Blood Clots

'Dark night of the soul'

Acrylic and permanent marker on thermacol.

90*50 cms

A thousand wishes to a dry soul and clone prayers compete.

'Kalava'

Acrylic and olive oil on canvas.

100*80 cms

Shiva in sync

Dystopia: Odd 1 is integral

Dystopia: Even is odd for 3

Dystopia: infinite odds 

Process

is frozen for

incomplete finality 

in some year B.C.

- writings for 'TO ERR IS HUMAN'

There is no explanation or conceptual background of errors.

True ignorance leads to indifferent grasp of reality without awe or preface. 

Concocted deconstruction looks up to Derrida and being tattered is a state of being.

- writings for 'TO ERR IS HUMAN'

Limbs are morphed with purpose of motion. Falling is procedural to marathon.

Distortion speaks of multiple possibilities in form. In a confused language. 

- writings for 'TO ERR IS HUMAN'

IN DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL

explorations for WEATHERED AW-09

Menswear

Re-inventing menswear is challenging the way we perceive people in reality. Unlike womenswear which most often gets inspired by dreams, theatre, romanticism or every other world non-existent . Disturbing male form beyond conformity, questions sexual preference, masculinity, maturity or civility. Socially dominant gender, despite its prerogatives, remains shackled in streamlines. Even in dreams, theatre or romanticism. 

With the exception of clown - who is ridiculed to be enjoyed.

In color

How much color can you handle?

How manmade outlines define, aesthetics for a particular country.

Why east is saturated with primary color strokes whereas west is settled in monochrome.

Seeing other directions, why south absorbs more color than north?

Why South India, South America and South Europe are better dipped in color than their northern counterparts?

Hard to say.

Far fetched, but, Eastman color Molly wood sensibility has something to do with Spanish toreros (South Europe).

Sounds weird but what seems like a vague pattern might be a byproduct of several factors in play.

Is it compensation for otherwise morose, painful, torturous or simply arduous third world life; or it depends on the deep rooted cultural aesthetics where absolutely nothing exists in monochrome. Cultures which are close to nature in terms of agriculture, wildlife or substantially rural; are maybe more likely to relate with plethora of colors as compared to societies permanently advanced to man made facilities.

It requires courage to wear yellow where as grey might comfortably blend you in the concrete urban setup, stating nothing about you, your mood, your personality or taste. Though black somehow manages to speak power, sex and mourning;

it still fits in with the comfort zone of western modular man, without shouting any exceptional sentiment.

India is full of color.

Unabashed, theatrical, kitsch and kaleidoscopic colors.

We are colorful people. And we are known for being so.

No one can question our sense of rainbow.

At home, in ceremonies, in food, in religion and in fashion; yesterday, today and tomorrow; we will always remain in color.

And you need not go to Rajasthan, to get a glimpse of how elephants managed to be dressy without Manish Arora.

Every city, every red light, has its share of a beggar girl, dressed in tattered yellow, or her mother in dirty pink sari. Literally dirty.

But these colors are speechless.

They still don't speak anything about them, their mood, their personality or taste. They exist in their life without consciousness and without shouting any sentiment.

They aren’t happy or sad. They are part of them.

Just like a Rajasthani elephant that is not aware of the scarlet Teeka on his forehead. (http://www.vogue.in/blog_detail.aspx?p_id=246&u_id=92)

In fashion

The global fashion map is expanding. New York, Milan, London and Paris are fast acquiring siblings. The endless list of fashion whiz kids from countries like Korea, China and India is slowly growing up to become the next pool of icons. Multicultural sensibilities are being accepted as mainstream fashion staple. Asian lines are crossing over to the western ramp. Lines are blurring.

Back home in India, we are no longer just production guys. We are better than that. Of course, we have an inimitable skill base of handwork. And of course, our labour costs one fourth, or even lesser, than our western counterparts. Our history of royal grandeur spells opulence and luxury since ages. We match primary colours with secondary, secondary with tertiary and so forth like a six-year-old with a Masters skill. Even before drapery and draping hits us as a subject in design school we never really manage to escape mythological imagery on calendars, regional dance costumes or the sari (remember... the aunty next door..). It has been all around us, without thrilling us and with a matter of fact existence.

But we are no more just 'Inspiration India'. We are slightly better than that. With every Sabyasachi collection parading on New York Fashion Week and Manish Arora's butterfly dress flying at Paris Fashion Week, we are moving towards an international stage. With the unstitched label named India, under the sharp scrutinizing eyes of fashion intelligentsia, we are slithering, inch-by-inch, towards a breakthrough. So now, we can produce as well as design. For the market that is: world.

What next? It would be harsh and incorrect to judge the impact of where we come from on the things we do. Nonetheless personal musings would do no harm. Maybe India as a tag attached with Indian designers speaks of identity and responsibility but maybe it speaks of predictability as well. The strength of our roots probably keeps us grounded but nonetheless tied. Tied to our non-existent limitations. What should remain an invisible backbone of aesthetics functions as an obvious tag for compartmentalization. At any platform of fashion, we perform, as well as we are expected to. Or maybe not. Maybe we are just as good as our strengths are. Who decides the standard of a discipline anyway and is there anything really to prove? Even though it is more likely that a ‘Sherwani’ is cut in brocade and not tweed, it is essentially a jacket. So, does it need to look up to an Italian jacket or like an overwhelmed poor cousin? Debatable yet, thought provoking.

Let us try to see it from a different angle. Would the ‘sari’ be more coveted if it makes it to the red carpet as it is? Or would a western interpretation of it somehow punctuate the importance of the ensemble? Debatable again. Probably, if born in Greece, the ‘sari’ would manage to escape the tag of ‘ethnic’. It would be another Goddess-drape evening number, perhaps less cumbersome than couture gowns!

For sure, Indian fashion has come a long way and there is still a long way to go. But we are getting there. Indian designers will grow out of the mood board of India collective. Probably we will grow more with the conviction in oneself to excel and contribute to fashion, design and clothing rather than looking for acknowledgement, acceptance and appreciation in a separate model of aesthetic sensibility...http://www.vogue.in/blog_detail.aspx?p_id=286&u_id=92

Couture

Couture has something against body. It always go against it.

Cleavage

Womenswear cleavage is a theatrical attempt to highlight her assets like an ice cream scoop. Unlike men' s shirt which can be worn with first button open and state nothing. - while working on WEATHERED-AW09.