Indeed, Parvati, part of the Divine Mothers series, returns us to her early use of symbolism through her rendition of the mythical tale of the goddess' son Ganesha, whose head is severed by his father Shiva. "The head of the severed baby is never seen, usually, but in this I produce the head of the severed baby being attacked by swords and knives and arrows, and that is a symbol of her grief, her anguish. Mythologically, it's never seen, but here I take the risk of showing it. I wanted to show it. How terrible. How terrible." Then, there are the less spectacular modern portraits of women; The Birthday, and The Seven Faces of 'M', a beautiful if less conspicuous series of smaller collages which rework women's faces, sometimes overlaid with print. And in Upanayanam, featuring a crowd of traditional figures around a young boy, her early images of Namboodiri and Marwari priests come to mind (Thread Ceremony, 1990, particularly)—as Uday Bhaskar (writing as Isana Murti) has remarked, "[T]here was a hint of irony in these paintings, a touch of mockery that eluded all but the most discerning… often parodies of themselves placed in pseudo-Victorian settings". This careful consciousness is particularly Menon's, even as the soul of her work speaks to the work of Amrita Sher-Gil, her oft-recognised kindred soul. "There was a parallel with Sher-Gil. It was only when she went to the south, as I did—or I would say I did as she did— that the influence of that figuration came into one's work," says Menon. "My Namboodiri figures, the family portraits from the Kollengode Palace collection. That influence came much later, halfway." She adds later, "There's a portrait of my mother which could have been a Sher-Gil. People who came from mixed marriages all over India tended to know each other in those days."

Gayatri Sinha

The Sacred Feminine

The Eternal Enchantress