An ongoing homage to the humble Goan pão, this Monologue is a pæan to her love of the doughy goodness. Fluffy clouds and feather pillows have nothing on her love for being sandwiched in between the lushness of a fresh baked goodie. Part parody, part fervent prayer, this unfiltered ode is her unique literary concoction coming to life. This is just one in a series of her ongoing affair with bread.
Exquisite Corpse, 2020.
Drawing from the idea of a quintessential Surrealist party game meant to jolt participants out of complacency, a digital version was invented for this online residency. A large sheet with 12 equal parts and random markings connecting them was shared with participants, their responses then re-connected to form a whole. In Shyamli’s re-making, the 12 original sections with their inbuilt markings are dissected and presented as individual works; a creative exercise for one. And yet the result is no less incongruent and startling. While there is a ball that bounces through some of the works, you are meant to wander the pages out of sequence, in your own time, map-less, free-associating, making up a rhythm as you trundle along.
Shyamli’s practice is as discordant as the idea of the tomato being a fruit. Questioning ideas of ownership, authorship and authenticity at a level that would confound the founding father of the found object Marcel Duchamp, she brings everyday objects and material to life with her witty prose, use of disjointed sentences, and strange word choices, all strung together in a manner of her own. Shyamli is a champion of the underdog, a master of the readymade, in a way that aligns ever so fleetingly to the art historical narrative, only to veer sharply away into uncharted territory.