MANSI RAWAL
- ARTISTIC HUB MAGAZINE
- Jul 1
- 7 min read
INDIA | GERMANY
Lines That Remember Silence
In the work of Mansi Rawal, presence does not demand attention, it simply exists. Every color, texture and space carries the imprint of something deliberate and deeply personal. Her creative process begins within, shaped by feeling, memory and a quiet impulse seeking form. What emerges is guided by attention and a calm resolve to protect what is delicate from being lost to haste.
This conversation does not trace external events. It follows inner movements. The way emotion takes shape. How perception finds its language. How art becomes a space that others too can inhabit.
If we asked you to introduce yourself without any biographical details - who are you, as a person who creates? Who is the woman behind the drawings, the colors, and the quiet?
I am someone who listens first, actively and patiently. Before paint or lines ever meet the page, I gather the stillness, the gestures, the moments that mostly pass by unnoticed. My art begins not with a decision, but with a feeling. I create not to explain, but to witness, because I believe in the depth of what whispers. Behind the drawings is a woman who feels deeply, who sees in layers, who honors fragility as strength. I find beauty in restraint and honesty in imperfection. The colors I choose carry memory; the lines, intention. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is loud unless it must be. And somewhere within me lives the little girl who once dreamt of a life like this - immersed in art, barefoot in imagination, happiest with a pencil or brush in her hand. She believed in beauty, in quiet magic, and in the healing power of creating. I think, in many ways, I am simply becoming more and more like her. I am here to notice, to feel, and to reflect on the silent truths that live beneath the noise.
When did art first appear in your life, not as a hobby, but as a need? Do you remember the moment you realized that painting wasn’t just play, but something essential to who you are?
Art first became a need and not just a pastime during a significant turning point in my life, at a very tender age. It wasn’t something I turned to for fun; it was something I reached for, almost instinctively, to make sense of what I was feeling when words failed me. At school, I enjoyed studying. I was curious about everything - history, science, sports, and technology. But it was always art and books that truly had my heart. They held my full attention in a way nothing else did. They quieted the noise around me and gave form to things I was just beginning to understand.
Growing up all along, I made time deliberately for art and writing. I would create small drawings, paintings, crafts, handmade cards, and thoughtful gifts for friends to honor the bonds I shared with them. Art was how I connected, how I celebrated the personal and the meaningful. But to most people around me, it was always “just a hobby.” I was told more than once that pursuing it seriously would be a waste of time. Still, my heart never listened.
The more I engaged with art, the more I discovered it offered me not just expression, but perspective - ways of seeing and being that allowed me to hold complexity, to find meaning, to celebrate nuance. That’s when I realized painting wasn’t just play; it was something essential to who I am. It became a second language for emotions I didn’t yet know how to name.
And although I couldn’t always share my art freely or openly call myself an artist, that part of me never disappeared. I carried it quietly for years. Only now have I finally decided to honor that calling - to step into the dream the little girl once held with such hope. While I never truly left it, I’m just returning - this time, with intention.
It still is a mirror, an anchor, and a refuge. Born from a deep, enduring instinct to connect with myself, with others, and with the world.
You now live in Karlsruhe, but you grew up in India. How have these two geographies, and two worlds, shaped the way you see life, color, structure, and silence?
Living between two very different places, each with its own rhythm, silences, and ways of being has shaped the way I see life, color, structure, and even absence.
From one place, I carry a deep sense of rootedness, a quiet emotional memory that finds its way into the warmth of my palettes, the intimacy of lines, the way I hold space for feeling. From the other, I’ve learned the beauty of clarity, the elegance of restraint, and the strength that can be found in stillness and solitude.
Together, these influences have taught me to navigate contrast, not as conflict, but as harmony. My work often lives in that in-between space, where softness meets structure, and emotion meets form. I think it’s in between the tension and tenderness that something candid begins to emerge.
![Mansi Rawal, Saṃsāra-[Wandering-through]. 2024, Mixed Media on canvas, 50x50 cm_ARTISTIC HUB MAGAZINE](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d92981_b9c3471c03914e17b0e6b272b08bf907~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_596,h_600,al_c,q_80,enc_avif,quality_auto/d92981_b9c3471c03914e17b0e6b272b08bf907~mv2.jpg)
Your work feels deeply intuitive, yet also thoughtful and carefully composed. What does your creative process look like? Do you sit in front of a blank page with a clear idea, or do you allow feeling to lead the way?
I usually start with a gentle idea - something small, like a word, a color, or an image that stays with me. I rarely have the full picture in mind. Instead, I like to leave space for the work to grow on its own.
Structure helps me begin. I might make a note or a quick sketch, just to anchor myself. But once I start, I follow feeling more than anything else. Some pieces come from a clear thought or emotion. Others only make sense to me much later.
I don’t try to control the process too much. If I overthink, the work starts to feel heavy. That’s when I pause and step back. Often, the sincerest parts come when I let go a little.
I feel personally it is not about choosing between planning and intuition. It’s more about knowing when and how much to lean into each one. I see it as a quiet conversation between the two, back and forth which gives the work its rhythm.
Your body of work feels introspective, almost meditative. Still, each piece seems to carry a trace of story, a fragment of memory or an inner landscape. Are you speaking about yourself through your work, or are you leaving space for others to find themselves in it?
It’s a bit of both. Many of my pieces come from a personal place: an emotion, a memory, or a question I’m sitting with. But I never make them just to talk about myself. The goal is always to connect, not to explain. When I paint, I’m often reflecting on something quietly present, like a feeling I haven’t fully understood yet or a moment that stayed with me longer than expected. That reflection becomes the starting point. But once the work begins to take shape, it moves beyond me. It becomes its own thing, open to interpretation, open to others.
A few people have told me that they saw a memory of their own in something I made, something entirely different from what I was feeling at the time. And I love that. That’s the beauty of making something candid. It might begin with my story, but it makes space for others to find theirs.
So yes, my work is personal, but never closed. I try to leave room for silence, for memory, for the viewer to feel whatever they need to feel. That space is important as keeps the work alive.
When someone encounters your work for the first time, what would you like them to feel? Not to understand, but to feel.
I’d like them to feel something real even if it’s subtle, even if they’re not sure why. It might be a sense of calm, a quiet ache, or a memory that gently returns. As I’m not trying to explain anything through my work, what truly matters to me is whether it resonates - whether it reaches someone in a way that feels true.
I don’t expect people to understand the full story behind a piece. That’s never the goal. What is important is if the work stirs something in them. If my art can create even a brief pause in someone’s day, or offer a moment where they feel seen or comforted, that means more to me than anything else. I want the work to meet people where they are, not by speaking loudly, but by making a safe space for feeling.
Every piece I create carries emotion, reflection, and a kind of stillness. My hope is that when someone sees it, they connect with that energy in their own way.
Mansi builds a space in which thought and feeling are never separate.
She speaks softly, yet with clarity, and each sentence feels like an extension of her creative process.
In the way she observes the world, art is a constant presence, not something that asserts itself, but something that connects, that pays attention, that listens.
This quiet conversation, both with herself and with others, continues beyond the interview, in the colors, in the lines, and in the silence she leaves for those willing to pause and truly look.
You can continue to follow this wonderful artist and her quiet creative world on her website and Instagram.
