Visitors to Fort Kochi will see a rather unusual installation on the first floor of the Dutch Warehouse. Large cushiony dolls in vivid colours are placed playfully on plushy carpets. Dutch artist Afra Eisma through the installation, ‘Hush’, invites viewers to engage with the work — sit a while, snuggle with the dolls if you must. It is all about connection, she says.
Showcased by The Museum of Art and Photography (MAP), Bengaluru, the show, Mild Tooth of Milk, is a two part work — Hush and Warrior Garments — that defines Eisma’s intensely political, yet emotionally charged practice.
While ‘Hush’ is a mosaic of soft carpets, ceramics and textiles spread across the floor of the room in a tactile tapestry, ‘Warrior Garments’, has long dresses in silk and organza, with hand-painted text running through them.
Afra Eisma’s work ‘Hush’
| Photo Credit:
Philipp Scholz Rittermann
Nominated for Volkskrant Visual Art Prize 2026 (a prestigious art award for artists under 35, who live or work in the Netherlands), 33-year-old Eisma was at the forefront of a #metoo campa ign in the Netherlands that sought to expose the sexual violence and exploitation in the art world.
Edited excerpts from an interview.
There is comfort amid the large, soft beings in the installation, ‘Hush’. Where did the idea stem from?
The idea for ‘Hush’ grew out of a need to create spaces of safety and care. At the core of the exhibition is my practice of processing personal trauma through making, particularly trauma connected to gender-based violence and the bodily aftermath of this. The title of the work ‘Hush’ refers to breathing which became a starting point. Breathing is both intimate and powerful: a simple, bodily act that can calm the nervous system and reconnect body and mind. From there, the soft, oversized beings emerged as physical manifestations of comfort, protection, and mutual support.
They are imagined companions, otherworldly beings designed to hold, carry, and watch over one another, modelling the kind of care I believe is necessary for healing. The scale and tactility of the works are intentional. By making the figures large, soft, and enveloping, the work invites visitors to slow down, remove their shoes, and enter a space that feels non threatening and generous. ‘Hush’ ultimately stems from a desire to transform pain into a shared, gentle environment, one where vulnerability is allowed, breath is noticed, and comfort becomes a collective experience rather than a solitary one.
A visitor interacts with the installation ‘Hush’
| Photo Credit:
Philipp Scholz Rittermann
How would you describe your artistic process?
My artistic process begins from emotion rather than from form or concept. Feelings, especially those that are often considered uncomfortable, such as anger, grief, fear, or ambiguity are treated as sources of inner strength and knowledge. I work very intuitively, allowing experiences, bodily sensations, memories, conversations, and activist engagements to slowly sediment into images, textures, and characters. Making is a way of processing: by working with my hands, I can think, feel, and release at the same time. My work is very labour-intensive because of the craft techniques I use, and the time, energy, and emotion invested in the making process are carried into the work and felt back by those who encounter it.
The process is non-linear and relational. Ideas move back and forth between sketchbooks, doodles, writings, textiles, ceramics, sound, and spatial arrangements. A being might first appear as a small drawing, then return as a ceramic object, and later grow into a large-scale tapestry you can sit with or lean against. I’m interested in how motifs migrate and transform, much like emotions do. Nothing exists in isolation; each work justifies and nourishes the others.
Craft is central to how I work. Techniques like tufting, sewing, and hand-building ceramics are slow, repetitive, and physical, which allows space for reflection and for emotions to surface. The labour itself is part of the meaning—sometimes stitches become “angry,” sometimes forms become soft and protective. Bright colors and playful aesthetics are deliberately used to approach darker experiences gently, making space for care, generosity, and invitation rather than confrontation.
Ultimately, the process expands outward into the exhibition space. I think of installations as environments of hospitality: places that hold visitors, encourage rest, conversation, and togetherness. Audience participation is not an afterthought but an extension of the work’s ethics. My process feels complete when the work becomes a shared experience where it opens room for connection, reflection, and mutual care.
