In Jawai, Bikash turns to the form of trees standing in water, not as a single image but as one seen differently depending on where you stand. Up close, water reveals its own detail: the fine lines that move through it, the dry trees held within it, textures that only surface on closer looking. From a distance, the same water reads as a single body, holding the trees within it as one continuous form.

The trees themselves are not many varieties — Bikash is less interested in variety than in the likeness that runs through them, small differences held inside a larger similarity, the way memory returns to the same shapes even as the details shift. The palette moves between dawn and dusk, a colour language he continues to develop across this body of work which is an ongoing attempt to hold the same hour from more than one angle, each version revealing something the last one didn't.