In a rare case of retrospection, Sahil shares inputs into this work, on that most public of platforms: Instagram. To him, this represents the mind as a biosphere, a rainforest. Time, forever out of sync, is the prickly cactus, a fleeting memory. In his words, “[The Cactus] takes root in my head as thoughts germinate, moods fluctuate, memories are shelved for display. The mind is a cloud and it siphons off the endless symphony of a temperamental memory, until the cloud rains. [The cloud] rains tears that trickle through from the hearts eyes on its surface. These potent tears fall to the feet, nourishing the roots of thought as thoughts sprouts and ameliorate and bloom and pullulate all under the light of the SunMoon of consciousness. When it closes, the mind's eye is asleep and it's the moon and in wakefulness, the eye bleeds a charged red light like the sun so the plants can photosynthesize. Such is the eco system of the mind.”
Time is a Cactus, Mind is a Cloud, 2020.
A Discordant Cactus Garden ~ From A Dream I’ve Never Had, 2020.
The cactus man pimped out in his finery, among others of his ilk. It is a garden unlike we’ve ever seen, filled with phantasmagorical beings, emerging fully formed from the depths of Sahil’s psyche. Creatures creep and crawl their way to the front, each taking on a life on its own. The cactus man from his throne atop the frame, views his cohorts and descendents with the same passivity that he’s displayed since his germination. Bits and bobs become orifices and limbs, a mane there and a missing finger elsewhere. The creatures resemble runaway Shelley-esque creations, willed into existence by the mere suggestion of a fertile mind.
The Space Between Gods’ Thoughts, 2020.
Driven to empty his mind of swirling thought, Sahil distils the inner mayhem into his paintings and sculptures. The recurrent motif of a cactus, full of thorns yet not aggressive, vulnerable and standoffish in equal parts, is an element that works its way from his personal history into his works. Not given to excessive self-analysis, he rejects the idea that art must conform to a greater purpose, preferring instead to let the outpouring be read and dissected devoid of any input. To his mind, the sci-fi is real, the lived experience a mere veneer veiling a higher reality. His works embrace his love of storytelling, imbibing a cactus with a persona, taking DinoDuck (a fragment of a recent childhood) for a walk, and creating playtime with the elements around him. Objects under his skilful hands take on a life force of their own, spouting lines like in a drama.