Colour isn't just pigment — it's emotion, energy, and intuition. Long before I mix a wash or squeeze out a tube, a piece already has a colour in mind. My job is to listen for it.
I draw from two wells at once: instinct, which is fast and felt; and cultural symbolism, which is slow and storied. Growing up in India, colour was never neutral. Saffron meant devotion, red meant promise, white meant mourning and peace in equal measure. That inheritance shapes every palette I build.
Constraint, I've found, is what sets colour free.
Choosing a mood
When I choose a palette, I'm really choosing a mood. A portrait in cool blues and greys asks for stillness; the same face warmed with ochre and terracotta becomes intimate, alive. The subject doesn't change — the colour does the talking.
Above all, colour should communicate meaning. If a viewer can't name the feeling, they should still feel it — a quiet tug beneath the surface that elevates the soul of the piece.
