I am currently working on a series of watercolours titled Letters of the Universe: When the sun and the moon fall asleep, only then can I dance so naked, in which I am using popular kitch stickers. To accompany these works (some of which are being shown by my gallery in a group show in the Taipei Museum shortly), I wrote this accompanying text. I thought I would share it with you.
India never will allow me to ferment in the sleep of my own desires; but keeps me ever wakeful to a consciousness that embroiders patterns that decorate my body and my soul, and anoint me as the bride of its soil. Born wrapped in the placenta of many cultures I breathe a life of knowingness uniquely different from those with chaste tongues of scriptures and divides. From the gullies and shanties dark shadows pattern the cities like fake lace of a bridal gown, whilst the wail of sirens block out the screams of the innocent whose spilt blood are the only reminders of their vanquished dreams. Legacies of a past cannot hold the brace of my spine upright, nor does the stoop of my weariness find me my bed of comfort. As my body wrinkles and my breasts become heavy with the stories of all those I carry close to my heart, I listen wakeful ever, just for the smallness of hope.