Ever wondered how the forms of Devis, Yakshinis, and Dakinis arise in the minds of those immersed in deep penance? These mystical beings—fluid in shape and spirit—manifest differently for each seeker, shaped by karmic ties, inner longing, and spiritual perception. They are not fixed archetypes, but shifting presences, revealing themselves in intimate, deeply personal ways.
Now, these sacred visions have found their way onto the canvas—summoned not through ritual, but through brushstrokes and color. From 29th June to 26th July, Takpa Gallery in Lazimpat opens its space to these divine apparitions, brought to life in a uniquely contemplative exhibition. This is not just an art show—it’s a quiet dialogue between two women artists, two seekers, two storytellers: Emily Avery Yoshiko Crow and Tara Di Gesu.
Though both artists come from the United States, their creative journeys are rooted in a profound connection with the Buddhism of Nepal. Their works do not merely depict—they channel. They listen to the invisible, give form to the formless, and allow the unseen energies to speak through color, form, and texture.
As you step into the gallery, the walls begin to whisper. Devi gazes back with serene power, Yakshinis shimmer at the edge of vision, and Dakinis dance between realms—each figure holding a mirror to the inner landscape of those who dare to look. Here, art becomes meditation, and every piece is an invitation: to reflect, to feel, to remember.
This exhibition is not a spectacle, but a sacred encounter—where the mythic meets the intimate, and the divine reveals itself not in thunder, but in silence.
As you step into the gallery, the right wall begins to unfold a dreamscape crafted by Emily Avery Yoshiko Crow—a realm where divinity takes unexpected yet tender forms. Her works embrace a multitude of styles, each whispering a different story, each born of both intuition and devotion.
One piece gently pulls you into the serenity of the Lotus Tara. Against a soft, sky-blue background, lotus petals are delicately collaged to form the sacred silhouette of Tara, the compassionate one. The image emerges not through traditional outlines, but through layers of subtle texture—a divine presence assembled from fragments of the natural world, mirroring the way the sacred often reveals itself through the everyday.
Next, you encounter an enchanting vision of the Kalavinka—a mythical being imagined by Emily as a creature with the head of a woman and the body of a bird. Painted on traditional Indian paper with finely ground mineral pigments, the image shimmers with quiet mystique. The longer you gaze, the more curious it becomes. An eye peers out from the woman’s leg—unsettling yet strangely symbolic. The same eye is echoed on the trunk of a nearby tree, suggesting a kind of sacred interconnectedness, as if both the tree and the creature share a singular spirit or a common origin.
The tree, textured and earthy, seems less like background and more like home—a sanctuary for this ‘lady-bird’, this Kalavinka. There is a stillness, a quiet inquisition in the composition, as if the painting is watching you as much as you are watching it.
In Emily’s world, divinity isn’t distant—it is intimate, born from intuition, stitched together from pieces of memory, myth, and dream. Each image becomes a portal—beckoning you to see, to wonder, and to remember something long buried within.
Another arresting piece in Emily’s collection is her vision of a Demon Slayer—a painting that merges myth, femininity, and raw symbolic power. In this haunting watercolor on Indian paper, a woman stands poised with a sword, her gaze unwavering. In her grip writhes a serpentine figure—a female-bodied snake with the delicate, almost sorrowful face of a young girl. The juxtaposition is unsettling and enigmatic: predator and victim, protector and destroyer, bound in a single frame. The watercolor medium adds a translucent, dreamlike texture, allowing the boundaries between myth and reality to blur, drawing the viewer deeper into the tension of the scene.
Emily’s work continually shifts, evading repetition, and her next piece exemplifies this creative restlessness. In a striking departure from traditional materials, she has composed an image of Tara entirely through a photo-collage of marigold flowers. Petal by petal, the goddess takes shape—not with a brush, but through layers of golden blooms, evoking warmth, devotion, and impermanence. Tara’s form emerges not as a fixed icon but as something alive, constructed from fragments of the world, much like the way divinity is felt—fleeting, fragrant, real.
This piece, in its tactile richness and conceptual boldness, whispers a profound artistic truth: it is not the medium that matters most, but the intention behind the image, the force of the vision. Emily’s collage invites us to see sacredness not in marble or gold, but in the texture of petals, in everyday offerings reimagined. Her art reminds us that form is fluid, and meaning arises wherever the imagination dares to speak with clarity and heart.
