By Mandakini Pachauri
Introduction As I leafed through Kin, an anthology of poetry, prose, and art by women from Romani, Traveller, and nomadic communities, it struck me how deeply it resonates with a universal yearning for connection and identity. Edited by Raine Geoghegan and Fióna Bolger, this collection amplifies voices too often relegated to the periphery of cultural narratives.
Main Body Drawing parallels between Kin and my experiences at this year’s Venice Biennale—particularly with exhibits like Everything Precious is Fragile from Benin, which blended visual art and literature, and Seychellois-Australian artist Danielle Freakley’s Please Say project around communal storytelling—it becomes evident how art serves as a unifying language. The anthology’s focus on kinship echoes the Biennale’s exploration of shared fragilities in a fragmented world.
Through its diverse collection of works, Kin not only celebrates cultural specificity but also challenges universal assumptions about interdependence, wholeness and belonging. As Cecilia Woloch eloquently writes in her poem Earth: “Once, I’d forgotten the way to the well and the smell of cool rain led me there. Once I was only a child in my sleep; then I awoke and was everywhere” This sentiment mirrors the themes in Lidia Yuknavitch’s The Misfit Manifesto, where she speaks to those who dwell on society’s margins, asserting, “even at the moment of your failure, right then, you are beautiful. You don’t know it yet, but you have the ability to reinvent yourself endlessly. That’s your beauty.”
Reflection in Cassandra Writing this column, which highlights international women’s voices relevant to contemporary times, I’m reminded of Yuknavitch’s imperative: “”Give voice to the story only you know how to tell … Sometimes telling the story is the thing that saves your life.”
It’s a poignant reminder that collections like Kin are not only artistic endeavors but also acts of resistance against erasure. Similarly, Kin refuses to let its voices be marginalised, as in Delia Grigore’s poem: “My blood is blind: nobody is impure here”. Whereas Freakley’s interactive project at the Biennale gently drew people to speak, playfully engaging them to mutually create personal narratives of vulnerability.
Conclusion As Kin showcases, and this year’s Biennale Arte in Venice affirmed with its title Strangers Everywhere, art is inherently fragile yet enduring. It calls us to honor and protect these precious connections. It’s through such works that we learn to listen, to see, and ultimately, to belong. I hope to carry this spirit forward into the New Year with all of Usawa and its readers.
References and Links
Cassandra is a series of reflections on international women writers whose works have proven prophetic, insightful, and courageous enough to transcend borders and remain relevant across time and cultures.
What would history and the world look like if these voices had been heard?
Through this monthly series, I aim to amplify voices too often silenced, inspiring women to speak their truth. My goal is to craft a personal global genealogy of women’s thought—through reading, reflecting, and sharing their stories.
Mandakini Pachauri is a poet and writer, women’s activist, Yoga and meditation teacher of Indian origin, living at the edge of the Viennese Woods.
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