Kala Curry Radio at Rata's Studio

What begins as a single bead becomes a world in Pratiksha’s hands. Each Rata piece is a slow, sculptural weave, sculpted bead by bead.

1. Tell us a little about yourself—who you are, what you do, and how art became a part of your journey.

I’m Pratiksha Tandon, and I was born in 1994 in Indore, India. I think I’ve always looked at the world a little differently, noticing textures, colours, the quiet poetry of nature, long before I even knew I wanted to be a designer.

After graduating from NIFT Gandhinagar in 2016, I began my journey in the fashion industry through internships at Gokaldas Exports and under Rahul Mishra. Those early experiences gave me structure, discipline, and a glimpse into the possibilities of design. I went on to work with Péro by Aneeth Arora and then Eká by Rina Singh, two places that shaped my eye, deepened my respect for craft, and showed me how stories could be told through garments.

Even while working with these inspiring brands, I always made it a point to carve out time for personal projects. It was important for me to keep exploring, whether through illustration, surface ornamentation, embroidery, or mixed media. I never wanted my creative mind to feel boxed into a role or limited to a particular segment of design. That space of playful experimentation became essential, a reminder that creativity isn’t just about output but about staying rooted in curiosity and joy.

In 2018, life took a different turn. Both my parents were diagnosed with cancer, and I stepped away from full-time work to be with them. Those years changed me. They brought me closer to stillness, to the value of care, and to a kind of strength I didn’t know I had. 

It was during this time, often in the quiet of night, that I began teaching myself bead weaving. What started as a personal act of making slowly evolved into something deeper.

That is how Rata came into being in 2023. It is my creative shelter, a space where traditional beadwork meets contemporary forms and where every piece carries time, memory, and intention. Everything I create is inspired by the natural world, the way a flower leans toward the light, the rhythm of waves, and the texture of bark.

Rata is my way of honouring craft while reimagining its future. Not through noise, but through care. It is how I continue to stitch together what was, what is, and what might be. A place where the personal becomes poetic, one bead at a time.

2. Art isn’t just something we see—it’s something we live with. How does art seep into your daily life? And what does art mean to you?

For me, art is not a separate act. It’s not something that happens only at a desk or on a canvas. It seeps into the way I look at the world, the way I listen, the way I notice small things; the curve of a petal, the texture of a leaf, the hush between words.

Even in the most mundane moments, I find myself reaching for beauty. Whether I’m sketching, weaving, cooking, or even arranging things around me, there’s always an instinct to create with intention and emotion. It’s in the way I work with my hands, the pauses I take to observe, the colours I gravitate toward.

Art, to me, is a language I speak when words fall short. It is how I process memory, grief, joy, and change. During difficult chapters of my life, especially when I stepped away from work to care for my parents, art became an anchor. It kept me close to myself. It reminded me that even in stillness, something meaningful can grow.

I don’t see art as separate from living. It is the quiet rhythm that guides my day, the way I think, the way I feel, the way I connect. It’s not always loud or visible, but it is always present. Through Rata, I try to give shape to that presence. Each piece I create is a little fragment of that lived, felt, and deeply personal version of art.

3. Why do you think handcrafted art matters today more than ever?

In a world that moves faster every day, where algorithms shape our choices and AI is now seeping into the spaces of art, design, and creativity, handcrafted work becomes even more vital. Today, with just a click, you can generate an image, a design, a video, even a piece of writing. But what gets lost in that speed is the soul of the process.

Craft, especially something as intricate and intentional as bead weaving, is the opposite of instant. It is slow, it is layered, it is deeply human. Each piece carries hours of thought, emotion, trial, and attention. It holds a pulse. A machine might replicate a visual, but it cannot recreate the memory of hands moving bead by bead, the silent decisions, the imperfections that make each object feel alive.

Handcrafted, handmade, handwoven matters today because it brings us back to what is real and irreplaceable. It is a reminder of care, of intention, of time well spent. At a moment when so much is fast, digital, and endlessly reproducible, the handmade insists on presence. It creates a connection not only between the maker and the object, but also between the object and the person who chooses to live with it.

In that way, I believe things made by hand are not just relevant. It is essential. It grounds us. It reminds us of where we come from. And it gives us something AI never can; the quiet, imperfect beauty of something made by hand with heart.

