VarunikaVarunika
  • Home
  • About
  • Exhibitions
  • Projects
  • News
  • Contact
  • Insta
Contactadmin2024-12-08T05:17:47+00:00
varunika.saraf@gmail.com

Kavita Deuskar 1946–2025 I saw her for the last ti Kavita Deuskar
1946–2025
I saw her for the last time, her home filled with strangers, completely in disarray, the carpet hastily rolled away, the furniture moved, the curtains drawn gracelessly, several pairs of shoes scattered haphazardly outside her door. I expected her to appear any second, shout at all the tamasha, throw us all out, and set everything to order again—her order, an order of sheer exquisiteness. She would move like a tornado ripping through the house, setting things right, her bric-a-brac, which included toys made by her tutor, K.G. Subramanyam, and the many objects she collected over the years, back in their place, the paintings and the photographs dusted and neatly aligned in their respective positions. She would lay out a fresh block-printed tablecloth and pull out a selection of colourful cups, each unique and with a fascinating backstory. She would coo to her dogs, coaxing them out of their hiding, placing a mix of chicken and rice on the burner for them and chai on the boil for us. All the while cursing people, annoyed at the din and the theatrics. She hated ceremony of any kind. I thought any second now, there would be holy hell to pay. We’re all going to get into a lot of trouble. But she lay there silent; even the dogs were quiet—their usual frenzied, excited barking replaced by barely audible, anguished moaning. I hated the stillness; even the birds had stopped chirping. This is not how I wanted to remember her. She was life itself; fire and brimstone laced with wicked humour. Fearless and fierce.
I want to remember her strength, as the extraordinarily talented, headstrong, and opinionated head of the painting department of the college I had joined; as the woman who should have become the principal—she would have set the whole institution to order—but could not; there were only so many glass ceilings a woman could break then, and she had smashed through them all. She was a polymath; there was little she could not do, and did plenty that would scare most people: precariously dangling from a scaffold, a head pan filled with concrete in one hand and a trowel in the other. (Continued below)
Eight years ago, in two volumes. The trauma that w Eight years ago, in two volumes. The trauma that was the PhD. All I remember is submitting it, rushing back to the studio, my practice and to life itself, and never looking back. 
A memory popped-up on my phone and I decided to finally celebrate post facto by getting up to newer mischief.
#anniversaries (of sorts)
It’s been an odd week– one moment shouting from th It’s been an odd week– one moment shouting from the rooftops about my birthday, the next wishing I could disappear and hibernate like a grizzly. I have been in an out-of-character celebratory mode the last few months, driving all my friends up the wall with my one-minute here and one-minute there manner, up to too much all at once, accidentally setting off Quinacridone clouds all over the studio thanks to which there was a fine layer of pink everywhere and spending two days restoring order, breaking into a dance just about everywhere, weeks filled with a lot of fantastic art, and more than my usual share of wacky decisions. Lately, there has been a lot to be grateful for, all the gentle friendships and the conversations that could take place because I finally got over my fear of talking to people I admire. This year demanded phenomenal strength—for extensive research, navigating endless bureaucracy to secure an IEC, and to build boundaries as tall as Everest, stand my ground, call out bad behaviour, and gently sidestep anything that could bring me pain. It was also the year of meeting friends, seeing both my nieces express themselves through art, lots of conversations about studio practice and making, and travelling with my two rockstars. 
To my brother, who kept texting and finally lured me out of hibernation with the promise of yarn as I worried about the future and my pile of unread books—thank you. To my birthday twin: I’m still here, smiling and thriving, because that one evening at JNU you offered me your friendship and later saw me through the hardest months of my life. And to all my friends: thank you for every conversation, adventure/misadventure, and moment of solidarity. All of your wishes truly made my day special, and I am deeply grateful for it all. It’s been an extraordinary trip around the sun—a year with a steep learning curve, healing, growth, and gratitude. Here’s to whatever comes next.  #forties
Chennai withdrawals (yup, first time for everythin Chennai withdrawals (yup, first time for everything). Missing my friends, the laughter, and loitering in the rain.
Egmore kind of happiness: The Tripurantaka I fell Egmore kind of happiness: The Tripurantaka I fell in love with, hopping, skipping, jumping and even dancing in the museum, getting drenched in rain, and the disappointment of not being able to shout “repatriation” in the Amaravati gallery and making a dash for it.

