Paintings that belong together.

There is a moment in every drawing when the ink does something you did not ask it to. It bleeds where it should not, pools where the paper dips, spreads into a shape that belongs to no plan. This series began in that moment — not in spite of it, but because of it.

Each piece is a conversation between control and surrender: the fine, deliberate line of a pen tracing a flower or a leaf, and the dark, ungovernable spread of an ink blot that refuses to be contained. The imperfection is not a mistake. It is the other voice in the dialogue.

Flora Imaginaire is a world that does not exist in any field guide or botanical atlas — and yet it feels entirely, viscerally alive. These are flowers that have never grown in any garden, leaves that follow no known taxonomy, forms that seem to breathe and pulse and reach. They are born not from observation, but from imagination: from the question of what a plant might become if it were freed from the constraints of biology and allowed to follow only the logic of feeling.

Each canvas in this series is built from the earth itself — natural dyes that carry the memory of the materials they came from, layered with ink linework of extraordinary density and precision. The dye moves in pools and washes, warm amber and deep crimson and cool ochre, while the pen traces over and through it: feathered strokes, braided lines, stippled fields of dots that give the forms a texture almost tactile. The result is a surface that rewards closeness — the more you look, the more you find.

Flora Imaginaire asks what it means to know a living thing — not through classification, but through attention. These works are an act of sustained looking turned inward, a botany of the interior world.

Srijan — the Sanskrit word for creation — is a meditation on nature's most fundamental act: the impulse to make. Not the grand, dramatic creation of mountains and oceans, but the quiet, insistent creativity that pulses through every living thing. The seed that splits stone. The root that finds water in darkness. The cell that divides and divides again, building complexity from nothing but time and will.

Each work in this series is itself an act of creation in two registers at once. The pen moves across the canvas in dense, meditative mark-making — fields of stippled dots, spiralling lines, concentric rings that echo the cross-sections of trees and the growth patterns of shells. Over and through this ink world, thread is worked by hand: French knots and satin stitches that rise from the surface in texture you can feel, colour that catches the light differently at every angle. The result is neither drawing nor embroidery but something that belongs to both — and to neither.

Srijan asks us to look at creation not as an event but as a condition — the permanent, restless state of a world that cannot stop making itself. In these small, intimate canvases, that force is made visible: in the burst of a seed, the geometry of a cell, the spiral of a galaxy seen in a single flower's heart.