Poet, writer, painter, textile atist, installation artist, performance artist.
Currently based in Vienna, from Kathmandu.
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Retrospective to the I
Sieve---through
distance, verb
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Retrospective to the I
2023, Multimodal, Textile, Painting, Installation, Poetry-Prose
Engaging in the I through a combination of journal entries, poetic writing, discussions of materiality, subjectivity and ontology, letters, short stories, memories, and art pieces. I situate myself in this great, complex world. In the end, I try to frame the I through the lens of care-related ontology, taking a leaf from post-humanistic and postcolonial feminism AND poetry. We must care if we are to be and become. The Retrospecitve functioned both as a thesis and as an exhibition. The question asked here is “Who gets to be the I?”
Thesis PDF
Engaging in the I through a combination of journal entries, poetic writing, discussions of materiality, subjectivity and ontology, letters, short stories, memories, and art pieces. I situate myself in this great, complex world. In the end, I try to frame the I through the lens of care-related ontology, taking a leaf from post-humanistic and postcolonial feminism AND poetry. We must care if we are to be and become. The Retrospecitve functioned both as a thesis and as an exhibition. The question asked here is “Who gets to be the I?”
Thesis PDF
Sieve---through
2023, Künstlerhaus, Vienna, Textile, Woodwork, Light
Through Sieve---through, the divisions between the real artist, Rekha B, who is imagined, and the other artist, who is not imagined, begin to crumble…like dirt. The bed-frame is constructed in collaboration with Rekha, you know the imagined one?-- an 80 year old famous artist, who lives somewhere in the hills of Nepal like a recluse. The upper deck is woven by Rekha, her old body still strong enough to create taut nylon intersections.The bottom deck, woven by the credited artist (MS), becomes a conduit…I want to grow I want to grow, it says. Yet, there is space for dirt, mud-a simple metaphor for foundation, earth, home, belonging- to sieve through. And so it does, the bed was inaugurated somewhere else, it has already been used as a sieve, now there is more dirt here, and now the shadows of these woven pieces interact with each other. It is always on MS’ mind: the various knots that create us, the various narratives that individuals hold, how we look at people through prisms.
Through Sieve---through, the divisions between the real artist, Rekha B, who is imagined, and the other artist, who is not imagined, begin to crumble…like dirt. The bed-frame is constructed in collaboration with Rekha, you know the imagined one?-- an 80 year old famous artist, who lives somewhere in the hills of Nepal like a recluse. The upper deck is woven by Rekha, her old body still strong enough to create taut nylon intersections.The bottom deck, woven by the credited artist (MS), becomes a conduit…I want to grow I want to grow, it says. Yet, there is space for dirt, mud-a simple metaphor for foundation, earth, home, belonging- to sieve through. And so it does, the bed was inaugurated somewhere else, it has already been used as a sieve, now there is more dirt here, and now the shadows of these woven pieces interact with each other. It is always on MS’ mind: the various knots that create us, the various narratives that individuals hold, how we look at people through prisms.
2022, Künstlerhaus, Vienna, Textile Installation
I feel distance like it’s a doing word, I feel distance within myself- between my past and my future and my present, most noticeably I feel distant from other people and other bodies. My work doesn’t focus on the loneliness of living as a singular human being but rather the juxtaposition that existence grants: we are all bound to each other (to human and non-human beings alike). Akin to the great networks of ocean that my works thematically play with, we are dissipated yet conjoined. We need each other, in a world threatened by climatic crises- we are still fallaciously and dangerously maintaining the illusion of complete, selfish individuality.
But then if we are incomprehensibly bound, why do I feel so lonely?
I feel distance like it’s a doing word, I feel distance within myself- between my past and my future and my present, most noticeably I feel distant from other people and other bodies. My work doesn’t focus on the loneliness of living as a singular human being but rather the juxtaposition that existence grants: we are all bound to each other (to human and non-human beings alike). Akin to the great networks of ocean that my works thematically play with, we are dissipated yet conjoined. We need each other, in a world threatened by climatic crises- we are still fallaciously and dangerously maintaining the illusion of complete, selfish individuality.
But then if we are incomprehensibly bound, why do I feel so lonely?
