skin

My grandmother traced the kolam patterns on my arm with trembling fingers, reciting Kannadasan's verses about beauty beyond surface. Growing up, I'd hidden my darker skin, believing the world's narrow gaze. Her stories shifted something deep within me. Years later, I painted what she taught me: that skin holds entire universes of ancestry, resilience, and truth. The gallery opening terrified me. But watching strangers pause before my work, their eyes glistening, I understood—vulnerability becomes strength when shared authentically. My art finally spoke what my grandmother always knew. Our heritage whispers through every brushstroke, connecting us to countless others reclaiming their own sacred skin.