#love
A quiet celebration to mark a big milestone. Stepp A quiet celebration to mark a big milestone. Stepping into a new phase and into the fullest and the most unbound version of myself.
For a change, I am channelling some of my feminist For a change, I am channelling some of my feminist rage into work to talk about what gives me hope. (FYI, all done by my ✋s. No collaborator, and no, I don’t have anyone hidden in my closet helping me. Where is the fun in that? I am too busy skilling up and putting that temper of mine to good use. 

#artistslife #watercolor #embroidery #artistsoninstagram #everyday #textile #studio #sewing #handembroidery #heart #women #varunikasaraf
@chemouldprescottroad
Of course I don’t have pictures of some of my fav Of course I don’t have pictures of some of my fav moments in Bombay, I should have taken them, felt better when a friend said “but you know the best time is when you don’t have pics”. So for all the times I have pictures for and for those I don’t, Bombay, this time round was all about people and conversations.
I came back to Hyderabad with an accordion to reme I came back to Hyderabad with an accordion to remember my morning walks, my first 40- and 60-minute runs, a long walk with my friend talking about all things practice, and the dog who stole my book clip. There are perks to not partying and turning in early, to wake up with the birds. Bombay is always more than just the fair; this time, it included comically chasing a dog up and down the road and gently coaxing him to relinquish the stolen object. My book clip is modified, but it has got more character now, for sure. 
#bombay #sketching #artistslife
Get @reshare_app • @chemouldprescottroad We’re ret Get @reshare_app • @chemouldprescottroad We’re returning to Art Mumbai 2025 

Join us at the Mahalaxmi Racecourse from Thursday, 13 to Sunday, 16 November at Booth C30.

We will be presenting new and significant works by Aditi Singh, Atul Dodiya, Bhuvanesh Gowda, Dhruvi Acharya, Jitish Kallat, Lavanya Mani, Madhvi Subrahmanian, Mithu Sen, N.S. Harsha, Ritesh Meshram, Reena Saini Kallat, Sheetal Gattani, Shilpa Gupta, and Varunika Saraf.
Ever so gently, as usual, a bit of art historical Ever so gently, as usual, a bit of art historical blaspheme.

#ExcommunicatedFromTheChurchOfArtHistory #painting #artistsoninstagram
Instagram post 18109918867600536 Instagram post 18109918867600536
Phanigiri! Phanigiri!
Finally made it to Phanigiri! Finally made it to Phanigiri!
Bounced all over Bombay by myself to my heart’s co Bounced all over Bombay by myself to my heart’s content, delivered “pies”, giggled with the amazing team Chemould, missed Shireen to the moon and back, hoarded books, met friends and family, started new conversations with many lovely people, dashed around only pausing to breathe at galleries, said a quick hello to the irresistible Cola, left with Seher Shah’s ‘Dacca Gauzes’ and a long scroll made by a dear friend firmly embedded in my heart/mind and, of course, a craving for more Panki. I have at last mastered the art of folding in plenty and absorbing as much sunshine as possible. 
Life in the cuckoo lane, just like I wanted it to be.
Celebrating, for I have at last perfected the art Celebrating, for I have at last perfected the art of being an annoying and insufferable Hyderabadi.
Lunar eclipse 2025 Lunar eclipse 2025
Booyah! Earth eats moon and spits it out. Camera f Booyah! Earth eats moon and spits it out. Camera falls on my face and I almost break my nose. Misadventures and witchery galore. Life in the cuckoo lane, just as it should be.
Instagram post 18069391421469629 Instagram post 18069391421469629
Thar Thar
VARUNIKA SARAF - © Copyright 2018 - All Rights Reserved.
  • Home
  • About
  • Exhibitions
  • Projects
  • News
  • Contact
  • Insta