Sarah Ahmad

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Dreams of Reality: Architecture to Abstraction, August 2011 Mixed Media On Canvas 30 Inches X 30 Inches © Sarah Ahmad
Dreams of Reality: Architecture to Abstraction, August 2011 Mixed Media 36 Inches X 36 Inches © Sarah Ahmad
Dreams of Reality: Architecture to Abstraction, September 2011 Mixed Media 36 Inches X 36 Inches © Sarah Ahmad
Rollercoaster and the City Pen On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
The Fantasy Curve Mixed Media © Sarah Ahmad
Old Forms: Red brick houses, October 2008 Mixed Media On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Urbanisation and old forms Mixed Media On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Safari: spotting the tiger, repetitive prints Mixed Medium © Sarah Ahmad
Childhood: Repetitive prints Mixed Medium © Sarah Ahmad
Horizon: Repetitive prints © Sarah Ahmad
Two worlds apart: A tale of Avant-Garde and Realism Digital © Sarah Ahmad
"I am Coming Home" for the "HOME" Exhibition/Fundraiser by Ground Arts and Art Start, March 2013 © Sarah Ahmad
Illustration for book, December 2015 Pencil Initial Sketch © Sarah Ahmad
Book Illustration Mixed Media On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Hand Painted Lampshades: Dreams of Reality_Series Mixed Media On Fabric © Sarah Ahmad
Swatches_Hand painted shoes Mixed Media On Canvas And Digital Graphic © Sarah Ahmad
Short Cities I, July 2017 Pen & Ink On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Short Cities II, July 2017 Pen & Ink On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Short Cities III Pen & Ink On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Short Cities IV Pen & Ink On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Short Cities V Pen & Ink On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Short Cities VI Pen & Ink On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Short Cities VII Pen & Ink On Paper © Sarah Ahmad
Quick Facts
Birth year
Lives in
Delhi (Noida)
Works in
apeejay institute of design, 2006, B.Design
Representing galleries
Surmrit Gallery of Art and Design, Tribe Magazine (UK)
art writing, Creative Writing, mixed-media, Illustration
My Art Life

I am a Writer, Visual Artist and a Designer based in New Delhi, India.

'My Art Life' (also featured in Surmrit Gallery's Art Aficionado- web page)

There were those passages and spaces, white plastered walls, memories and thoughts of the past, the bicycle kept under the stairs, pictures and a wall of books, brown shelved cases, bright sunny days; people, who came, who went, then there were those little things, bigger things, framed and painted, canvas, a box of dry paints in brown tin boxes, drawing of ink trees, in oil of adventure fantasy lands, now yellow paper, graphite sketches, portraits and half drawn pages. There were also stories of people, imagined, painted, stories of trains, and the people who took that journey, blue, red trains; blue, red, yellow, brown, black, white people, of people I met, people they met, remembered and forgotten. A piece of white, blank, striped sheet of paper, words, lines and colour, black and white, blue dots and random thoughts, another sheet, stories and tribulations, of books lying in the long rack of shelves, written and printed by my Nana (my maternal grandfather), about lives and thoughts, dreams and circumstances, of art, of life and hope.  

Art had begun;  through things hung on white washed walls, little books of poetry tucked in metallic boxes, law and freedom, through red clay painted pots, splats of paint on paper, on a white ceramic tiled floor, day lit French windows, coloured glass, lights and panes; exhibited, printed and published.

Grown, surrounded by creative people and tales of art and expression, this life, this kind of life had found me when I was little. I was there standing by the dark brown polished door, thinking about and looking at paintings on pottery come to life, I could see my mother dip brushes into turpentine oil, into liquid, opaque, transparent bottles of colour, transferring it into glass, into paper and terracotta.  

At home in Gaya; as we sat  in the balcony looking into the sun, there would always be things to share, about  how ideas and beliefs of a man could translate into a book for thousands to read, and how iron could be moulded into art, black and twirled on window grills, and back through the passage way by the  glass panelled cupboard,  I would find little bits of paper, white chalk and graphite, drawings of sewing machines, fashion, often copied as traces of my art as a child, and blank books and pages in copies would inherit art: paisleys , swirls, buildings and blocks of grey, white and red.  

Delhi was my home, I came back to it wherever I went, coming back or living in this hub of chaos, colour, sun and fog was sometimes a pleasant smell of home, clay and smoke, and sometimes it was just a rush of cars, buses and dusty trees, people everywhere, sweat and heat.  The capital city is where I met people from various walks of lives, in my school near Bangla Sahib, in blue shuttered classrooms, halls and streets, galleries and alley ways, the college canteen, cinemas and passage ways; but in a foreign land, I found appreciation and belief in my art. In the year 1999, the cold east side of Canada became my home, and an art class in High school made me familiar to many creative opportunities.  

My mother opened her art and design gallery in the year 1995; Aabgeena Art Gallery was a small store tucked in Atta Market, Noida (part of the national capital region of Delhi). Artists, architects, home owners, art appreciators and passer bys came in, appreciated and bought pieces of orange clay, painted, enamelled, polished wooden boxes, candle stands and frames.  As I became a part of the gallery, years later, the art and design store began its journey by opening in a modern market place in Noida as Brickroad Art & Interiors. I was always part of this process of creating, reinstating and building, through the red sweater, white shirt school days to visits to my grandfather’s place, to days of bigger dreams and realities; washing a brush or two, visiting art and antique stores, rearranging furniture, painting pottery, art was always by my side. College introduced me to the technicalities of Design, feet and inches, conversions and drawings, teachers, influenced, moulded and encouraged innovation through gallery visits, lectures, studio and life experiences.

Today, as you read, through these lines I have written, I narrate a part of my life, and how I am, who I am. Surmrit Gallery of Art & Design was an important step in my life, being a part of this gallery as an artist has made my art alive in wider worlds; pleasant or imperfect, I have been able to share a part of what I think, see and perceive. Art and architecture, cities built, dreams made, abstracted concrete reality, belief and growth, wonder worlds, fantasy lands, the world that I create brings together architecture and abstraction and the will to dream of things unseen yet real.  

I believe that art can live in different people’s lives and homes, it could be a view right after bed time, morning tea or the walk by the alley way, it could inspire and trigger hope and fantasy, when an artist in one part of the world reaches to the viewer in another, art could define ‘that we all are alike despite our differences’, that it could be hung in South Delhi homes beside the heavily carved chair, it could be on walls of a gallery in Sao Paulo, on the helm of city streets and malls, it could be in country side galleries in England, inherited by a an art collector, by the desk side of a politician, within hopes and dreams of a tribal family, in that seaside Flea Market , by the dreamer’s cell, in New York lives, on Vuitton walls, within bigger dreams and modest hopes, it could be there, here and now- as we walk, stop and stare.

“Art would never question me, blank pages, canvas, rough tough ivory sheets, they would accept- strokes and life, thoughts or black lines, blobs, spots and scratches, this blankness will fill itself with what I give it”