ZA :

Coming to your most recent book release ‘And Then,’ these seemingly quiet images of Cape Town are laid out on a stark red that elevates them further. I was wondering what the significance of the red was, and the intentional dichotomy it brings to the meditative quality of the book.

BS :

When I first began photographing Cape Town, I was immediately drawn to its beauty and the specific light that exists there. But over time, I contemplated on the consequences of the apartheid that happened there between 1948 to 1994. While I was photographing, I could sense a slight tension between these abandoned places and the beautiful seascapes and how they are conflicting with one another. So, when I started making the book, I felt like the red would be significant of the turbulence and bloodshed that took place in the land, and it was my way to bring it into the narrative.

ZA :

I’m also particularly drawn to the quality of magical realism that dances within your photographs. Specifically in the work The Road to Salvador do Mundo, I’m lost in this world where you stumble upon the most unlikely scenes that seamlessly exist within your frames. Since you’ve also been working on this for a few years, have you seen a shift in the intent of the project?

BS :

18 years ago, I got a piece of land in Salvador do Mundo, Goa, and I began making photographs there. I made 60-70 static and formal portraits made with the large format camera, and I eventually rejected all of them. But after the birth of my daughter, I realised that I wanted to create a book which was a fable for her. And so, as I wandered through the village, I began inventing stories that are partially true, and partially fictionalised. It also spoke of the urbanization of this small village, which I’m also a part of, and slowly the layers kept adding on. From when I began photographing until now, there has also been such a radical change in photography, and I started experimenting with drawings, and sculptures that I wanted to incorporate into the work. I also recently photographed the Narkasur Dahan festival in Goa that happens close to Dusshera, where they build these large structures which they later burn. I might include this in the project too, so the stories keep evolving, and I’m far from done.

ZA :

Speaking of your daughter, your collaboration with her in Souvenir Shop, and the one with your father in Sapper is so touching to see. In both works it seems like there is a building of stories, memories, and relationships that are brought together by shapes, objects, and experiences that now exist in tactile form. What was it like building these books with two different generations of close family?

BS :

Like with most artists, a lot of my work is dictated by my own personal experiences. So, these books were a way to spend time with my father and daughter. I was 48 when I started photographing my 79-year-old father who was once an engineer in the Indian Army. We revisited everything that he taught me, from origami, to how to balance things, and construct objects. It was very collaborative, and I was essentially photographing this time spent as father and son, and the friendship built. Since he liked building things, you’ll see the structural quality in the work, which is funny because in life he wasn’t a very structured person, but his habits were. As for Souvenir Shop, my daughter is obsessive about Japan and grew up watching Studio Ghibli films such as Princess Mononoke (1997) and Castle in the Sky (1986). So, the first trip we took there together, she was writing Haikus, and I was taking photographs, along with collecting souvenirs from parks, museums, and the tourist spots. When I came back, I made a book that contained all of this as a souvenir for us and showed the dummy to a publisher Super Labo, who wanted to actually print it! That’s when I panicked and decided that we needed to make a second trip with the intention of making this a published book that went beyond a tourist album of an Indian family visiting Japan.

ZA :

Lastly, I’m fascinated with the way you photograph commercial fashion assignments. Your imagery either looks like a prelude to something dramatic that might happen, or the remnants of something dramatic that has passed. You don’t seem to be too drawn by the “fashion shoot” per se as much as you are fascinated by the way the textiles engage with the body, or the narrative that is created with the shot. Could you elaborate on this style of approaching this genre?

BS :

I’ve always had a strange relationship with fashion. I got into it because it paid for my schooling, but after that I’ve always sort of evaded it. I don’t see myself as a fashion person, in fact I don’t know anything about it. But now I approach these campaigns as a way to tell stories. The fashion becomes the costume for the cinema that is about to unravel. It also teaches me so much that I can take into my personal work because I’m visiting so many places, putting myself into various situations, and working with teams - which are all things I don’t encounter in my personal work. So, at the end of the day, it lends me a story, or a feeling, and as long as I’m not doing too much of it, I’m happy!