The 91st ARTCaffè was a truly special event, featuring two remarkable guest speakers: Bidhata KC and Manish Lal Shrestha. We were thrilled to welcome participants from 10 different countries who gathered in person in Seoul and filled the room in Kathmandu, where the guest speakers joined us. Additionally, viewers from five continents tuned in online, making this a truly global celebration of art and dialogue.

During the event, our guest speakers shared the stage to present their work and offer a glimpse into their creative journeys. The Kathmandu Valley, with its rich heritage of craftsmanship, serves as a fascinating backdrop to this discussion. Art has long been woven into the fabric of Nepali culture, and today the country stands at a pivotal moment, where traditional artistry intersects with contemporary practices in a rapidly changing society.

Below, you’ll find a transcription of their engaging conversation during The Talk.

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Bidhata K C: I am a visual artist who enjoys experimenting with different mediums, as I believe each concept demands its own unique approach.‍

Being Within emerged from my recent residency in the United States, where I frequently reflected on my existence in a new place—an unfamiliar space where I sought to establish a sense of belonging. The work captures the process of grappling with disorientation while striving to find a connection to this new environment. To express this concept, I incorporated native imagery such as red hues, saris, pothase (beads traditionally worn by married women), and other cultural elements. These symbols, deeply rooted in my heritage, became tools to explore mutual existence within a shared cultural space.The project also integrates works by artists from various cultural backgrounds, including Pakistan and Morocco, whom I met during the residency. By weaving these diverse artistic expressions into my work, I aimed to explore the idea of coming together in an unfamiliar environment and collectively finding a sense of identity and coexistence.

I am particularly drawn to how our past shapes our present existence. Architectural buildings, textured walls of ancient houses, and the timeless beauty of temples tell visual histories that continue to resonate with us. The Abode reflects my deep fascination with the traditional architecture of the Kathmandu Valley, where history, spirituality, and identity converge. In Kathmandu's older homes, triangular khwopa shrines are intricately carved into walls. Amidst the rapid urban transformations of the region, I’ve contemplated the resilience of these customs. They serve as bridges between spiritual and architectural heritage, embodying the essence of Kathmandu while preserving a sacred connection between home and divinity.

The triangular shape holds special significance in this work. Across Kathmandu, these forms appear on houses and temple walls, providing a sacred space for the divine to enter. They symbolize the spiritual connection between past and present, infusing homes with meaning and linking us to our heritage. By incorporating this motif, I sought to explore how cultural traditions shape not only our collective identity but also influence individual perceptions of self within the continuum of history.

‍Chori/Keti Manche Bhayera (Being a Daughter/Being a Girl) reflects both my personal journey and the shared experiences of women who navigate societal expectations rooted in traditional stereotypes. The title itself draws from a common Nepali phrase used to confine women within prescribed roles and behaviors. Despite progress, these phrases continue to hold women back, impacting their confidence and self-perception. As an independent woman in my 40s, I have experienced these constraints firsthand. This installation invites the audience to reflect on how societal expectations, embedded from childhood, shape and restrict women’s goals, visions, and identities.

The labels in this works symbolize the ways these phrases have been ingrained in us from the moment we are born, becoming mantras that define and confine. From childhood, phrases like “Chori manche bhayera” (as a daughter) and “Keti manche bhayera” (as a girl) are repeated endlessly, shaping our perceptions and placing boundaries on what we can or cannot do.These words, though seemingly small, carry immense weight. They dictate behavior even in trivial situations—how we sit, how we speak, what we wear—conditioning us to second-guess ourselves and eroding our confidence. This mental burden persists, creating invisible boundaries that follow us into adulthood. Even when pursuing something positive or ambitious, the remnants of these societal labels linger, holding us back in ways we might not fully realize.

The use of red in the installation symbolizes femininity in our society, a color deeply associated with women in Nepali culture. By continuously repeating these labels, I aim to emphasize how deeply rooted these stereotypes are, almost as if they are stitched into our very being. Through this work, I also question how different our lives could have been if, instead of being labeled as “daughter” or “girl,” we were raised simply as “human.” The shift in perspective, from gendered expectations to universal humanity, could have profoundly impacted our growth, confidence, and ability to define ourselves.

The Set Path is a reflection of my experiences during a residency in Vienna. While there, I had the opportunity to engage with women from diverse cultural backgrounds. In our conversations, many shared how, despite holding strong professional positions, they still felt confined by societal expectations and judgment. The title reflects that and critiques the predetermined routes imposed upon us, challenging the audience to question how these expectations limit individual freedom and potential.

