KEBABY (2022)
Digitally edited image printed on silk. KEBABY comments on the artists experience growing up as a fat, Queer, South Asian British woman in the UK, and her relationship with working class identity. Born and raised in Nottingham, the depiction of working class communities is dominated by gammon faced white men, shouting at immigrants to ‘go home’. This was only heightened by Brexit, and has forced working class people of colour to feel isolated from this intersection of identity. This image aims to disrupt white working class culture and create a juxtaposition of a brown woman in a pub.
Jiski Biwi Moti (2022)
Exploring both body and the self, this work unpicks the artist’s identity and position in the world. The marginalised parts of Thantrey – whether it’s being fat, having brown skin, or being queer or disabled – often feel an inconvenience to society. Through an intimate and interactive exposition of what she has been taught are problems, barriers to overcome, Thantrey invites the audience not just to become familiar with the truth, that these barriers are external, and not innate, but also to examine their personal relationship with the enforcement of these marginalising structures.
Comfort Eating (Jalebi) (2022)
A series of soft sculptures depicting comfort foods from the artists childhood, growing up in a traditional Punjabi household. As a fat woman and child, indulgent foods such as jalebis and samosas were demonised for me, which contributed to the complexities whilst navigating South Asian diaspora. Anti-fatness and diet culture run forcefully through our homes and families, much as they do in a western lens, and through my work, I am aiming to challenge this. Repurposing unused and old saris, salwar kameez, and dupattas to form the sculptures, there is a nod to generations of South Asian women who were seamstresses both in their native countries and post colonisation. I have made these with my grandmother's old sewing machine, and the smell of oil and mothballs makes me feel connected to her in this process. Here, I am reconnecting with my heritage and food in a gentle and vulnerable way- Comfort Eating is about feeling safe with all food and in our own bodies.
Submission for 12o Collective, 30 works 30 days 2022
Submission for 12o Collective, 30 works 30 days
Submission for 12o Collective, 30 works 30 days 2022
Submission for 12o Collective, 30 works 30 days 2022
Submission for 12o Collective, 30 works 30 days 2022
iPhone Notes (2021)
Submission for 12o Collective, 30 works 30 days 2022
self 1 (2021)
self 2 (2021)
self 3 (2021)
Birth of (2020)
Digitally edited image printed on silk. This work is a comment on the portrayal of women throughout history with 'ideal woman' that has changed dramatically and has been depicted through artwork and media. These trends in body size and skin colour are things that are largely out of our control as women, and leads to women being disposable in society. A depiction of perfect femininity is Sandro Botticelli's Birth of Venus. This painting holds a pale, blonde, slender woman posing naked on the sea shore. Women with fat bodies are rarely celebrated in a society that strives for perfection. Diet culture is so ingrained in us from young ages- we want large breasts and round bottoms to appeal to the male gaze. Here, Thantrey places herself, a fat, South Asian woman, in the painting to celebrate her body and to encourage love and positivity towards diverse bodies, as well as challenging the narrative that is forced upon us as women. Leaving the name open, Birth Of is is open for all women to place themselves into and celebrate their bodies without filters and censorship.
Birth of (2020)
Digitally edited image printed on silk. This work is a comment on the portrayal of women throughout history with 'ideal woman' that has changed dramatically and has been depicted through artwork and media. These trends in body size and skin colour are things that are largely out of our control as women, and leads to women being disposable in society. A depiction of perfect femininity is Sandro Botticelli's Birth of Venus. This painting holds a pale, blonde, slender woman posing naked on the sea shore. Women with fat bodies are rarely celebrated in a society that strives for perfection. Diet culture is so ingrained in us from young ages- we want large breasts and round bottoms to appeal to the male gaze. Here, Thantrey places herself, a fat, South Asian woman, in the painting to celebrate her body and to encourage love and positivity towards diverse bodies, as well as challenging the narrative that is forced upon us as women. Leaving the name open, Birth Of is is open for all women to place themselves into and celebrate their bodies without filters and censorship.
