Arpita Singh’s Universe of Memory and Meaning at the Serpentine in London

To enter Arpita Singh’s world is to leave gravity behind—not only the physical kind, but also the pull of fixed meaning, tidy narratives, and predetermined interpretation. In “Remembering,” her first institutional solo exhibition outside of India, the 87-year-old artist invites viewers into a space where memory drifts out of sequence, symbols multiply without explanation, and women and men move through streetscapes and inner worlds like mythic dreamscapes. But as Singh insists, this is no dream. “People say my work is dreamlike because it’s not what they’re used to seeing in real life,” she said. “But for me, it’s very real. I’m creating the problem and solving it. This is my immediate activity.”

Tamsin Hong Curates “Remembering” at the Serpentine North

Curated with deep sensitivity by Tamsin Hong, in collaboration with Liz Stumpf, Hans Ulrich Obrist, and Lizzie Carey-Thomas at the Serpentine North, “Remembering” spans over six decades of Singh’s practice—from her early forays into figuration and surrealism to her large-scale political canvases of the 2000s and her more intimate, emotionally charged works on paper. Rather than attempting to pin Singh’s work to a fixed meaning or linear trajectory, Hong embraced the artist’s resistance to definitive interpretation. There is no wall text. No didactic framing. Instead, a chorus of voices—friends, curators, art historians, writers—offer reflections, drawing from proximity rather than authority.

“People say my work is…but for me, it’s very real,”

—Arpita Singh

“Arpita constructs her own laws,” said Obrist. “On the canvas, there is no gravity—objects can be placed anywhere. That’s her reality.” And Singh’s reality is built one symbol at a time: mangoes, turtles, pistols, paper boats, constellations, and the omnipresent women—sometimes goddesses, sometimes mothers, sometimes mythic avatars or solitary figures of resilience. Her canvases are not windows but atlases: dense, flat fields layered with emotional, political, and cultural memory, stitched together with intuition and defiance. In works such as My Lollipop City: Gemini Rising (2005), cartographic references appear—Delhi’s streets and monuments are overlaid with stars, soldiers, and symbols—yet the map, as Singh notes in the corner of the canvas, is “faulty.” It is not meant to guide but to evoke.

Singh, who studied textile design before committing to painting, has long embraced layered, nonlinear storytelling—a practice shaped by Indian folk traditions, Bengali literature, and a life lived through seismic political shifts. The exhibition’s title nods not only to personal memory but to inherited memory, particularly the matrilineal kind. “For Singh, memory is something passed down, not just lived,” said Hong. “And she wants viewers to bring their own meanings, their own memories, into the work.”

This interview is a window into that radical openness. Hong reflects on curating an exhibition in conversation rather than control—on the delicate act of creating space for ambiguity, and on the quiet power of humility in the face of art that refuses to resolve. With clarity, warmth, and rare curatorial grace, Hong guides us into Singh’s world—a world where time folds in on itself, where women bear witness, and where even a paper boat can carry the weight of a history.

WHITEWALL: This exhibition marks Arpita Singh’s first solo institutional show outside of India. What was it like working closely with her in selecting the works—and what surprised you about her approach to memory and storytelling through painting?

TAMSIN HONG: Arpita is 87 and has had an extraordinary six-decade career focused on painting. What stood out immediately was her resistance to offering definitive explanations. That extended to our curatorial process—she had no strong opinions on how her work should be displayed or what narratives should be drawn out.

I’m used to artists who are involved in every detail, so this was a shift. The one thing she was firm on was not having any interpretive text. At Serpentine, where admission is free and audiences are international, that posed a challenge. Many visitors may not be familiar with the Indian context, so we invited voices—curators, writers, artists—mostly from India, to offer their reflections. These weren’t meant to explain, just to open up possibilities.

Because she resisted thematic framing, I opted for a chronological hang to let the evolution of her language speak for itself. The oil paintings are placed along the gallery’s perimeter; works on paper occupy the inner spaces. That contrast helps reveal her recurring motifs and stylistic shifts over time.

Most of our conversations happened on WhatsApp. She’d respond to direct questions with emojis and stickers, which actually said a lot. There’s a joy and playfulness in how she communicates—and it flows through her work too.

Introducing Arpita Singh to a UK Audience

WW: Singh’s compositions have a poetic, nonlinear logic—layered, disjointed, yet emotionally resonant. How did you approach presenting that to a UK audience?

