成為：藝術家與薩滿
岱如：你是什麼時候決定走上藝術家與薩滿這兩條道路的？你是否在這些實踐之間感到任何衝突？你如何平衡這樣的雙重角色，或如何看待它？你是否遇過與這種獨特身份相關的具體挑戰？你是否覺得自己有一個需要完成的特定生命使命？
Alyen：我作為藝術家的路徑，從我有記憶以來就一直存在。由於我來自設計背景，藝術一直是我表達、處理與理解世界的重要方式。這並不是一個分開的決定，而更像是我生活方式的一種自然延伸。
然而，薩滿的道路則是以更突然且猛烈的方式展開。它出現在一段深刻的心理斷裂之後，當時的經驗是一種崩潰，但同時也是一道門檻。那段時間帶來一種強烈的牽引，讓我回到我的根源——回到我的 Lepcha 傳承、祖先的知識系統，以及那些存在於既有框架之外的理解方式。最初只是尋找穩定狀態，日後逐漸顯現為一條關於啟蒙與責任的道路。
將這兩條路徑結合，對我而言是直覺的，而不是衝突的。對我來說，成為藝術家與行走在薩滿之路之間並沒有分離——它們是相互回應、彼此支撐的。兩者都需要深度的傾聽、敏感度，以及與不可見或未被立即看見之物工作的能力。我的藝術實踐讓我能夠為那些被感知、接收或承載的事物賦予形式，而我的薩滿訓練則影響我如何以關懷、意圖與責任來對待材料、空間與人。
然而，在這樣的存在方式中確實存在挑戰。其一是缺乏一種能完全對應我這個位置的直接導師——在當代藝術空間中行動，同時扎根於原住民族靈性傳承之中。雖然我從社群、來自世界各地的老師與合作夥伴中獲得指引，但仍有一些時刻是在沒有明確先例的情況下前行。同時，這也開啟了新的學習方式——透過關係、直覺與經驗。
另一個挑戰是，在更廣泛的社會脈絡中協商身份。來自多重宗教與文化影響，並實踐常被誤解的靈性道路，我曾經歷被誤讀、被邊緣化，或難以被既有框架定位的時刻。這會產生距離感，但同時也讓我更清晰地堅守自己的真實與傳承。
至於使命感，我確實感到一種強烈的清晰度。我的工作圍繞著記憶與重新連結——與土地、與水、與祖靈，以及與那些被碎裂或遺忘的知識方式。這是一條來自傳承的道路，同時也在於將其轉譯與分享，使其能在不同語境中被他人接近。
透過我的藝術與薩滿實踐，我希望創造物質的、情感的與靈性的空間，讓人們可以停下來、反思，並重新與自己以及多於人類的世界建立連結。這對我而言並不是與生活分開的事情，而是一種持續的承諾——在生活、創作與分享中保持與這個目的的一致性。
岱如：你提到來自不同背景的人對你雙重身份的誤解。你是否發展出某種策略來跨越這些差距？我們如何在同一個星球上與多重真實共存？
Alyen：這種誤解不只來自其他文化；它也發生在部落內部。因為我父親在銀行工作，我在印度與印尼之間移動成長。我並不是在「傳統」的村落中長大。當我回到家鄉重新連結傳承時，一些「純粹主義者」會把我視為外人。
但被賦予傳承並不是我們可以控制的。如今，我們之中有許多人是在家鄉之外出生的。薩滿通常相當開放接納，因為他們無需任何背景審查，而能直接感知能量。同時，在社群之中也存在著由於文化流失與保存歷史所形塑的多元觀點。這些動態有時會帶來誤解或緊張的時刻。在這樣的情境下，我偶爾也會在自己的社群內遭遇言語與網路上的批評。
岱如：你如何處理這些敵意？
Alyen：我選擇在邊緣工作。我不介入既有的政治系統或直接對抗。相反地，我透過藝術讓人們意識到我們的環境。我分享故事，幫助孩子重新連結水與土地。我從根部開始工作。我的能量不會浪費在反擊上，而是用來尋找有共同心意的群體。我相信水會找到它的路。
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Muun 作為一種存在方式
岱如：你如何描述作為 Muun 的靈性實踐？是否有任何需要遵循的教育、原則或儀式？
Alyen：我作為 Muun 的靈性實踐並不僅限於儀式或典禮——它是一種存在與與世界建立關係的方式。它根植於對大地之母、她的各個領域、我們的祖輩、社群以及自我的深刻責任與敬意。它要求一種帶著覺察、謙遜與關懷的生活方式——輕柔地行走、深度地傾聽，並與所有存在保持合宜的關係。
雖然儀式與典禮是實踐中重要的一部分，但它們只是更大連續體中的一個面向。這個實踐延伸至日常生活——透過我們如何說話、創作、進食、傾聽，以及與他人和環境互動。它關乎維持平衡、表達感謝，並認知我們始終在可見與不可見的世界之間交換。
Muun 的教導方式主要是口述、經驗性與具身性的。它無法僅透過指導完全學會，而是透過觀察、參與、直覺與時間。指引來自長者、社群、土地本身，以及與之建立關係的靈與祖先。它需要紀律、耐心，以及同時願意去學習與鬆動既有認知。
這條路徑由一些原則所引導——尊重、互惠、責任與平衡。無論是人類或多於人類的生命存在，我們都必須以關懷與誠信相待。同時，也理解自己並不是單獨行動，而是作為一個更大關係網絡的一部分，這個網絡需要被維持與尊重。
作為一個在當代語境中行走這條路的人，我持續學習如何在保持這些教導完整性的同時，穿越不同的空間與觀眾。我的藝術實踐成為這種靈性實踐表達與分享的其中一種方式——將那些被生活與經驗所承載的事物轉譯為他人可以感受與參與的形式。
最終，成為 Muun 並不是扮演一個角色，而是與土地、傳承與生命本身保持一致地生活。
