Amy Parrish

The Bloom That Needed Nothing But Time A wild tangle of thorny green climbs up the side of my stairwell. I'm not quite sure why I brought it here. Why I had faith that this barren rose might one day bloom. But I did. I pulled its deep root from my previous garden with the hopeful delusion of it wrapping lushly around two stories of metal trellis like a castle; one day bursting into crimson blooms with a change of soil, simply because I had willed it into being. I’ve uprooted myself in much the same way. Repotting across continents.

The Bloom That Needed Nothing But Time

A wild tangle of thorny green climbs up the side of my stairwell. I'm not quite sure why I brought it here. Why I had faith that this barren rose might one day bloom. But I did. I pulled its deep root from my previous garden with the hopeful delusion of it…

Unearthing Secrets on the Page: Erasure Poetry Workshop

Unearthing Secrets on the Page: Erasure Poetry WorkshopJoin in a 45-minute creative session exploring the transformative power of erasure poetry. We’ll begin with a brief overview, reflecting on historical examples and how this poetic form…

The Canary has Landed: Meet the Nomadic Studio That Just Arrived from Germany German artists Wiebke Wolkenhauer and Arne Gollasch have been visiting India for several years and, through mutual friends, our paths crossed during an exhibition here in Shantiniketan two winters back. They had reached out to see if Sanjoy and I would be interested in participating in an art project that involved a traveling suitcase. Now, many moons after the initial pitch, they have returned to India with this very beautiful Travelling Studio that will be in our possession for the next three months. This and two other suitcases will move from artist to artist around the world (as far as I'm aware, there have been other exchanges in Austria and the UK.

The Canary has Landed: Meet the Nomadic Studio That Just Arrived from Germany

German artists Wiebke Wolkenhauer and Arne Gollasch have been visiting India for several years and, through mutual friends, our paths crossed during an exhibition here in Shantiniketan two winters back. They had reached…

Forgotten Power: ‘But the Memory Remains of Something Powerful Playing Over Me’ A gray arm wraps itself around the metal gridwork of an open window with two, long black feet teetering through into my office. There is a hanuman perched on my windowsill. The foreign word falls from my mouth easier than in my native tongue; gray langur. I also lean into the Bengali because I dislike the English homophone, langour. Listless is not at all a trait I associate with these quick-moving primates who can leap thirty feet in a single bound. They're an annoyance on my lane where human neighbors rattle sticks or shout in aggressive protest while thieves make off with vine-ripe eggplant or break some pipe or limb while jumping from branch to ledge.

Forgotten Power: ‘But the Memory Remains of Something Powerful Playing Over Me’

A gray arm wraps itself around the metal gridwork of an open window with two, long black feet teetering through into my office. There is a hanuman perched on my windowsill. The foreign word falls from my mouth easier…

Photobook collectors, poetry readers, zine affcionados ✨ pre-ordering available for the March issue of my zine series.

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The Lives We Didn’t Live Regret is not a constant. It comes and goes in pangs. During deep dive conversations, my dearest of friends often ask, do you regret it?-- not being a mother, closing my business, selling the house, dissolving a marriage, giving away my belongings, moving to India, etc. (Now that I think about it, even the not-so-dear ones have a way of getting around to this question as well.) What a complex residual of longing, regret. My usual reply sidesteps any true depth: a soft chuckle and 'it depends on the day…

The Lives We Didn’t Live

Regret is not a constant. It comes and goes in pangs. During deep dive conversations, my dearest of friends often ask, do you regret it?-- not being a mother, closing my business, selling the house, dissolving a marriage, giving away my belongings, moving to India, etc.…

(shared on IG by Contemporary Lynx..article written by Grazyna Siedlecka)

Grateful this work continues to heal...💙

(work in progress) in an obscure corner,stranded, waiting,devouring the memory of my country …my work has been wobbling lately between wonder and contempt. I try my best to tune out the chaos, but there's too much demanding attention. it isn't the time to roll over and look away. but space is needed. // there is a dove quietly nesting in my home. she brings me peace. a persistence to build, one twig at a time no matter how often I tried to shoo her away. pressing forward day after day. week after week.

(work in progress)

in an obscure corner,stranded, waiting,devouring the memory of my country …my work has been wobbling lately between wonder and contempt. I try my best to tune out the chaos, but there's too much demanding attention. it isn't the time to roll over and look away. but space is…

If so, say the word (timeline, budget, sliding comfort scale)...there is a range of options depending on the type of escape you're looking for.

and just as you were getting started. 💔

the architecture of (be)longing
...
80 twig sketches in a woodbound book

Thanks to Grazyna Siedlecka for featuring my work in her essay for MINDSCAPES, published by Contemporary Lynx. 💙

www.instagram.com/p/DFsTY74KMY...

Kodal: Heart-wrenching Lessons in Bengali Dushtu is gone. Distemper took her away, limb by limb, over the course of a month. I named this street puppy shortly after her mother shifted the litter, one mouthful at a time, into my garage when their shelter was destroyed just before a cyclone saturated the region over several days. Dushtu translates as mischievous; a name she earned by being the feistiest pup with the first inclination to play. She was the only one named under my care, because she was the only one with a recognizable personality. When the weather finally dried out, the litter relocated to a cozy plot of land closer to the home of the family that cares for the mother.