This realization made me see that these struggles are not unique to Nepal or cultures with deep-rooted traditions; they are universal. Women everywhere face barriers—often invisible—that block their paths. A simple word, even intended as encouragement, can take on a negative connotation and restrict a woman’s confidence or freedom. One friend I met in Vienna shared how she was criticized for being confident, as if confidence were an undesirable trait for a woman. Others revealed how traits like beauty, inferiority, body size, or strength were often weaponized against them, regardless of whether they were perceived positively or negatively. These small but pervasive judgments have profound impacts on women’s lives, creating a mental maze that stifles decision-making and self-expression.

In this work, I used layered images of my face to symbolize the confusion and fragmentation caused by such societal pressures. The layers represent the puzzle women often face as they navigate conflicting expectations, internalizing the words and labels imposed on them. The letters scattered throughout the piece reflect the harmful remarks shared with me—words that have left lasting imprints on the women I spoke with.

‍Out of Emptiness is an interactive installation that delves into the intricate relationship between discarded tin cans and the broader themes of life, culture, globalization, and human values. During my travels in the Himalayas, I experienced a profound realization: even something as simple as a discarded tin can could evoke a sense of spirituality. Coming from a city background, I was familiar with intricately crafted prayer wheels filled with mantras, designed to chant prayers as they are spun. However, while wheeling these empty, discarded tin cans—completely devoid of inscriptions or prayers—I felt a similar connection to something higher, something spiritual. This surprising experience inspired the title Out of Emptiness, emphasizing the powerful symbolism found in these seemingly insignificant objects. The installation reflects on the evolving nature of culture and traditions. While traditions often emphasize preservation, I believe they must also evolve and adapt over time. Just as the prayer wheel transforms the act of prayer into a physical, meditative gesture, the empty tin cans in my installation embody a new kind of spiritual and cultural narrative. They challenge the idea that objects need inherent meaning to evoke profound connections.The journey of the tin can itself mirrors this evolution. Once a consumer object, it is discarded and deemed meaningless, only to be repurposed and imbued with new significance. This transformation speaks to the human capacity to assign meaning to objects through necessity, creativity, or intent. It highlights how we continuously redefine the existence of things, giving them new lives and roles.

The work also raises environmental concerns, drawing attention to the pollution caused by discarded objects in the pristine Himalayan landscapes. By repurposing these cans, the installation underscores the importance of reuse and the potential to bring life and meaning to what is otherwise considered waste. Ultimately, Out of Emptiness is a meditation on transformation, resilience, and the profound interplay between materiality, culture, and spirituality.

‍My Left is Right is one of my most personal works, deeply rooted in my identity and life experiences. The piece features my right hand, which has always been a defining part of who I am. From childhood, I was constantly reminded—both by myself and by societal norms—that I was somehow "incomplete" because of my hand. Cultural and ritualistic expectations reinforced this idea, creating a recurring sense of inadequacy. However, over time, I came to embrace my hand as a unique marker of my identity. While others are often remembered by their names or family ties, I am remembered for my hand. It has become a part of how people recognize and connect with me—a symbol of who I am.

This sense of identity was deeply challenged when my father passed away about three years ago. In Nepalese culture, women, especially unmarried ones, are traditionally not permitted to perform core funeral rituals. Yet, as a single daughter, I was both given and compelled to take on the responsibility of performing these rituals for my father—a deeply emotional and significant act for me.During this time, I was reminded of the societal belief that the right hand is "pure" while the left hand is "impure." This belief became a painful and constant presence as I carried out the rituals with my left hand. Despite performing these rites wholeheartedly, the priest’s subtle reminders—“This should be done with the right hand, but it’s okay”—cut deeply. I began to doubt myself, wondering if my actions were incomplete or if they would fail to reach my father’s soul because I was not using the "right" hand. These thoughts weighed heavily on me, causing sleepless nights and feelings of inadequacy.

This struggle was especially poignant because my father was the one who encouraged me to pursue art. I wasn’t interested in art during my school years, but he guided me toward it, shaping the path I’m on today. Performing the rituals for him was my way of honoring him, yet the societal and cultural pressures surrounding the "purity" of the right hand cast a shadow over my efforts, making me question both myself and the traditions I was following.

Through this work, I wanted to challenge these deeply ingrained cultural norms. Why is the left hand deemed less worthy? Why can’t it be seen as equal or even sacred in such contexts? The title, My Left is Right, asserts my belief that my left hand is as valid and capable as my right. It symbolizes my rejection of societal labels and my affirmation that my left hand is my "right" hand—it is me, and it is enough.

