my crows, your twigs
Ruby Chishti is a beautiful woman. That’s all I can think of when I want to write about her.
Immensely powerful, intense and emotional, Ruby Chishti’s work has a way of connecting with the viewer in a strange and almost uncomfortable way. It feels like she’s talking about you. In her low, lyrical voice, talking about things that you know exist but you’d rather fold inside faded old tissues and hide in the underwear drawer. Beneath the crumply brown paper lining. Far away from peering eyes. Except she’s taken the whole damn drawer out and put it on display.
She’s telling everyone about my sick mother, my unwanted birth and my crows. She’s talking about your deceased brother and his lost battle for cancer and your cut off and useless arms and legs. And she’s revealing our barrenness and almost babies and unending giving and giving and giving. Is it feminist work? Is it women-centric? I don’t know. But I do feel that, although the work has stemmed from her own life and experiences, it talks about a raw hurt that everyone knows.
Except for the burqa and mosque pieces, almost all of her works overwhelmed me and those around me in our little MA artist talk session. While the audience clapped and oohed and aahed at the end, even the cynical Irfan voiced out his appreciations above the others and Sarah wiped away tears that just wouldn’t stop.
Here are some images I found online. I wish I could find all of them and put them here.
You can read more about her here: