I was sculpted like Ganesha by a tiger dad and a sparrow mum

I was sculpted like Ganesha by a tiger dad and a sparrow mum.

My mum used clay from her garden. 

My dad used mud he collected from monsoons.

My mum brought tools like spoons and forks. 

My dad brought tools like weapons, like knives and guns. 

My mum harnessed the moon to let me sleep. 

My dad harnessed the sun to let me grow and darken. 

My mum and dad drew a line in the sand between their two bodies. 

Salt and pond water was gathered to keep my clay wet.

This was not an act of love, but a sculpture of confusion, pain and turmoil. 

This was not an act of love, but the building of a creature sculpted from dry earth. 

I was sculpted by the ocean and the meadow. 

I was sculpted to withstand a storm and crack from the wind. 

It was difficult for them to make me. 

It was impossible for them to build me as a sparrow. 

I was sculpted to have wings, 

I was sculpted to become a tiger.

Clay is when we rebuild. But that is only one of the steps. As Tamil people, we have been stripped of space and time to lay the foundation for memory and healing. It is impossible to rebuild without time for foundations, time for remembrance. Clay is an earth material, one which I deeply connect to. When we build with clay, it can preserve our history and future for centuries to come. It is a material which can withstand weather and destruction; it just shifts in shape. Like Tiger Women, we shift in shape when faced with violence. We adapt, move and grow new branches from the cracks. We harden into brown stone, immovable but soft when we touch water. Clay is the foundation which can lead us to remembrance.

The Execution of a Tiger Woman is a visual documentation of images which exist in a series of works aiming to document queer Tamil bodies in and with land. These works have been photographed with salt, ash, and clay in mind, but have also expanded to use other materials with the body in relationship to the land.

“This body of mine is made of the dirt of earth, and is intense like withering, wandering clouds.”  - Translating Feminisms: Desires Become Demons by Meena Kandasamy

Holding clay can feel grounding. Bringing me back to earth when I am anxious and confused by the amount of violence I am writing about, and reliving as I write. In the photos above, I demonstrate the confusion in rebuilding. When you have scraped and crawled out of the mud towards the horizon, the other side of freedom can often feel empty. When you reach freedom or the idea of freedom, you can feel lost, like you’re aimlessly reaching for roots. How can you find roots when they have all been destroyed? How do you heal and remember at the same time?