So go give your indie friend a hug tomorrow and tell them you love their film photos of neighbourhood cats, the point and shooters need some love too. And without further ado, let’s explore the work of Dayanita Singh

For someone who began her career as a photojournalist, Dayanita Singh has redefined what photography can be. Born in New Delhi in 1961, she studied Visual Communication at the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad before training in documentary photography at the International Center of Photography in New York. One of her earliest assignments was photographing the renowned musician Zakir Hussain, and here we see the roots of her documentary photography practice.

But she soon grew dissatisfied with photography as a tool for simply recording reality and instead became interested in the relationships photographs could build. Relationships with people, with memories, with books, and with archives.

This perspective is embodied most strongly in her project Myself Mona Ahmed (2001), a collaborative project that she calls a “visual novel”, born from her decades-long friendship with Mona Ahmed, a transgender woman from Delhi. Combining photographs with letters and text, the project is unlike a conventional documentary that prioritizes objectivity on the part of the photographer, and instead pushes for an intimate portrait of a life and a relationship. This is one of my favourite works of the artist.

This article by Arundhati Thomas for The Frieze describes beautifully how this book is about more than Mona’s queerness. More than gender, more than trans-ness. This book is a picture of a playful Mona who has inspired countless people to live in Truth. However contradictory or hard to describe it may be. Read more about this project on Singh’s website.

In retrospect, this project marks the transition from conventional documentary photography into a more experimental take on the medium for the artist. And what stands out most for me is Singh’s refusal to conform to ideas of ‘high brow’ photography, by constantly pushing the boundaries with her exhibitions at an institutional level.

In a typical museum or gallery photography show, an otherwise accessible medium is made to be inaccessible to the public, and put on a pedestal to be immortalized. Photography is by far one of the most democratic mediums… everyone has a phone camera. Yet fine art photography is defined by the scarcity of limited edition prints in sleek frames and expensive price tags. Displayed in institutions that come with their own rules about how we’re supposed to look at and understand them. And this is the version of photography that never clicked for me. Sure, a monochrome image of schoolchildren playing, set against the backdrop of political upheaval may make for a great think piece - but how many times am I going to be moved before I realize it happens all around me. I know this comes across as a bit harsh, but really, is that all what photography can be?

Dayanita Singh says obviously not you fool. In her latest works like Museum Bhavan she takes the very same B&W pictures I seem to have beef with, and turns them into different types of ‘Museums’. There is a File Museum, a Suitcase Museum and even a Pocket Museum.

Here the images can be arranged, re-arranged and sequenced as per the viewer’s choice - because guess what? Anyone can buy the museum kit and install the museum themselves - hence breaking the viewer out of the passive role and actively co-creating with the artist to make meaning from the arrangement of images. The viewer becomes, in Singh’s words, the “curator” of her work.

These are also portable, and hence not bound to a singular space or location. And this to me seems like a fitting response to the authority museums have over how art is displayed and experienced. Because what if you want to spend more time with the show? Dayanita Singh gives you the option to take it home! This is cray cray

If photography can be made to feel inaccessible by removing it from the everyday, Singh shows us that we can just as easily bring it back… and not just through what we photograph, but also through where and how that photography is experienced.

I shouldn’t be surprised though… the artist calls herself “a bookmaker working with photography”. What better methodology to bring to this artistic medium than that of a bookmaker? Her exhibitions really are like rawdogging photography.. like make your own meanings man come awnn.

I hope you liked this deep dive into Dayanita Singh’s work. I can’t lie, it was a bit hard, this one. I never thought world photography day would get me face to face with my inner photographic demons… like where is all this hate for bechara still photos coming from? They can’t even move!!!

Anywhoo, subscribe to this lovely newsletter child of mine for more insights from Indian Art - and I’ll see you in the next post :)

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F.N.Souza’s work is one that you enjoy looking at alone, perhaps in secret, away from nosy peering eyes who might be shocked that you are moved by the image of two holy men gripping the breasts of a young woman. His work demands attention, commanding you to look. Whether you continue to stare or look away awkwardly is up to you.

