The Fuschia Tree
Editor's Note.
Form is a bookshelf holding books, a spine of a book holding its pages. It is the architecture after the architect. Just as gravity holds the earth down even as it floats in some larger space; just as the body holds a consciousness, even as it daydreams outside of it. It is a line bent into a symbol, droplets of mercury constrained in a thermometer. It is a molecular bond, it is our minds finding habit.
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By Niranjani Iyer, Issue 20, FORM: THE BODY LOCATED, March 2013
A slight, stooping figure dressed in black walks out on stage. You can hear a pin drop in the 1000-seater Theatre de la Ville in Paris, packed to its gills, where giant fish swim along endlessly between waving algae in an aquarium of unconscious happenings.

Pina Bausch stands in front of the projection, raises her arms and begins a 5 minute solo where, with feet rooted to the ground, she gradually disappears into the image, a waving frond of algae amidst others. The human is only part of the universe, not its center.

Also in this issue

  • In this tête-à-tête, Padmini and Zuleikha talk about the structures and abandonments of a body in a space, providing us with dots to connect in as abstract or constrained a shape as we please.
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  • There is as much difference between men and women as any man differs from other “men” and any woman differs from other “women”. We are all unique and yet we are all the same, aren’t we.
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  • Was the space we were in meant to completely disorient us? Or would it instead serve to dislodge our usual inhibitions and daylight gestures? Our eyes may be the window to our soul but...
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Illusion: Seeing Beyond Seeing
Meaning: In Search of Significance.
Melody: A Different Tune
Rhythm: Ordering Time

Dhrupadi Ghosh is an old friend of mine. We have often had long sessions of adda late at night, discussing her dream projects since her college days at Santiniketan, where she majored in Sculpture.