岱如：你可以分享你的藝術實踐如何受到你的原住民背景所影響，並在你的個人生命經驗中逐漸發展的嗎？它們如何與你的家鄉環境與經驗產生連結？
Alyen：我的藝術實踐深深根植於我作為一位來自東喜馬拉雅地區的 Lepcha 女性的身份，在那裡，土地、靈性與社群被理解為不可分割的整體。在成長過程中，這些連結並不被框定為「知識系統」，而只是單純的存在方式——在那裡，河流是祖先，山脈承載著起源的故事，而不可見的世界始終與可見的世界保持著持續的關係。
隨著時間推移，特別是在我的訓練、旅行，以及與當代藝術場域的接觸之中，我逐漸意識到，這些知識有多大程度上被誤解、被碎片化，或被抹除。我的實踐因此成為一種回返並重新表述這些關係的方式——透過材料、形式與過程——同時也在這之中行走我自身的記憶之旅。
由於我來自與 Muun 相關的脈絡傳承，我的工作受到感知、傾聽與接收等方式的引導。我的許多裝置作品是由視覺、夢境與直覺性的過程所引導，但同時也扎根於與長者的對話、口述歷史以及生活經驗之中。我主要使用回收的紡織品與自然材料進行創作，使製作的行為能夠貼近土地，以及使用、腐化與更新的循環。
我的家鄉環境在這一發展過程中扮演了核心的角色。森林、像 Teesta 與 Relli 這樣的河流，以及像 Kanchenjunga 這樣的山脈的存在，不只是我作品中的參照——它們是積極的合作對象。
它們形塑每一件作品中的敘事、材料與能量。同時，目睹生態的衰退、人口的流離，以及原住民與土地關係的逐漸消失，也為我的實踐帶來了一種迫切性。
透過裝置、行為以及合作性的過程，我探索跨世代記憶、女性宇宙觀、療癒以及生態責任等主題。我的作品經常以暫時性的、儀式性的空間形式出現——在那裡，社群聚集、記憶，並參與關懷與釋放的行動。在這樣的方式中，藝術不再只是一個物件，而是一個活生生的連結過程。
最終，我的實踐關乎於承載一種連續性——在過去與現在之間，在可見與不可見之間，以及在人類與多於人類的世界之間。它既是個人的，也是集體的，根植於我的生活經驗之中，同時也向共享的反思與轉化保持開放。
岱如：你提到你的藝術創作是由「感知、傾聽與接收」所引導。可以請你舉一個例子，說明這如何轉化為一件具體的作品或儀式嗎？
Alyen：幾年前，我有意識地進入哀悼之中，想要理解它。我走得太深，被祖先與土地的集體悲傷所癱瘓。我憂鬱了一個月。我的朋友最後帶我去我們地區的一條小河。
當我跳進水裡的那一刻，我感受到一種「原初的再啟動」。我聽見河流說：「讓我們承載你。讓我們療癒你。只要臣服。」當我從水中出來時，我被給予了一個關於某種裝置、頭飾與儀式的意象。
岱如： 那就是你釋放哀悼的方式嗎？
Alyen： 是的。我成為河流的載體，也成為我們起源故事的載體：我們的骨頭是岩石，我們的肉是土壤，我們的血是水，我們的呼吸是風。當我用回收的紡織品創作這個裝置時，我透過創作進行祈禱。人們會隨機帶來來自麥加的聖水或來自神聖寺廟的泥土，而我會將它們納入作品之中。我無法控制這一切；這些事物只是自然地來到我這裡。
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生態、宇宙觀與關係
岱如：在你的成長過程中，你在家庭與學校教育中所接觸到的「生態」概念是什麼？它如何與你的 Lepcha 宇宙觀相關？你如何閱讀自然、大地之母，或任何你會使用的稱呼？你如何維持這種與自然的連結與關係？
Alyen：在我的成長過程中，生態並不是作為一個獨立的學科或概念被介紹給我——它是被生活、被感受、並深植於日常之中的。在家裡，特別是在我的 Lepcha 脈絡中，與土地、河流、森林以及所有存在的關係，被理解為一種親屬關係與責任。自然並不是「在外面」的東西；它是家人、祖先、供養者與老師。
相較之下，我在學校接受的正式教育，則以一種更科學化與被切分的方式來呈現生態——透過系統、分類與環境議題。這些當然是重要的，但它常常讓我感到與我成長過程中所經驗的關係性與靈性理解有所斷裂。我花了一段時間才意識到，我從社群中繼承的也是一種深刻的生態知識——只是它是透過故事、儀式與生活實踐來表達，而不是透過教科書。
Lepcha 的宇宙觀將世界理解為有生命且彼此連結的。像 Kanchenjunga 這樣的山不只是地質構造，而是起源之地。像 Teesta 與 Relli 這樣的河流是具有記憶、靈性與能動性的生命。這些地景中存在著守護者、靈體與能量，而人類的角色不是支配，而是維持平衡與尊重。這樣的宇宙觀並不抽象——它透過儀式、供奉、傾聽與日常的關懷實踐出來。
對我個人而言，自然是可被經驗、並理解作為一種有生命且具有回應性的存在。它透過細微與直接的方式進行溝通——透過天氣的變化、水的流動、夢境、身體的感受，以及直覺的知曉。隨著時間，我學會放慢並更專注地傾聽。這種關係方式也透過我與薩滿實踐相關的訓練與傳承而被深化，其中觀察、調頻與謙遜是核心。
維持這種連結是一種持續且有意識的實踐。它意味著待在自然之中，不是作為一個訪客，而是作為一個處於關係之中的存在——傾聽、給予、並承認。我的藝術實踐是我維持這種連結的方式之一。透過創作、儀式與合作過程，我創造出可以讓這些關係被記起並與他人分享的空間。