In all the best ways, Souza was a rebel. And we all know how much we love a bad boy… ew. I cringed while writing that. But it’s true, Souza was the tyrant of the art world, the enfant terrible poster boy. But what was he angry about? Where was all this rage targeted? Let’s breakdown some of his works to find out.

Souza grew up in a village called Saligão in Goa, and its imagery of paddy fields and lush trees make their way into many of his paintings. If you’ve ever been to Goa, especially in the monsoons, you can picture the lush vegetation and smell the wet soil. I know you’re doing it right now. This painting titled ‘Red Road’ paints a similar picture, but with twisted air to it. The greenery, instead of being rustlingly free-flowing, takes on a jagged edge. The pointy spears of buildings echo feelings of unease, like a sleepy town readying itself for judgement day. The composition is split in two by the dominant element, the red road, creating a divide between what seems to be a church on the right side of the landscape, and the rest of the town. The iconography of churches and other religious imagery appear repeatedly in Souza’s work, and more often than not, they bear the brunt of his rage. Why ‘red’ road? The otherwise hazy green composition is shocked with the sight of the blood red fissure breaking its lazy look apart.

We see Souza’s familiarity with religious themes most clearly in this work, depicting the biblical story of Susanna and the Elders from the Book of Daniel. The story centres on a virtuous woman named Susanna, who is falsely accused of adultery by two lecherous elders after she refuses their advances. The story highlights the abuse of power through religion.

Notice how Susanna here is depicted looking away, whereas the elders are looking directly at the viewer. Like they are aware of their sins and take pleasure in it. The harsh black lines that contour Susanna hold her in place, whereas the same lines tangle up in the elders, who are portrayed as sinister, with looming figures and exaggerated expressions that convey their predatory nature.

This painting shows a common theme in Souza’s work, which is his ability to blend narrative content with his unique painting style. The story of Susanna becomes a frame through which he explores themes of power, desire and hypocrisy.

This next work titled ‘The Crucifixion’ continues this allegory, tackling the theme of religious suffering and redemption. Souza takes what is known to be a moment of divine redemption and highlights the immense human suffering of the act. In all usual depictions of the crucifixion, Jesus is rendered in lighter colours, usually with a halo-like effect to him, whereas the other characters fade into the background. Here that image is reversed. Christ is portrayed like a carcass, distorted and broken apart, more so when compared to the two men beside him. Perhaps by stripping Christ of his idealised divinity, Souza redirects our attention to the physical reality of suffering.

Like much of Souza’s religious imagery, this depiction of the crucifixion is less concerned with devotional representation than with confronting the everyday realities of pain, sacrifice, and mortality. This also reflects his own ideas of creation, he writes about his art practice in his 1959 book Words and Lines;

“When I begin to paint I am wrapped in myself [...] wrapped like a fetus in the womb only aware that each painting for me is either a milestone or a tombstone... I do not unwrap myself when I paint. I unwrap myself when I write. When I press a tube I coil. Every brush stroke makes me recoil like a snake struck with a stick. I hate the smell of paint. Painting for me is not beautiful.”

— F.N. Souza, F.N. Souza - Words and Lines, New Delhi, 1997, p. 10.

His work really do be looking like it was made in a fit of rage, or at the least in an attempt to dispel the dirt and grime within. I often think of Souza as Taz from the cartoon Loony Tunes. No surprises Taz was my favourite character. Why am I driven to enjoy what some might call convoluted, and tyrannic representations of creativity?

Of course, we as the audience get to live vicariously through viewing Souza’s work, and keep alive that youthful disregard for the societal norms that govern us. We see in him a way to express our anger at the world. A world filled with injustice wrapped up in religious piety. A theme very relevant for today’s social climate.

But more importantly, I think we need signs to reassure ourselves that creation isn’t always beautiful. It can be painful, ugly, filled with grief, and emotions that the brain can’t bear to process. It can be destructive, and deliciously so.

I often find myself wanting to be put together in order to show up. Whether it’s to write, paint, or most importantly nowadays, record a video. I always think, if I’m not enjoying the process I must be doing it wrong. But whoever said creation is beautiful was lying. So just show up. Feeling ugly, low energy, awkward, like you don’t have anything useful to say. Just say it and dip. This was my attempt at doing just that.

