Gujarati, my second mother tongue, is an Indo-Aryan language and one that combines almost, if not all of the South Asian languages into one. Compared to other diasporic Indian communities, Gujarati parents are not comfortable with the possibility of their language not surviving throughout generations, and hope that even if the language does not remain, the culture somehow will. When translation of the language, or assimilation, into American society occurs, there are often gaps in communication, and essentially untranslatable sentiments. This project serves as an undertaking to visually articulate these disconnects between linguistic heritage, cultural assimilation, and nuances that are lost in the process.
Building on my previous works, I am further exploring the intersection of documentary and editorial perspectives in South Asian imagery, engaging with the evolving dialogue within fine art photography. This time, however, my approach is deeply personal and introspective, rather than purely objective. I am curating a bookshelf of image-based objects that reflect the sentiment of migration, with items such as postcards, stamps, letters, customs declaration forms, etc. and small-scaled photo books. These photo books will showcase both my family's archival images and my own photographs, intertwining personal history with the contemporary South Asian visual landscape. Additionally, I am interested in incorporating personal artifacts that connect diasporic Gujarati identity to “home,” with items such as saffron boxes, framed family photos, and embroidery, matchboxes and incense, repurposed as an image-based medium. These objects, though seemingly mundane, hold deep personal significance and act as cultural touchstones that bridge the gap between my ancestral homeland and my present reality.
Some areas of research that will be introduced in my work include existing photo books such as Dori by Kaamna Patel, which highlights the fragile yet enduring connections between personal artifacts, everyday objects, and family heirlooms and their importance to first-generation immigrants, even more so than the generation that manifested them. Additionally, short essays and poetry works including Sejal Shah’s How to Make Your Mother Cry, a series of eleven short stories, explores the identity of being a diasporic Gujarati woman through photographs, fables, fairy tales, and relics that add texture and meaning to her experience. Her narrative work mirrors my own as I want to create fictional letters, combining lyrical prose with self-reflection, written in conjunction with photographs and image-based objects. In addition, I am currently investigating my parents as first-hand accounts, so that my project serves as a living documentation of not only my experience as a first-generation Gujarati immigrant, but also a record of proof of the people, roots, and foundations that led to the creation of this identity.
I am interested in incorporating the Rasa theory to my technical process, which refers to the relationship between author and spectator in Indian arts. The word derives from the Sanskrit root, ‘rasah’ meaning juice, taste, or essence. Rasa is associated with a palate; one that is sensuous, proximate, and experiential. My palate is one of analog processes, exploring the mediums of risography, silkscreen printing, textile-based collage works and alternative processes are tools I am employing to transform my existing images beyond a print.
The hands-on nature of these processes brings a physicality and immediate to my work that mirrors a similar sentiment to the writing works I am presenting alongside these objects. Since the concept of "untranslatable" is central to this project, I write letters—addressed both to myself and to others—that are never sent or seen. This approach is reminiscent of Emily Jacir's Where We Come From, where she acts as a mediator, fulfilling requests on behalf of exiled Palestinians who are unable to return to their homeland. Through photography, Jacir captures the acts she performs in their place, making their desires visible yet still distant.
Similarly, the stories, memories, and reflections embedded in my unsent letters are rooted in real experiences but remain inaccessible to the viewer. This refusal of access reflects the inability to fully convey meaning, visually expressing the frustration of never being able to fully translate what you intend to say. In both my work and Jacir's, this withholding invites the viewer to grapple with the limits of communication, mirroring the complexities of language, memory, and cultural disconnection.
Ultimately, this project serves as a deeply personal exploration of the tensions between linguistic heritage, cultural assimilation and the untranslatable nuances that emerge in the space between. These tensions exist not only within my individual experience, but transcend to the broader context of diasporic communities worldwide, where language, identity and cultural memories are constantly being renegotiated. Through the curation of these image-based objects, I am creating a visual dialogue that reflects the effects of migration through the lens of a first-generation diasporic identity. This dialogue resonates with the experiences of countless others who, like me, inhabit the liminal space between two cultures, grappling with the disconnects in communication, the loss of linguistic heritage, and the feeling of being caught between worlds.
