I went down the town, looking to buy canvas and paint. The town had many shops selling intricate Buddhist paintings - I entered a first shop asking to buy only the canvas and paint. The owner refused at first, but suggested a tiny square of canvas that was also going to be totally useless without paint. I refused and asked for directions. The second shop owner stubbornly but also understandably denied, this was a touristy town and their business is to sell. The third show was also adamant, but mentioned a place that the first shop mentioned as well, a place where perhaps I could get what I needed. I went down the street, turned left by the pack of dogs, into the alley to find a door opening into a messy room with another door. I enter and the man stands up, and with a broken but confident english, explains how he is a Thangka master and that I could come here to learn. Throughout the next 3 months, I spent as much time as possible in his studio, and tried to learn to paint.
A bachelor in Computer Science, a job offer for a Tech Job in Luxembourg. Magical travels in India. Landing in Australia with a backpack, a scroll and no plan. Sketching on the back of my resumes, taped grid-wise on my door - a cut-out for the handle. Cycling through the rain on an old broken bicycle to deliver food to fund a 450$ wooden frame. The occasional sun on the shore to feel touched, by the rays of light.
These works were created during a transitional period between study and independence. They are among the first pieces I completed outside of a traditional studio setting, including one produced entirely in Australia using self-prepared materials and a custom-built frame.
While rooted in the discipline of Thangka painting, they also reflect a personal attempt to carry that practice into a different context — working alone, with limited resources, and adapting traditional methods to new conditions.
This is a small body of work, but one that marks the beginning of an ongoing practice.