Dhali Al Mamoon turned time into a portal to gaze back or gauge a blind side of history of the subcontinent—the colonial legacy—which is laden with grief and shame at the loss of the capacity for articulation that Dhali feels has resulted in forfeiting an authentic artistic language in favour of one that alienates a person from one's self.
Winter is the month of celebration in this country of scorching summers. And the Dhaka urbanites do get spoilt for choice when
The power of words can move a nation to war, or spread the spirit of love and hope, and in-between, arouse a whole range and scale of passions and emotions in men that may change their fortunes forever.
Ranjit Das, draws a sparse vista at each turn of his array of artworks, more like pages of a book one is invited to flip through. Each of them inscribed with a chapter of a story, simultaneously ephemeral and condensed in the capsule of a moment from one picture frame after the other, each edition forging a part of the whole.
Dhali Al Mamoon turned time into a portal to gaze back or gauge a blind side of history of the subcontinent—the colonial legacy—which is laden with grief and shame at the loss of the capacity for articulation that Dhali feels has resulted in forfeiting an authentic artistic language in favour of one that alienates a person from one's self.
Winter is the month of celebration in this country of scorching summers. And the Dhaka urbanites do get spoilt for choice when
The power of words can move a nation to war, or spread the spirit of love and hope, and in-between, arouse a whole range and scale of passions and emotions in men that may change their fortunes forever.
Ranjit Das, draws a sparse vista at each turn of his array of artworks, more like pages of a book one is invited to flip through. Each of them inscribed with a chapter of a story, simultaneously ephemeral and condensed in the capsule of a moment from one picture frame after the other, each edition forging a part of the whole.