Solo exhibition · Ridgewood, Queens · 2024

Sensing Shadows

The Weight for Light

Decolonizing the self in the everyday begins with a curiosity of who we are and how we participate in the world around us. This show is a process of confronting my shadows — of learning to live responsibly in a world laden with complexities.

Triptych

Soft pastel on paper · 6 × 7 in

Each panel was made at a different point in the project — a growing yellow form nesting, opening, and leaping from itself.

Light Maps

Digital media · 8 × 8 in prints

My western and vedic charts come together as my Indian and globalized self live within one body — a binding of blood, ancestry, lineage, love, violence and separation.

Drag a print to pull the thread · select to view

III

Bulge

Watercolour on paper · A4 · with poems

A collection on fat pleasure and fat desire. The poems that hung beside it are below — read them in Writing.

a balloon?
no
an hourglass
I care too much to let you
think my booty ain’t juicy bursting
forth from a waist made to
look so small that
oOOo
my tits have your attention now
perfectly round and bursting
the girls sit pretty

Let me show you the way, follow me. We dive, we fall, we continue as we don’t see. We feel our way through attending to our ground, our bodies. In this we are together. We feel the air above but we are bound by the ground. Thankfully. We feel beyond ourselves. We feel into our desires, our humor, our need to fall outside conformity, and we feel into those faults they tell us about. They are not faults. They are endearing. They are unique. They attract others but not before ourselves. We slip and slide, not masking the things we judge. Our form is ever changing and equally potent in every manifestation. They may see us as ugly, a threat to their reality, but only because we are free.

we cuddle and kiss and squeeze and bury and finger and suck and fuck when no body enters a quiet solitude of longing and lust devouring and devotion but spirits crowd the air now heavy like a saturated towel dripping from wetness so dry it cannot flow beyond the bedroom never opened to let them in and yet here they are as manifestation of his thoughts that contain me a neat box that is locked away hidden as if a treasure to be kept only for me and yet too embarrassing to own too big too grotesque too much to love that love no longer has the space to grow like vines extended like nails overflowing in the place of water no fluidity but untethered growth

Plastic Fields

Chips packets on cardboard · packaging paper

The artificial and the natural grow into and from each other. Why do we grasp at purity when it does not exist?

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