Tag Archives: art

‘Hold my Hand’


‘Hold my Hand’

Acrylic on Canvas

24 by 30 inches


Some thoughts on my first exhibition


(‘The Joy of Being Alive’, oil on canvas, 3 feet by 4 feet. One of the paintings from my first ever exhibition)

When at an exhibition, take two rounds.

The first is where I leave you alone with my art. You are free to look, experience, feel, judge, like, love, hate – whatever you want.

The second round, you take with me. I tell you what I felt while creating a piece, what I want to convey, as best as I can put into words what can’t be put into words.

You tell me what you see, what you feel. Often, you tell me bits and pieces of your own story.

And in retrospect, an exhibition hardly is about the feedback you received, how many people liked your work, or how many paintings got sold. It’s about the stories, the little conversations we had.

The magical moments that got created within the entire space and context of a gallery.

How you inspired me, and how I inspired you.

And how we all went back home, a little more enriched.

The Waterbakery

If you come looking for me
I will be sitting by the corner
Blowing bubbles, and floating away
With them

I will be glowing like the glinting ocean
Under a full moon sky
I will be whispering to the breeze caught in
The branches of timeless trees
I will be singing lullabies to babies
In their tiny silver cocoons
Cradling them to sleep.

If you come looking for me in the child
Then it is in the mother that you will find me.

If you come looking for me
I will be in the little brick house
Sifting between shades of cherry red and a very plum pink
I will be sitting by the golden fireplace
Baking water

If you play the tambourine to call out to me
You will find my silhouette swaying against the light
But when you come to speak to me, you’ll see
That I’m no longer there.

If you come looking for me in a moment
You will find me lost somewhere in ephemerality.

If you come looking for me in my words
You will not succeed
Because as soon as you touch them
They will vanish

Soon, these words will fade into paintings
Soon, these rhymes will take the shape of abstract forms
Soon, these adjectives will become colours
And the verbs, textures

If you come to find me in a book
Then as you open it, the pages
Will tear themselves up and drift away
And the letters will dance in the air
Like birds in a formation

Soon, this stream of consciousness will flow into
And become
A steam of unconsciousness.

It is then that the water would have truly been baked
It is then that I will know it’s ok
To be gone.