I’ll leave you with a line from one of my favourite songs:

“Isn’t it an irony / the things that inspire me / they make me bleed / so profusely.”

— Daniel Caesar, Superposition

I hope you enjoyed this piece, and I’ll see you in my next one

muah, Prachi.

Further reading:
F.N. Souza: A Timeline of His Life, Art, and Legacy

F.N. Souza: The eternal rebel

The Enigma of Arrival: F. N. Souza in London

Words And Lines by Francis Newton Souza

The first work titled The Moon Underwater takes inspiration from the centuries old Japanese tradition of viewing the moon through its reflection in water. Here a sleek, techy-looking tree drops bubbles of fog that bounce onto a bed of water, eventually dissolving into its surface. The effect is a tranquil viewing of what seems like a natural phenomenon, randomized and sensory. The mechanical tree however, indicates a deviation from nature, visually marking out that this is not an organic act.

The artist duo A.A. Murakami worked with Anthropic’s AI model Claude for this project, describing it as ‘a studio collaborator supporting ideation and experimentation rather than replacing human vision’ (Anarchy Daily). At the core of this duo’s artistic practice is the merging of technology with physical phenomena like bubbles, fog and plasma. A string of code keeps the operation of their installations running behind the scenes, while the viewer-facing elements of water and vapour create the impression of something born out of nature.

The collective is interested in the physical manifestation of Artificial Intelligence, and it is curious that they place a heavy emphasis on this manifestation in the form of elements that are closest to, and hence representative of nature. Unlike various other use cases of AI in art that look like touch screens and image generating models, A.A.Murakami’s work seems to seamlessly slip into the realm of the natural.

A stark contrast to this is the next work, Game of Possible Lives by Tomo Kihara. Contained within a digital screen, this interactive game invites players to experience the potential lives of AI generated, fictional people who could statistically exist in Japan. Players make pivotal life decisions for these people. My boyfriend and I played this game last week and the person we were assigned was 22 year old Akari Yamada, a construction site coordinator faced with a plethora of big life choices. From choosing between moving countries to follow her love life or staying and prioritizing her career, to starting a new business venture while her health deteriorated, we argued over what decisions were best for Akari— someone I felt oddly close to and understandably responsible for.

At the end a genealogical chart showing the chosen and potential paths of Akari’s life flashed on the screen, giving us the option to restart the game and make different decisions for this human that we had been put in charge of. Even though I know Akari Yamada is not real, I couldn’t help but be very proud of her decision making skills (except the one that my boyfriend made), and overall was happy with where she ended up in life. But I couldn’t help asking myself, would Akari be happy with where she was? Would she regret staying in Kyoto for her career instead of going to Zurich with her long time partner? Or would she thank me for the financial security she had when she was in her later 50’s and able to invest in a sustainability start up?

The fictional people in this game are not bound by a single fate, and players can return to past crossroads to alter decisions— making this game extremely hard for indecisive people. Thankfully, I am not one of them. But this game did make me think hard, harder than ever actually, about the way I make decisions. What goals do I prioritize? What things in life am I okay to compromise on? Do I spend too much time on work and too less on building inter-personal relationships? It all makes my head hurt. In a good way I suppose.

This work allows us to experience other people’s lives in a way that data alone cannot capture. And in doing so, the integration of AI here is quite interesting.

Now on to the complicated yet nail bitingly interesting part. How do we assess the use of AI in these works? First let us compare the actual ‘AI’ part of both these works, for which we can only go on face value of what has been publicly shared. Full disclosure, I am far from an expert in AI. If anyone reading this is more proficient in the language of meep meep please do share your thoughts in the comments.

The first work by A.A.Murakami utilizes the infamous AI model Claude. Here, AI steps in as an expert on the science of the artwork, helping the artists understand the nitty gritties on the matter of fog and plasma and why bubbles bounce on water. My honest reaction to this is, perhaps a human could have done that. But I am more interested in the lexical field of ‘nature’ that has been created to describe this work. This can be justified given that A.A.Murakami’s work focuses on the elements of nature, but a big part of these installations is the tech behind it. However the tech part is seldom seen as separated from nature, always entangled with it, which is funny given the dichotomy of those words that literally make up the two ends of the spectrum. This is highlighted by Alexander Groves, one half of the duo, describing the artwork as a garden and Claude as the gardener that is silently keeping the whole harmony working (YouTube interview, 1:38). Similar metaphors of nature show up in the 3 minute video introduction to the artwork below. In simple words, this seems hella sus to me. But let’s get to the next work for now.