‍Powerless Power is a reflection on the paradoxical nature of strength and fragility, inspired by my experience during the COVID-19 outbreak. At that time, my father—our family’s primary source of news—had a habit of reading newspapers every day. However, due to concerns about his age and the potential risks of handling external materials during the pandemic, we asked him to stop reading newspapers. This simple decision had an unexpected impact on me. Over time, newspapers began piling up on our veranda, untouched. Observing this growing stack, I became captivated by the irony it represented. Each word, sentence, and article in those newspapers carried immense power—power to inform, influence, and shape opinions. Yet, the moment they were no longer read, that power dissipated. What was once a potent medium of communication and knowledge became meaningless, reduced to mere paper.This dichotomy struck me deeply, highlighting the fragile and transient nature of power itself. As humans, we have the ability to assign meaning and authority to objects, concepts, or institutions. But just as quickly, we can strip them of that significance, rendering them powerless.

The title Powerless Power encapsulates this tension. It explores how something as influential as a newspaper <can lose all its relevance when ignored. It also mirrors our own human condition during the pandemic: a stark reminder of how powerful yet vulnerable we are. The work is both a commentary on the impermanence of influence and an invitation to reflect on the delicate balance between strength and fragility in our lives.

‍The Path is a deeply personal work born out of my experience during the COVID-19 pandemic. As a city person, I find comfort in the chaos and noise of urban spaces. Paradoxically, quiet and peaceful environments unsettle me—I even fear them. Prolonged silence feels suffocating, making it difficult for me to adjust both mentally and physically. When the pandemic struck, the familiar noise of the city disappeared. Confined to one space, I found myself in a state of inner turmoil. Without the constant hum of life around me, I began to question my existence. It felt as though the path forward had disappeared, leaving me in a labyrinth of confusion and fear. This work emerged from that disorienting period—a reflection of the mental puzzles and emotional struggles that arose in the absence of the familiar chaos.

‍Hiti: Dhungehara is a commentary on the environmental and cultural shifts caused by urbanization in Kathmandu. "Hiti" or "dhungehara," which translates to "stone spouts," are traditional water sources that have been an integral part of Kathmandu's heritage. These native water systems, once central to daily life, are rapidly being replaced by plastic bottled water due to modern conveniences.This installation addresses the environmental consequences of this shift. The reliance on plastic bottles symbolizes modernity’s allure and its environmental cost. By highlighting the loss of traditional water sources, the work also draws attention to the diminishing connection between people and their natural and cultural heritage. It serves as both a critique of unsustainable urban practices and a call to reflect on the impact of modernity on our environment and identity.

‍In Between – Rato Machindranath is one of my more ambitious installation artworks, born from a deep personal exploration of identity and existence. The piece reflects my constant questioning of what it means to live in the "in-between"—neither fully rooted in traditional values nor entirely aligned with modern ideals. This sense of liminality feels like a pendulum, swinging between two worlds, never settling in either.

To explore this idea, I reimagined the traditional Rato Machindranath chariot, a significant cultural symbol in Nepal. Traditionally constructed entirely from wood, I recreated it using contemporary materials. By doing so, I sought to juxtapose the traditional with the modern, questioning how cultural practices and symbols can be adapted to fit contemporary life while retaining their essence.The installation is divided into three levels, each representing a different aspect of this interplay. The Base (Chariot Wheels) symbolizes the grounded, foundational connection to tradition, and the role of rituals in maintaining cultural identity. The Middle (Deity's Space) represents the sacred core of tradition, where the deity resides, embodying cultural and spiritual heritage. The Top (Tower) reflects aspiration and continuity, bridging the past and future. This reimagining of the chariot speaks to the broader theme of cultural evolution. It questions whether traditions should remain static—practiced exactly as our ancestors did—or if they should evolve to remain relevant in a changing world. By blending the traditional and the contemporary, the work raises questions about identity, survival, and the balance between preserving cultural heritage and embracing change. Ultimately, In Between is an invitation to reflect on how cultures can adapt and evolve, ensuring their survival in modern contexts. It asks viewers to consider whether adaptation is a betrayal of tradition or a means to ensure its continuity in the future.

