As the pressure from her family mounted, so, too, did her systems of support. Arya connected with fellow artist Deepak Kumar—now her partner—and moved with him to Kaladham, where she could pay subsidised rent and focus on securing her master’s degree. When the pandemic upended any hope of a final-year showcase at the College of Art, Delhi, she took it upon herself to apply for every open call she could find, eventually securing a solo show alongside a ₹30,000 grant by the Raza Foundation. More shows and residencies followed, including a spot in Somaiya Vidyavihar University’s Immerse fellowship in Mumbai and the Khoj Peers and Serendipity Arts residencies, both in Delhi.
She may have wriggled free of the ties that once bound her to tradition, but the artist from Haryana has never forgotten her roots or taken for granted that her story is not as common as it should be. Through her practice, Arya remains committed to championing the women artisans who’ve inspired her and bringing their stories to fast fashion–consuming urbanites who need to hear them: the neighbouring city of Panipat has become infamous as the cast-off capital of the world, with over 20,000 recycling units processing over a million tonnes of textile waste annually and releasing uncountable air and water toxins in the process. The artist often calls in favours from friends of friends to document the stories of the women working in these factories, many of whom are forced to not only breathe toxic levels of fabric particles every day and constantly cut themselves on the rudimentary tools given to them, but also bring their children to work and expose them to the pollution due to a lack of childcare facilities in the area. “They tell me, ‘Yeh kaam bali maangta hai’ (This work demands blood),” said Arya, showing me her studio walls in Kaladham that are now lined with photographs she has taken during her site visits.
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