“I yearn for a roof Beneath which to clasp the ones I love to my heart. Deeply, vigorously.
To hold them close In a safe haven. A sanctum that would expand, Covering them Like a magical protective halo.
In this sanctuary of blithe belonging, I want to live I want to love…”
“Winter might try and pry. Her cold silver hands picking at planks and panels, Looking for gaps and fissures. But she cannot reach within the birdhouse.
So tender, these human nestlings; They dream of spring, Wrapped in their warm cocoons. They will thrive, Even while the angry gale that could snuff them out, Shrieks outside. ”
Hearths at Evenfall
“The charcoal comes to life, Roofs emerge from the canvas grain. Walls, with pretty rows of bricks Spreading into little mazes Of streets and lanes and paths.
There are inroads and alleys in my mind, That will paint itself Into pebbled corners And rising thatches, Doors, windows Latches and brackets.
But all this will be But lifeless form, Till the flames of the hearth come alive.”
“Thrown away by hands that scratched and bruised, Into arms that caress and comfort. What it must feel like To relearn trust again. What it must feel like To not fear, the sight of human hands again.
What it must feel like To relearn love again...”
“We will run, with the wind in our hair.
Looking up at the merry blue sky, we will dream and dance in the warmth, Of a benevolent sun.
As we hold hands And stamp upon the dewy green, We will sing, With voices we never knew we had, With a sweetness we never knew we had.
Much will take root and blossom here. Much will take root and blossom here.”
Depicts a father cradling a swaddled infant.
“Day and dust settle. As I hold you, you blink at the stars And nod off into sleep. A calm settles. A freedom, That only the embrace of walls, can bring. Now it is only peace, my love. Only peace.”
“When I was about 5, I came to India on a holiday. My father is from a rural fishing village, in Alleppey. Attached to a government school near out house, was a large shed, the equivalent of a village kitchen, that gave free breakfast to poor children. My cousin and I wanted to know what it was like to eat there and my parents were happy to take us. I remember eating upma with sugar and bananas, that morning. The lady who served us food, was very amused to see us sitting cross legged with the local children. In the hut behind her, a man sat smiling at us. He was holding a sleeping infant. In spite of their humble circumstances, there was an atmosphere of contentment around them. This painting is based on that memory. ”