Reflections – Sangat and the Self: Jasmir Creed and Roo Dhissou

A conduit for 500 years of Sikh knowledge, this two-artist exhibition, with significant input from Without Shape Without Form, offers more than simply art for art’s sake

Installation view, Reflections – Sangat and the Self, WSWF, Slough, 19 September 2025 – 2 May 2026.

Without Shape Without Form, Slough
19 September 2025 – 2 May 2026

by ANNA McNAY

Slough might not strike you as the most obvious place to go for cutting-edge contemporary art, but prepare to be persuaded otherwise. Co-founded in 2017 by Deep K Kailey, formerly a fashion director at Tatler and fashion editor at Vogue India (London), Without Shape Without Form (WSWF) is an assembly of contemporary artists, cultural practitioners and thinkers committed to making self-discovery accessible through art. Although guided by insights and tools from more than 500 years of Sikh knowledge, the work carried out by WSWF is applicable to everyone, regardless of cultural background or beliefs. Kailey says: “WSWF ties a knot to the past, before religious lines were drawn, and throws the rope forward, using a mental health perspective and a disruptive exhibition model.” Indeed, housed in a former Citroën showroom on the Slough trading estate, there is little conventionality to WSWF’s progressive and accessible exhibition architecture.

Reflections – Sangat and the Self, WSWF, Slough, 19 September 2025 – 2 May 2026.

WSWF is a volunteer-run organisation, embodying the Sikh concept of Seva (selfless service, done without reward or recognition). Two of the key concepts explored in the newly renovated space’s inaugural exhibition, Reflections – Sangat and the Self, are, as the title suggests, Sangat (gathering and fellowship), and the all-important tool of Simran (focused practice). Kailey says: “This exhibition underscores the idea that true and lasting healing begins within us.” Jasmir Creed (b1990, Manchester), one of the two artists whose work is showcased, adds: “When others connect with my work – its subject matter, or the way it is expressed – it becomes something shared. In those moments, healing moves beyond the individual and becomes collective.”

Jasmir Creed, Presence, 2024. Oil on canvas, 60 x 75 cm. Image courtesy and copyright the artist.

The practice of Roo Dhissou (b1992, Birmingham) also resonates with the ethos of WSWF. She says: “Through practice, I enjoy learning and exchanging ideas. I believe there are no authoritative figures on knowledge, so through participation and engagement, I facilitate discourse around race, gender, disability and social class, and their intersections. These conversations are not always easy – conflict can be necessary – and dialogue can hold that conflict.”

Jasmir Creed, Ebb and Flow, 2024. Oil on canvas, 60 x 75 cm. Image courtesy and copyright the artist.

Healing, community, engagement, accessibility and Simran are all part of this vital dialogue with gallery-goers (Kailey dislikes the term “audience”, saying: “It suggests a single unit, whereas they/we are really individuals.”). Other issues at hand include identity, urban alienation and home. These hit you immediately you enter the gallery, in the form of Creed’s impasto paintings: the solitary figure sitting on her bed in Presence (2024) next to, and starkly juxtaposed with, the monochromatic vortex of an underground station’s escalators, heaving with a rush-hour crowd in Ebb and Flow (2024). The face in Presence, with its masked, expressionless visage, is at once a self-portrait of Creed, a depiction of an other, and a reflection of ourselves, recognisable and someone with whom we can empathise.

Jasmir Creed, Transcience, 2024. Oil on canvas, 250 x 150 cm. Image courtesy and copyright the artist.

At the other end of the exhibition, the large painting Transience (2024) depicts an equally expressionless Creed, standing on a busy underground train, the other passengers busying themselves with reading a newspaper, eating an apple, listening to music – anything to avoid the onlooker’s gaze. Creed says: “It’s not clear as to whether I’m sad or happy in the painting, as my expression is quite neutral. It’s on a London tube, and the composition itself is separated with yellow columns, so it almost has a triptych effect. There are two different types of time in the work: the fastness of tube time combined with the slowness of people’s thoughts. This helps to create a transient nature to the work as well.” She goes on to talk about “the individual lost in a crowd within the multicultural metropolis”, an idea that resonates only too well with Kailey, who has often spoken about the idea of “lonely leadership,” when we are surrounded by peers and mentors yet feel starkly alone. Alongside her paintings, Creed is also showing intensely detailed, monochromatic ink drawings. She uses ink for its fluidness and, again, to emphasise the idea of transience – being in transit.

