Pratibha Gihar

  There are photographs that feel less like images and more like moments of recognition. A small doorway into a quieter version of ourselves — one we don’t often meet in the rush of daily life. This portrait began as nothing more than a self-photography experiment. A simple idea: a black backdrop, a black printed Anarkali suit, a traditional nath, and a moment alone with the camera. https://www.pexels.com/photo/elegant-black-and-white-portrait-of-indian-woman-34351520 But the moment the shutter clicked, something changed. Because self-portraiture is never really just a picture. It is an encounter. A conversation with yourself, without noise, without performance, without the world watching. In the frame, the woman stands in her black Anarkali — elegant, grounded, wrapped in soft fabric that nods to her roots. The outfit isn’t elaborate, yet it holds a certain story in its prints and folds, a gentle echo of tradition blending with modern self-expression. Her posture is assured but ca...

Self-photography or self filming has always been with us—artists, seekers, wanderers turning the gaze inward. But why are we drawn to make ourselves both the subject and the witness? Perhaps it is an ancient instinct: to preserve, to understand, to hold a mirror up not to vanity, but to existence itself. I have been creating self-portraits for years, almost searching for the answer in each frame. I can’t fully explain why I take them—only that something alchemical happens afterwards. The beginning, the process, the end—it feels like ritual: part therapy, part play, part proof that I belong to myself.  Maybe it’s just fun, maybe it’s creation for creation’s sake, a thing made by me, of me, for me—wholly mine. I was thirteen when it began. My first camera—a Yashica, a little Japanese brand—loaded with fragile Kodak reels where every shot felt precious, the weight of not wasting a single negative pressing down. Compared to that, life feels easy now. Since then, each picture has been a...