There’s something about the rural plains that feels like a deep breath. A pause. A reset. Maybe it’s the colour—bold, unapologetic, woven into every fabric, wall, and festival. Maybe it’s the lack of sterile perfection, the absence of polished edges. Everything here is raw, textured, and gloriously authentic.
Take these mud horse statues from Madurai. Bright, defiant, standing tall against time. They aren’t crafted for galleries; they are made for the land, the people, the stories. Each jagged line, each uneven brushstroke carries a tale. There’s no need for refinement when there’s meaning. No need for symmetry when there’s soul.
Walking through these lands, surrounded by these colours, I feel something shift. A reminder of where I come from. The earth beneath my feet is familiar, yet always new. My roots, like these statues, breach fresh ground—seeking, stretching, growing.
Perhaps that’s the gift of places like this. They don’t conform. They don’t pretend. They simply are. And in their raw beauty, they remind us to be, too.
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#temple (at Madurai, India)
