Category: Art
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If Vincent were a mental health activist and a slam poet.
Who gave you the right to dub my night depressing or fill my stars with hope? What if the dark is my time of rest and the shimmers of light, a distraction at best? Who asked you to call my cypress, the foreboding of death? When they are as commonplace in my topography as dying…
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Art with no strings attached.
On a warm, stuffy day in Delhi, I came face to face with a 5 feet by 5 feet canvas at the French Embassy. I stood mesmerized by the scale of it and also horrified that I was expected to fill this white expanse along with four schoolmates in a matter of a few hours.…
Tintu Saleem 