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ABOUT
ABOUT
My life in London has roots that snake across continents and cultures. I am a mother-maker whose art in sculpture, collage, installation and poetry is a record of life as I see, feel, hear and hold. Through my making using ways of old and ordinary, I hope to remake a different telling of this story of life with no fixed beginning, middle or end. I work with clay, earth, ceramic, paper, wood, ink, paint and found print. In a world of the fast and furious, mine is a slow practice of listening, observing, depth, care, freedom and above all acceptance.
I meld form, pattern, and colour meshing materials drawing on my eastern ancestral knowledge of clay, cloth and colour. With a childhood deeply rooted in Kolkata’s Durga Thakur tradition, my association with clay is not with the ubiquitous pot
but that of the monumental idol of the Durga Protima. To me practice is devotion, sculpture, tradition, alive, story-carrying, godly-mortal, recording and replaying,
shape changing, bringer of communion, maker of community, and gloriously celebrates ours humanity.
Rooted in storytelling, I examine the human experience and contemporary life through intricate patterns and fluid forms. I merge age-old techniques with contemporary sensibilities influenced by Bengal’s artisanal traditions, creating richly
detailed surfaces.
A muddled life of moving lands many times, I am a reader and recorder of people. My visual chronicles of memory and belonging arise through experimenting with scale and materiality, I seek to transforms personal moments into universal reflections, weaving past and present, east with west to create a visual record of the evolving human condition.
Kumar Tuli, Kolkata © Devi Chakrabarti, India, 2018
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MUMBLE JUMBLED
Ink, Wool, Found Print, Korean Hanji Paper, on Indian Rag Paper
2023
200 cm x 158 cm
A study in Blue, this work is the churn of hidden thoughts and emotions within our menfolk. Fears, feelings, worries, wishes and the secret yearning to curl up to block out the onslaught of Flux.
It is the insistent constant inner dialogue, which has jumbled the insides of his being. Sprockets and chains, peacock feathers and butterfly wings, glass baubles and chainmail, the patterns of a life that is all in a jumble, caught up in the rhythm of a maddening unstoppable din. This is the Mumble Jumble that turns up its muted volume to a deafening pitch during moments of blue solitude away from the pretense of normality.