我對生態的核心理解是關於互惠。它是關於認知我們是更大生命網絡的一部分，而我們的福祉深深依賴於我們如何照顧土地、水以及所有周遭的存在。這是我的成長背景給予我的，也是我持續回返、深化並透過我的工作與日常生活去實踐的。
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藝術實踐與轉化
岱如：你的藝術主題與研究焦點是什麼？你如何在作為藝術家與 Muun 的實踐中，與自然與社群的關係中調解材料的轉化？
Alyen：我的藝術實踐與研究的焦點，在於原住民族宇宙觀、跨世代記憶，以及人類與多於人類世界之間的關係。我密切關注 Lepcha 文化傳承的敘事工作——特別是那些與土地、河流、祖靈存在以及女性靈性傳承相關的敘事。我的工作是一個持續的記憶過程，其中口述歷史、視覺、與生活經驗匯聚在一起，去探索身份、生態與延續性的問題。
我實踐的一個關鍵核心，圍繞著 Muun（Lepcha 女性薩滿）的角色，不僅作為一個文化人物，也作為一種感知、理解與在不同世界之間調解的方式。這同時形塑了我的藝術與研究過程。我將創作視為一種關係性的行動——材料、能量與故事並不是被控制，而是被傾聽與共同工作。
在我的實踐中，材料的轉化既是物質的，也是微妙的。我主要使用回收紡織品、自然材料、種子、灰燼與儀式元素——這些材料本身已經承載著使用、記憶與觸感的歷史。透過編織、綁結、層疊、燃燒與重新組裝的過程，這些材料被轉化為裝置與儀式形式。然而，這種轉化不僅僅是美學上的——它同時也是能量性與帶有意圖的。
作為一位藝術家與一位正在修習訓練中的 Muun，我將材料理解為一種容器。每一個元素都透過關懷、注意力，以及經常透過祈禱或供奉來被接觸。創作的行為可以成為一種召喚——讓作品成為祖先存在、療癒與傳遞的空間。在某些作品中，這也延伸為社群參與，集體創作成為分享知識、哀悼與責任的方式。
這個過程同時也包含放手。我的許多裝置是暫時性的，或被歸還給自然——被焚燒、被拆解，或任其腐化。這反映了一種對無常與循環更新的理解，其中轉化在作品可見生命之外持續發生。
在與自然與社群的關係中，我的角色不是去提取或再現，而是去調解並持守空間。這可能意味著將從土地感知到的事物轉譯為物質形式，或促成集體過程，讓人們能夠重新連結這些關係。我的工作成為一座橋——在過去與現在之間，在可見與不可見之間，在個體與集體經驗之間。
最終，我的實踐是關於修復關係——與土地、與祖先，以及與那些根植於關懷、互惠與平衡的知識方式。
岱如：談談你所接受的的藝術教育是什麼樣的？
Alyen：我的藝術教育是由正式訓練與生活中的具身性學習共同形塑的。
我在印度艾哈邁達巴德的國立設計學院（NID）接受設計教育，在那裡我接觸到材料探索、以過程為導向的思考，以及跨領域的創作方式。這個基礎幫助我理解如何在當代框架中處理形式、結構與敘事，並提供我進入專業與機構場域的工具。
同時，我教育中很重要的一部分發生在正式機構之外。與工藝師、社群以及不同文化脈絡中的工作經驗，對我而言同樣重要，甚至更加關鍵。透過這些經驗，我直接從實作中學習——觀察技術、透過觸感理解材料，以及與那些深植於日常生活與環境節奏中的製作方式互動。
這種場域中的學習，也讓我理解口述知識系統的價值、耐心，以及對隨時間演變的材料與過程的尊重。它讓我的實踐扎根於謙遜與互惠之中，在其中學習不是被提取，而是在關係中被分享與建立。
此外，我在 Lepcha 脈絡中的成長，以及我與薩滿實踐相關的持續學習，也形塑了我對「知識」本身的理解——不只是理性的，而是被感受、被接收並有具身性的。這也影響我如何理解藝術與研究。
這些不同的學習方式——正式的設計教育、與工藝師的田野工作，以及來自社群與傳承的經驗知識——持續地共同形塑我的實踐。它們讓我能夠在當代藝術空間與傳統知識系統之間流動，同時扎根於過程、材料與關係的動態中。
岱如：你會將你的作品視為「表演」嗎？
Alyen：在藝術世界裡，它被稱為表演。但對我來說，它是儀式與典禮。我永遠不知道我會做什麼，直到那個時刻到來。我信任祖先教我如何在當下舞動。我會準備材料——香、石頭、服裝——但動作本身是即興的。
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聯盟、社群與社會實踐
岱如：你可以描繪你的實踐如何在社群中創造不同的聯盟、關係與社會資本嗎？
Alyen：我的實踐創造並滋養多層次的結盟——在我的社群之內，在原住民族網絡之間，以及在國際當代藝術語境中。這些關係不只是透過展覽建立，也透過共享的過程、儀式、教學以及長期的參與來形成。
在社群層面，我的工作常常以集體創作與引導性空間的形式出現。透過工作坊、駐地與合作裝置，我與藝術家、學生、工藝師以及在地社群合作，探索記憶、土地與身份等主題。這些過程促成跨世代的交流，使長者的知識、生活經驗與創造性表達匯聚在一起。如此一來，這些工作有助於強化文化的延續、社群的韌性，以及對土地與生態的共同責任。
同時，我的實踐也深深扎根於一個持續與自我工作、探索內在的過程。這包括與個人經驗、情感面向與靈性過程的互動——傾聽、鬆動既有認知、療癒與轉化。這些內在工作的成果並不被私有，而是透過我的藝術與引導過程被分享。在這樣的方式中，個人轉化為集體——創造出讓他人也能反思、釋放並重新連結的空間。這個層面讓脆弱性、關懷與身體化理解成為知識生成與傳遞的一部分。
