Lotus Pond in Pink, Blue, Yellow and Green Painting

I was born in a small village in West Bengal, India, and grew up surrounded by the lush beauty of pastoral Bengal. On one side, my village, Maidhara, was surrounded by a small stream that ran through a forest of wild sals, teaks, and bamboo trees; and on the other side there was a huge dam — the kind we call "bnaadh" in Bangla. In the warm months, untamed lotuses and water lilies covered the surface of the water; and on early winter mornings, the fog gave the bnaadh an air of mysticism, like a place that was not quite of this world. In my childlike wonder, I thought of this place as some kind of portal on the other side of which existed Achinpur — the land of fables and fairytales inhabited by fantastic beings. But this dam was not only a place of my imagination. The Bauris—an indigenous tribe of Bengal—who also lived in the village depended on it. They depended on the bnaadh for food — living largely on a diet of fish, water spinach, lotus and water lily roots, pods, and stems. Unfortunately, the bnaadh as I remember it no longer exists. Years of encroachment and abuse has reduced it to a polluted swamp where nothing much except weeds, water hyacinths, and algae grow now. The Bauris, too, have moved to the nearby towns where they live and work as cabbies, rickshaw-drivers, and day-labourers. All that remains of the bnaadh are my fragmented childhood memories of it. These fragmented memories are what I try to capture in my paintings. I want to create a sort of memorial to this place — to recreate it from my memories not as it was, but as I remember it. And through this ritual of remembering, I want to draw the world's attention to the way we are losing these liminal spaces that are so important to so many of us in so many ways. I feel this loss personally, but the way we are losing our connection to nature is both personal and universal. Rainforests are receding. Wildfires are becoming increasingly common. Vast swathes of the world's green pastures are turning into barren desert landscapes. And some days, most days, it feels as if not many of us are paying any attention to this collective loss. It confuses me. It terrifies me. It makes me feel helplessly and hopelessly angry. But I do not want to give in to this despair and lose hope. I believe that choosing to hope against all odds is a revolutionary act in and of itself. This is what I hope to achieve through my work: I want people to feel the same feelings of joy, stillness, contentment, and hope when they look at my work as I do when I paint; and in doing so, I want them to connect with nature the same way I do when I paint so that together we may rediscover our own connections to nature and each other before it’s too late. - acrylic on 10 Oz. medium-grain primed pure cotton canvas - 36” x 60” / 91.44 cm x 152.44 cm - signed by the artist - comes with a certificate of authenticity Note: This painting is shipped as an unstretched, unframed roll of canvas. It must be stretched and framed before it is ready for display.