Among Emily Avery Yoshiko Crow’s most evocative works is her depiction of the Yakshi—an ancient, ethereal spirit of the natural world. The composition is deceptively simple, yet charged with an ineffable stillness. The Yakshi is not shown in dramatic gesture, but is felt—her presence seeping from the gnarled bark of an old tree, quiet and rooted. Her owl companion, perched nearby, appears both guardian and guide, its wide eyes holding the mysteries of the night. Around the base of the tree, scattered flower petals seem to whisper of offerings, of silent prayers left behind. The audience is drawn into a sacred moment—one where nature and divinity merge into something deeply intimate, almost breathing.
In another work, Emily gathers rose petals once offered in a Mandala, pressing them into Japanese paper with Sumi silk, creating an image that feels both tangible and fleeting. The delicacy of the petals against the textured paper creates a quiet tension between ritual and remembrance, between the ephemeral and the eternal. For a Nepalese audience, this medium—part collage, part spiritual relic—stands out as rare and resonant, inviting contemplation of how ritual residue can become art.
She continues this dialogue with the divine in her depictions of Red Tara, Vasundhara, and the realms of Tara. Though minimalist in execution, these works are suffused with color that feels alive. Vividity becomes voice, and each stroke speaks. The longer one looks, the deeper the gaze is returned. The paintings do not overwhelm—they reveal themselves slowly, like a prayer unfolding.
Accompanying these are two stirring poems by Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, which echo through the gallery like distant chants. His words celebrate life’s paradoxes—birth and decay, the seen and unseen—with imaginative intensity that complements Emily’s visual language.
Emily’s ecological awareness emerges in her dual paintings imagining Earth in balance and in peril. One canvas breathes with soft greens, flowing waters, and harmonious rhythms—an Earth in gentle equilibrium. The other is fractured, scorched, shadowed—a future glimpsed through cautionary dream, reminding us of our shared responsibility.
Meanwhile, on another wall of the gallery, Tara Di Gesu’s works offer a striking contrast. Her style is subtle yet startling, with imagery that pulses just beneath the surface. Her portrayal of Kali, painted meticulously on silk, is dense with power. At first glance, it feels impenetrably dark, but step closer and the goddess begins to breathe. Her form flickers with energy, her eyes seem poised to speak—a living force cloaked in silence.
Tara’s Little White Vulture soars across a deep blue sky, rendered with mineral pigments, gold, silver, and watercolor. The celestial blue background is not merely decorative—it’s atmospheric, expansive. The vulture goddess glides in flight, luminous and serene, embodying both death and ascension. She is a presence between worlds, at once fragile and eternal.
Together, the works of Emily and Tara form a sacred dialogue—between worlds, between traditions, between women artists re-imagining the divine through deeply personal visions. The gallery becomes a threshold: a space where myth breathes, petals speak, and the sacred finds new form.
One of the most arresting pieces in the exhibition is Tara Di Gesu’s portrayal of Chhinamasta- also known as Chhinamunda—the fierce and compassionate goddess who, in a gesture of radical selflessness, severs her own head to nourish her companions with her lifeblood. In this powerful composition, the goddess stands tall, fearless and serene, her decapitated form pouring streams of crimson that are not grotesque but life-giving—a sacred offering of sustenance and love. The visual tension between violence and grace is haunting, yet profoundly moving. Tara captures the paradox of the divine feminine: she is both destroyer and mother, terrifying and tender, a force of fierce compassion that transcends the physical.
When asked how their paths first crossed, both artists—Emily and Tara—share a knowing smile before replying in unison. Their parents, perhaps unknowingly, had met back in the U.S., but their true meeting took place around 1997, during a sacred walk around the Boudhanath Stupa in Kathmandu. It was a quiet encounter beneath the eyes of the stupa—a meeting not just of people, but of shared vision, spiritual kinship, and enduring friendship. That serendipitous moment planted the seed of a creative bond that has grown across continents and decades.
Now, that friendship and devotion unfold across the walls of Takpa Gallery in Lazimpat, where the air feels infused with both stillness and spirit. If you find yourself nearby, step inside. Let your gaze wander. Let your heart listen. This exhibition is more than a display—it is a sanctuary of healing, remembrance, and revelation.
The show runs until 26th of July, waiting patiently to be witnessed. Each artwork is a threshold—a portal into realms both mythic and intimate, ancient and urgently present.
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