I have always had a strict regiment of preparatory steps to complete before starting a new piece. Whether that’s seen as avoidance or superstitious, allowing the process of making to embody a meditative state was is an important source of comfort that I wanted to include. My work has always been very inconsistent mainly because of my curiosity towards exploring different materials, processes, or mindsets. However, only recently I realized that none of the other practices evoked this sense of ataraxia and catharsis as painting.

Consisting of multiple 6×6 inch paintings, my work depicts memory-induced scenes replicated through blurred strokes accompanied by an abundance of stark white negative spaces. Through my work, I translate the verbal reproductions of memories shared with my grandmother in the midst of undergoing the physical restraints of chemotherapy. I question the degree of achievement my grandmother as well as South Asian women in general gained performing deceptively harmful acts of domestic care as a coping mechanism in order to evoke the same sense of reward referenced in art therapy. Handmaking our favorite daals with an extra helping of cream and butter, hand-kneading fresh rotis for us to enjoy, and setting the table just right for all our extensive necessities. This need to execute acts of service towards loved ones is culturally normalized and to some extent instilled amongst South Asian women as a response to repressing the taboo subject of mental health and personal struggle within a collectivist community.

My practices began as a coping mechanism to my grandmother’s passing. Initially established as a result of rereading journals I had written, as an attempt to rationalize the personal sacrifices and apprehension towards verbalizing the emotions my grandmother endured up until her last moments. Being born into a South Asian family, quickly taught me that a lot of our parents/grandparents’ happiness depends on the ability to serve others.