The space between our feet and the earth

It is interesting how my mind works like water. I try to change direction, block flow, stop the pace of movement, and yet, somehow, it finds a way to engage me, it seeks me out, draws me into a conversation in unexpected ways. It's a blessing and a curse, and perhaps the reason why I am seldom bored. 

This past week, I was supposed to be resting, relaxing on the sands of Krabi with a book in hand. I was supposed to be feasting on delicious Thai curries, lots of ice-cream, coconut water, preferably together in some combination, and, I suppose I did do all that. Even though I carried a sketch book and note pad, I did not use it even once. My camera, now that is a different story. The more I used it, the more I noticed things, the more engrossed I became, the more I shot, the more the photos began to tell a story, the more I searched for proof of my burgeoning hypothesis....

I have always been interested in little things. Small pieces of things fallen by the way side, relics of things used, the unwanted junk of the day, remnants of occupation. The beach with it's incoming and out flow of tides is a perfect stomping ground for my brand of interests. Everyday something new is washed up and in exchange, something is taken away. It is a metaphor for life- with endings and beginnings on a minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day basis, whether we choose to accept it or not. Flow in, flow out. 

At some point amidst my macro shots of gorgeous beach debris I found myself questioning what exactly I was shooting, and while up until that moment, things that seems so delicately beautiful to me, were now speaking a more important message, their fragility became their strongest message, and the formal beauty of their structures became symbols of corruption- our corruption of them.

Pieces of rock chipped off of the heritage hills behind, empty clam shells, skeletons of crabs devoid of their fleshy insides... 

At sunset on the first evening, I walked along the edge of the low tide mindful of the hermit crabs and other fish stranded in the shallow tide pools. With the sharp cliff of limestone to my left and camera in hand, I planned to shoot all I could before the sun set. Unlike the daytime rush of waves, that sounded clearly over all else, it was quiet at dusk. My love for macro shots had me inching closer and closer to the rocks and cliff walls. Much to my sheer delight and surprise those walls were thriving with life- they were literally buzzing with life...clicking, ticking, popping sounds from every inch of them. Unreal! Suddenly, my perspective shifted, the rocks changed me and I changed how I looked at them-  from inanimate to animate, from simply a thing to a home, from background to foreground, from merely landscape to essential, from disposable to critical.

Oil mining on the ocean bed, the newest, most exotic hotels in 'one can only access it by speed boat' locations, snorkelling and deep sea diving, oil spills from tiny motor boats looking for that one of a kind spot to sell to tourists looking for an extra special getaway, plastic and non-biodegradable waste, dynamite fishing, soil erosion, bleaching of the coral reefs that makes for bits of broken  sea shells and deathly white coral skeleton that wash up on the beach. And me, with my camera, all I can do is photograph it.

The irony is not lost on me, after all I was on vacation too. The truth is, as human beings we need time away from our lives, we need to recharge. There is so much beauty in nature and solitude is rejuvenating. Connecting to the Earth by immersing  myself in nature periodically connects me to my humanity, as I am sure it does for so many of you. I would never say do not spend time in nature for it is essential that we all do, but I will say that we do it as gently as possible, so we have something to connect to for as long as possible.

* Note: All images are copywrite of the artist Maya Bhalla and may not be reproduced without permission.

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Remembered Beginnings

We had no television when I was six. Afternoons were spent reading, collecting flowers from my grandparent’s roof top garden. At six, that roof seemed to span the world. Not only did it provide lemon grass for my grandfather's tea, but also okra, mint, tomatoes and holy basil. It was magical. In the afternoons I would sit by the steps leading up to the roof with my books and read.  And because we lived near the water, I would wait, even in the heat of the Indian summer afternoons for the blessed sea breeze in the evenings. 

For me, stringing jasmine flowers on sewing thread with a needle was afternoon fun. Just like sitting with my 4-B graphite pencil and rough sketching paper drawing the hibiscus that had just fallen from the plant in the corner of the roof garden, while the adults slept through the lazy afternoon. 

Yes, we had no mobile phones, no television and the radio was reserved for when my grandmother would listen to oldies from the 1920's and 30's on All India Radio. But, I learnt to entertain myself- I did things, made things, thought things. In some ways, I created my own eco-system- a sustainable one, with an never ending flow of ideas, mainly because I did it for myself. As an adult, I never pass by a green space without feeling a connection with it, for I know they nurture and grow more kinds of things than just plants.

Peregrination, 2015 at the Volvo Art Loft. Supported by the National Art Council of Singapore, (NAC)

A Matter of Material

It was the sound of Paresh Maity's bells that welcomed me to Art Stage at the Marina Bay Sands. It set the tone, if you will of what was to come. It was almost as if those bells mirrored my excitement, ringing frequently, almost urging me on down the escalator to the lower levels. The persistent ring of bells gave way to an engineering feat, a marvel, something that made my sweet husband, not from the art world at all, say, 'Wow, that's almost like science!' And yes, it was. Zulkifle Mahmod's sound based installation using glass laboratory equipment was incredible. Not only was it delicate as it was made of glass, it was gentle in motion, glass tapping on glass, animated and robotic, yet beautiful to look at. 

Almost immediately, the idea of materials and how they lend themselves to the art work came to mind. Instead of simply reading images, one also needs to 'read' materials. In many cases, it becomes another layer of meaning one can use to understand the artist's point of view. As I walked through the booths, (and I didn't even cover half of them!), it was the shear plethora of materials that caught my eye. If Mahmod's sound installation didn't drive home the point, then Contini Art's Enzo Fiore definitely did with his piece entitled 'Genesis'. This piece consisted of a portrait of Andy Warhol made entirely out of organic materials and resin. 

From the earthy to the sublime, materials can create an atmosphere of wonder, sometimes bordering on theatrical. Sometimes, technical expertise becomes art, and artists become master manipulators of material. 

Illusory clouds on sheets of glass, images somewhat magically appearing in mirrors, metal sheets and glasses of water; impermanent things used to illustrate the impermanence of things. This is when materials matter.

That being said, I cannot ignore the tactility of matter, my own back ground as a ceramic artist almost insists that I touch things. It is part of how I learn. Some of the work at Art Stage just begged to be touched. Solidified globules of gold, a multitude of coloured fibres and threads, carefully crafted paper busts that extend like elastic and return to their original position of classical beauty when done. Like I said, I was a kid in a candy store! If you haven't already, do go. I've been, but I'm going again tomorrow!