Temple in Bhuj, Gujarat
It’s been a while. I’ve watched my hair grow recklessly and my frame shrink slightly (former: mehendi and almond oil. latter: indian food, and often opting for fruit instead of indian food-a cycle held at random intervals.) I’ve watched myself grow creatively, I’ve watched myself grow away from the life I left behind in New York. Admittedly, this verbiage implies passivity- I feel I struggle between the forces of explosive activity and silent observance.
My mind runs to keep up. Oftentimes it's to the benefit of the work- but on other occasions it is carnivorous and draining. I pattern and stitch. Or I don’t pattern, and I write. Or I don’t write and I go somewhere to see something with the hopes of creative enlightenment, or I go nowhere, eat fruit, practice hindi, do yoga, do nothing. Nothing- it’s been only a practice as of late. It’s a simultaneous restorative therapy and reflective powerlessness. Lots of traveling last month. Like, a LOT, and what began as exciting adventures ended in exhaustion, however reflective.
Bhuj market- made a friend while sourcing embroidery
Harvesting KALA cotton in Rapar, Kutch
Weaving in Bhuj
Ferry in Mumbai, Madh Island to Versova beach