Transcendental
This series was a love child of the answer to the question, “Where does love go when there is no one left to give it to?” and the absolute resilience and stubbornness needed to shoulder rib-shattering grief.
Even though born from a place of melancholy and anguish, the art is anything but - with florals adorning corners not just of paper or cloth but also my skin.
After all, there is no reason one cannot alchemise something heavy into something bright.
Experimenting across mediums of canvas, paper and pink, as well as fabric. this has been my most ambitious undertaking till date.
Where does all the love go when there is no one left to give it to?
It seeps into the cracks of stars and craters of the moon.
Maybe it is nestled in the midst of all the rings of Saturn,
Or has pieces hidden behind Chiron and Black Moon Lilith.
Where does all the love go when there is no one left to give it to?
Maybe it rests in the gaps between petals,
And the beating of a bumble bee’s wings.
