How Ekta Kaul’s embroideries map treasured memories

I moved to the UK from India in 2005 to do an MA. My mother became ill a few years later, so I found myself travelling between two cities, looking after her in Delhi and working in London.

I began questioning what and where home was and, to address this, I stitched maps of both cities, depicting places that held personal memories – where I used to hang out with friends and take walks with my father, as well as my studio in London.

It was cathartic: mapping Delhi connected me to forgotten moments, streets and histories. It made me feel closer to the home I was separated from – just as so many people are today. Meanwhile, by mapping London I discovered connections I had made without realising, allowing me to claim the city as my own.

Since then, maps have become the focus of my practice. I research them extensively when developing new works. There are several at the British Library and the V&A archives that I love, including a hand-embroidered one of Srinagar in Kashmir that shows homes, people and boats on the lake.

My maps – which I am commissioned to make to celebrate a life, place or community – are more minimal, but they share the notion of mapping meaning. I like the idea of a cartographer as curator, and the fact that I, as an artist, can create works that evoke a sense of place that exists more in memory than in geographical space.

Maps have always been subjective. They are designed by humans to tell a story – whether for propaganda, to help us understand our place in the world or give a sense of direction.

Maps are also a snapshot, depicting a fleeting moment for cities that are ever-changing. I’m interested in making maps that bring several such moments together. In my new body of work, I’m planning to explore maps as portraits. I’m excited to see what emerges.