4. How many years have you been practising this craft?

I first stumbled into bead weaving during my early days at Péro. It was the very first project assigned to me. I picked it up with genuine curiosity, diving into whatever books and online resources I could find. I would practise in the in-between moments, sometimes outside of my full-time responsibilities, trying to understand the rhythm of the technique, trying to make it mine.

But over time, working within tight deadlines and production pressure, that initial spark began to wear thin. When the joy of learning is replaced by the pressure to deliver, something shifts. The craft becomes a task. And on days when I couldn’t meet the expected output, it started to feel like failure. It was no longer about the joy of creating; it became about outcomes.

Eventually, I couldn’t sustain that relationship. I let the craft go, and for a long time, I didn’t think about it again.

It was during COVID that something shifted. One day, without much thought, I picked up beads again and began to weave. I honestly don’t even remember why or how I returned to it, but maybe beginnings don’t always need explanation, especially when the journey they lead you on feels so right. The first thing I made after years of stepping away was a beaded portrait of my father for his 60th birthday. It was slow, quiet, and intentional. There was no deadline, no pressure, just a deep desire to make something from the heart. Everything made sense again.

From there, I began to explore more, studying advanced beadwork through online tutorials, investing in books, paid and free courses, anything I could find that would help me go deeper into the technique. I started sharing bits of my work on Instagram, and to my surprise, people responded with joy and wonder. There was something about this medium that instantly connected with others.

That’s when I felt a pull to take it more seriously. I started accepting commissions, stories sent to me from strangers who wanted their emotions, memories, and moments translated into beads. At a time when we were all physically distant, this craft became a bridge. From a small room, I found myself connecting with people in meaningful, emotional ways.

Since then, this has been my quiet, constant practice. Every day, I return to the beadwork, still learning, still discovering, still growing. And I know there is so much more left to explore.

5. What makes an artist an artist? (like who can call themselves an artist/what counts as being an artist)

I don’t think being an artist is about titles or degrees or even having mastered a medium. To me, an artist is someone who feels deeply and chooses to respond to the world through creation. It’s about how you see, how you interpret, and how you translate what you experience, whether that’s through paint, thread, beads, words, or any other form of expression.

An artist listens to the world a little differently. There’s a kind of quiet attention involved, a way of noticing what others may overlook and choosing to give it form. It could be a fleeting memory, a texture from childhood, a question you’re still trying to answer. What matters is the intention behind the making, not how perfect or polished the final outcome is.

I believe anyone who creates with sincerity, curiosity, and care can call themselves an artist. It’s not about waiting for validation. It’s about allowing yourself to express, to explore, to connect. Art, at its core, is an act of honesty. If something within you moves you to create, and you follow that with devotion, then you are already living as an artist.

6. What does being an artist/brand that sells art mean to you? 

Being an artist and building a brand that sells art means holding space for both vulnerability and responsibility. It means creating from a place that is honest and personal, and then choosing to share that with the world in a way that still protects the soul of the work.

With Rata, I never set out to create just a product line. I wanted to build a practice, a space where craft, emotion, and story could come together meaningfully. Every piece we make carries time, memory, and intention. Selling is not just a transaction; it is an invitation for someone else to carry that story forward.

But I have also come to understand that creating art does not always mean it will fetch you money. It is unpredictable. And when you turn that art into a brand, the stakes shift. You become responsible, not just for the work, but for the people who stand behind it. The artisans who bring it to life, the team that supports the process. Their livelihood becomes tied to the rhythm of the brand.

So for me, being an artist with a brand is about striking a balance. It is about protecting the integrity of the creative process while making sure the people involved are sustained with care and dignity. It is about choosing slowness and depth while still finding ways to build a system that works. One cannot thrive without the other. And that harmony, between creative freedom and collective wellbeing, is what I believe gives art its truest value.

7. How long does it usually take to create one piece from start to finish?

Each piece we create is different in its form, shape, and technique, which means the time it takes to make every product varies. A significant part of our process lies in the exploration that happens before the making even begins. We spend time studying the inspiration, understanding its essence, and finding the techniques that can bring it to life in the most honest way.

Sampling is an integral part of this journey. It allows us to test, refine, and shape the idea into something tangible. Depending on the complexity, initial sampling can take anywhere from 10 to 20 days, sometimes less, sometimes even more than that. No fixed number of hours can define this process because no two pieces are the same.

