Am back to my eye obsession.
The eyes here are swimming in a sea of visual references. They appear somewhat dazed, awake to everything that they see.

They're the eyes of the artist, who hungering for experiences immerses himself completely in the process of seeing and catalogueing... till he finds it in him to build stories around that which he finds worth his while.

180 cm X 120 cm
acrylic on canvas

This is Camouflage recamouflaged: given a few more coats, swipes and textures. I was told that it looked like a 'halfway' work. Now I hope it looks 'over'. It's now called 'Swamp Feast'.

178 cm X 25 cm
acrylic on canvas

"Isn't it a great feeling when a painting finally tells you to step away from the paintbrush? I love how expressively your inner crocodile burst onto your canvas..."

----Bone Singer

Collage: newspaper, ink, shoe polish on A4 envelope
I was going through a weekend newspaper supplement when a page stood out and began to make faces at me. So I took my cigarette and made holes where its eyes were. But the blind page still didn't stop mocking me. So I tore it out. Burnt its edges. And made a mohawk out of its head. All this, I thought, would teach the page a lesson. But it didn't. It flapped its mohawk at me in a way that can only be described as obscene. I then got some glue and stuck it on an envelope. Like a stamp shaved and serving a jail sentence. Now I wanted to make faces at the page. So I drew and drew and drew... over the stamp, on the envelope... I drew like a maniac stopping only when I had two half faces and a quarter. And then I took some shoe polish and blackened them further.
No page was ever going to mock me again.
Pic: Sahar Z
This car outside Parwana, my apartment block, caught fire some days ago. Luckily all those in it came out before the fire spread, which probably explains the broken windscreen and windows. You can't make out what colour it was before the fire, because all of it has evapourated. The mustard stains on the body are made up of rust and the residual grey of the paint base. The upholstery and the foam inside it has also turned to ash, leaving behind exposed coils of metal. The head and tail-lights are now gaping holes like the eyes of a skull. The car is a Maruti 800, the first small car to hit Indian roads, way back in 1984. Now there is talk of phasing out this once middleclass dream car.
Parwana, incidentally is a moth in Hindi. It is often poetically used as a metaphor for compulsive self-destructive behaviour, like the moth that spirals into the flame after what becomes its last dance around the fire. What remains is a chintinous frame on which once hung a moth shaped being.
Pic by Sahar Z

I think no one feels the struggle for relevance more than the artist. The struggle to find something new to say and say it well. Art isn’t any more an elitist pursuit. It can’t anymore be hidden from the public eye. More and more people want to see and react to what they see. Everyone has Internet, everyone has overactive fingers. More and more people are reading and visiting new places, opening new doors and windows inside their heads. Art, its definitions and dialogues are changing. The artist’s brief now is to create a narrative that has not been attempted earlier. Or if it has been, it is to create a counter-narrative that takes it from where the last artist left.

The Marilyn Monroe’s Last Supper is taken from a Fluxus installation that came to Delhi last month.

acrylic on board
(50 in X 7.5 in)
A belief is like a straw floating on water. It is small but real and full of inchoate potential. This stubborn belief is ART. Like the fluent winds that make dunes of sand and sailors of men. Belief is a human thing, unheard of in lower vertebrates or even ‘thinking’ primates.


I took these photographs of photographs that hang at the Roerich House in Naggar. They were taken by Semyon Kirlian and his wife, who in the 1930s gave credence to the idea of auras through their photographs. Auras or these invisible Russian-doll casings that surrounded every thing living were believed to exist by many people down the ages. The Kirlians were the first to show them in photographic reality.
Often a belief has to float over centuries of ridicule and mockery, like a straw, before it is accepted as real. Everyone today knows of Galeleo Galelei or the mystics who saw God not as a remote puller of strings but as a real comforting presence in their quotidian struggles.
Nicholas Roerich was such a mystic who believed in an upward spiral of human evolution. A sort of winding staircase of Babel where everyone, everywhere sought the light trapped within our souls.

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As an art practitioner I work in a variety of mediums, what you see here are glimpses of my many creative projects. If you like or feel strongly something here please don't forget to comment

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