教育是我實踐中的一個關鍵面向。我將原住民族知識系統視為活生生的教學法——將說故事、具身學習、觀察與關係性的理解置於單純提取式或理論性的模式之上。透過教學與引導，我創造出讓參與者重新連結以土地為基礎的知識方式的空間，並反思他們自身與生態、祖先與社群的關係。在這裡，知識是被經驗、被感受，並被傳遞延續的。
我與材料與工藝師的關係，也構成另一層重要的連結建立。透過使用回收紡織品、自然元素與傳統技術，我既支持並重視工藝知識系統與在地經濟，也將它們置入當代藝術論述之中。這在傳統實踐與新的可見性與認可形式之間建立了一座橋樑。
「自然權利」的認識框架與我的實踐產生強烈共鳴。根植於 Lepcha 宇宙觀——其中河流、山脈與森林被理解為具有能動性的生命——我的工作與全球倡議自然權利的努力相呼應。透過裝置、敘事與儀式行動，我試圖將人們的觀點從將自然視為資源，轉向將其視為親屬、祖先與具有主權的存在。這種觀點影響我創作的內容與方式。
在地方之外，我的實踐也與更廣泛的原住民族與跨文化網絡連結。跨區域的合作促進基於共享的生態與靈性理解的交流，建立在相互尊重與共鳴之上的關係。
在國際層面，我的工作與那些將原住民族敘事帶入全球論述的機構與平台接軌。這些空間讓我能將故事與知識方式帶向外部，同時也將支持我所合作社群的資源與機會帶回。在這個意義上，我成為一座橋——在不同語境之間移動，同時對自己的根源保持責任。
因此，我的實踐所生成的社會資本不僅是專業性的，也同時是關係性的、生態的、情感的與文化的。它存在於更緊密的社群連結、內在與集體過程的分享、跨世代的知識傳遞，以及對我們對自然世界責任的意識培養之中。
最終，我的實踐是關於建立互惠且持續的關係——與自我、與社群，以及與多於人類的世界——在其中，藝術成為教育、療癒與集體轉化的方式。
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永續與延續
岱如：你如何在你的實踐中思考永續性？
Alyen：在我的實踐中，永續並不是一個被單獨處理的議題，而是一種基礎的思考、創作與關係方式。它源自於我的 Lepcha 世界觀，其中土地、水、森林與所有存在被理解為彼此連結，而關懷、平衡與互惠是維持生命的關鍵。
在材料層面，我主要使用回收紡織品、拾得物、自然元素、種子與儀式殘留物。這些材料本身已經承載著使用與記憶的歷史，透過編織、綁結、層疊與轉化的過程，它們被賦予新的生命。這種方法減少對新資源的依賴，同時也承認材料中所蘊含的情感與文化價值。
同樣重要的是，我對無常的關注。我的許多作品是刻意暫時性的——被設計為被拆解、被燃燒，或被歸還給自然。這反映了一種對循環過程的理解，其中創造、腐化與更新都是持續流動的一部分。對我來說，永續不是關於永久，而是關於負責任的轉化與回歸。
永續也存在於我與人工作的方式之中。透過合作過程、工作坊與駐地，我創造出共享學習、跨世代交流與集體關懷的空間。這些實踐強化了社群關係，並支持那些長期維持人與生態系統的知識的傳遞。
我的實踐也受到與「自然權利」相一致的原則所影響，其中河流、山脈與森林被視為具有自身能動性的生命體。這改變了藝術家的角色——從一個生產物件的人，轉為一個對所參與的環境與社群負責與承擔的人。
在個人層面，永續也涉及我如何承載自己的能量與存在——學習以更緩慢、更專注的方式工作，並與自然的節奏保持一致，而不是持續不斷的生產。
最終，我的實踐中的永續，是關於關係的延續——與材料、與社群、與祖先知識，以及與多於人類的世界。它是一種持續的承諾——以尊重而非消耗的方式進行創作。
岱如：你是否曾將這些薩滿的學習轉化為工作坊的形式？
Alyen：我曾帶領一個名為《Echoes of Our Mothers》的工作坊。我們透過藝術「下降」進入祖先的悲傷，並帶出療癒與藥方。即使參與者在薩滿的意義上沒有「天賦」，我相信這些能力在所有人身上都是沉睡的。這只是一種我們已經遺忘的連結方式。
我現在正逐漸到達一個階段，感覺自己準備好設計一些關於如何傾聽——傾聽樹、傾聽河流——的具體工作坊。
岱如：你看起來好像已經為一切都準備好了，因為你已經如此「準備好」了自己。
Alyen： 我是人！我也會有感到沒有根基或迷失的時候。但我正在變得更擅長提醒自己去臣服。我正在學習讓一切該來的來，該去的去。
On Becoming: Artist and Shaman
Esther: When did you decide to take the path of an artist and that of a shaman? Do you find any conflicts between these practices, and how do you balance them or consider this dual role? Have you encountered any specific challenges with your unique identity? Do you think you have a clear life mission that you need to fulfill?
