My Sofa In My Sofa, the familiar becomes quietly monumental. The old sofa from my family home—weathered, softened, and carrying the texture of time—stands alone at the centre of the image. Its worn surface suggests years of use: conversations shared, afternoons of rest, the slow accumulation of ordinary moments that shape a life. Painted on delicate Nepali handmade paper, the object feels almost archaeological, as if lifted from a personal archive. Behind the sofa, faint handwritten text drifts like half-remembered thoughts or memories that refuse to fully fade. This blurred script becomes a second layer of meaning—echoes of the past that continue to hold weight in the present. Yet the sofa is not only a vessel of domestic memory. In its solidity and central placement, it becomes a metaphor for the “power seat”—a place from which authority is exercised and decisions are imposed. The softness of the object contrasts the hardness of the idea it represents. Through this contrast, the painting reflects how personal spaces and political structures often overlap quietly in our lives. My Sofa holds both tenderness and critique: it is a portrait of belonging, and at the same time, a reminder of how power sits—sometimes comfortably—within the everyday.