My Village

A monumental, charcoal-dark visage hovers like a remembering conscience over a scarlet field, its softened gaze turning the scene below into a private archive of lives in motion. The rickshaw and its translucent passengers read as layered exposures—present labor, borrowed histories, and the anonymity of bodies passing through the city’s grind—while the saturated red and scattered dots pulse like public noise interrupting intimate memory. By welding crisp documentary fragments to dreamlike opacity, the work suggests how modern identity is assembled from work, spectacle, and fleeting witness, with dignity and disquiet held in the same breath.