2021
home

Home revolves around Sujon’s unstable life as a child having moved many homes. Within neighborhood to cities to countries.

Here, he brings his architectural background and interprets memories of home through an abstracted plan view emphasizing sites of significant memories.

The use of plaster on wood is a firm choice and representation of the physical attribute of memories themselves. The fine markings made with delicate plaster lines are ment to detoriate eventually- just like his meories of them now and in the near future. 

borikandi

বরিকান্দি

as a child. twice a year until nine, through the mustards fields. bare feet, we roamed in mud and dung. sunny and rainy days, hours in ponds. Nani's love and Khalamma's food. warm milk. my joyful mother amongst old friends and neighbors. more space more light and more sky. starry open night through the plum tree, under it we slept and shared stories.
freezing nights on hay, listening to the sound of majars. my mother's only night of joy.

koborsthan

কবরস্থান

could walk and run. could tell time. slept on his chest. his hands bled and hardened. one room five souls. so fair , was red by a slap. a bang on head, bled but felt. green mango chutney. the forbidden north-west. filled with ghosts. arafaat and monira broke my sculpture. the cold concrete floor, my hand stretched from both ends. the stones above her head. she screamed louder, my lungs fell to the ground. amma! we dissolved.

majhi-bari

মাঝি-বাড়ি

didn't recall who they were. smell of new paint. landlord with grey hair. my dear orbin and shoikot, a home for pigeons. they had exotic meals and shut the door. the flood of 2008. we escaped for fried eggs, a plate, wet floor and feet. her heels in nails, the sound of sin. eyes bigger than heads, screams louder than sirens. a bed sunlit. a kitchen door with god drawn on it. fear of snakes at nights and mangoes on roof.
i am growing, drinking water, splilling sugar.

peyara-bagan

পেয়ারা-বাগান

cold night. in hope for 40 taka. celebration of skin. home is more pigeons, chickens and plants. hours of climbing mango and star-fruit trees. the bamboo danced as i sliced a finger. my Dadi's icy eyes. her rotten meat. her death as I used a fork to eat beef.
two weeks, few potatoes, onions and chota. our tears dripped on rotten pomegranate. we squashed rice and milk.

dighir-paar

দীঘির-পাড়

buckets on beds collected rain. the teal walls so wet. down the drain. all the water met. we hoped, smell of   foreign land. water till knees, happy face, wet orna. the dogs never found bread, they barked. out I sat, out we dreamt.
Nani built a stove. a hot day. she collapsed laughing. her face froze as the cold water flooded her. 48 hours of moving fingers. mother died.