Each product carries its own rhythm. The time that goes into making it is a reflection of its individuality, its story, and the care it deserves.

8. What drew you to the medium(s) you work with?

I think my initial answers highlight this.

9. How do you see art products being perceived in the Indian market?

In the Indian market, I think the perception of art products is slowly evolving. There is a growing segment of people, especially younger audiences, who are beginning to seek objects that carry meaning, intention, and a story. People are becoming more curious about how something is made, who makes it, and why it exists beyond just looking good.

But alongside this shift, there is still a large part of the population that continues to consume fast fashion. The market is flooded with cheap alternatives that offer instant gratification but often fall apart after just a few uses. In many cases, people have become conditioned to the idea of buying more for less, and the cycle continues. Handmade products are often unfairly compared to these mass-produced, lower-quality items found in local markets or fast fashion stores. The pricing of handcrafted work is questioned, even though the time, skill, and intention behind it are incomparable.

This creates a challenge for artists and small brands who are trying to build something rooted in care and craftsmanship. There is still a gap in how we, as a larger community, understand the value of what is made slowly and mindfully. Art products are sometimes seen as indulgent or niche, rather than as everyday objects of meaning and cultural relevance.

But I do believe the shift is happening. Slowly and steadily, more people are choosing to invest in fewer, better things. With more platforms supporting independent makers and more dialogue around conscious consumption, there is hope. As long as we, as artists and storytellers, continue to create with honesty, there will always be people who are willing to understand and support that journey.

10. The early days of Studio Rata involved months of just teaching without producing. What did that period of intensive skill-sharing teach you about patience, leadership, and trust in craft?

Those early days of Studio Rata were incredibly quiet, but also some of the most meaningful. For months, we were not producing anything. It was just me sitting with the artisans, teaching bead weaving from scratch. There was no pressure to create a collection or meet a deadline. It was about building something slowly and intentionally, through hands, through shared effort, through trust.

At the time, I was using my personal savings to ensure that the people I was teaching were still being paid fairly, just like they would at any other job. It felt important that they saw value in what they were being offered, not just in learning a new skill, but in being part of something that respected their time and effort. I knew that if I wanted people to take this work seriously, I had to first take care of them and show them that their dignity mattered here.

That period taught me what true patience looks like. Teaching a craft like bead weaving means slowing down, repeating, encouraging, failing together, and starting again. Some people stayed, those who had the patience and respect for the process. Some left. Some needed to be reminded every day of what they were becoming a part of. A lot of the early work was not about beads or technique; it was about helping people understand the value of what we were trying to build together.

Even now, not every kaarigar fully recognises or appreciates that phase or what it took to create that space for them. But that is human, isn’t it? We all carry different experiences and expectations. I am still learning every day, learning to listen better, to communicate with more empathy, to stay grounded in our truest intent.

That chapter did not result in immediate outcomes, but it laid the emotional and structural foundation for everything Rata stands for. It taught me that leadership is about showing up, not just with skill, but with sincerity. And that trust, once built through care and consistency, becomes the most valuable part of any craft.

11. You mention that your artisans are now independent enough to experiment on their own. How do you balance maintaining your design vision with allowing that creative freedom within the team?

That balance has come slowly and through a lot of mutual learning. In the beginning, everything had to be closely guided because the craft was new to them. But over time, as the artisans grew more confident with the technique, I started seeing small moments of experimentation, an unexpected combination of beads, a new way of building a form. That is when I knew the craft had started to live within them, too.

As a designer, I hold the larger vision for the brand, the emotional tone, and the stories we want to tell. But within that framework, I believe it is important to leave room for the hands that are making to also have a voice. Craft thrives when it breathes, when it allows for improvisation. I never want Rata to feel like a rigid system. I want it to feel like a studio where learning, trying, and playing are always part of the process.

A team is made up of all kinds of people. Some like to experiment on their own, pushing ideas forward independently, while others seek guidance and support to shape their thoughts more clearly. And both approaches are valid. What matters is the willingness to learn, stay open, and contribute with sincerity.

