Rupsha Dutta

For most of my life, I approached pursuits as challenges—ways to measure performance,
endurance, and worth. Only recently have I begun to question whether what I once called passion
was shaped more by proving myself than by understanding myself.
I began painting a month ago, though I would not have called it painting then. I have no formal,
semi-formal, or informal training. Words and stories were always where I believed my expression
belonged. But I came to realise that some emotions and perceptions resist language. They do not
want structure. They spill. And so I turned to colour.
I work intuitively, attentive to texture, movement, and repetition. I think about how acrylic feels
against the canvas; I carry that sensation into sleep, knowing I will return to it when I wake up.
What began as exploration has become a form of devotion—not a hobby, but a way of staying
close to myself.
I have spent three decades moving through spaces where I might have found who I was. Sometimes, I wanted to. Yet the moment I feel most
aligned is when I hold a brush in my hand. There is a calm there—a sense of familiarity, of return.
By profession, I am a social worker. By nature, I remain in the process of understanding myself. My practice is part of...

Masters in Social Welfare