By Kabir Palrecha
Shweta Sharma has a secret. She wanted to be a textile designer much before we ever reached out to her. Well, in a serendipitous moment, the universe heard her. And voila! The Monk’s Tangerine set was born. The curious thing? It all started with a Netflix password.
For Shweta, art feeds on art in a constant process of evolution. And her style is the manifestation of that process. It is the merger of her Rajasthani roots, where the intricacy of everything from miniature paintings to murals and mirror work have mesmerised her since her childhood, and the surrealist eye she’s unlocked in the way she views the world.
And that’s what the design came to be. The Monk’s Tangerine bedsheets are littered with these gems of metaphorical memoirs, roped together on the duvet, so they don’t disappear into the void. It’s the preservation of the small dreams that don’t matter to anyone except you.The story of The Monk’s Tangerine starts on a day like any other — the hustle-bustle of everyday house chores, her laptop open on her lap, and her mind trying to create a character for the brief she had just received. And in the next 5 minutes, a series of happy accidents coincidences brought her face to face with the vision for the set. Coincidence number one was the song she was listening to— Tangerine by Herb Alpert. Coincidence number two, was her brother on the phone asking for her Netflix password. But since he was in the middle of his exams, the responsible elder sister in Shweta took over to tell him what he should be doing instead. When has that ever worked on a younger sibling? “Should I renounce the world and become a monk,” he quipped.. And Shweta told him, “Even if you become a monk, I’m sure you’ll still call me for my Netflix password.” As those ideas collided, Shweta mulled on the idea of how even monks must think about those tiny material things, in whatever shape or form they be, before they go to sleep. The trinkets of old memories and stories they hold dear.
And that’s what the design came to be. The Monk’s Tangerine bedsheets are littered with these gems of metaphorical memoirs, roped together on the duvet, so they don’t disappear into the void. It’s the preservation of the small dreams that don’t matter to anyone except you.
