A few weeks ago, I visited Snakes and Ladders, the endearing exhibition by Sheida Soleimani at the Contemporary Arts Center in Cincinnati. What struck me most was the meticulous care with which she constructed the settings that would provide a specific frame for the subjects of her photographs. I had the impression that she did not want to leave anything to chance, and that the theatricality of her installation gave the work a warm, timeless atmosphere.

In the November 9 edition of The Observer, I found a brief review of an exhibition to be presented at Art Mumbai, from November 13 to 16.

This show—and particularly this photograph—has a beautiful background story. When B. S. Shivaraju was a child in rural Karnataka, India, he and his mother played at being police officers. It was only one of the many games devised by his grandfather, who had been a theater actor in his youth. Those golden afternoons existed only in memory.
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His bond with his mother, Gowramma, has remained strong, and for years he carried the quiet sorrow of being unable to relive those moments with her, laughing together at old photographs. They could not afford the fee of a local photo studio, much less a camera. He knew many families had albums to preserve their images. He, instead, stored his in the warmth of his heart and leafed through them in dreams again and again, trying not to lose a single one.

He wished to be an artist, but life made him a police officer in Bengaluru, where he served for 18 years. Still, the encouraging words of his grandfather took root, and he started taking photographs in his free time. The transformative power of art—its mimicry, the possibility of embodying multiple existences—led him to persist in visual creation as a playful experience. His ability to construct scenes made him stand out among many artists whose work was far more dramatic.

There was, of course, a long-standing project accompanying him. In 2017 Shivaraju—now known as Cop Shiva—began writing down everything he remembered from his childhood with his mother, laying the groundwork for the series No Longer A Memory. He returned to his native village of Bannikuppe and built a rustic studio with hand-made, multicolored, gleaming backdrops. Like the steam rising from tea when it’s ready, those memories emerged in cheerful, maximalist splendor. Gowramma shines in them with the same enthusiasm she had then.

Cop Shiva now has his family album. And everyone wants to see it. He will be exhibiting it across India in the coming months. He was able to give his mother the place she deserves. For him—and for almost everyone else too, because love is something to be shared—she is everything: his teacher, his support, his father figure, and his best friend.

A village woman, without any schooling, who loves as if she had invented love itself.

The third edition of Art Mumbai is being held from November 13 to 16, 2025, at the historic Mahalaxmi Racecourse. It has quickly become one of the most dynamic and meaningful fairs in South Asia. With 82 participating galleries—64 from India and 18 international—and nearly two thousand modern and contemporary artworks, it combines curatorial rigor with strong market projection. Its program includes specialized talks, guided tours, workshops, and a Sculpture Walk dedicated entirely to women artists.

It clearly reaffirms its inclusive vision and its commitment to broadening cultural dialogue. This year’s edition also stands out for the large retrospective of Tyeb Mehta on the occasion of his centenary, a gesture that links Indian modernism with today’s artistic searches. Art Mumbai positions itself as a bridge between local scenes and the global sphere—a space where the memories, debates, and energies of South Asian art find visibility and international resonance.