The AI in Game of Possible Lives differs in one main way, that it is a Local Large Language model. Unlike Claude which is a proprietary, cloud-based model managed by Anthropic, the local LLM is hosted directly on a particular machine. As mentioned on the artists website, the model is fed data from Japan’s 2020 national census, and the following description gives us a clue into what role the AI fulfills for this particular work:

Large language models are trained on massive datasets of online text. As a result, the worlds they generate tend to mirror contemporary social realities, including their biases and inequalities. The work thus becomes an experiential archive of our current moment, inviting players to navigate and confront the systemic forces shaping life today

We don’t have clarity on exactly what data the AI is trained on, but it’s clear that it steps in as a simulation of the realities of contemporary society. Here, the AI is at the centre of the work, creating narratives that reflect our current realities, flaws and all.

An important factor to note is that the images generated in the game are from an AI model developed by pixel artists themselves and the model ‘utilizes consented artwork data from a community of creators who are compensated for their contributions’ (artist website). This, I would argue, shows more of a reasonable relationship with AI than the previous work.

And this is how I would endeavour to assess the use of AI in both these works. For any healthy relationship, interpersonal or intertech, we need to lay down clear boundaries.

In Game of Possible Lives, the artist places AI at the heart of the work but retains the boundaries of creativity. Illustrations are done by pixel artists, and the fact that the AI operates on a Local LLM suggests a greater degree of control over how the model functions. The only aspect of which we are unsure are the large pieces of text that the model is trained on to reflect societal biases, and whether these were obtained with consent or not.

In comparison, The Moon Underwater shows a blurring of roles between the artist and machine. The AI has no exit point from the work, being described as ‘the technician that [the artists] leave behind’ (YouTube interview, 1:32). As the audience we are unsure what role the AI fulfills in this work. Is it purely a researcher? Or also the technician? What degree of participation did it have in the concept? And where does this leave us as human artists? Because the word human artist seems to be of great distinction in these times.

The role of AI in The Moon Underwater is clearly undefined but I’m willing to hope that maybe this was intentionally left vague as some thought provoking experiment into the role of AI and Art. But I will admit the more I am provoked the less I am convinced. The AI here has as much authority in the work as the artists themselves and no amount of nature-rearing metaphors can disguise that fact.

These works reveal two differing attitudes toward AI in Art. They bring into question the role and subsequent responsibility of the artist within AI assisted works to define the role of the machine.

Moving forward, I think we will see more work in the art world that calls into question this role of the artist with regards to AI, in perhaps some twisted re-telling of the Death of the Author. It is important we look beyond the glossy finishes of tech to understand whether it is simply expanding artistic possibility, or restructuring artist authorship itself. I hope this helped in discussing the different ways artists view meep meep in the creative space. Drop a comment with your thoughts, I would love to chat more on this.

Until next time,

Prachi

Sources:

Artist Tomo Kihara’s website

A.A.Murakami YouTube video

Anarchy Daily on The Moon Underwater

NYTimes: What Is Claude? Anthropic Doesn’t Know, Either

Last week while researching Jagdish Swaminathan’s work for a video, I stumbled upon the term ‘Neo Tantric Art’. I had become somewhat obsessed with Swaminathan’s style and wanted to find more of this kind of work that gave me the same light headed effect. It seemed like fate then, when I happened to peer into the window of DAG’s permanent collection gallery at the Taj while picking up a cake for my brother (he only ever likes Dutch Truffle cake that can’t be ordered on swiggy) - only to see the same Biren De painting I had been reading up about on Sotheby’s ‘Neo Tantric Art as Liberation’.

A few posts back I promised to do a formal analysis but I couldn’t for the life of me pick one work - do I pick a traditional style like kalamkari? A craft like pottery? A modernist painting? An embroidered work? Too many options. Well it seems life has picked for me, so let’s begin

A brief introduction to the mysterious sounding ‘Neo Tantric Art’, not to be confused with Tantric art. Tantric art is a ritual art form, and includes things like Sri yantras and Mandalas used in the practicing of Tantra as a spiritual practice. Add ‘Neo’ before it and it now refers to a contemporary art style that takes inspiration from the concepts of Tantra and its visual vocabulary. Neo Tantric Art is an artistic expression of the philosophies of Tantra.

