Framed and forgotten no longer

Heritage is being preserved in ways we hadn’t thought of — etched in silver, hammered into metal, or painted onto clay. In the hands of master artisans, it’s an evolving language. Bidri inlay, Dhokra casting, and Phad painting are now being reimagined as art that seamlessly fits into modern living. No longer framed and forgotten, they take on quirky new shapes: a throne on two wheels, a pot that holds more than water, and a vase with intentional flaws.

Gunjan Gupta is among the designers reinterpreting heritage crafts as statement pieces that honour their origins. Taking cues from the Bidar Fort, the birthplace of the Bidri craft, she translates its legacy into a sculptural shelf. Think blackened metal, embossed leather shutters, and delicate silver inlays — echoing the fort’s dark stone walls and intricate carvings. The silver detailing follows the Bidri tradition, where silver is inlaid into a zinc-copper alloy, keeping the craft alive in a contemporary form.

Then there’s the Bidri Kintsugi vase, a fusion of India’s Bidri craft and Japan’s Kintsugi. Traditionally, Kintsugi — meaning golden joinery — honours breakage by mending pottery with gold lacquer. In her take, silver inlays (instead of gold) follow the cracks in blackened alloy vases, blending Bidri’s metalwork with Kintsugi’s philosophy of embracing flaws.

The pot’s tale

Gunjan has always been drawn to the matka — the humble Indian pot. “It goes back to the Indus Valley Civilisation, and yet, even today, there are as many pots in India as there are people,” she says. For Gunjan, the pot embodies India — timeless, feminine, and deeply tied to sustenance and reverence for nature. This philosophy takes form in ‘The Pot is Her’, a set of sculptural tables, each embodying one of the five elements —space, air, fire, water, and earth. The surfaces come alive through Phad painting, a centuries-old Rajasthani tradition of narrative art. With Phad painter Kalyan Joshi bringing his craft into the work, each table unfolds a distinct visual tale. For Akasha (space), he depicted the vastness of the ether with rays of the sun weaving through swirling cloud motifs, just as they’ve been drawn for generations. Agni (fire) pulls from traditional Phad paintings, layering classic fire symbols with burning trees to hint at climate change. Jal (water) takes shape through fish, but here they swim through scenes that also depict the depletion of water bodies and drying oceans. “The artisan’s language remains unchanged,” Gunjan notes, “but the story it tells is one of today.”

Language of geometry

If the Phad tables tell stories through elemental forms, her sculptural Gudiya vase speaks in the language of geometry and craft. Inspired by the Dancing Girl of Mohenjo-Daro, the vase reinterprets Dhokra craft — but with a twist. Gunjan’s design reimagines it as three stacked, perfectly aligned bronze vessels, evoking the silhouette of a Gudiya (doll). Achieving this alignment is rare, given how bronze shrinks as it cools. Traditionally, artisans cast Dhokra pieces in a single piece, but this approach gives the craft a quiet evolution.

That same precision carries into the Charbagh shelf, where Mughal gardens become a blueprint for design. Inspired by the Charbagh layout — a paradise of symmetry where water channels divide greenery into perfect quadrants — the shelf translates that order into stone. “Sacred geometry fascinates me,” Gunjan says. “You see it in the Taj Mahal, in Islamic architecture — it always follows a precise rhythm.” Here, that rhythm takes shape in a grid-like shelving unit, where green aventurine channels the lushness of foliage, and deep blue lapis lazuli mirrors water and sky. The two slot into each other effortlessly, a balance of material and meaning—part sculpture, part storage, all about harmony.

And then there’s a nod to Jaipur’s iconic observatory — the Jantar Mantar recliner. The monument’s astronomical instruments are mimicked in the chair’s sharp angles and sloping frame. Every incline is intentional, much like the observatory’s sundials and quadrants. At the heart of the piece is the nearly lost craft of Varksaaz, the art of beating gold into ultra-thin sheets. Jaipur-based artisan Mehboob Khan shaped the backrest with this technique, eliminating harsh lines so the gold appears fluid, like a sunbeam frozen in time.

Throne of the people

Gunjan’s practice often revisits the idea of thrones, expanding their meaning beyond symbols of nobility. A bicycle piled high with metal vessels — it’s a scene straight out of India’s streets, a daily act of balance and grit. Gunjan’s Bartanwala Bicycle Throne freezes that moment, turning the humble cycle into something unexpected: a throne. Not the kind draped in velvet, but one that speaks of resilience. Here, she places the working-class vendor on a pedestal, turning the bicycle into a throne of power. The brass and copper vessels were shaped using the centuries-old Thatera technique —each one hammered by hand over wooden and iron anvils. Their textured surfaces reflect light at different angles, telling a silent story of labour and skill.