invading space

JMF creates space to invade spaces. 

JMF started taking her works around Houston and photographing them into space as if they were characters themselves. awkward and perfectly placed into landscapes to create an artistic garden by them being placed within the world we live in. She began to call this her invasion of space.  


The green parrots sing,

there are no seeds,

the crow is near,

the tree that’s dear.


Dear to my sweet mother,

the air filled with a bustle,

while ocean sways, to form endless waves,

I breathe a soft breath as my father prays.


The sun begins to shine strong,

while the fisherwomen strides along,

at the front door, crabs, pomfret, giant tiger prawns,

as the kitchen, fills with an air of curry for these fresh fishy pawns.


Newspapers are read,

Mumbai Mirrior, Bombay Times……

Sometimes they feature Busta Rimes.

The doorbell rings. ‘Guess who? Nana!’


O’ faithful grandmother, her words go so far.

So here is Nana with her famous cauliflower,

going into the kitchen to create a delish meal we all devour,

my brother and sister, hopefully awake in an hour.


Yoga mats are laid,

practice is carried out, deep breathing and then shavasana.

The flute player across the street tunes a melody,

the dogs back from a walk slobber a cheek, they are hungry.



Boxer and pug seem to tug on toys--what a simple game!

 My father’s prayer incense fills the air--he is already gone for a walk.

Fresh coconut water, papaya and watermelon are cut and laid out,

as a tub of water arrives for my mother and her Sunday pedicure.


I am sitting at the dining table discussing art and daily life.

Nana is here, too. She is cutting okra with an exceptionally small knife.

Green tea and some chai, there’s always a guest who stops by.

Often its my wonderful uncle, on his way to work at his old-school Parsi restaurant.


Hours go by as we talk and watch the sun shine hotter and hear Bombay sounds grow,

as rounds are made by some people I may not know,

Familiar and new faces in the house, the living room and at the front door,

and as noon draws close. There are even more.


I am all cleaned up now in my casual Sunday dress.

Nana is done cooking, this is home, so there’s only me to impress.

Dad is back on his cell phone working, laughing, strategizing--.

To better make, to better create, for he’s a civil engineer with a passion for building.


Mom, Nana and me are simply sitting in the sun on the balcony,

As dad gets ready, lunch guests arrive,

Time for some bubbly, Moet Chandon corks blow,

And the champagne, always delicately seems to flow.


Alas, it’s the siblings, finally awake!

We all sit down for bread we break.

Our lunches are fun--, we always eat together on Sunday.

This is family, the Mahimtura Mumbaikar way.