Artist Highlight - Mitakshara Chaudhary

1. Ruins Of Time begins with blown glass shaped on a plaster mould that fractured under heat. When did you realise that the breakage was not a failure, but part of the work?

The sculptural piece began as a way to think about time and memory. I first made a clay sculpture to create a plaster mould, mapping how spaces change. I wanted to blow the same glass form repeatedly, trying to capture that idea in one object. I didn’t realise the glass would slowly disintegrate the plaster mould. Instead of being a problem, that process became the piece. The plaster’s decay recorded the same things I was trying to show: the inevitability of change. The single blown form turned into a series, and the mould itself became part of the story. I was new to glassblowing then and still learning, but the experiment gave the work an honest understanding, the material’s tendency to break down revealed the memory and the movement of time.

2. The fractured mould leaves behind a single indent. How do you think about this mark as a trace of time?

The fractured mould leaves a single indent that I read as compressed history. It’s a fingerprint of the process: heat, pressure and repetition stamped into the material. That mark holds the memory of each blow, the moments the plaster gave way and the glass negotiated form.

As a trace of time it collapses the series into one visible event, past actions become the present surface. It suggests both disintegration and persistence simultaneously. I treat the indent as an answer, the remembrance of a space that anchors the work’s narrative about change, continuity and the inevitable movement of time.

3. Glass often suggests clarity and fragility, while ruins suggest weight, memory and loss. How do these ideas meet in the piece?

They meet as a balance of opposites, which makes the work speak. In the piece the ability of glass to be translucent, delicate surfaces show light and space, while fractures, seams and the fractured plaster mould read as strata of loss and history. The transparency lets memory be visible, the breaks give it texture and gravity. Together they read as something newly made and as an object carrying the slow, physical traces of time. Using clear glass lets that layered memory be seen at once, while the broken mould and heavy textures anchor the work in the reality of decay. The contrast makes the piece feel honest, it doesn’t hide the past, it shows how time presses on material and memory together.

4. Your background in architecture seems present in your attention to form, space and balance. How has architectural thinking shaped your work with glass?

Architectural thinking shapes my practice and glass work by making me approach form, space, and balance not as a solution to a problem, but as a way to create spaces and dig deeper than just surface effects. I consider how a piece holds weight, how a void opens space, and how proportions guide movement, then translate those ideas into glass objects, negative spaces, and measured edges.

In Ruins of Time, the mould came from drawings from my architectural thesis project about changing landsapces, so the piece carries an architectural map, fractures act like lines, and the indent reads as a built trace. Architecture taught me to see material as a record of time, that's why I let breaks, seams, and the fractured spaces remain visible instead of polishing them away.

5. You describe the vessel as something shifted beyond its ordinary function. What does a vessel become when it no longer simply contains?

When a vessel no longer simply contains, it becomes a record and a space for memory rather than a container for objects. It shifts from function to trace: the walls hold the history of heat, pressure, and the mould’s decay, and the indent becomes a place where time is visible. The object stops being about utility and starts being about presence—about what remains after something has been used, worn, or lost. In Ruins of Time the vessel becomes a monument to change: a fragile architecture that contains not a thing, but the movement of time and the memory of shifting spaces.

6. The work explores the past, present and future as connected through material change. How does time enter the making process for you?

Time enters my making process as a physical element, not just a theme I think about. The heat of the glass causes the plaster mould to yield as it touches the hot glass, so the making process already records passage, each piece leaves a trace as the material decays. I return to the same form again and again, each repetition adds another layer of imperfection, making the series a timeline of those attempts. The fractured mould and the single indent connect the past to the present surface, while the transparency of the glass points to what could still change: future light and future wear. For me, making is a way of letting time press into material so that past, present, and future sit together in one object.

7. Heat, pressure and accidents all seem to play a role in the final form. How much control do you want to keep, and how much do you allow the material to decide?

I want enough control to guide the form and proportion so that it still has a functional use, but I allow the glass to decide the final texture, fractures, and traces of process. Heat and pressure are tools I set, but once the glass is hot and the mould begins to disintegrate, the accident becomes part of the design. I learned this early in glassblowing: I didn’t know the glass would disintegrate the plaster, and that surprise became the work. So I keep control over the silhouette and the intentional marks, like the single indent but I let heat, pressure, and failure write the rest, the intentional marks, like the single indent. That balance allows the piece to record what the glass can be and what it can do.

8. Your practice often moves between physical reality and subjective perception. What kind of perception do you hope Ruins Of Time invites?

Ruins Of Time invites a perception that feels both physical and intimate. The viewer sees the light passing through thin glass, the weight of the glass, and the indent as a trace, but also feels the memory of the place behind those marks. I hope it makes people notice how time sits in material, how repetition, and accidents become visible surfaces while also recalling their own spaces that have changed or disappeared. The piece asks you to read the object as both a real thing and a memory, to see clarity and fragility and to sense the past, present and future connected in the same object.

9. The series turns a simple making process into something altered and unfamiliar. Why is subtle disruption important to you?

Subtle disruption is powerful because it catches people off guard in the quietest way possible. When a process or object feels entirely familiar, our brains naturally shift how we look at it, categorize it, and immediately move on because we think we already know everything it has to say. Introducing a slight alteration interrupts that automatic recognition. It doesn't scream for attention like a dramatic shock would, instead it creates a tiny friction point. That friction makes the viewer slow down, look closer, and question what they are actually seeing.

In a series like Ruins of Time, subtle disruption allows the artwork to hover in an unsettling but fascinating middle ground. It remains deeply tied to the physical reality of how it was made, yet it feels completely detached from the ordinary world. It transforms the familiar act of creation into a quiet mystery, forcing us to re-examine the relationship between time, material, and the making process itself.

10. When viewers look into or around these glass forms, what do you hope they sense about endings, beginnings and what remains?

When viewers look into and around these glass forms, I hope they sense that endings and beginnings are not sharp, definitive lines, but rather a continuous transition. Glass holds a unique tension, it is frozen and solid, yet it looks like something that stopped in motion - a drip. Its ability to move allows it to capture endings not as destruction, but as a start to something new. Because glass is refractive and transparent, it constantly reflects the piece rather than showing the physcial indents on it.

The surface and the viewer's own movement are seen in themselves, ensuring that the piece is always regenerating and beginning anew in the present moment. Ultimately, I want them to realize that what remains is the very imprint of time itself, and what they can imagine and perceive it to be.