Presenting their debut exhibition, “What Once Was,” Katyani Rai and Sabita Gyawali explore the profound yet fragile nature of loss. Whether it’s the farewell of a loved one or the slow fading of love itself, their works invite viewers to contemplate the emotional weight of impermanence. Through distinct artistic styles and personal narratives, Rai and Gyawali craft a lasting testament to grief, attachment, and memory—transforming fleeting moments into something enduring.
How do you release the emotions you carry? Would you allow grief to take the shape of a melody? Through “What Once Was,” Rai and Gyawali remind us that art has the power to preserve, reshape, and reimagine loss. In their work, pain finds permanence, and what once felt lost is rediscovered in new and meaningful ways.
Katyani Rai: Etching Emotion into Art
How do you capture emotion in art? For Rai, the answer lies in the meticulous process of etching—a technique that transforms raw feeling into the tangible. Each line carved into the zinc plate is not just an action but a moment of release, an adrenaline-fueled act of creation where grief, love, and longing take on permanent form.
Stepping into “What Once Was,” one is immediately drawn into Rai’s world. Her works are deeply interconnected, seamlessly blending poetry and visual art. In pieces like “Maybe It’s Mercy, Maybe It’s Sin,” she explores the ache of holding on to someone who may never return. Paired with verses that speak to grief’s inevitable passage, her art becomes an intimate dialogue with the viewer:
“Maybe it’s mercy, maybe it’s sin
To keep holding on where we should have been
Maybe the earth just knows more than we do
That grief is a thing that must pass through.
The night takes what the night knows
What the hand can’t hold, the wind will sow.”
This poetic infusion enhances the emotional depth of her pieces, drawing audiences into a space of introspection. She explains, “The line is an inner conflict—perhaps it is ‘mercy’ to keep remembering, to cherish what was, but maybe it is also a ‘sin’, a form of self-punishment to dwell on something that no longer exists. Is the uncertainty kind to ourselves to hold on, or does it only deepen the wound?”
The quiet drift of things left behind evokes the universal experience of waiting, longing, and remembering. In contrast, works like” Forest of Unspoken Memories” and “Where Wild Ones Wait” convey a sense of hesitation—as if Rai is holding back her most intense emotions, while still allowing glimpses of her grief. This hesitation mirrors the common struggle of confronting one’s own feelings—a delicate balance between vulnerability and self-protection.
Her work “Untitled” reflects her belief that “life moves in a circle,” incorporating philosophical reflections on interconnectedness. Ravens, a recurring symbol in her art, appear as mournful figures of remembrance. In pieces such as “For I’m Grass, For I’m Stone, For I’m Dust That Longs for Home,” these birds serve as silent witnesses to loss, reinforcing themes of memory and impermanence. Titles like “New Moon 3:03 am,” “3:03,” and “Where the Blossoms Fell So Did We” suggest moments frozen in time—capturing a sacred stillness.
Meanwhile, in “Where Will You Go If the Stars Won’t Align,” “Towards the Field of Flowers,” “I Call It Mine,” Rai’s longing is palpable. Though lengthy, the title carries irony—an acceptance of fate woven with quiet hope. It subtly hints at the presence of the raven, reinforcing the ideas of solitude and lingering grief.
Her interconnected pieces, “Until I’m No Longer Flesh,” “But a Leaf, a Root, a Fading Shadow of Rain,” and “Tracing Silence,” are rich in symbolism, often incorporating lotus leaves. Rai describes the lotus as a flower that blooms in the most unexpected places—thriving in murky waters yet remaining untouched in its beauty. “Even in the dirtiest places, a diamond exists. And in my heart, I am still searching for it,” she reflects.
Through her work, Rai does not merely depict loss—she carves it, writes it, and transforms it into something permanent. Her piece Heaven Hangs Heavy conveys the experience of self-discovery, illustrating how Rai invites viewers to sit with their emotions, embrace fluctuations, and discover beauty in the most unexpected places.
Sabita Gyawali: The Softness of Memory
How gentle can a memory be? Are all memories light and delicate, or do some carry a quiet weight of longing? While grief is often seen as heavy, Gyawali approaches it differently—through softness, fragility, and the fleeting nature of recollection.
Gyawali captures the short-lived nature of memory through delicate paper and pastels. Her technique of pressing fabric into the medium gives her work a flowing, organic texture—adding a depth that ordinary paper cannot hold. The result is more than a surface; it becomes a metaphor for memory itself: fragile, passing, and deeply personal, slipping through our grasp even as we try to hold on.
Her piece, “Before the Winter Comes,” draws a poetic parallel between the inevitability of change and the migration of birds, reflecting the departures we experience in life. “Traces of Yesterday,” a series of five intricate works featuring pressed flowers, preserves fleeting beauty and offers a quiet meditation on nostalgia and the passage of time. In “Letters to the Unwritten,” Gyawali explores the weight of unspoken words. Handmade envelopes represent the letters never sent, the conversations never had.
“These empty envelopes hold the words I never wrote—and the ones that never reached me,” she shares, expressing the deep yearning and unresolved emotions that linger in silence.
Longing and absence are further explored in “Traces of You in the Wind,” which captures the quiet hope that someone who has gone might still find their way back. Similarly, “Window to Yesterday” consists of smaller works where windows and grill frames serve as gateways—opening up a vista to gaze outward. Much like her oil paintings, these blend sensory and visual memory through incense-burnt cutouts, where scent and sight merge to evoke both nostalgia and release.
Yet not all of Gyawali’s work centers on longing—some delve into identity and emotional entanglement. “Stirred by Your Touch” is meticulously crafted in pressed paper—a blend of fabric and incense-burned materials. This process becomes meditative, reflecting her signature approach of layering while still evoking softness and fragility. The work highlights the struggle of holding onto someone for so long that the boundaries between self and other begin to blur. It speaks to the push and pull of love, loss, and the search for self in the echoes of another’s presence.
Through her delicate yet vivid pieces, Gyawali reminds us that memory is not just something we recall—it is something we carry, something we feel, and sometimes, something we must learn to release.
A dialogue of emotion
Though Gyawali and Rai have distinct artistic styles, both navigate profound emotions through their work. Rai etches her grief into permanence, using the physical act of creation as catharsis, while Gyawali constructs memory through soft, layered textures that express its fleeting, ephemeral nature. One is marked by intensity, the other by delicacy—yet both seek to make sense of love and loss through their chosen mediums.
Rai’s art is raw and bold, allowing grief to take form as if carving sorrow into existence. In contrast, Gyawali’s work embodies the impermanence of memory, preserving delicate traces of what once was. Together, their works create a conversation—a balance between permanence and impermanence, between holding on and letting go.
“What Once Was” explores the deeply personal nature of sorrow, echoing works like Bharati Mukherjee’s “The Management of Grief,” where loss is experienced through both personal and societal lenses. Just as Mukherjee’s protagonist navigates grief in her own way, Rai and Gyawali transform emotion into art—bridging the space between absence and remembrance. In doing so, they do not merely share their grief; they invite us to find reflections of our own.