Alyen: My path as an artist has been present for as long as I can remember. Coming from a design background, art was always an integral part of how I expressed, processed, and understood the world. It wasn’t a separate decision so much as a natural extension of how I move through life.
The path of the shaman, however, opened more abruptly and with intensity. It emerged following a period of deep psychological rupture, which I experienced as a breakdown but also as a threshold. That time created a strong pull to return to my roots—to my Lepcha lineage, to ancestral knowledge systems, and to ways of understanding that exist beyond conventional frameworks. What began as a search for grounding gradually revealed itself as a path of initiation and responsibility.
Bringing these two paths together felt intuitive rather than conflicting. For me, there is no separation between being an artist and walking a shamanic path—they are reciprocal and mutually sustaining. Both require deep listening, sensitivity, and the ability to work with what is unseen or not immediately visible. My art practice allows me to give form to what is sensed, received, or carried, while my shamanic training informs how I approach materials, spaces, and people—with care, intention, and accountability.
There are, however, challenges in inhabiting this way of being. One of them is the absence of direct mentorship that fully mirrors my specific position—navigating contemporary art spaces while being rooted in an Indigenous spiritual lineage. While I have received guidance from my community and from teachers and collaborators across different parts of the world, there are moments of navigating this path without a clear precedent. At the same time, this has also opened up new ways of learning—through relationships, intuition, and experience.
Another challenge is negotiating identity within broader social contexts. Coming from multiple religious and cultural influences, and working with spiritual practices that are often misunderstood, I have experienced moments of being misread, marginalised, or not easily placed within dominant frameworks. This can create distance, but it has also clarified my commitment to staying grounded in my own truth and lineage.
As for a sense of mission, I do feel a strong clarity. My work is centred around remembering and reconnecting—to land, to water, to ancestors, and to ways of knowing that have been fragmented or forgotten. It is about walking a path that has been laid out through lineage, while also translating and sharing it in ways that can be accessed by others across different contexts.
Through both my artistic and shamanic practices, I aim to create spaces—material, emotional, and spiritual—where people can pause, reflect, and reconnect with themselves and the more-than-human world. This is not something I see as separate from life, but as an ongoing commitment to living, making, and sharing in alignment with that purpose.
Esther: You mentioned experiencing conflict or misunderstanding from people of other backgrounds regarding your dual role as an artist and a shaman. Have you developed a strategy to bridge these gaps? How do we live with multiple truths on one planet?
Alyen: This misunderstanding doesn’t just happen with other cultures; it happens within the tribe itself. Because my father worked in a bank, I moved around India and Indonesia. I wasn’t “traditionally” raised in the village. When I returned to reconnect with my lineage, some “purists” saw me as an outsider.
But the gift of the lineage is something we can’t control. Many of us are now born outside our hometowns. The shamans are often very accepting because they feel the energy directly—they don’t need a background check. At the same time, within the community there are diverse perspectives shaped by histories of cultural loss and preservation. These dynamics can sometimes lead to moments of misunderstanding or tension. In this context, I have occasionally encountered verbal and online criticism from within my own community.
Esther: How do you handle that hostility?
Alyen: I choose to work on the peripheries. I don’t interfere in conventional political systems or direct confrontations. Instead, I use art to make us aware of our environment. I share stories that help children reconnect to the water and the land. I work from the roots up. My energy isn’t wasted on retaliating; it’s spent finding communities and people with a common heart. I trust that water will find its way.
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Muun: Practice, Pedagogy, and Way of Being
Esther: How would you describe your spiritual practice as a Muun? Is there any pedagogy, principle, or ritual that you need to follow?