MFMFMA (2020)
Collaboration with Eleanor West. This shoot aims to explore the sexuality of marginalised bodies.
West is a fat, disabled, working class queer artist who's pronouns are she /they. Their work navigates her identity as a queer femme in the world.
Thantrey is a fat, queer working class, woman of colour that was raised with an Islamic faith, whose pronouns are she/they.
In this work she aims to celebrate the intersections that define her, embracing her sexuality and freedom, which has been repressed by cultural and societal boundaries. It is a celebration.
More Fats, More Femmes, More Asians (2020)
Collaboration with Eleanor West. This shoot aims to explore the sexuality of marginalised bodies.
West is a fat, disabled, working class queer artist who's pronouns are she / they. Their work navigates her identity as a queer femme in the world.
Thantrey is a fat, queer working class, woman of colour that was raised with an Islamic faith, whose pronouns are she/they.
In this work she aims to celebrate the intersections that define her, embracing her sexuality and freedom, which has been repressed by cultural and societal boundaries. It is a celebration.
MFMFMA (2020)
Collaboration with Eleanor West. This shoot aims to explore the sexuality of marginalised bodies.
West is a fat, disabled, working class queer artist who's pronouns are she/they. Their work navigates her identity as a queer femme in the world.
Thantrey is a fat, queer working class, woman of colour that was raised with an Islamic faith, whose pronouns are she/they.
In this work she aims to celebrate the intersections that define her, embracing her sexuality and freedom, which has been repressed by cultural and societal boundaries. It is a celebration.
How Dare You Make Me Feel Icky In My Body (2019)
This work came from discovering the male gaze directed at my body. It was a feeling I had managed to disengage from as prior to body acceptance I felt anyone looking at my body was disgusted by it. The feeling of being undressed with a male’s eyes is one that most women will have experienced. Unwanted comments on your body, how the clothing lays on your body etc. I just want to exist without the slimy gaze of men.
Bikini Body Ready (2019)
The Good Immigrant/Motherland
Motherland used to be an idea that scared me. It was something I fought against throughout my childhood. As a South Asian in a Muslim home growing up amongst media and social islamophobia, I ran as far as I could from all aspects that made me identifiable as a Paki. I believed this was a choice, I chose to wear dresses and jeans over traditional clothes as they ‘weren’t my style’. It's only when I realised that this internalised racism and islamophobia had taken control of everything in my life, that I yearned to go back to my Motherland.
I tried so hard to be white. Eurocentric beauty standards had me trying to scrub the melanin from my skin, had me celebrating a severe iron deficiency, and had me starving myself to remove the hips and breasts that I inherited from my grandmother. The harm I caused my body to try and belong to someone else’s motherland fills me with remorse. I cry for the children that have come after me, who long to look like the pale and gaunt models that cover magazines. The children that reject the beauty that their Motherland has gifted to them. The mothers who worry and watch their daughters strive to become women who are as far from them as possible. I have endless regret and sorrow for these women.
All the while, I fooled nobody. My skin was still brown, and my hair thick. No amount of epilating, shaving, or pulling at these strands could stop them resurfacing with vengeance. It took me twenty years to accept I am brown, and a continuing effort to celebrate it.
Now I let these hairs grow without a thought. My body fills with contentment each time I lay embellished silks across my skin. I run to each chance to be in my mother’s home and smile when the pungent aroma of spices chases me down the street. I long to become a fraction of the women that raised me. My children will understand the feelings I felt when I was their age, and they will know why society has taught them that they should be ashamed of their heritage. They will learn of the history and systems that have been normalised to hold them back, and when they glow, it will be the glow of the Motherland behind them, pushing them to make space in this world for all the children who are scared to embrace their culture. They will know that the Motherland will always be there, and that it is never truly lost.
