Robin

He is small, and he knows it. Yet he stands with the quiet certainty of someone who has never once doubted his place in the world.

The impasto energy of oil pastel suits this subject perfectly. The strokes on the breast feathers are gestural, almost nervous — which is exactly right. Robins are nervous. They twitch. They consider. The texture of the medium mirrors the texture of the creature.

The feet — fragile, precise, gripping their perch — are rendered with a tenderness that anchors the whole composition.

There is something quietly nostalgic about this Robin — a memory of English gardens, damp mornings, the sound of a lone bird in winter. For someone who has lived between two worlds, between Hyderabad and Britain, a robin on a perch carries more than paint.

It carries home —

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