Jasmir Creed, Lockdown, 2020. Oil on canvas, 130 x 120 cm. Image courtesy and copyright the artist.

Another aspect of identity that comes to the fore in the exhibition is that of skin colour. Creed was born to a white father and an Indian mother. In the large painting Lockdown (2020), she explores this by making half her face black and white, half in colour, saying: “There is a sense of the transcultural in my work, of living with a hybrid identity of being British and South Asian.” Dhissou, on her website, similarly says: “I’m never sure what box to tick on an equal opportunities form. Am I British Asian, Indian, where’s the box for Panjabi? I feel like I could be in between these boxes, I am beyond these boxes.” This segues nicely into the concept of Sangat, or community, on which Kailey is quite firm: “It frustrates me when people assume that my community is related to my skin colour. What WSWF does, it poses that question really, what is community? What is community when it’s beyond race, age, gender, creed and socioeconomic background?” She continues, contrasting the statement “Neither am I from here, and neither am I from there” with “I am from here, and I am from there,” adding: “I’ll be from wherever I need to be. Land is not going to define who I am.” To make this leap, and to understand community, especially in the political times in which we live, requires empowerment, fearlessness, confidence, clarity of mind and peace within. Kailey explains: “If you don’t have that, you will never be able to see each other as one, you will be separated. And true separation starts from within. We are separated from ourselves within, and therefore externally we are also separated from each other.”

Installation view, Reflections – Sangat and the Self, WSWF, Slough, 19 September 2025 – 2 May 2026.

In the centre of the exhibition, an introspective section turns directly to Sikh learning, explaining how to do the work that ultimately will lead to our having this empowerment, fearlessness, confidence, clarity of mind and peace within. A three-and-a-half minute animation film, commissioned and written by WSWF, explains how modern medicine is failing to treat mental illness by seeking to medicate the body – the brain – when the illness is one of the mind, “the essence of who we are”. Everyone’s mind is impacted by thoughts day and night. At times, the noise within our minds becomes unbearable, uncomfortable, making us feel helpless. Our methods of finding relief will at best calm our nervous system for a short time. The practice of Simran, however, eliminates these thoughts, pushing out the noise to reach clarity of mind.

The film introduces the very simple practice of slowly repeating the word “Waheguru” (the Creator) (or any other neutral, two-syllable word) seeking to keep the mind present. Outside the film space, there are two boards with magnetic shapes that you can move around, the invitation being to continue repeating your word, showing that the ability to control your mind doesn’t require you to be sitting still, but can be practised at any time, while walking the dog or washing the dishes – or creating a picture out of magnetic shapes. Furthering this point, a whisper box invites you to sit quietly inside, stilling the body, showing that this, on its own, has no effect on the mind. To still your mind, you need to do “the work” (Simran, the repetition of “Waheguru” or your chosen word). Finally (in this section), there is an 11-minute film about the exhibition, with Kailey, Creed and Dhissou expanding on the many themes. These films and invitations are blended seamlessly into the larger exhibition, such that they are not additions to the show, but an integral part of it. This is indicated through the continuous and pared-back exhibition architecture, as well as the consistent signage and lighting. Many of Creed’s works are unframed and hung on wooden frames so that the reverse sides of the canvases are exposed. There is a sense of work in progress, as for the whole gallery, with its exposed pipes and foil insulation – it is not a polished white cube. Kailey says: “It’s so much more than a curatorial decision – isn’t it representative of us? We show one thing on the front, but, inside, we’re completely unfinished.”

