involving multiple women.

She explained that the process involved women weaving their hair together to create a shared artwork, symbolising unity and collective strength. “Even a single strand of a woman’s hair transforms into something powerful when it becomes part of a collective,” she said.

Cooray emphasised that many participants were not trained performers. “They were not performance artists,” she noted. “But they were able to put aside their embarrassment and fear, even when faced with public criticism.”

For her, the performance was not just about symbolism, but about participation, reclaiming the body, and resisting societal expectations in a visible, shared way.

Despite the challenges she has faced locally, Cooray’s work has received international recognition. She recalled being told at a global platform that she was among the most significant performance artists in Asia. “That recognition, it was an incredible feeling,” she said.

However, she also spoke candidly about the lack of institutional support within Sri Lanka. “There is no support system for performance art here,” she said.

This reality led her to establish the Ceylon Performance Art Centre, aimed at supporting emerging artists. She said that her own experiences motivated her to create opportunities for others, noting: “I felt it was my responsibility to create that space.”

Reflecting on her journey, Cooray situated her work within a broader context of resilience. “As South Asian women, we live with uncertainty, we are constantly fighting, so we learn to be unafraid,” she said.

Her work, in this sense, extends beyond art. It is lived, embodied, and deeply political. Through performance, she has created a language that challenges silence and invites reflection.

In a space where performance art is still emerging, Janani Cooray’s work stands as both resistance and responsibility – a reminder that art, at its most powerful, does not simply exist to be seen, but to be felt, questioned, and remembered.