Manish Lal Shrestha: Since 2000, I have been deeply immersed in researching cultural values, expectations, and traditions, with a particular focus on bells—a symbol that has become profoundly significant in my life. For me, bells represent awareness. When a bell rings, it resonates with a sense of positivity, creating an ambience that uplifts the environment. Through extensive exploration, I discovered that bells play a crucial role in various cultural and spiritual practices. They are more than instruments of sound—they cleanse the environment, purifying wavelengths and creating a harmonious space. This is why bells are integral to places of worship, like temples and churches; their sound transforms the atmosphere, filling it with positivity and connection.

“Sound of Existence” draws from this understanding. Bells, with their resonant sound, are symbolic of life itself. Just as the sound of a bell signifies its presence, our heartbeat signifies our existence. Without sound—whether it is the ringing of a bell or the rhythm of our heart—there is no life. In the piece, the yellow lines symbolize the lifeline. Life is never a straight path; a straight line represents stillness or death. Life flows with ups and downs, reflecting struggles, joy, and sorrow. The intertwining of the bell’s sound and the undulating lifeline captures the essence of existence: a dynamic interplay of rhythm, resilience, and awareness.

In 2004, I created the work “I Know to Love Life, I Know to Live Life…” in Bhaktapur Durbar Square during the Nuga Mikha festival. This piece emerged from a deeply personal and collective experience during a time of political turmoil in Nepal. The country was grappling with instability, and a sense of fracture permeated both society and individual lives. Against this backdrop, I sought to create an artwork that symbolized unity, resilience, and the celebration of life.The installation took the form of a tapestry, crafted to depict a singular path—a symbolic journey inviting everyone to come together in solidarity and harmony, ultimately converging toward the divine. Using the temple of Shiva, the Almighty in Hinduism, as a focal point, I envisioned a space that merged the spiritual and the communal. The staircases of the temple became the canvas for this installation, symbolizing a shared journey toward a higher purpose, guided by communication and unity.

Creating this piece was an act of solidarity in itself. I collaborated with over 100 people from Bhaktapur, who contributed to stitching the tapestry. This collective effort was integral to the work, reflecting the harmony and interconnectedness it aimed to convey. The title, which reads like a mantra or slogan, underscores the dual essence of the piece: a spiritual homage and a celebration of human connection. Through this work, I hoped to demonstrate the transformative power of togetherness—how even in times of uncertainty and division, coming together can create something beautiful, meaningful, and enduring.

‍“Rato Machhindranath is Pop Art” is a conceptual installation that delves into the fusion of tradition and modernity. At its core is a metal wheel bearing the iconic eyes of Bhairav, radiating light to symbolize the vibrant energy of the Rato Machhindranath festival. This work explores how cultural practices and contemporary art influence one another, creating dynamic connections that resonate with both historical significance and modern sensibilities.

The Rato Machhindranath festival, deeply rooted in my childhood memories, left an indelible impression on me with its beauty, energy, and intense communal spirit. This festival not only celebrates the god of rain, central to the ecological balance of the region, but has also evolved into a cultural phenomenon—a "pop culture" icon, which inspired the title of this work. Created in 2011, the wheel embodies the driving force of ecology and culture. The ever-changing lights within the installation evoke the thousands of lamps lit during the festival, recreating its celebratory and sacred atmosphere. These lights also symbolize security and safety, reflecting the protective aura surrounding the communities of Kathmandu Valley as they gather to honor the god of rain. By using contemporary materials and pop-art aesthetics, I aimed to reimagine the traditional significance of Rato Machhindranath in a modern context, bridging the past and the present while preserving the essence of the festival's cultural and ecological importance.

The “Drapery Project” began in 2014 during my residency at MMCA Changdong in Seoul, stemming from my desire to create a deeply community-oriented and spiritually reflective work. I sought to bridge connections between people and the cosmos through the shared symbolism of fabric, an everyday material that carries profound personal and social significance.To bring this vision to life, I invited communities to donate used clothing, sending out posters and receiving contributions from diverse individuals. These donated clothes, imbued with personal histories and emotions, were stitched together in a meditative act, forming an expansive drapery that spanned from the ceiling to the ground. The drapery was conceived as a physical and spiritual connector—linking the heavens to the earth. Visitors could enter the drapery's tent-like interior, a sacred space designed for meditation and reflection. The process of stitching itself became a metaphor for connection, a way to bond hearts and souls through shared narratives.