Alyen: My spiritual practice as a Muun is not limited to ritual or ceremony—it is a way of being and relating to the world. It is rooted in a deep sense of responsibility and reverence toward Mother Earth, her many realms, our ancestors, community, and the self. It asks for a way of moving through life with attentiveness, humility, and care—walking gently, listening deeply, and remaining in the right relationship with all that exists.
While rituals and ceremonies are an important part of the practice, they are only one aspect of a larger continuum. The practice extends into everyday life—through how one speaks, makes, eats, listens, and engages with others and the environment. It is about maintaining balance, offering gratitude, and recognising that we are constantly in exchange with the visible and unseen worlds.
The pedagogy of the Muun is largely oral, experiential, and embodied. It is not something that can be fully learned through instruction alone, but through observation, participation, intuition, and time. Guidance comes from elders, from the community, from the land itself, and from the spirits and ancestors one is in relationship with. It requires discipline, patience, and a willingness to unlearn as much as to learn.
There are principles that guide this path—respect, reciprocity, responsibility, and balance. One must approach all beings, human and more-than-human, with care and integrity. There is also an understanding that one is not acting alone, but as part of a larger network of relationships that must be honoured and maintained.
As someone walking this path in a contemporary context, I am continually learning how to hold these teachings with integrity while also navigating different spaces and audiences. My art practice becomes one of the ways in which this spiritual practice is expressed and shared—translating what is lived and experienced into forms that can be felt and engaged with by others.
Ultimately, being a Muun is not about performing a role, but about living in alignment—with land, lineage, and life itself.
Esther: Can you share how your artistic practice has been informed by your indigenous background and evolved throughout your personal life experience? How do they connect to your hometown environment and experience?
Alyen: My artistic practice is deeply rooted in my identity as a Lepcha woman from the Eastern Himalayas, where land, spirit, and community are understood as inseparable. Growing up, these connections were not framed as “knowledge systems” but simply as ways of being—where rivers are ancestors, mountains hold origin stories, and the unseen worlds exist in constant relationship with the visible.
Over time, especially through my training, travel, and engagement with contemporary art spaces, I became aware of how much of this knowledge is either misunderstood, fragmented, or erased. My practice emerged as a way to return to and rearticulate these relationships—through material, form, and process—while also navigating my own journey of remembering.
Coming from a lineage connected to the Muun, the female shamans of the Lepcha community, my work is informed by ways of sensing, listening, and receiving. Many of my installations are guided by visions, dreams, and intuitive processes, but they are also grounded in conversations with elders, oral histories, and lived experience. I work primarily with upcycled textiles and natural materials, allowing the act of making to remain close to the land and to cycles of use, decay, and renewal.
My hometown environment has been central to this evolution. The forests, rivers like Teesta and Relli, and the presence of mountains such as Kanchenjunga are not just references in my work—they are active collaborators. They shape the narratives, materials, and energies within each piece. At the same time, witnessing ecological degradation, displacement, and the slow erasure of Indigenous relationships to land has brought urgency to my practice.
Through installations, performances, and collaborative processes, I explore themes of intergenerational memory, feminine cosmologies, healing, and ecological responsibility. My work often takes the form of temporary, ceremonial spaces—where communities gather, remember, and participate in acts of care and release. In this way, art becomes not just an object, but a living process of connection.
Ultimately, my practice is about holding continuity—between past and present, between the seen and unseen, and between human and more-than-human worlds. It is both personal and collective, rooted in my lived experience, yet open to shared reflection and transformation.
Esther: You talk about your work being informed by “sensing, listening, and receiving.” Can you give an example of how that translates into a specific artwork or ritual?
Alyen: A few years ago, I made a conscious journey into grief to understand it. I went too deep and became paralysed by the collective grief of my ancestors and the land. I was depressed for a month. My friends eventually took me to a small river in our region.
The moment I jumped into the water, I felt a “primal reactivation.” I heard the river say: “Let us hold you. Let us heal you. Just surrender.” When I came out, I was presented with a vision for an installation, a headgear, and a ceremony.
Esther: Is that how you released the grief?
Alyen: Yes. I became a vessel for the river and our origin story: that our bones are rocks, our flesh is soil, our blood is water, and our breath is the wind. As I created the installation using upcycled textiles, I prayed through it. People would randomly bring me holy water from Mecca or mud from sacred temples, and I would incorporate them. I have no control over it; these things just make their way to me.
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Ecology, Cosmology, and Relation
Esther: In your upbringing, what was the concept of ecology in your home and school education? How does it relate to your Lepcha cosmology? How do you read nature, Mother Earth, or in any other term you would use? How do you maintain this connection and relation with nature?
Alyen: In my upbringing, ecology was not introduced to me as a separate subject or concept—it was something lived, felt, and embedded in everyday life. At home, especially within my Lepcha context, the relationship with land, rivers, forests, and all beings was understood as one of kinship and responsibility. Nature was not “out there”; it was family, ancestor, provider, and teacher.
In contrast, my formal school education presented ecology in a more scientific and compartmentalised way—through systems, classifications, and environmental concerns. While important, it often felt disconnected from the relational and spiritual understanding I was growing up with. It took me time to realise that what I had inherited through my community was also a form of deep ecological knowledge—just expressed through stories, rituals, and lived practices rather than textbooks.
