Why Joy Matters Now: Shreya Josh On Curating Resistance Through Art

For me, bringing creative people together is what brings me joy. Community building has always been a key part of my creative practice. As an artist, I feel responsible for uplifting other artists and giving them platforms to showcase themselves. The process of curating lineups and producing events such as hand-poked tattoo festivals, pop-ups, and exhibitions excites me most. Compliments during or after a show don’t make me as happy as seeing artists meet each other for the first time, getting paid what they are worth, and watching contemporary arts find space within a more traditional India.

This show was part of Auster’s Common Heritage series. I was the second artist featured in their digital magazine, and when asked what my common heritage is, the answer felt very simple: joy. I truly believe people don’t do things purely for their own sake. Deep down, the goal is always to feel joy.

What started as a digital exploration grew into a multidisciplinary group exhibition focused on the open-ended theme of unconventional paths in pursuit of joy. Many artists already had works that resonated with the theme, while others created new pieces specifically in response to the curatorial brief.

As an independent curator and creative producer, I believe that joy feels especially vital right now. We are constantly bombarded with depressing, rage-filled news cycles. I cannot ignore the privilege of being able to step away from that when I need to, so in return, I try to create spaces that radiate hope and light. 

For a few moments, when visitors enter an exhibition like Joy, playful elements such as bubbles, candy floss, and bright colours invite them to pause and see life from a lighter perspective. If even a few people leave feeling more joyful, the ripple effect of that feeling can spread much further.

I’m truly grateful to the Auster Network for recognizing the potential of this project. My approach is to demonstrate my abilities through the process itself. I usually don’t share pitch decks or Pinterest mood boards; you have to trust in the journey. For investors, that can require a leap of faith, but when there’s no pressure to replicate a reference image or stick to a proven method, creatives can enter a flow state and craft genuinely new ideas. When there’s financial motivation, there’s also an incentive to prove yourself, so I tend to work even harder in those cases. I’ve never been interested in romanticizing the struggle of being an artist, nor do I expect handouts or free money. When I’m paid for a job, I always give my best 120% for the betterment of India and its cultural development.

This tension between creating authentic art and making a living from it is something most artists will face throughout their careers, unless they happen to inherit wealth. No two artists’ journeys are the same. Sometimes we produce work purely for ourselves, and other times we accept commissions with so many revisions that it barely resembles our original idea, but it helps pay the bills.

For me, that doesn’t necessarily make the work less true to me. It simply shows the many roles artists take on: creator, collaborator, problem-solver, and small-business owner. Making a living from your art can also give you the freedom to keep showing up, explore new ideas, and create the work that feels most genuine. In this way, survival and authenticity often go hand in hand. They are usually part of the same system that allows an artist to keep creating for a lifetime.

Creating artworks for a selling exhibition always comes with the awareness that the work might eventually belong to someone else, but I try not to let that dictate what I create. My starting point has to be curiosity, play, or a feeling I want to explore. If I begin by thinking only about what might sell, the work usually loses the honesty that made me want to make it in the first place. Had that been the case, I would have just become a graphic designer.

At the same time, I don’t see selling as automatically compromising authenticity. If someone connects with a piece enough to want to live with it, that can feel like an extension of the work’s life rather than its end. We approached this at Joy by creating two floors: the first features original large-scale works for collectors, while the second hosts a merch shop with prints, stickers, and small trinkets at more accessible prices so that both collectors and college students can participate.

Ideally, the work remains rooted in what feels meaningful to create and, along the way, resonates with someone who chooses to give it a beautiful, permanent home.