Daksha Caroline Jariwala has long been immersed in the arts, creating vividly coloured works that merge Italian Renaissance influences with Hindu iconography. Her crafts mosaics by using the ‘picassiette’ method of repurposing broken crockery, celebrates joy and beauty through reuse. Since qualifying as a teacher in 1990, she has led projects across schools, galleries, and community spaces, working in various media including illustration, batik, murals, and mosaics. Her recent commission, ‘A Game of Chance’, was part of a National Lottery Heritage Fund project for West Smethwick Park.
In an interview with Asian Voice, Daksha discussed her mosaic approach, cultural inspirations, and creative journey.
Your works transform waste into beauty. Do you see this as a metaphor for something larger—socially, culturally, or personally?
For me, it's about creativity with a conscience—transforming waste into art that holds both emotional and environmental significance. For example, a chipped cup or bowl from childhood may be broken, but it holds powerful memories and emotional ties to your parents. There’s also a social and cultural layer. I often use crockery or patterned tiles that carry meaning, like the tiles of Hindu gods I brought from my family home in Surat, which I’ve incorporated into my mosaics.
Your approach to mosaics is deeply rooted in ethical making. How important is sustainability to your artistic identity?
I believe using waste materials in art is essential. We throw away so much, yet there’s real joy in giving old, unwanted crockery a new life. These items are often chipped or cracked, discarded in second-hand shops or flea markets. But for me, their imperfections carry emotional weight and nostalgia images, patterns, and memories that resonate deeply with people.
Working with such materials also brings creative limitations that can be freeing. Mosaic allows for abstraction and symbolism, turning fragments into meaningful, symbolic forms. Unlike painting, which I loved but eventually moved on from, mosaic continues to engage me. It's like assembling a jigsaw puzzle. There's something calming, almost primal, about placing one piece next to another, like collecting shells on a beach.
Mosaic also reflects our inner world. We all experience brokenness, low self-esteem, mental health struggles and through mosaic, we can transform what’s been rejected into something beautiful. It's not about what's good or bad; it's about the value and meaning in the process itself.
As a British South Asian artist, how do you navigate or blend both cultural influences in your work?
One of my mosaics, ‘Desi Dancers’, created two years ago and installed last April, carries multiple layers of meaning. At first glance, it’s just a row of people dancing—but once you understand the cultural context, it becomes a powerful statement. A Pakistani Muslim woman dancing alongside a Hindu Gujarati woman, for example, speaks to unity across religious and regional divides. Through my social media, I explain how each dancer’s attire reflects specific cultural identities: someone from Andhra Pradesh, someone from Odisha helping to educate and celebrate diversity.
My earlier paintings also explored spiritual themes, drawing parallels between Hindu and Christian symbolism like the chakra colours and the rainbow, which in Christian art represents God’s promise. They’re different expressions of the same idea, really.
What I love about mosaics is their flexibility. I can work figuratively or abstractly, exploring themes from nature and sustainability to cultural identity. I recently applied for a project in Liverpool that links crockery to the history of the slave trade sugar bowls and blue-and-white ware unearthed in the area tell powerful stories of colonial trade and exploitation. The history carried by ceramics from Roman to modern times is incredibly rich and layered, and I love being able to tap into that through my art.
What advice would you give to emerging artists, especially those from South Asian backgrounds?
First and foremost, getting past the hurdle of parental acceptance is key, especially in South Asian communities where career paths like medicine, law, or finance are the norm. I remember visiting family friends in Bombay who’d ask, “What degree are you studying?” and when I said “Fine Art,” they’d hear “Finance”, because it simply didn’t register as a viable career.
But here I am, nearly 60, living in my own home, mortgage paid, and I’ve worked as a professional artist for 35 years. I’ve been self-employed since I was 25, and I’m lucky to have had unwavering support from my parents that made all the difference.
The second important thing is to be true to yourself. If being an artist is what energises you, pursue it wholeheartedly. We only get one life. Even if you take a more traditional career path, never abandon your creativity and nurture it in your own time, because that’s what keeps you going. Get others on your side, yes but most importantly, be on your own side.