The tree canopied over me. The clouds, white and puffy, glided slowly across the western sky. Towards the east and into the distance, the rise of the hills faded into the horizon. An ant slowly made its way up the tree. I let out a laugh. I remembered how I was slowly making my way up and through with my art. I got smiles, I got scowls, an occasional laugh at the sight of my work.
My grandfather and father too did Ajrakh as did my uncles. I learnt from my uncle. There was a time when Ajrakh did not get us what we needed. A short stint with tie and dye we were back in Ajrakh after the market picked up. My father tells me of how it became expensive; the process of dyeing too long, the art itself had become tedious. It is different now.
I was in Bombay after school. Working there was an experience of its own. Moving from Dhamadka to Ajrakhpur the art grew with me. A short period at Kalaraksha Vidyala also helped me. Having picked up the art not too long ago, I now paint, design and experiment. Deeply rooted in its traditional identity, my art knows no bounds. I plan, draw, measure and then I am ready to print. As the times change, the kind of work takes a different course, but the root never changes.
I travel too, carrying my art to places; I have seen Chennai, Delhi, Calcutta, and Ahmadabad. As I grow with and in my art, I plan on taking it places. I plan on having a good time.
