Arti reacts & responds to themes in, & around, her life that are often hidden. Both playful & confrontational, she makes work with various mediums, from the found, leftover & the economical, often with engagement elements. An Activist or Artist? Or Neurospicy cultural elephant, stomping & scurrying between words & worlds. Arti acknowledges ‘the personal is political’ & mentally dances between utilising arts & culture as a tool for social justice, & her well-being, sewing together leftovers for more hopeful days ahead.Woke, Waking or downright sleepless!? Arti dissects herself, systems, processes & sometimes the work themselves in an anxious intensive way. Unravelling herself and the layers whilst mindfully scattering seeds that expose capitalism in its forms & desperate fragility.
I See Red
These works come from a poem, mantra, I See Red (ISR). It was written a month after the Oct 7th attack in Israel and the collective punishment of Palestinians that has become a genocide. ISR is wider than that systematic injustice, it sparked me to some words, interlinking the personal & political. It also enabled me to share hope- few know of the Rolls-Royce engineers in Scotland who stopped certain engine parts going to be used in Chile, as featured in the documentary ‘Nae Pasaran’.
This is a version of the poem, which includes 20 people. During the race riots, I asked a number of people if they would like to speak a line, word, or verse. It inspired new and older connections as well, as family brought their voices, and Ian Rattray kindly edited this together.
Audio:
No. 2 Each time the project had a temporary home, I created something site-specific. With ACME Studios, I was aware there was a distance between those parts of the arts studios, the ‘market’ rent/bought homes, and a level of social housing, separated. Broken-up communities, classes, ethnicity, and potential… While some things still seed and grow despite capitalism’s brutal ways to materially and psychologically alienate & disable us. I decided to do a window poster as I was aware many people don’t enter gallery-type spaces, and I wanted to share my anger, frustration, and solidarity about being shut down and often feeling censored.
This is a version of the poem, which includes 20 people. During the race riots, I asked a number of people if they would like to speak a line, word, or verse. It inspired new and older connections as well, as family brought their voices, and Ian Rattray kindly edited this together.

Image description
Black background with a red smoke cloud coming from the word “capitalism” which is upright and yellow in the bottom right of the image. The smoke cloud extends up and fills a large portion of the right of the image.
In the red smoke the words “I See Red
Mourning
Raging
Rising…
With us at the wheel
Kicking out all shades of blues
We don’t forget
I See Red.”
The smoke is surrounded by 6 blocks of text, 5 of them within red or white outlined boxes.
Top left, in a red outlined box
“I See Red
When you keep lying
And the wounds of us are hidden
Till there’s nothing left
Just ‘Specials’ of the day
Served on a bed of,
Let us be grateful they didn’t come for us, this time.
I’ve been bleeding again
Like a… 99 red tampons and 10 towels just in case
With black trousers mourning real youngs lost. Stolen
And period pants, it is,
Though not all.
I’m bleeding again
As I scratch myself awake, to sleep
You can always say, I did it to myself
But I’m calling time,
On this gaslighting,
Lighting gas.”
Next to that and covering a little of the red smoke is
“I See Red,
Because you didn’t give us a chance
You stacked the cards against us
Like fools, we’ve been played.
I See Red,
Because you planned this in advance
I See Red
As you laid to rest the blame
On the ashes of those who struggled”
On the right of the image, text not in a box
“I see a red mist from the sewers of us you created
Slip into the engines of your polished presentations
and your unthinking tanks
I See Red.
Cutting through collusion
And held like Hawker Hunter engine parts
that didn’t make their way to Chile
Held back,
In our own backyards.
We can.“
Half way down the page on the left is a red outlined box
“I See Red, and struggle to breathe
I See Red, can hardly speak, I seathe
I See Red splattered around the walls,
the wards,
It stopped making sense a long time ago.
My towels won’t hold your bloody hands or scheming hearts
There isn’t even respect for you,
Just big hot air balloons, with our names, nothing else
And even they get shut down, shot down, shh!”
Underneath that is a white outlined box
“I See Red
Fanning the flames of scarcity,
chased with a dose of hypocrisy
I See Red
Whilst you bathe in your eloquent
cries citing complexities
I See Red
When I once again explain the pain
Blank-faced, you pause, as you write
your own blank cheques
And get away with murder.
Not again.”
In the middle of the bottom of the page, next to the word “Capitalism” is a red outlined box containing the text
“I See Red, not Starmer Blues
I See Red, not re-Colyleing or Dhesi blues
I See Red, deep and dark dripping from our
hearts in your hands
I See Red
Burning down the fortress of impossibility
Of lives lost, stolen, broken, breaking in.
The real thieves in sheeps clothings
I See Red
Rivers of us swirling round Enoch
Dancing, laughing, crying, whaling,
screaming, stunned
Raging ghosts
We return from the dead.
“

Image description
A broken red vase lying on its side on a white surface, with tangled silver wires spilling out of it. Dried yellow and dark red roses are intertwined with the wires, creating a chaotic yet artistic arrangement. The background shows a reflective window and a dark grey floor.
No. 4 An older iteration of I See Red was added. A meter tube, rescued from a bin, covered in parts of the poem, leaned against the window with a deep red curtain pouring out. This combination was developed alongside the group version of the poem in response to Newhaven’s 6000 reform votes, Port history, and wider race riots. I also personally experienced prejudice and fears as I walked around the area to get a feeling of the place before the group exhibition there. I guess I was some kind of visual representation of a drain on resources, of desperation, of divide & rule. I am Brown.
The red curtain aimed to represent the waters, the rivers of blood Enoch Powell was known for and commented within the poem, whilst also becoming part of the furniture of the space- faded riches, past glory and comforts.