The Good Immigrant/Motherland
Motherland used to be an idea that scared me. It was something I fought against throughout my childhood. As a South Asian in a Muslim home growing up amongst media and social islamophobia, I ran as far as I could from all aspects that made me identifiable as a Paki. I believed this was a choice, I chose to wear dresses and jeans over traditional clothes as they ‘weren’t my style’. It's only when I realised that this internalised racism and islamophobia had taken control of everything in my life, that I yearned to go back to my Motherland.
I tried so hard to be white. Eurocentric beauty standards had me trying to scrub the melanin from my skin, had me celebrating a severe iron deficiency, and had me starving myself to remove the hips and breasts that I inherited from my grandmother. The harm I caused my body to try and belong to someone else’s motherland fills me with remorse. I cry for the children that have come after me, who long to look like the pale and gaunt models that cover magazines. The children that reject the beauty that their Motherland has gifted to them. The mothers who worry and watch their daughters strive to become women who are as far from them as possible. I have endless regret and sorrow for these women.
All the while, I fooled nobody. My skin was still brown, and my hair thick. No amount of epilating, shaving, or pulling at these strands could stop them resurfacing with vengeance. It took me twenty years to accept I am brown, and a continuing effort to celebrate it.
Now I let these hairs grow without a thought. My body fills with contentment each time I lay embellished silks across my skin. I run to each chance to be in my mother’s home and smile when the pungent aroma of spices chases me down the street. I long to become a fraction of the women that raised me. My children will understand the feelings I felt when I was their age, and they will know why society has taught them that they should be ashamed of their heritage. They will learn of the history and systems that have been normalised to hold them back, and when they glow, it will be the glow of the Motherland behind them, pushing them to make space in this world for all the children who are scared to embrace their culture. They will know that the Motherland will always be there, and that it is never truly lost.
The Good Immigrant/Motherland
Motherland used to be an idea that scared me. It was something I fought against throughout my childhood. As a South Asian in a Muslim home growing up amongst media and social islamophobia, I ran as far as I could from all aspects that made me identifiable as a Paki. I believed this was a choice, I chose to wear dresses and jeans over traditional clothes as they ‘weren’t my style’. It's only when I realised that this internalised racism and islamophobia had taken control of everything in my life, that I yearned to go back to my Motherland.
I tried so hard to be white. Eurocentric beauty standards had me trying to scrub the melanin from my skin, had me celebrating a severe iron deficiency, and had me starving myself to remove the hips and breasts that I inherited from my grandmother. The harm I caused my body to try and belong to someone else’s motherland fills me with remorse. I cry for the children that have come after me, who long to look like the pale and gaunt models that cover magazines. The children that reject the beauty that their Motherland has gifted to them. The mothers who worry and watch their daughters strive to become women who are as far from them as possible. I have endless regret and sorrow for these women.
All the while, I fooled nobody. My skin was still brown, and my hair thick. No amount of epilating, shaving, or pulling at these strands could stop them resurfacing with vengeance. It took me twenty years to accept I am brown, and a continuing effort to celebrate it.
Now I let these hairs grow without a thought. My body fills with contentment each time I lay embellished silks across my skin. I run to each chance to be in my mother’s home and smile when the pungent aroma of spices chases me down the street. I long to become a fraction of the women that raised me. My children will understand the feelings I felt when I was their age, and they will know why society has taught them that they should be ashamed of their heritage. They will learn of the history and systems that have been normalised to hold them back, and when they glow, it will be the glow of the Motherland behind them, pushing them to make space in this world for all the children who are scared to embrace their culture. They will know that the Motherland will always be there, and that it is never truly lost.
