I had to do a write up for Rimli's show catalogue.
Late at night, when all was quiet and forgotten again, I stared at my blank laptop screen, the ransom of art books lying around me on the bed, wondering what to write. Writing about art seemed such an art form. I stared at the dense text. May be other readers would be like me, I thought suddenly. They might have aversion to four syllable words like multiculturalism and post-deconstructive and polymorphous, all strung together in a single sentence.
The thought recharged me. I took a small sip from the vodka lemonade tumbler on the bed side table and started writing: Rimli Sengupta brings a refreshing style to an unusual medium. Petite and pretty, she forges and bends and casts iron into sculptural forms.
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