Kodal: Heart-wrenching Lessons in Bengali

Dushtu is gone. Distemper took her away, limb by limb, over the course of a month. I named this street puppy shortly after her mother shifted the litter, one mouthful at a time, into my garage when their shelter was destroyed just before a cyclone…

You may be seeing bits and pieces of me scattered around as I shift to a new flow for sharing my work. Instead of playing by platform rules, I’m posting directly from my own website—where you can interact for as long as you’d like, beyond the limitations of an algorithm. So far more people are making their way to my site…(hello!) Several like-minded friends have been detaching from Meta and moving over to Bluesky (you can find me there, too– @amyparrish). But to completely cut off connection with thousands of people seemed to me like letting the big guy win. My hope is that this new approach will nurture a more authentic space for expression. Perhaps less breadth in reach, but in exchange for far greater depth. Come pay me a visit at www.amyparrish.com!

You may be seeing bits and pieces of me scattered around as I shift to a new flow for sharing my work. Instead of playing by platform rules, I’m posting directly from my own website—where you can interact for as long as you’d like, beyond the limitations of an algorithm. So far more people are…

Collaborating with a Spotted Dove Meet my collaborator- the spotted dove perched up on the ceiling fan. For over a year she has carried twig after twig after twig into various rooms of my home, determined to build a nest here. I've been collecting each one and weaving them as a nest in a bamboo bird cage my spouse gifted on our wedding day. But yesterday, when I picked up her latest finds, I became mesmerized by the striking simplicity of their form. They reminded me of my own curations from nature (I've been known to drag in branches and stumps and sculptures of thorns to decorate my spaces...even going through a phase of pinning wasp nests in my hair and once accidentally releasing dozens upon dozens of praying mantis hatchlings into my home).

Collaborating with a Spotted Dove

Meet my collaborator- the spotted dove perched up on the ceiling fan. For over a year she has carried twig after twig after twig into various rooms of my home, determined to build a nest here. I've been collecting each one and weaving them as a nest in a bamboo…

AMERICA: A Discourse

CENTRAL SECRET: half-crazy lunatic. here for getting political rights. vain speculation. equally illogical and equally irrational. death-like grasp. the nation that forgets. for a little fame. controlling. knowledge-absolute. illogical. morality. realise. whole world is a lunatic. another sort of man. with their dollars. politician. every word of it is wrong. worst fears. gigantic organisations undertaking to subvert the whole of existing institutions. manifestation of power. cut the throats of his breatheren if there is dirt. no patience to wait. he went to washington, shook hands with the president. the crudest form. cannot give you its reason. knows nothing. unknowable, the ever unknown, herein is the search, herein are the inquiries, here are the facts. the only proof of it. this state of the mind makes him, a death nation. its authority. worse than any brute. historical fact. frightened by fanatics. fight and reason. the destroyer. american news. crimes. protect themselves. times of dissent. will speak before the congress. countrymen as gods. of the united states, the american nation. throw both away. shaking hands with the president. money, name, or fame. quarrels over little details and fights. foreign policies. dependent on the will of the supreme ruler. the two extremes. makes a nation weak and degraded.

CONCLUSION: I believe in patriotism, and I also have my own ideal of patriotism. plea for tolerance. there are holes in this national ship, this society of ours, groaning under the tyranny of the president. tyranny of the strong over the weak. see the reality. do not obey him. vote.

How did we get back here again?

From my series, America: A Discourse. I made a collection of erasures in response to Trump's first term in office, sourcing text from series of lectures Swami Vivekananda gave in America. Read more at www.amyparrish.com

Amy Parrish: artist, writer, photographer Exploring an enormously small world.

Still new to BlueSky. What to try next?

www.amyparrish.com

I've never wanted to pirate a watercraft more badly in all my life. Can you spot the bamboo raft?

Making pigments from Kopai river.

Who else is making actinic prints around here? Share your work!

That would be great! I'm working on plans to hopefully get back for May/June.

I feel like I should make an introduction since I am seeing completely new names over here. I'm an American artist/writer living in India the past several years. Find my work & CV at amyparrish.com where 300 characters just won't cut it. ...and introduce yourself in the comments!

I love it here...in a UNESCO community. Rich art/literature culture (I recently coordinated artist workshops & studio visits for the Bengal Biennale). It's just difficult to earn so I get back to Ohio every year for photo commissions and do grant writing, portfolio reviews, etc. to fill in the gaps.

That's amazing! I lived there for years and used to have a studio/gallery off of 2nd Ave in the Short North area. I get back for a couple month's every year...will start keeping an eye out now for an OFAM presence!

I just found you through Andy Flak's list and see your profile mentions the Ohio Feminist Art Museum. I'm from Ohio (now living in India) and have never heard of it before. Can you share more about it...which city, website, etc.? It sounds fascinating!

Someone was posting on Meta to ask how to get new communities moving rather than jumping ship and losing touch. This is a great idea...thanks! (would love an add)

Weekend image transfers with Print Meet Studio Shantiniketan. They're moving into our first home right now and once they get settled we'll meet yo again for erasure poetry, gum bichromate, and a little more cyanotypes.

First post...Kopai nodi