‘Warrior Garments’ by Afra Eisma
| Photo Credit:
Jules Lister
You have been vocal about sexual violence and trauma. Survival runs as an undercurrent through your work. You are also creating spaces for viewers to process their own trauma. Does art show the way to healing?
I don’t think art shows the way to healing, as if there is one clear path or solution. For me, art offers a way where healing can begin, pause, or simply be held. Making work helps me process experiences that are too complex or painful to express in language yet. Through slow, labour-intensive craft and repetition, emotions move through my body and into material, and that in itself is a form of healing.
Sometimes healing starts simply by not being alone with what you carry. I hope my work can be a companion to those who experienced sexual violence.
Being a survivor of sexual violence can be deeply isolating, and that isolation can be dangerous. By clearly addressing this experience and naming that my work is made especially for those who have lived through it, I hope to open a space where people feel safe enough to recognise themselves, to feel less alone, and to begin normalising conversations around this topic.
Are the playful beings in your work inspired by someone or something from childhood?
They are not directly inspired by specific characters or figures from my childhood, but they do connect to a childlike way of imagining and relating to the world. I wanted to create beings that can offer the warmth of a hug without being too human. Sometimes we long to be held or comforted, but human-to-human touch can feel complicated or overwhelming. By keeping these figures slightly otherworldly, they allow for a different kind of intimacy, one where you remain fully in control of how much closeness or touch you want.
I am interested in the openness children often have, their ability to invent companions, to move fluidly between fantasy and reality, and to approach heavy emotions through play. These beings function a bit like imaginary friends: they can hold difficult feelings without becoming overwhelming.
At the same time, they are very much shaped by my adult experiences. The playfulness is intentional as it creates an entry point that feels gentle and non-threatening. So while the figures may echo childhood imagination, they’re really about creating a shared, caring language in the present which is one that makes room for vulnerability, protection, and connection.
From the work, ‘Warrior Garments’
| Photo Credit:
Philipp Scholz Rittermann
What inspires you as a person and artist?
I am deeply influenced by literature and writers who imagine alternative ways of being and relating, such as Meenakshi Thirukode, Sara Ahmed, Ursula K. Le Guin, and Audre Lorde. Their thinking helps me understand emotions as political, collective, and transformative forces. I am also inspired by the artists around me like: Karin Iturralde Nurnberg, Marnix van Uum, Afrah Shafiq, and Buhlebezwe Siwani as well as by those who came before, including Ovartaci, Dorothy Iannone, Sister Gertrude Morgan, and Mrinalini Mukherjee.
What inspires me most is connection: between people, materials, emotions, and shared ways of imagining how we might hold and care for one another.
How would you describe your choice of material? How much of a role does material play in your process?
Materials are central to my practice, they are not only vessels for ideas, but active elements of the work. I choose bright colours of yarns, textiles, glazes for ceramics, and other tactile materials for their physicality and responsiveness; each material has its own weight, texture, and rhythm. The softness of fabric allows for intimacy and touch, ceramics hold form while carrying a sense of fragility, and colour becomes a way to guide emotion and attention.
What did you feel about the space in Kochi? Did the space lend to your work?
The space in Kochi is beautiful, but it also carries a weighty history. The Dutch Warehouse, with its colonial past, reminded me of how spaces are never neutral. They hold layers of power, displacement, and memory. Soft, caring, and playful forms entered a site shaped by histories of control and extraction. Because the Dutch Warehouse is located in the heart of Fort Kochi, curator Arnika Ahldag and I felt it was important to create a space that encouraged gathering, lingering, and informal encounters. This aligns with how I want my installations to function: as sites of care, reflection, and connection that speak both to personal and political histories.
What are your upcoming projects?
At the moment, I have started work for the Kinderbiennale (Children’s Biennale) at the Groninger Museum, alongside several other upcoming exhibitions. A part of the presentation at the Dutch warehouse will travel to MAP in Bengaluru, which means I will come back to India in spring.
Mild Tooth of Milk will be on show at the Dutch Warehouse in Fort Kochi till March 31.
