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About The Artist
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About The Artist
Relic of a bygone age, when what are now regarded as primitive minds were in unquestioning awe of the divine
This domineering, and sometimes menacing metal hulk boasts of more than enough room to serve as refuge for commuting masses
The Oil Scavenger
Lazarus at the city's table, feeding off the crumbs that fall.
Love or hate them, their dangerous yet deft maneuvering has endeared them to the masses
Historian for hire, lyrical genius and master of the art of informed conjecture
The Cart Pusher
Step after weary step on piping hot asphalt and on the rutted dirt roads you'll find him; man pitted against machine
We know them, we see them, we pass by eyes forward. Resolute we tell ourselves that we do not see the suffering that our hearts have gazed full upon
The Child Bride
Her eyes flutter open in the receding darkness. The sounds of heavy breathing assault her groggy senses, bringing wistful recollection flooding back.
The Load Carrier
His gaunt, work-weathered frame often belies what he is actually capable of. Yesterday he was rangy with long sinewy arms. Today he is squat and sports a thick paunch.
They are without sight, mute, cursed with misconfigured appendages. They don't fit in so they are assigned subhuman status and cast out.
Most of his life, he's lived in a world where graft counts for much more than brains or brawn. The life of the opportunist
The Street Hawker
Out of the massive dysfunction that traffic jams constitute, a whole new economy has emerged, a mobile, foot-powered, free flowing market
The Thirst Quencher
The presence of the 'pure water' seller is not only accepted, but expected and welcomed.
The Traffic Policeman
‘Particulars?!' he demands, even as his roving eyes suggest that he is interested in particulars of an entirely different sort, the kind he can take home.
The Water Peddler
Time was when pipes carried water to wherever it was needed. Then all of a sudden, we turned the taps to first the hissing sound of trapped air…
The Prayer Warriors
The shrill clanking of their bells precede them, punctuating their exultant singing. Unshod dancing feet and flowing white garments sweep the sand
The Sand Dredger
Out of the dark of dawn, they emerge; Silent flotilla on the lagoon, rice sack sails turned to the morning breeze, worked by expert hands.
The Scrap Man
Adverts, a fundamental constituent of life in the metropolis. Adorning our streets in hodgepodge fashion, they jostle for attention. Like sun-starved weeds, each striving to outdo the other
“Police is your friend”...but nobody really believes that, not around these parts at least.