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"
pictures
hanging in a doorway, like the fragments of this song, | ||||||||||||||||||
| You
know you are on to something when you feel a rush just looking at a slab of clay, glistening, freshly slipped, waiting to be tampered with . A poke, a stroke, a scribble, a hope . That's when fragmented memories take over - lyrics, poems, philosophy, gibberish, Bono, Cohen, Sri Aurobindo, Wabi as legible (or wispy) as a brushstroke, - promising a thought process .maybe only hinting at it. | ||||||||||||||||||
| My ceramic journey began after nearly two decades as an architect. A whimsical move to study clay-work in Pondicherry with Ray Meeker and Deborah Smith at Golden Bridge Pottery, and life changed tracks. I work at Mandala Pottery in Auroville with Anamika and Chinmayi, walking the tightrope between production ware and studio pottery, though the call of urban Mumbay is forever present in the psyche. | ||||||||||||||||||
| Participation in group shows is a compulsion, so is attending (or conducting) workshops. The most recent high was my solo show in Auroville this January, titled "Windmills of your Mind", a ceramic and photographic journey edged on by the lyrics of that psychedelic song of the 60s. | ||||||||||||||||||
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2) ADIL WRITER, |
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| My
three sets of wall panels at the Harmony Show, I find very autobiographical
.
But don't let that make you clear your bifocals and grapple with the scribbles
.
Cause I am not labeling them "memories and lies"
. Not yet !!!
;-) | ||||||||||||||||||