‘November’ by Biren De is a popular painting of the Neo Tantric style. In hues of blue, it centres the viewer with its emphasis on line and movement. Here a circle sits not in the centre of the composition, but at the top. Appearing as a glowing orb with radial gradients of yellow, white and blue— the circular shape moving outward begins taking on a jagged form before finally giving rise to petal-like segments. The viewer’s eye moves downward with the implied contours of these petals (the line is not implicitly drawn but rather implied via negative space), moving outward from the glowing orb. From afar, it gives the illusion of a tunnel, but from up close it looks to me like the glow of the moon in a city without streetlights.

My favourite part of this work is how the gradation of colours repeat- from light to dark, and back to light again. It’s like a beautiful wave, and I would imagine it to sound like the ascending and descending notes of Indian classical music.

The two dominant elements of this composition are the circle and the phallic shaped petals, the significance of which we will dive into in the next painting.

This work by Gulam Rasool is where we see the Tantric roots of this art style more clearly. The core philosophies of Tantra focus on energy and transformation through the symbolic representation of the Shiva as Linga and Shakti as Yoni. Linga is the vertical axis; it is consciousness and stillness embodied in Shiva. Yoni is the circular matrix; a generative power embodied in Shakti. We see this in the central figure in the composition; a circle with two forms on either side creating an implied line. The eye follows this rhythm, landing at the circle and then moving upward into the pinnacle— the tiny glowing circle at the top. Around it is the square, traditionally representing stability, order and containment. I have tried to simplify this representation below:

Phew, now that the technical terms are done, the anatomical figure looks to me like a deity sat with folded legs in meditation and it reminds me of Gond artist Jangarh Singh Shyam’s geometric depiction of gods and goddesses, who btw was discovered by Jagdish Swaminathan (OG guy that led me down this rabbit hole). Swaminathan believed tribal art forms like Gond to be closer to the primal energy source and ways of seeing the world around us, which to me is the connecting thread between all the Neo Tantric artists.

A common theme with many paintings of this style is the use of gradients to create an almost fantasy-like, mystical mood, which is what draws me to them. I feel immediately silenced by a larger energy, or perhaps I’m just a fiend for well balanced geometric compositions.

There could be a whole other post on the parallels between Neo Tantric Art and the Bauhaus movement, or the similarities between this style and that of Hilma Kint, if you are interested in that drop a comment to let me know. For now I will end here dear readers. A quick and somewhat personal intro into Neo Tantric Art and my brother’s favourite cake (Dutch Truffle, in case you forgot).

I’m enjoying being a regular here on substack and I hope you are enjoying these shorter reads. If you have any topic suggestions let me know, and I’ll see you next time I get inspired to pick up this digital quill that is my keyboard - I just finished Bridgerton, can you tell…

Lots of love,

Prachi

More readings:
Neo Tantric Art as Liberation

Neo Tantric Art in India: Visual Interpretation if Biren De’sMetaphysical Introspection Through Symbols

Neo-Tantric Art

Hot off the heels from the India Art Fair in Delhi, I had 2 hours to kill before I left for the airport on a slow Sunday. Naturally, the recommendation I got from family and friends familiar with my obsession with craft led me to the craft museum in Delhi.

After moving through rooms with predictable wood sculptures, loom displays and tie-dyed fabric— which I have to give credit where due their Bandhani collection was exquisite— I found myself in a tiny room where a different energy hummed.

I was in need of some serious solitude and a heavy dose of conceptually rich visuals to shake me from the art fair induced slumber of zoning out while looking at great art. And my answer came in the form of ‘Entangled and Woven: Reframing Craft and Community through Textiles’, a show curated by Amy George and Jeeyoung Lee as part of Hyundai’s Translocal Series. First presented at the Cheongju Craft Biennale 2025, the exhibition is now showing at the National Crafts Museum & Hastkala Academy in Delhi.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect a motor company sponsored show to be this good, but this blew me away. Below I have tried to outline a few ways in which some of these works use the legacy of craft in new and conceptual ways. The show is on till the 31st of March and if you are in Delhi I highly urge you to check this out.

