MEET
THE ARTISTS

Kavya grew up in Mysore in a household where Sanskrit was spoken at the dinner table. At nineteen she left for Sringeri Sharada Peetham, one of the four original mathas established by Adi Shankaracharya, and spent twelve years there as a student of Advaita Vedanta under Swami Tattvavidananda. She learned Sanskrit not as a language but as a system for encoding reality.

Her calligraphy practice began as meditation — brushing Devanagari aksharas for four hours every morning, not to produce beautiful letters but to dissolve the distance between the hand, the letter, and the meaning the letter contains. She calls this "writing without a writer."

The AKSHAR collection emerged from twelve years of sitting with one question: if the word and the thing are not separate, what does the boundary between human and divine look like in ink?

Aryan was trained at the Benaras Gharana from age eleven under Pandit Ramkumar Mallick, spending fifteen years learning Hindustani classical vocal. But his obsession was not the music itself — it was the physical shape of sound. He wanted to see what a raga looked like.

He built his first Chladni apparatus in 2011 from salvaged lab equipment — a metal plate, a violin bow, salt and sand. Over the next decade he systematically mapped the visual geometry produced by every classical raga and Sanskrit mantra he knew, filling notebooks with the resulting Chladni figures and correlating them with the ancient texts that described the same sounds as forms.

The BLOOM collection documents what he found: that every mantra carries a precise geometric signature, and that the geometry the ancients described as sacred is the same geometry that appears when the sound is made visible in matter.

Riya was enrolled in a quantum physics PhD programme at IIT Bombay when she read her first D.T. Suzuki text — and realised the double-slit experiment and the Zen koan were describing the same event from different sides of language. She left the programme in 2014, not because she had lost interest in physics but because she had found the physics inside something older.

She spent eight years with a Zen roshi in Bodh Gaya, practicing and painting. Her work lives at the exact overlap between what physics has proven about observation and what Zen has known about it for twelve centuries. She does not see these as two things.

The VOID collection is built around one question her teacher gave her in 2016: what does the ground state look like before it decides to become a particle? She is still working on the answer. The three garments in this collection are the closest she has come.

Devraj grew up in a Hindu household in Thrissur, but his first spiritual encounter came at twenty-two when he sat his first ten-day Vipassana retreat. He described it later as "the first time I caught myself watching." He has maintained an unbroken daily practice for eighteen years.

In 2008 he travelled to Dharamsala, where he trained for six years under a Tibetan lama learning the traditional art of the sand mandala — a practice requiring absolute precision, infinite patience, and the understanding that the completed work will be swept away. He has completed eleven full Kalachakra sand mandalas and destroyed all eleven.

The WITNESS collection is his attempt to document not the mandala but the geometry underneath it — the mathematical structure that the mandala is a surface of, the same geometry that quantum mechanics finds in observation, and that the Vedanta calls the witness consciousness behind all experience.

Meera was born in Thanjavur into a family of temple painters. By the time she was thirty she had drawn the geometry of every major temple in Tamil Nadu — not the sculpture or the deity, but the topological structure underneath the architecture. She was looking for what makes a sacred site sacred before anyone builds on it.

Between 2015 and 2022 she walked all twelve Jyotirlinga pilgrimage routes on foot, carrying a sketchbook and a compass. She arrived at each site not to pray but to map — to document the sacred geometry of the landscape that the temples had been built to mark. She slept in dharamshalas, at railway stations, in the homes of strangers who understood what she was looking for.

The YAATRA collection is what she found: that every pilgrimage site in India is located at a specific topographic or astronomical event — a confluence, a solstice point, a place where geography itself creates a diagram of the consciousness the tradition describes.