My work and I are absolutely one. One soul, hard to separate. My experience is like a collective memory of each moment put together. It is rather tough for me to explain each painting in isolation. My works are a collection of conscious and unconscious memories of life experiences of a very lengthy period of time that transforms into a series of paintings.
I was born in a very small town near Kolkata. After partition, my parents settled down in Naihati, a small town in West Bengal. We lived in a modest, rented house where everything was within the reach, a period when I personally struggled with reality
The vivid experience of being raised a small town is quite different than that of growing up in a big city. Growing up in a small town has its own charm and merit. Memories of cow-dung splashed on the wall. Memories of my grand-mom, spreading and drying cow-dung on our terrace to make home-made fuel. Also, the image of my mother spreading 'boris' (a mixture of Masoor Dal, Salt, Kalonji and Oil in a semi-liquid form) on a rectangular white cloth – this evokes a picture as fresh as a painting. Once it has dried and the boris has been taken out, it forms another piece of art. I wish I could write like the creator of 'The God of Small Things,' a novel by Arundhati Roy.
I remember when I was very young, I used to fabricate shoeboxes along with my elder sister, in a nearby factory. I used to be quite amazed, observing tiny little pieces of long cloth spread out in an organized manner, to serve as an ingredient that makes shoeboxes. Today I relish those moments that are frozen in time like an image, whenever I recall those artistic arrangements of shoebox making.
My work is an emotional process. Focusing on the process is quite important, too. Sometimes, it is accidental by nature. Sometimes, it is conscious; sometimes, unconscious. I thoroughly enjoy this process of painting and derive sheer joy out of it. I continue with my work until I am satisfied.
I begin my thinking in terms of colors and forms. Images start splashing in my mind through various ways and means. I may not be able to define them in words; I have no knowledge of grammar either. It is a kind of inner feeling, a deep-rooted instinct that guides me home.