Clothes hold a unique place in our lives, as a second skin, shaping our identity and acting as both a physical and social shell. Building on this idea, I also explored the symbolic nature of garments through sculptural works made from plastered clothing. These sculptures became concrete shells—hardened yet empty—representing the absent body and the spiritual void within. The void speaks to our deeper existence, reminding us of our spiritual essence, which is often forgotten in the modern era.This project continues to evolve, reflecting my ongoing exploration of human connection and spirituality. It serves as a testament to the enduring power of collective memory, human connection, and the spiritual depth that lies within everyday materials. Through this project, I hope to remind people of the importance of reconnecting with their spirituality and shared humanity in a fragmented world.

In 2015, during the aftermath of the earthquake, while traveling to provide aid in different areas, I encountered a group of women knitting together in a courtyard. I was captivated by their communal spirit—the way they gathered to weave, sharing stories of their lives, families, joys, and struggles. Their openness and the culture of storytelling deeply moved me, inspiring a project that celebrated this sense of community and connection. I envisioned to created big project that represent the elevation height of Kathmandu Valley.

I asked the women if they could knit for me, but with a unique twist—I requested that they make them several meters long. After receiving the knitted ropes, I brought them back to my studio and stitched them together, ultimately creating a continuous stuffed rope measuring 1,336 meters in length. This rope became a symbol of unity and the interwoven lives of diverse communities across the world. I titled it as The Project 1336, which is the elevation height of Kathmandu Valley from Sea Level.

The project transformed into an interactive exhibition, encouraging visitors to engage with the material, play with it, and experience the joy of collaboration. The participatory aspect brought people together in shared moments of creativity and fun. At the culmination of the project, we organized a grand procession in Kathmandu, where over 400 people carried the long-stuffed rope through various parts of the city. The procession became a vibrant celebration of togetherness, drawing participants from all walks of life.This initiative held special significance for the communities involved. For many, it was their first time engaging with such a collaborative and artistic endeavor. It empowered participants, fostering pride in their contribution to something larger than themselves, and emphasized the importance of community and shared experiences in the face of adversity. Through this project, I aimed to honor the resilience of these women and the power of collective creativity to bring people together. The project 1336 has travelled to various locations including Beijing.

I am a multi-disciplinary artist, and one of the most significant mediums I use to express myself is performance art. In 2018, following the passing of my mother, I created a deeply personal and conceptual public performance piece titled "Seto Chapal | The White Slippers". This performance was both a tribute to her and a critique of the rigid social and cultural practices surrounding life and death.The performance emerged from a period of profound grief and reflection. After my mother passed away, I found myself grappling with the conservative rituals imposed by my cultural heritage. One such ritual involved wearing "seto chapal" (white slippers), which symbolizes mourning. While these rituals have deep-rooted significance, I questioned their relevance in contemporary life, particularly when they impose strict behaviors without a clear understanding of their purpose or emotional context. The ritual made me feel isolated—marked as "untouchable" during mourning, when, paradoxically, human connection and comfort are most needed. This contradiction deeply affected me. The lack of simple gestures like a hug or a hand on the shoulder highlighted the emotional void created by cultural expectations.In the performance, I walked through the streets dressed as a monk, embodying both the visible signs of mourning and the isolation that comes with it. The act was an experiment in the psychological impact of these traditions and how people perceive life and death in public spaces.

By taking the ritual to the streets, I sought to confront the community with questions about the meaning and practicality of these inherited customs."Seto Chapal" became a reflection of my inner struggle and a broader commentary on the constraints of cultural conservatism in the face of personal grief. It invited viewers to question the balance between honoring tradition and adapting to the emotional and psychological needs of individuals in modern contexts. Through this piece, I hoped to challenge the audience to rethink rituals and the ways we provide—and deny—support to one another during times of loss.In the performance “Seto Chapal | The White Slippers,” I was dressed in white, my head completely shaved, and carried a bell as I walked through the bustling streets of Kathmandu. The act was deeply rooted in the mourning rituals of my culture, but it was also an exploration of the reactions and perceptions of the people I encountered. As I moved through the crowded streets, ringing the bell, I deliberately came close to people, observing their responses. Most were startled, confused, or even frightened by this unusual presence—a figure embodying mourning and ritual in such a public and unexpected space. At one point, I approached a woman who sat still, and as I rang the bell near her, she hesitated, visibly unsure of how to react. To my surprise, she opened her purse, took out money, and placed it into the vessel I carried.This interaction was profoundly unexpected. I had not anticipated such a gesture, and it deeply moved me. I continued the performance, ringing the bell and moving closer to people. By the end of the procession, I had unintentionally collected a significant amount of money, as others had also offered contributions.At the conclusion of the performance, I decided to take all the money I had received back to the first woman who had given me the initial offering. She was a street vendor, working hard to make a living. When I approached her again, she immediately recognized me and was overwhelmed when I returned the funds, explaining how her act of kindness had inspired others. Her shock and tears created an intensely emotional moment for both of us. It was an experience of profound human connection, shaped by the unexpected power of ritual and performance.