The Good Period. (2019)
The Good Period is a performance/installation that took place at the CGP Gallery in Southwark Park January 2019. It explores the frustration of menstruation and how it is treated by mainstream media and society. As a taboo subject I feel that even though it gaining more attention (through tampon tax etc) it is often trivialised by menstrual hygiene brands and this is reflected in societies attitudes towards people who menstruate. I wanted to create an explicit piece of work that brings the domestic into the public environment, with acts that most people who menstruate can relate to, especially those who experience reproductive diseases or disorders, where research, healthcare and understanding is limited. Even within the arts, when menstruation is used it is often very controlled and censored, leaving an unrealistic portrayal of a period. As a sufferer of Endometriosis, I haven't found these works to be reflective of my experience, and the disruption reproductive disorders can cause to a person's life.
For this work, I wore white underwear throughout my period whilst using a max flow tampon to document the extent of my bleeding. This was then put on display in a gallery garden, and I performed washing my underwear for the public. The ritual-like cleaning was repetitive and was reflecting how many women and people who menstruate have to change their weeks routine in correspondence with their bleeding.
Breakfast at Billal's (2020)
Exploring female figures in pop culture, and how the fixation of white women has fuelled eurocentric beauty standards today. As a child, I never saw any characters that looked like me, and if I did they were portrayed as stereotypes of South Asian people, and undesirable. From wanting to be Hannah Montana, to Cinderella, there was a lack of limelight that brown and black characters and actors got. I explored placing myself in these narratives, and using humour to address the life long effects that this has actually had on people and children of colour.
The Good Period. (2019)
The Good Period is a performance/installation that took place at the CGP Gallery in Southwark Park January 2019. It explores the frustration of menstruation and how it is treated by mainstream media and society. As a taboo subject I feel that even though it gaining more attention (through tampon tax etc) it is often trivialised by menstrual hygiene brands and this is reflected in societies attitudes towards people who menstruate. I wanted to create an explicit piece of work that brings the domestic into the public environment, with acts that most people who menstruate can relate to, especially those who experience reproductive diseases or disorders, where research, healthcare and understanding is limited. Even within the arts, when menstruation is used it is often very controlled and censored, leaving an unrealistic portrayal of a period. As a sufferer of Endometriosis, I haven't found these works to be reflective of my experience, and the disruption reproductive disorders can cause to a person's life.
For this work, I wore white underwear throughout my period whilst using a max flow tampon to document the extent of my bleeding. This was then put on display in a gallery garden, and I performed washing my underwear for the public. The ritual-like cleaning was repetitive and was reflecting how many women and people who menstruate have to change their weeks routine in correspondence with their bleeding.
Break the Internet (2020)
A print of the artist dressed as Kim Kardashian West, recreating the magazine cover that 'broke the internet'. By hanging this work from a window, it aims to disrupt the natural flow of society, and thus, demand space in a world that oppresses fat women of colour.
EDIT:
Been having chats about the Kim Kardashian shoot and it’s obvious parallels to Saartjie Baartman’s depiction in historical documents. Obviously as a woman with a large bottom and thighs which are overtly sexualised and fetishised by men, particularly white men, this piece was a comment on that, and aimed to reclaim my fat body from this commentary. My research into Saartjie lead me to focus on the treatment and fetishising of women of colour, specifically fat women of colour, and I neglected the direct connection to slavery that this treatment stemmed from. As a POC with known South Asian heritage through Kenya, I have no known connection to slavery and my ancestors did not experience the brutal and inhuman treatment that Black communities and women like Saartje did. I will be retiring this piece now, and if any fat Black womxn artists would like to adopt it, I would be so happy to help facilitate this!
The Good Period. (2019)
The Good Period is a performance/installation that took place at the CGP Gallery in Southwark Park January 2019. It explores the frustration of menstruation and how it is treated by mainstream media and society. As a taboo subject I feel that even though it gaining more attention (through tampon tax etc) it is often trivialised by menstrual hygiene brands and this is reflected in societies attitudes towards people who menstruate. I wanted to create an explicit piece of work that brings the domestic into the public environment, with acts that most people who menstruate can relate to, especially those who experience reproductive diseases or disorders, where research, healthcare and understanding is limited. Even within the arts, when menstruation is used it is often very controlled and censored, leaving an unrealistic portrayal of a period. As a sufferer of Endometriosis, I haven't found these works to be reflective of my experience, and the disruption reproductive disorders can cause to a person's life.
