Zoay keeps rising from the ashes of anonymity. His passion of fire his senses to self-cremation and yet he is born again with the raging energy.
A miracle of his love for art, he is possessed.
Zoya’s early work showed a tortured figure, an epicure of suffering where lines hung onto the fragile chord of life itself. In late seventies he emerged on the scene as a Punjabi Dadaist struggling to paint the existential anguish of his generation and now in 2000 he holds in his arms the damsel of myth, dusky Dravidian women with laden breast and a fertile body. His strokes pulsate against the canvas to invoke a fable of female that been long lost in occidental illusions. Unlike picture queens she is alive and walks barefooted along the dark brooding Sindhu, the Indus.
His play with sensuous form unravels the soul of colors. We see more than colors can show. In a culture where image is not welcome and visual is not discovers, Zoay’s creations continue to be inspiring, original and inimitable.