180" X 81"
Canvas, thread, plastic, indigo dyed bedsheets, organza, burlap, sindoor (vermillion) and haldi (turmeric) boxes, rhinestones, shredded silk, leaves, cotton wicks, sharpie.
2025
Coming Apart, Coming Together is a large-scale textile installation that reckons with grief and ritual as spatial, material, and corporeal forces. Built from hand-dyed canvas bricks in a spectrum of reds—blood, wound, fire, flesh—the work conjures a wall that is both shelter and collapse.
At its center, a rupture: bricks fall away, and stitched threads hang like exposed muscle or unraveling breath. This absence becomes its own architecture—what remains when a person is gone, when the center cannot hold. The threads do not repair; they bear witness.
Accretive in nature, the work gathers offerings from daily life and ceremony: windblown leaves, debris, sindoor, cotton wicks, little plastic boxes of kumkum and haldi, threads of silk, rhinestones, shredded fabric, Ladli, embedded. These are not adornments, but residues—each carrying the weight of touch, memory, and repetition.
Canvas here is treated like skin—marked, dyed, stitched, torn, and ornamented. The act of sewing becomes a devotional labor, and the wall, a site of invocation. What does it mean to hold your grief together with thread? What does it mean to let it fall?
Coming Apart, Coming Together is not a monument to loss. It is a place. A place where something was loved. A place where something broke. A place where the artist returns, again and again, to listen, to gather, to begin.
62×72×4”
Canvas, Polyester, plastic flowers, plastic bangles, embroidery thread, Pacific waters, indigo dye, acrylic and spray paint, wood box frame
2024
This work reflects on the quiet transformation of ritual objects and the spaces they inhabit. Made from synthetic materials—plastic bangles, jasmine, polyester cloth—Red Threshold explores the tension between permanence and impermanence, adornment and absence. Once dyed indigo, the canvas was physically dragged through water and later painted red—a gesture of erasure, ritual, and renewal. What was once worn now rests as witness, preserved within a framed, reliquary-like structure. The title evokes a space between: of beauty and grief, of memory and mass reproduction. Red Threshold asks what endures—not just materially, but emotionally—when the sacred is reconstituted in plastic, and tradition becomes artifice.