The movement of tenant farmers from Swargadwari Guthi in Dang, held at Maitighar, Kathmandu which began on February 2, 2025, was concluded on March 24 after an agreement was reached with the Ministry of Land Management, Cooperatives and Poverty Alleviation.  During the sit-in, various creative methods were adopted. Participants demonstrated traditional Tharu attire, carrying agricultural tools. They also beat plates, wore black armbands, lay down on the streets, chained themselves with iron shackles, and staged sit-ins at political party offices while submitting demand letters. Throughout the protest, they regularly expressed their pain and demands.

We have come to the final battle with the slogan ‘Either freedom or the land title in hand’. That land of Swargadwari Guthi is not theirs, it is my land, it is my father’s land, it is my grandfather’s land.” 

The voyage had begun, and had begun happily with a soft blue sky, and a calm sea.

They followed her on to the deck. All the smoke and the houses had disappeared, and the ship was out in a wide space of sea very fresh and clear though pale in the early light. They had left London sitting on its mud. A very thin line of shadow tapered on the horizon, scarcely thick enough to stand the burden of Paris, which nevertheless rested upon it. They were free of roads, free of mankind, and the same exhilaration at their freedom ran through them all.

The ship was making her way steadily through small waves which slapped her and then fizzled like effervescing water, leaving a little border of bubbles and foam on either side. The colourless October sky above was thinly clouded as if by the trail of wood-fire smoke, and the air was wonderfully salt and brisk. Indeed it was too cold to stand still. Mrs. Ambrose drew her arm within her husband’s, and as they moved off it could be seen from the way in which her sloping cheek turned up to his that she had something private to communicate.

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Oceanic Inspiration


Winding veils round their heads, the women walked on deck. They were now moving steadily down the river, passing the dark shapes of ships at anchor, and London was a swarm of lights with a pale yellow canopy drooping above it. There were the lights of the great theatres, the lights of the long streets, lights that indicated huge squares of domestic comfort, lights that hung high in air.

No darkness would ever settle upon those lamps, as no darkness had settled upon them for hundreds of years. It seemed dreadful that the town should blaze for ever in the same spot; dreadful at least to people going away to adventure upon the sea, and beholding it as a circumscribed mound, eternally burnt, eternally scarred. From the deck of the ship the great city appeared a crouched and cowardly figure, a sedentary miser.

The trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit.

– Molière

Even the bitterest fruit has sugar in it.

– Terry a O’Neal

Airplane

Copper wire, wood base. I created this piece in late 2008. For this work, I aimed to convey both the industrial heaviness of an airplane, but also the cloudlike floating quality you feel when you’re in one.

Embark

ON A HIKING

adventure and explore the beauty of nature’s best…

In the

WOODS.