For this work, I wore white underwear throughout my period whilst using a max flow tampon to document the extent of my bleeding. This was then put on display in a gallery garden, and I performed washing my underwear for the public. The ritual-like cleaning was repetitive and was reflecting how many women and people who menstruate have to change their weeks routine in correspondence with their bleeding.
Black Lives Matter
Black Lives Matter
Break the Internet (2020)
A print of the artist dressed as Kim Kardashian West, recreating the magazine cover that 'broke the internet'. By hanging this work from a window, it aims to disrupt the natural flow of society, and thus, demand space in a world that oppresses fat women of colour.
EDIT:
Been having chats about the Kim Kardashian shoot and it’s obvious parallels to Saartjie Baartman’s depiction in historical documents. Obviously as a woman with a large bottom and thighs which are overtly sexualised and fetishised by men, particularly white men, this piece was a comment on that, and aimed to reclaim my fat body from this commentary. My research into Saartjie lead me to focus on the treatment and fetishising of women of colour, specifically fat women of colour, and I neglected the direct connection to slavery that this treatment stemmed from. As a POC with known South Asian heritage through Kenya, I have no known connection to slavery and my ancestors did not experience the brutal and inhuman treatment that Black communities and women like Saartje did. I will be retiring this piece now, and if any fat Black womxn artists would like to adopt it, I would be so happy to help facilitate this!
Black Lives Matter
Munisha Monroe (2020)
Exploring female figures in pop culture, and how the fixation of white women has fuelled eurocentric beauty standards today. As a child, I never saw any characters that looked like me, and if I did they were portrayed as stereotypes of South Asian people, and undesirable. From wanting to be Hannah Montana, to Cinderella, there was a lack of limelight that brown and black characters and actors got. I explored placing myself in these narratives, and using humour to address the life long effects that this has actually had on people and children of colour.
The Artist is Not Responsible (2018)
How Dare You Make Me Feel Icky In My Body (2019)
Slam (2018)
3 Hours and 5 Razors Later
This series of tiles was made as a response to ignorant and racist assumptions I have encountered during my life. A lot of it relates to my body and being a hairy South Asian woman. They were made at a time when I was beginning to reconnect with my cultural identity after neglecting it and pushing it away during my childhood. A lot of this rejection stems from the social and political climate growing up post 9/11, and the Islamophobia and racist undertones surrounding me. Some are things that I have heard others say, and some are thoughts and responses from myself. The tiles were chosen, because a large focus at the time was body hair, notably how thick it grows on brown women and the acts of removing it becoming ritualistic. I wanted to replicate the domestic space, specifically the bathroom and incorporate aspects of this into the work.
The Good Period. (2019)
The Good Period is a performance/installation that took place at the CGP Gallery in Southwark Park January 2019. It explores the frustration of menstruation and how it is treated by mainstream media and society. As a taboo subject I feel that even though it gaining more attention (through tampon tax etc) it is often trivialised by menstrual hygiene brands and this is reflected in societies attitudes towards people who menstruate. I wanted to create an explicit piece of work that brings the domestic into the public environment, with acts that most people who menstruate can relate to, especially those who experience reproductive diseases or disorders, where research, healthcare and understanding is limited. Even within the arts, when menstruation is used it is often very controlled and censored, leaving an unrealistic portrayal of a period. As a sufferer of Endometriosis, I haven't found these works to be reflective of my experience, and the disruption reproductive disorders can cause to a person's life.
For this work, I wore white underwear throughout my period whilst using a max flow tampon to document the extent of my bleeding. This was then put on display in a gallery garden, and I performed washing my underwear for the public. The ritual-like cleaning was repetitive and was reflecting how many women and people who menstruate have to change their weeks routine in correspondence with their bleeding.