When artists turn concrete into canvas, a city not only transforms visually, it begins to feel alive again, says SAKSHI PRIYA
What happens when pillars meant only to hold up flyovers begin to hold up imagination instead? Can concrete become a canvas? And if it can, who decides what belongs there graffiti or geometry, dragons or domes?
At Sarai Kale Khan, beneath the looming metro line and beside a theme park built from waste, these questions begin to answer themselves, not in theory, but in paint. Here, art has found its way into the folds of daily life, not through grand gestures, but through persistence, precision, and quiet pride.
It isn’t often that concrete pillars stop traffic visually, that is. But walk through the stretch near the Waste to Wonders theme park and you’ll find yourself slowing down, transfixed by a burst of colour, line, and meaning.
Each towering pillar has been transformed into a canvas telling stories, evoking heritage and most of all, showcasing the raw brilliance of artists who are turning a forgotten stretch into an open-air gallery. Under the scorching sun and in monsoon drizzles, young artists are elbow-deep in paint and passion. What once looked like skeletal supports now breathe with art.
At first glance, they seem like decorative murals, but pause and each one reveals a deeper theme, drawn from the Waste to Wonders park itself, where replicas of global monuments made from scrap metal stand tall. The Taj Mahal, the Eiffel Tower, even dinosaurs each pillar reflects an element of the park, threaded through with intricate design, personal expression, and cultural flair. “I see these pillars as a public journal,” says Shivam, a student from the College of Art, Delhi, while adjusting the lines of a floral motif inspired by Mughal geometry. He’s on his semester break but chose not to spend it indoors. “This is part of my college life. We first sketch, plan the palette, and then it takes two to three days, sometimes a full week, depending on complexity.” His brush moves like clockwork, steady and confident. His current pillar is inspired by the Taj Mahal, a blend of symmetry, soft pastels, and Persian detail. “Art in public space is different,” he adds. “You feel a responsibility. This is not for a gallery. This is for everyone.” Further down the same stretch, another artist is blending vivid greens into dinosaur silhouettes, referencing the park’s most popular installations. Nearby, another artist was carefully mixing shades of ochre and indigo. His name was Sumit Kashyap, and his story stretched across generations. “My father was also a painter,” he said. “That’s where it started for me.”
He greets you with the easy warmth of someone who knows exactly where his craft stands in the world. “Maine apne sapne ko passion bana liya,” he says with quiet pride. Sumit’s journey is nothing short of a testimony to inherited skill and individual perseverance. Each one demands precision, designs must align vertically so that the composition holds, even when seen from a distance or below. “The sequence matters,” Sumit explains, pointing to how a floral vine curves along the cylindrical form without distortion. “Even one wrong line can disturb the entire rhythm. It’s geometry and imagination working together.”
There’s a nod to Indian heritage, a wink to environmental awareness, and the occasional pop of surrealism, but this is what we live for, recognition helps,” he says, “But the real win is when someone pauses, looks up, and smiles. Art should interrupt softly, beautifully.” It’s easy to romanticise public art, but what makes this particular initiative compelling is its function.
People walk past them on their way to work, drive by them on school runs, stop under them for shade. In making art part of infrastructure, this initiative bridges a gap between the aesthetic and the utilitarian. No one imagined beauty here — yet it stands, quiet and sure. In reclaiming art, they reclaim the right to care. And in that quiet defiance, the city rediscovers something it had almost forgotten, its own heartbeat.
Why Art Matters, Even on a Pillar
When a city turns its pillars into painted canvases, it reveals something deeper than surface change. It reflects care, imagination, and intent. Why does that matter? Because art speaks where words fall short. It allows people to feel seen, to feel part of something greater than routine. A painted pillar becomes a sign that the city values feeling as much as function. Public art in everyday spaces brings expression to where life actually happens. It belongs on the streets, beside traffic, within reach. It invites those passing by to pause, to notice, to reflect. The act of painting such a structure becomes both labour and offering. When colour appears where there was once only grey, it marks a shift in thinking. Beauty becomes a shared experience. People begin to look around rather than look away. Art matters because it restores meaning to public space. It turns concrete into conversation. Even a single painted surface can remind us that care, detail, and imagination are still possible. And that in a fast world, someone still takes the time to create something worth looking at.
