After this, his oils on canvas started to trickle in, the amethyst, rosé and blue flying off the canvas as if to smack you with a daub of empathy. A girl on the metro, azure skinned with a hot pink flower behind her ear, her stomach bare. People watching her unafraid stance. A woman supine, against an urban landscape rendered magical and somewhat Spanish by their vivid colours. Owls looking on, little spots of vanished wisdom. A group of women by a river, their saris tied in the way of the Halakki, fowl, a child with a dog, the skies magenta. A yearning for the flowers that cover the banks. Is it indeed a river? Is it the Dead Sea? “I love colours. At first glance, they attract you. Once the viewer is engaged, they begin to read and analyse the painting.”

Then came the pandemic and Sal’s output became abundant. “Our right of choice and movement were taken away, we were all confined indoors. I am an extrovert, I was going crazy sitting at home. But, I also had time to reflect. It was an opportunity and I started translating everything to canvas. There was so much happening, socio-politically. Migrant workers from other states who were let down by the system, the various citizens protests, so many peaceful activists being jailed.”

There is something of the miniature or Persian art in Sal’s work. The detailing of the background, almost like the human figures are set within a woven tapestry of repeated symbols. Portraiture of animals, birds and flowers frame the narrative. Then, the idealisation of the feminine. I asked him about this. “Everything about “Mankind” is patriarchal. Be it any ideology, religion or society. Women have always been denied their rights. Some of these stories are of people I know. Each painting is an individual story of hope. Also, as a privileged cis male, I am guilty of not being fair to women in the past. There’s a bit of that guilt too in my paintings.”