anjalisrinivasan

The reflective glass works I make are inspired by a small part of architectural history of the Indian subcontinent in the 17th century : the Sheesh Mahal.

 

In these palaces of mirrors, convex mirrored glass mosaics encrust chamber walls and ceiling in mesmerizing intricate patterns. Whereas modern, flat pieces of mirror dissolve an image by fracturing it, the Sheesh Mahal’s convex mirrors miniaturize and multiply a self-image. The effect is cumulative, not fragmentary.

 

The optics of this glass is very specific : Each mirrored shard in the Sheesh Mahal acts as a cell that reduces the attractive self-image to a particle that looks like little more than dust. One struggles to appreciate one’s reflection in the one is accustomed to. Yet, at dusk, when a small lamp is held in the palm of one’s hand, the specular reflection held in each cell is multiplied many times into a hypnotic wave pattern that cascades across the large chamber and illuminates it.

In this way, the optical phenomenon of the Sheesh Mahal offers a beautiful and profound paradigm to reconsider human preoccupation with our self-image : a person who stands still, unmoved by even a compelling environment, may as well be invisible. No bigger than dust, unable to see more of themselves in their surroundings. A person who gestures, who acts upon something even in dark circumstances, transforms everything around them. They affect change. A human being should act, and be moved.

The Sheesh Mahal became obsolete with the decline of Mughal rule and coming of the British era in Indian history due to lack of patrons who would support the labor-intensive process of manufacture. Furthermore, the nomadic community who practiced the craft in contemporary times was disbanded by the Gujarat earthquakes in 2000 and since then, has had no way to sustain the craft. This saddens me.

 

As the history of human vision has grown complex with new inventions and devices, the seemingly simple phenomenon of the Sheesh Mahal has disappeared into oblivion, to be witnessed today only in the walls of monuments, ruins. It seems as though a glorious tradition is now dust lying in a corner. We have lost its people, their craft. I refuse to lose its poetic perspective about the Self.