On Shimmering Air

Artist Sumakshi Singh shares her thoughts about the criss-crossing rivers of time and memory and why the poetry inherent in the act of embroidery is perhaps one way of navigating this space of unknowability

- Praveena Shivram

I am sitting in a room. In front of me, a wall, a massive wall of memories, is crowding for my attention, like a Sunday morning celebrity darshan. All I need to do is wave and close my eyes for them to disappear, knowing that when I do open my eyes, the ones that remain are the ones that stay with me for life. I have often wondered if the memories we hold (or the memories that hold us) are what constitute the choices we make, because memory itself is born out of choice, and as much as remembering is a gift of the universe, distortion is the gift of mankind. What then, of the memories that I discard? Where do they go? Have they simply closed their eyes to me?