The show begins with a section of Boito, a brand that first stood out to me when I visited the India Design ID show a few months back, which shines in all its Odisha glory in this exhibition. An impressive sculptural piece of the Navagunjara— a mythical creature from the Odia retelling of the Mahabharata— stands tall in the centre. A clever reinterpretation of this mythical creature— traditionally composed of nine different animals— is reimagined through nine distinct craft and textile practices of Odisha. Here Pattachitra, Dhokra, Bobei, Kotpad, Silver filigree, Ringa textiles and beads, Mukha chitra, and Bandha come together to create this creature, proudly showing off the range of craft practices from the region. It almost felt like the skilled confidence of the craftspeople translates through the sculpture, giving the beast a self-assured swagger that teenage boys would kill for. For me, this work highlights the eternal truth, that craft is the magic that imbues life into form.

The 5 textile panels of Korean artist Youngin Hong’s work ‘Sacred Empires’, made in collaboration with the artisans from Kala Raksha, flow gently back and forth. Here, the same motifs from the top I was wearing that day (Rabari embroidered and coincidentally also from Kala Raksha) appeared in different contexts. Unusual colour combinations and more negative space than Kutchi embroidery is known for, the result was a unique melding of two cultures. This work highlights contemporary textile art as a medium for tracing history and cultural exchange.

Bangalore-based artist Kaimurai’s meditative practice and sacred handling of Indigo translates through in his work ‘The Answers to All My Prayers Are in the Questions I Never Asked’. Here, panels of unbleached fabric show the setting of an indigo sphere, foregrounded by a bronze bell hanging over a granite sphere chiseled by traditional temple artists. The artist sees indigo as a holy substance and personally prepares a mixture to handle with meditative focus. In this work the focus is the symbol of the sphere, interpreted by the artist as representing the Three Realms (Triloka): the Realm of Desire, Form and the Formless Realm. Excuse the cliche, but this work got me feeling all the introspective vibes. My body felt light and weightless, like I was floating between the varying Indigo suns without a single thought. I would kill for this feeling on a random Wednesday night when my overthinking plagues me.

Next, a tunnel made from the silhouette of a multi-foil arch attracts significant attention, tempting the childlike instinct in me to run between them and lose myself within its folds. This is Jounghye Yoo’s work titled ‘Gilded Veil_A Mysterious Curtain Lightly Draped in Gold’. I had a huge AHA moment when I read the didactic text to find out that indeed, the artist was inspired by the work of Dr. Ismail Mohammad Khatri. Having seen an identical display in his workshop only a month ago, my eyes made the connection before my mind did and I felt like the one student in class who actually did their assigned reading and could follow the larger discussion seamlessly. Now I’m not on a first name basis with Dr. Khatri (otherwise I would be calling him Ismail bhai) but in his workshop he has a similar display of panels showing the different stages of Ajrakh block printing. Starting from plain, unbleached fabric all the way to the finished design with beautiful geometric patterns. Between these lie hues of turmeric dyed yellow, indigo blues and madder reds. This, along with the shifting views of the gates of Varanasi’s Vishwanath temple is what inspired this interactive work made with traditional Korean silk. The result is a beautiful piece where memory, tradition and culture mingle.

These were just 4 of the works that spoke to me, but each artist/ collective has brought immense conceptual depth to this show. The curation and continued focus on the cultural exchange between India and Korea throughout the show felt natural and intentional. More so, this exhibition breaks craft out of the tired moulds it has settled into and shows the innovative spirit that comes from the act of making. It platforms craft in full strength, at its very best, showing us how forms of making bring people and cultures together.

Some of my other favourite works were Somi Ko’s ‘People of One’ installation, Péro’s ‘Entangled Memories, Interwoven Stories’, as well as Boito’s ‘Tara-Tarini’ coats and ‘Interwoven beyond borders’ display

We need more artists and collectives working with craft in conceptually fresh ways while also collaborating with those who have kept it alive for this long. We need to move past the rhetoric of craftspeople as needing our help or pity support, and see them as individuals with immense creativity and the skills to match it. I hope to see many more shows like this and will be keenly following the works of the participating artists.