This performance later extended into a visual work for an exhibition. During this time, my artistic practice shifted towards minimalism, using only black and white. I created a set of cushions that I called “Sirani | The Headrest.” The cushions were hand-screened, reflecting the stark simplicity and introspection of the mourning period. The monochrome palette and the use of fabric echoed the themes of ritual, loss, and comfort embedded in the performance, offering another layer to the exploration of grief and cultural identity. This work as a whole speaks to the unexpected ways art can intersect with life, creating moments of empathy, reflection, and transformation. It was a process of both questioning and connecting, challenging traditions while simultaneously celebrating their emotional depth.In 2019, before the pandemic reshaped the world, I created “Vertical Wave,” a monumental 108-meter-long tapestry for a major festival in Busan, South Korea. This installation was crafted from 1,500 used garments generously donated by the people of the city, each piece carrying its own unique story. Together, these garments formed a collective narrative, symbolizing human connection that transcends borders.The title, “Vertical Wave,” reflects the duality of the work: humans as upright, vertical beings and the flowing, wave-like nature of the tapestry itself. This wave, stretching toward the sea and wrapping around trees, bridged the natural and human worlds, inviting reflection on the delicate interplay between humanity and nature. It also spoke to the urgent need for ecological consciousness, as the materials—reused and repurposed—underscored the importance of sustainability.

The process was as significant as the outcome. Gathering and stitching these clothes was a collaborative effort involving countless individuals. It was deeply rewarding to work with local communities in Busan, weaving together not just fabric but also their stories, memories, and emotions. The physical act of stitching became a meditative and communal practice, echoing themes of unity and interconnectedness.Installed outdoors in a park near the seashore, the tapestry stood as a bold statement against the idea of rigid borders. It questioned the necessity of divisions—physical or cultural—and instead celebrated the idea of a “borderless border.” Through this work, I sought to highlight the diversity of human experiences while emphasizing that, at our core, we are all connected, part of a larger fabric of life.

“Vertical Wave” became more than just an artwork; it was a space for introspection and dialogue, urging viewers to consider their relationship with others, with the environment, and with the invisible boundaries that shape our lives. This piece remains a testament to the power of community, creativity, and the universal desire to connect across all divides.In my artistic journey, I’ve extended my explorations into metalwork, creating pieces that fuse traditional symbolism with contemporary forms.

One significant project evolved from my earlier The Project 1336 installation into a 16-foot-tall "Endless Knot" sculpture, a symbol with deep spiritual resonance in Buddhism and Hinduism. While the Endless Knot traditionally represents the interconnectedness of existence, I reinterpreted it into a personal and modern design, reflecting a ship-like structure. This work speaks to the universality of spiritual ideas while embracing unique, individual narratives.I also created smaller, silver-based works inspired by the same concept. These pieces merge intricate craftsmanship with a sleek, modern aesthetic. One such silver artwork was a commission for a hotel in Bhaktapur Durbar Square, where the timeless spiritual symbol found a place within a historic yet evolving cultural setting.

This year, my work was featured in an exhibition at the Rubin Museum of Art in New York, where I presented “Dipankar Buddha is Pop Art.” This project focused on the interplay of Nepal’s spiritual icons and the idea of popular culture. While Western pop art often highlights movie stars or fictional heroes, in Nepal, our festivals and deities—like Dipankar Buddha—are the "popular" icons, deeply embedded in our cultural consciousness.

The artwork was created using a pointillism-inspired technique, where meticulously painted dots connected to form the image of Dipankar Buddha. The process itself mirrored the philosophical underpinnings of interconnectedness, as each dot contributed to the greater whole. The resulting piece juxtaposed the sacred and the everyday, celebrating Dipankar Buddha as both a religious figure and a cultural phenomenon.Through this work, I aimed to highlight the unique way Nepali society integrates the sacred into daily life, making deities and festivals vibrant and "alive" in the public imagination. At the same time, the modern artistic style invited audiences to see these traditional icons in a contemporary light, bridging ancient spirituality with the sensibilities of today. “Dipankar Buddha is Pop Art” is a reflection of how deeply rooted cultural symbols can transcend time, becoming part of a collective, evolving narrative.