TH: The politics of location are central. I’m Australian, from a colonized country, now working in London—a city deeply tied to imperial history. That context matters.

Museums often rely on interpretive text to explain meaning. But with Arpita’s work, that risks oversimplifying. Her paintings are full of epics, horoscopes, domestic scenes, geopolitical symbols—but they don’t resolve into a single reading. They’re open-ended, and we wanted to honor that by creating space for multiple interpretations led by voices close to her world. Her work invites poetic engagement, not prescriptive understanding.

WW: The show spans over sixty years. How did you shape the exhibition’s flow?

TH: Since Arpita didn’t set thematic constraints, the curation became about aesthetic rhythm. I had a detailed SketchUp plan, but once the works were in the space, I let their relationships guide me.

Some decisions were visual—balancing density, giving room for quiet compositions, letting colors speak across walls. Her large-scale oil paintings lean towards social and political themes, while her watercolors—though smaller—often offer psychological intimacy. Hung together salon-style in the interior galleries, they feel monumental in their own way.

That interplay—between scale, interiority, and exteriority—is key to her work, and we wanted the show to reflect that.

Sixty Years of Work and Emotions

WW: Singh’s exploration of femininity, motherhood, vulnerability, and violence feels incredibly nuanced. Were there works that crystallized the emotional core of the exhibition?

TH: Yes. Devi Pistol Wali stands out—this goddess in a plain saree, holding a mango, flowers and a pistol, shooting a suited man out of the frame. It’s both gentle and radical.

Then there’s a group of works from the early 1990s—some are titled A Feminine Fable—showing women in solitude, sometimes in pink bras, sometimes playing, or lost in thought. The tenderness and palette in those pieces are extraordinary.

One moment during installation really moved me: we placed Whatever Is Here…, a mural-sized painting referencing the Mahabharata, next to an untitled blue canvas of a solitary woman. That juxtaposition—epic conflict alongside quiet reflection—beautifully captured Arpita’s range.

WW: The title “Remembering” suggests both personal memory and collective history. Did working on this show shift your understanding of memory?

TH: Definitely. “Remembering” may sound modest, but it’s vast. Arpita once told me she believes memory can be inherited—not just lived, but passed down. That struck me. Her work often reflects matrilineal continuity—memory moving from mother to daughter.

“Arpita once told me she believes memory can be inherited—not just lived, but passed down,” —Tamsin Hong

At the same time, her paintings engage with broader cultural memory—Partition, mythology, political change. These elements enter as fragments and symbols, overlapping with personal experience. Her visual language shows how tangled personal and collective memory can be.

WW: Could you speak about the scale—how many works are on view, and what guided your selection?

TH: We have 160 works in the show. I curated the exhibition with Liz Stumpf, Assistant Exhibitions Curator, and collaborated closely with Hans Ulrich Obrist and Lizzie Carey-Thomas.

The Serpentine’s North Gallery isn’t vast, so we focused on the most resonant works from across decades—enough to show the breadth without overwhelming. Interestingly, her work has grown in scale as she’s aged. In her seventies, she began creating mural-sized oil paintings, and we wanted visitors to physically feel that shift.

The watercolors have their own space in the inner galleries, which felt right. Their intimacy contrasts with the panoramic scope of the oils. You can still glimpse the larger works from either end, so the relationship holds.

WW: Bringing together works from such a long and rich career must have involved coordination with collectors and institutions—especially those based in India. What was that process like?

TH: We worked with 22 lenders—mostly in India, with a few in London. Many had long-standing personal ties to Arpita. One painting, Party at Ram Sharma’s House, was a 60th birthday gift; others were created for weddings or close friendships. That sense of intimacy isn’t just in the subject matter—it runs through the fabric of the show.

Institutionally, we collaborated with the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, which holds the largest collection of her work, and the Museum of Art & Photography in Bengaluru, which loaned a remarkable zodiac-inspired series. Arpita often blends astrology, folk storytelling, and politics into a single canvas—it’s part of the pluralism she inhabits so instinctively.

What stood out most was the interconnectedness of this community. Many of the lenders know one another—and know Arpita. They understand her way of answering questions with questions, of resisting fixed meaning. These aren’t just collectors—they’ve lived alongside her work.

Curating “Remembering” wasn’t simply logistical—it was an immersion into a living network of relationships, memory, and meaning. That spirit of connection—across time, place, and generations—is exactly what makes Arpita’s world so resonant. To honor that, we built the show the same way she builds her paintings: with trust, complexity, and care.