Curled and draped, concealed and revealed, what bedtime stories do Bhasha Chakrabarti’s quilts tell us?
Artist Bhasha Chakrabarti, known for her confessional style, invites viewers to uncover the layered stories within Kaghazi Hai Pairahan, a large paper quilt made from pulped pages of Ismat Chughtai’s 1944 short story Lihaaf (The Quilt); (right) Bhasha Chakrabarti turns a vintage tea towel into a canvas, painting a clear blue sky dotted with cumulus clouds in Ajaibghar (Todi). The piece also includes a foraged furniture item painted red with gold borders, while two brass candles rest on a drawer that plays a single-channel sound when opened
For an artist whom this writer has briefly met through a laptop screen, there’s a surprising amount of bed talk with Bhasha Chakrabarti.
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When we look at paintings, we hope to uncover some secret—not about art, but about life itself. The quilts and their life-affirming moments invite this idea into the bedroom, where troubles arise and logic slips away. This theme lays the groundwork for Chakrabarti’s first solo exhibition at ExperimenterColaba, Mumbai, titled Karvat (on view until December 20), which includes a paper quilt, paintings, found furniture, brass, candles, and vintage linen kitchen towels.
In Kaghazi Hai Pairahan, a 14x10-foot paper quilt crafted from pages pulped from Ismat Chughtai’s 1944 short story Lihaaf (The Quilt)—a tale where two women navigate desire within the shadows and warmth of their shared quilt—curls from the wall, trembling in drafts and shifting with light. Using the Japanese method of Kakishibu, the quilt is made from the book’s translations in Urdu, Hindi, and English. These pages were dyed with wheat paste and fermented persimmon tannins, creating a sense of healing. Even an inexperienced eye can recognise the skill involved, evident in the gridded triangles that guide the viewer’s gaze both forward and back.
Bhasha Chakrabarti’s first solo exhibition, Karvat, at Experimenter Colaba (on view until December 20) features Soft Firmament (Dawn), an oil on linen painting created during her residency at the Hampi Art Labs, an initiative of the JSW Foundation. Pics Courtesy/The Artist and Experimenter; (right) The Quilts That Changed My Life, a collection of 4 watercolour monotypes on paper, begins with the Kantha gifted to Bhasha Chakrabarti as a baby and swaddled in as a child
The Quilts That Changed My Life, a collection of four watercolour monotypes on paper, draws on an introspective relationship with quilts that goes back to childhood. “It begins with a Kantha given to me as a baby. It transitions to Hawaiian quilts, reflecting my upbringing in Honolulu. Quilting, introduced by missionaries to erase Hawaiian culture, was embraced by Native Hawaiians as a form of resistance,” says the artist, born to Indian parents in Honolulu.
The final quilt is a Gee’s Bend quilt made by African American women in Alabama. “These quilts gained recognition in the contemporary art world. Seeing them in a museum reshaped my understanding of art and gave me permission to pursue my identity as an artist,” Chakrabarti says.
In contrast, works like Karvat (The Turn, Morning and The Turn, Night) are filled with tremors of immanence and mystery, featuring faceless figures ensnared in swirling drapery. With arching feet and curling toes, they hint at sensual desire and longing captured in endless rumples.
Chakrabarti, 32, paints from the inside out, exploring material gestures paired with the interplay of day and night, imbuing a palpable energy of restlessness throughout the show. “I created these quilts from the clothes of old lovers, but the piece itself is primarily an oil painting,” she explains, linking it to the classical European style of drapery painting. The body resembles a landscape, with pigments sourced from iron ore mines at Sandur, remnants of Jindal Steel dumpyards, and stones from Hampi, and used clothing woven with fibreglass. “The drapery has taken over the surface and become the main character,” she adds. “It’s about how textiles are represented, whether in oil or silverpoint.”
The Nephology series (which refers to cloud study), for example, features three artworks in pure silver on handmade paper made from used bed linens, rabbit skin glue, marble dust, and Indigo tinctoria—true indigo. “This collection explores how beds can resemble the heavens, blending textiles with painting techniques.”
While it’s important to distinguish the artist from the subject, Chakrabarti’s presence is undeniable. In her oil on linen work Soft Firmament (Dusk), her face is hidden, yet she draws us into the most intimate corners of her life.
Only in room 5, where Soft Firmament (Dawn) is displayed, does her face emerge cocooned in a quilt, her eyes fixed on the viewer, fearless in her vulnerability. “There’s a sort of awakening at the end,” admits the artist known for her confessional style.
Draped in Tamil Nadu’s Koorainadu checked weave, with the hem raised to reveal her Doc Marten boots, Chakrabarti adjusts the camera angle on her phone, her pigtails tied in red ribbons. As she discusses the influence of Chughtai’s Lihaaf, she highlights the story’s significance in relation to quilts, a medium that resonates with her. Starting as a quilt maker, this practice became her gateway into the art world.
Where does art end and life begin for Chakrabarti? “As a queer woman, the story of Lihaaf is particularly poignant within the South Asian context; it exists in a strange in-between, neither celebrating nor oppressing queerness. This duality is captured in the repeated use of the word ‘ajeeb’, conveying a wonder that can be captivating and terrifying,” she explains.
Chughtai, who died in 1991, faced the courts in 1944 on charges of obscenity over Lihaaf that subtly hints at homosexuality. She refused to apologise and ultimately won the case. “The story isn’t a straightforward coming-of-age tale; its ambiguity reflects the complexities of navigating sexual experiences and the world—often leaving us with more questions than answers. I appreciate this ambiguity, which is why I chose to make it a central theme in my work,” Chakrabarti explains.
The exhibition reflects this perspective, much like the child in Lihaaf who watches the quilt take on various shapes. It suggests that wonder and imagination arise from familiar objects around us, and that beauty can be found in the everyday. “As someone who examines textiles from both political and tactile viewpoints, I grapple with their dual nature: A blanket can provide comfort while simultaneously feeling suffocating or oppressive,” reflects Chakrabarti. The rub exists in the tensions and the delicate hinterlands between what covers and what reveals.
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