That said, the journey of building a team has not been without its challenges. The team has changed many times since we started. As a small and growing brand, we have tried our best to create a space that is respectful, transparent, and fair. We have gone out of our way to ensure our kaarigars are paid well, even matching or exceeding expectations, especially for those coming from larger companies. But sometimes, even after offering the best we could, we have encountered people who did not respect the space, did not take the craft seriously, or failed to meet the standards of performance we aim for.

There have also been moments when our efforts and the space itself were taken for granted. Crucial timelines were missed, and commitment faltered. In those moments, we found ourselves questioning whether the process of teaching and nurturing was being valued at all. It was not easy. We had to keep reminding ourselves why we started Rata in the first place, why we chose to build a system that was different from the norm. The people who truly saw that intent, who recognised the opportunity and respected the journey, stayed and grew with us. Those who could not connect with that vision naturally stepped away, or were let go, because our energy had to be invested in the right people.

We have never been keen on keeping individuals who cannot value or acknowledge what we are trying to build together. Skill is important, but mindset matters just as much.

We only want people who are truly happy working with us, who feel invested in the journey, and who understand that we are doing everything we can to support them in return. At the end of the day, this is not just a workplace. It is a shared space of learning and creating. That mutual respect, that shared intent, is the only way the craft and the community can thrive.

12. Your work blends techniques like hand weaving, wire artistry, and 3D embroidery. What excites you most about combining these methods?

What excites me most about our process is the sculptural nature of what we do. A lot of people often mistake our work for 3D embroidery, and I understand why. That is the form of craft most people are familiar with, or it is one of the crafts that is glorified the most by everyone. But what we do at Rata is something fundamentally different. It is not embroidery in the traditional sense. It is 3D sculpting through weaving.

In conventional 3D embroidery, the work is usually done on an adda or frame. A base fabric, often mesh/net or water-soluble paper, is stretched over the frame, and artisans then build forms on top of it using techniques like aari, zardosi, or threadwork. The fabric acts as a canvas, giving both structure and support. It is a reliable surface that holds the form and conceals the underside of the work, where knots, threads, or reinforcements may lie.

Our approach is far more raw, exposed, and complex. We begin from nothing. No base, no fabric, no surface to rest upon. Every piece starts with a single bead, and from that point we build. One bead becomes two, two grow into a line, and that line begins to bend, fold, and layer, eventually forming a petal, a leaf, a stem. Each element is shaped in space, suspended and structured entirely through tension, direction, and the memory of the thread. There is no surface to hide behind, no space to cover up mistakes. Every movement is visible, every decision felt. What we are doing is more akin to freeform sculpting, where the form evolves organically in the hands of the maker.

This process excites me because it is deeply alive. There is no template. No two flowers are the same. Every curve, every fold, every twist is instinctive, built slowly through patience and understanding. It is this delicate balance between control and spontaneity that keeps the work fresh, challenging, and rewarding.

Combining this form of bead weaving with other materials like wire or crocheting allows us to push the boundaries even further. The techniques begin to speak to one another. Wire brings structure, beads bring body, and thread brings movement. And together, they let us build objects that feel like they are still growing, still becoming.

To me, the beauty lies in that process. In building something from nothing. In the quiet, complex craft of creating form in open air, with no foundation but your own hands and vision to hold it all together.

13. Whimsy seems to be a signature of Rata’s aesthetic. How do you incorporate playfulness into the labour-intensive and precise process of beadwork?

For me, whimsy is not something separate from discipline; it lives within it. The process of beadwork is undoubtedly labour-intensive and precise. It requires attention, patience, and a deep respect for the material. But within that structure, I have always tried to keep a sense of wonder alive. Playfulness, for me, is what brings breath to the work. It is what keeps it from feeling mechanical.

Even though every piece is made with care and control, there is always room for spontaneity. Sometimes it comes through an unexpected colour combination, or a flower that bends in a way I had not planned. Sometimes it is a texture that reminds me of something from childhood, or a form that makes me smile the moment it begins to take shape.

The discipline of the craft gives me the foundation. But the whimsy comes from letting the piece lead a little, from not being afraid to explore, to surprise myself, to make space for play. That is what keeps the process joyful. It is also what gives each piece its personality, its slightly offbeat charm, its softness, its story.

At Rata, we do not just want to make beautiful objects. We want to make ones that feel alive, that carry a kind of quiet mischief, that make people pause and look a little closer. That balance between precision and play is where the magic lies.

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