Picking up very much on this point, our next encounter is with Dhissou’s absent work. A simple wooden frame marks the space that Heal, Home, Hmmm (2025) will occupy from mid-October, following its current presentation at the V&A for London Design Festival. The clay pavilion is crafted from sustainable and reclaimed materials, and, from the bottom up is wholly accessible. Dhissou, who describes her practice as “multifaceted”, lives with chronic ill health, exacerbated by mould in previous social housing conditions. Clay, on the other hand, is entirely breathable, and has been used to build houses since ancient times. Moisture can pass through the walls without causing any mould. “That’s how we’re supposed to live,” Dhissou says. “I went on this journey of rediscovering that material.” The pavilion is flat pack, but it has to be put together by multiple people – it’s never a solo practice. She notes the irony between this simple starting fact, and the reality of being shown in the art world as a solo artist. Again, the notion of Sangat is offered up for discussion.

Roo Dhissou, A String of Love, 2025. Installation view, Reflections – Sangat and the Self, WSWF, Slough, 19 September 2025 – 2 May 2026.

The idea of home is – or will be (although even the bare frame does a good job) – also presented – with a question mark. “For me,” Dhissou says, “home is a feeling, a place, and something else entirely. It can live within ourselves, or in familiar others, within bricks and mortar, or a form of shelter. It offers us safety, love, rest and growth. It can also be built, nurtured and maintained. For many, home is a privilege, especially in times of war, famine and loss. Home can also be a site of tension, where we are asked to conform to someone else’s idea of who we should be.” The idea of home as something impermanent is, again, furthered by the exhibition architecture, with bare hinges also hinting at the possibility of being altered or adapted. Kailey adds: “When Roo said, would you like to house the house, we were 100% yes, because straight away, for us, that connected to the exhibition, [and the idea that] the truest of the homes is the home that we have within this body.”

Roo Dhissou, A String of Love, 2025. Installation view, Reflections – Sangat and the Self, WSWF, Slough, 19 September 2025 – 2 May 2026.

Dhissou’s other work for the exhibition, A String of Love (2025), comprises a four-part Manji, or woven daybed. She explains: “Lots of people in the subcontinent, predominantly in the global south, spend time lying on these, sitting on them, spending time relaxing, being horizontal, being with family, being with friends, taking their first breath, taking their last breath. They are much more than a daybed, and much more than a space for rest; they’re a space where life happens.” Normally, a Manji would be rectangular, but this one has a rectangular centre, surrounded by three fragmented, cloud-like shapes. Above the Manji hangs a painted sky with clouds and a star made from a mirror. It plays on the exhibition title, and the fact that reflections might be literally in a mirror or more metaphorically in language and in the mind. Also, and Dhissou apologises for the cliche, it notes that everyone is beneath the same sky. The title of the piece is inspired by the concept of Riyaz (a continuous and repetitive practice), since Dhissou wove these Manjis meditatively and from one piece of string. Indeed, as all the works on display have shown us, everything salient is interwoven: notions of healing and home, community (Sangat) and Simran. Dhissou smiles as she notes that the work – with its “soft space to stim, to be neurodivergent, to be ill, to be crippled” – is usually more controversial in other galleries. “This space has so many of those [spaces] already.” She recalls how, in previous iterations, some children have scribbled on the Manjis and others have begun trying to jump up and down. “Most of the time, it’s just people lying down and having a moment though,” she says. “In a gallery space, it is so radical to be able to be horizontal, especially with a stranger.”

Roo Dhissou, A String of Love, 2025 (detail). Installation view, Reflections – Sangat and the Self, WSWF, Slough, 19 September 2025 – 2 May 2026.

For both artists, making art is like doing Simran. Kailey echoes this: “If I think of art as a language, Sikhi is a method. Simran and Shabad [the sound of Waheguru, only heard internally], doing Simran as meditation, for me that is art.” Similarly, Dhissou describes the repetitive action of weaving and losing yourself in the healing body. To conclude with Kailey: “It’s been incredible for us to work with Roo and Jasmir, because their work lends itself to these conversations so easily. In the future, with other artists we work with, that will always be the premise. The core of it is what are we doing for the audience? Because this, with all due respect, isn’t art for art’s sake; it’s art for people, for serving, for helping – and hopefully that comes through.” It certainly does. Thank you.

• While translations and glosses are provided in the exhibition (some of which are included above), so are the original Panjabi words, since it is acknowledged that the English language doesn’t do justice to the Sikh primary sources.