Lepcha cosmology understands the world as animate and interconnected. Mountains like Kanchenjunga are not just geological formations but places of origin. Rivers such as Teesta and Relli are living beings with memory, spirit, and agency. There are guardians, spirits, and energies that inhabit these landscapes, and the role of humans is not to dominate, but to maintain balance and respect. This cosmology is not abstract—it is practiced through ceremony, offerings, listening, and everyday acts of care.
Personally, I experience and “read” nature as a living, responsive presence. It communicates through subtle and direct ways—through changes in weather, movement of water, dreams, sensations, and intuitive knowing. Over time, I’ve learned to slow down and listen more attentively. This way of relating has been strengthened through my training and lineage connected to shamanic practices, where observation, attunement, and humility are essential.
Maintaining this connection is an ongoing, conscious practice. It involves spending time in nature not as a visitor, but as someone in relationship—listening, offering, and acknowledging. My art practice is one of the ways I sustain this connection. Through making, ceremony, and collaborative processes, I create spaces where these relationships can be remembered and shared with others.
At its core, my understanding of ecology is about reciprocity. It is about recognising that we are part of a larger web of life, and that our well-being is deeply tied to how we care for the land, water, and all beings around us. This is something my upbringing gave me, and something I continue to return to, deepen, and live through my work and everyday life.
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Artistic Practice and Transformation
Esther: What is the focus of your artistic subject and research? How do you mediate material transformation in your practice as an artist and as a Muun in relation to nature and your community?
Alyen: The focus of my artistic practice and research lies in Indigenous cosmologies, intergenerational memory, and the relationship between humans and the more-than-human world. I work closely with narratives that emerge from my Lepcha heritage—particularly those connected to land, rivers, ancestral beings, and feminine spiritual lineages. My work is an ongoing process of remembering, where oral histories, visions, and lived experiences come together to explore questions of identity, ecology, and continuity.
A significant part of my practice centres on the role of the Muun, the Lepcha female shaman, not only as a cultural figure but as a way of sensing, knowing, and mediating between worlds. This informs both my artistic and research processes. I approach making as a relational act—where materials, energies, and stories are not controlled, but listened to and worked with.
Material transformation in my practice is both physical and subtle. I primarily work with upcycled textiles, natural materials, seeds, ash, and ritual elements—materials that already carry histories of use, memory, and touch. Through processes of weaving, binding, layering, burning, and reassembling, these materials are transformed into installations and ceremonial forms. However, this transformation is not only aesthetic—it is also energetic and intentional.
As both an artist and a Muun in training, I understand material as a vessel. Each element is engaged with through care, attention, and often through prayer or offering. The act of making can become a form of invocation—where the work holds space for ancestral presence, healing, and transmission. In some works, this extends to community participation, where collective making becomes a way of sharing knowledge, grief, and responsibility.
The process also includes letting go. Many of my installations are temporary or returned to the elements—burned, dismantled, or left to decay. This reflects an understanding of impermanence and cyclical renewal, where transformation continues beyond the visible life of the artwork.
In relation to nature and community, my role is not to extract or represent, but to mediate and hold space. This can mean translating what is sensed from the land into material form, or facilitating collective processes where people can reconnect with these relationships themselves. My work becomes a bridge—between past and present, between visible and unseen, and between individual and collective experience.
Ultimately, my practice is about restoring relationship—with land, with ancestry, and with ways of knowing that are rooted in care, reciprocity, and balance.
Esther: What was your art education like?
Alyen: My art education has been shaped by both formal training and lived, embodied learning.
I received my design education at the National Institute of Design (NID), Ahmedabad, where I was introduced to material exploration, process-based thinking, and interdisciplinary approaches to making. This foundation helped me understand how to work with form, structure, and narrative within a contemporary framework, and gave me the tools to engage with art and design in professional and institutional contexts.
At the same time, a significant part of my education has taken place outside formal institutions. Working closely with craftspeople, communities, and within different cultural contexts has been equally, if not more, formative. Through these experiences, I have learned directly from hands-on processes—observing techniques, understanding materials through touch, and engaging with the rhythms of making that are deeply tied to everyday life and environment.
This field-based learning has also taught me the value of oral knowledge systems, patience, and respect for materials and processes that evolve over time. It has grounded my practice in humility and reciprocity, where learning is not extracted, but shared and built through relationships.
In addition, my upbringing within a Lepcha context and my ongoing training connected to shamanic practices have shaped how I understand knowledge itself—not just as something intellectual, but as something felt, received, and embodied. This influences how I approach both art and research.
Together, these different modes of learning—formal design education, working in the field with craftspeople, and experiential knowledge from community and lineage—continue to inform my practice. They allow me to move fluidly between contemporary art spaces and traditional knowledge systems, while remaining rooted in process, material, and relationship.
Esther: Do you consider your work “performance art”?
Alyen: In the art world, it’s called performance. For me, it is ritual and ceremony. I never know what I’m going to do until it’s time. I trust the ancestors to teach me how to dance in the moment. I prepare the materials—the incense, the rocks, the garments—but the movement itself is spontaneous.
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Alliances, Community, and Social Practice
Esther: Can you map out how your practice creates different alliances, relations, and social capital within your community?
Alyen: My practice creates and nurtures multiple layers of alliances—within my community, across Indigenous networks, and in international contemporary art contexts. These relationships are built not only through exhibitions, but through shared processes, ceremony, pedagogy, and long-term engagement.