Thank you for your time, and I’ll see you whenever I next get inspired to aggressively type on my computer.

Links to read more on this exhibition and its making :

https://artlab.hyundai.com/editorial/entangled-and-woven-reframing-craft-and-community-through-textiles

https://artlab.hyundai.com/project/hyundai-translocal-series-entangled-and-woven

Dodiya draws inspiration from a blend of personal experiences, literature, mythology, and art history. Her works are deeply personal, reflecting her inner world and emotions, often incorporating references to poetry and mythological tales to create layered narratives. Influences from both Western and Eastern art traditions are evident in her pieces, blending classical techniques with contemporary themes. Dodiya’s art explores the complexities of human emotions, depicting states of fear, introspection, and resilience, and effectively connecting the personal with the universal to create a dialogue between the inner self and the outer world.

Anju Dodiya's innovative use of mattresses as a medium in her later works is a striking element. By painting on mattresses, she transforms these everyday objects into canvases that convey vulnerability and intimacy. The mattress, a symbol of rest and personal space, becomes a site of introspection and psychological exploration in her hands. This unconventional choice allows her to juxtapose the softness and domesticity of the mattress with the intense emotional themes she addresses. Through this medium, Dodiya effectively blurs the lines between art and life, inviting viewers to engage with her work on a more personal and tactile level.

This work titled ‘The Reader’ makes use of a printed mattress to portray a female subject reading under a chair. The chair has arrows stabbed in it; the light and dark tonal contrasts on the soft cushion of the chair stand out against the piercing arrows. The white and black houndstooth print adds to the monochromatic feel of the work, as subtle elements such as the curtain, the books and the wash of turquoise in the bottom left ease in some colours. What stands out to me most is the varying levels of translucency, wherein some elements allow for the base print to appear more strongly and others lay on it with opacity. The subject hides under the chair, and having the arrows just missed their aim on her, is profusely reading with an almost haunted look on her face. The circular frame of the work keeps the eye moving around the composition, not only keeping the viewer engaged but circling the eye back to the woman and her grimacing expression. What might she be thinking? Does she know who has aimed arrows at her? How quick did she escape their aim? And why on earth is she hell bent on burying her face in these books as if the answer to these questions lies in their pages? Perhaps it is a mystery that we must satisfy ourselves with answering simply for the time being… that she just wants to be left alone with her books, and is willing to narrowly escape all danger to be left reading in peace. Even if that peace looks a little uncomfortable on the spine.

This is another one of Dodiya’s work on a mattress, titled ‘The Path of Berries’. Painted on floral printed fabric it shows 2 scenes, one where a woman stretches out of a rooster and the other of a couple in embrace. These two scenes are seamlessly connected, with the rooster's claws gently gripping the man's shoulders.

The embrace of the man and woman seems like a scene of departure and sadness, the expression on the man's face hints at perhaps realisation of this departure as the woman comforts him (maybe for the last time). The use of colours for this half of the composition is sombre, with dry brushed strokes of black. The woman’s face is hidden, but her hand caressing her partner’s head shows her affection toward him. As for the second half of the paintings, roosters typically symbolise new beginnings, as they usher in the dawn with their unmistakable crow, reminding us of the cyclical nature of life and the promise of a fresh start every day. The woman stretching out of it is painted in brighter colours, her coral dress playing off of the red of the roses in the background, and the red in the rooster's face and beak. The progression from the latter morose scene to this more colourful one could hint at a larger theme of renewal and a shedding of old identities.

The scatter of jamuns reiterates this idea as the berry is known to be a blood purifier, helpful to women during menstruation when they lose blood. Overall, this painting reads to me as a powerful reminder to women, to give back to our other identities of self-hood and independence, and move away from being defined in regards to the men in our lives.

Dodiya’s body of work is like a good book that unravels new mysteries with each read. I find new interpretations each time, and the clever use of allusions in her oeuvre leave me awed every single time.

Bibliography:

Anju Dodiya. Chemould Prescott Road. https://www.gallerychemould.com/artists/29-anju-dodiya/