At a community level, my work often takes the form of collective making and facilitated spaces. Through workshops, residencies, and collaborative installations, I engage with artists, students, craftspeople, and local communities to explore themes of memory, land, and identity. These processes enable intergenerational exchange, where knowledge from elders, lived experience, and creative expression come together. In this way, the work contributes to strengthening cultural continuity, community resilience, and shared responsibility toward land and ecology.
At the same time, my practice is deeply rooted in an ongoing process of working with and navigating the self. This includes engaging with personal experiences, emotional landscapes, and spiritual processes—listening, unlearning, healing, and transforming. What emerges through this inner work is not held privately, but shared through my artistic and facilitation processes. In this way, the personal becomes collective—creating spaces where others can also reflect, release, and reconnect. This dimension of the practice allows for vulnerability, care, and embodied understanding to become part of how knowledge is created and transmitted.
Education is a key aspect of my work. I engage with Indigenous knowledge systems as living pedagogies—centering storytelling, embodied learning, observation, and relational understanding over purely extractive or theoretical models. Through teaching and facilitation, I create spaces where participants can reconnect with land-based ways of knowing, and reflect on their own relationships with ecology, ancestry, and community. Knowledge here is experienced, felt, and carried forward.
My engagement with materials and craftspeople forms another important layer of relationship-building. By working with upcycled textiles, natural elements, and traditional techniques, I contribute to sustaining and valuing craft-based knowledge systems and local economies, while situating them within contemporary art discourse. This creates a bridge between traditional practices and new forms of visibility and recognition.
The Rights of Nature framework resonates strongly with my practice. Rooted in Lepcha cosmology—where rivers, mountains, and forests are understood as living beings with agency—my work aligns with global efforts that advocate for recognising nature’s rights. Through installations, storytelling, and ceremonial acts, I aim to shift perception from nature as resource to nature as kin, ancestor, and sovereign presence. This perspective informs both what I create and how I create.
Beyond the local, my practice connects with wider Indigenous and cross-cultural networks. Collaborations across regions foster exchanges grounded in shared ecological and spiritual understandings, building relationships based on mutual respect and resonance.
Internationally, my work engages with institutions and platforms that bring Indigenous narratives into global discourse. These spaces allow me to carry stories and ways of knowing outward, while also bringing back networks and opportunities that can support the communities I work with. In this sense, I act as a bridge—moving between contexts while remaining accountable to where I come from.
The social capital generated through my practice is therefore not only professional, but relational, ecological, emotional, and cultural. It exists in strengthened community bonds, the sharing of inner and collective processes, the transmission of knowledge across generations, and the cultivation of awareness around our responsibilities toward the natural world.
Ultimately, my practice is about building reciprocal and sustained relationships—with self, community, and the more-than-human world—where art becomes a means of education, healing, and collective transformation.
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Sustainability and Continuity
Esther: How do you consider sustainability in your practice?
Alyen: Sustainability in my practice is not approached as a separate concern, but as a foundational way of thinking, making, and relating. It is shaped by my Lepcha worldview, where land, water, forests, and all beings are understood as interconnected, and where care, balance, and reciprocity are essential to sustaining life.
At a material level, I primarily work with upcycled textiles, found materials, natural elements, seeds, and ritual remnants. These materials already carry histories of use and memory, and through processes of weaving, binding, layering, and transformation, they are given new life. This approach reduces dependency on new resources while also acknowledging the emotional and cultural value embedded in materials.
Equally important is my engagement with impermanence. Many of my works are intentionally temporary—designed to be dismantled, burned, or returned to the elements. This reflects an understanding of cyclical processes, where creation, decay, and renewal are all part of a continuous flow. Sustainability, for me, is not about permanence, but about responsible transformation and return.
Sustainability also exists in the way I work with people. Through collaborative processes, workshops, and residencies, I create spaces for shared learning, intergenerational exchange, and collective care. These practices strengthen community relationships and support the transmission of knowledge systems that have long sustained both people and ecosystems.
My practice is further informed by the principles aligned with the Rights of Nature, where rivers, mountains, and forests are recognised as living entities with their own agency. This shifts the role of the artist from one who produces objects to one who holds responsibility and accountability toward the environments and communities they engage with.
On a personal level, sustainability also involves how I hold my own energy and presence—learning to work in ways that are slower, more attentive, and in rhythm with natural cycles rather than constant production.
Ultimately, sustainability in my practice is about continuity of relationships—with materials, with community, with ancestral knowledge, and with the more-than-human world. It is an ongoing commitment to making in ways that honour, rather than deplete, the systems we are part of.
Esther: Have you ever translated these shamanic learnings into a workshop format for others?
Alyen: I facilitated one called “Echoes of Our Mothers”. We used art to “descend” into ancestral grief and pull out medicine and healing. Even if participants don’t have “the gift” in a shamanic sense, I believe these abilities are dormant in all humans. It’s just a way of connecting that we’ve forgotten.
I’m now reaching a point where I feel ready to design specific workshops on how to listen to trees or the river.
Esther: You seem so ready for everything because you are so “ready” for yourself.
Alyen: I’m human! I have moments of feeling groundless or lost. But I’m getting better at reminding myself to surrender. I’m learning to allow whatever comes to come, and whatever goes to go.
