Collection: Shania Warris

Shania Warris is a Trinidadian visual artist whose practice explores how memory and nostalgia shape our understanding of comfort, belonging, and identity. Driven by an insatiable curiosity and tenacity to explore new things, she approaches art as a concept driven practice, allowing ideas to determine the medium rather than working within the confines of a single discipline. As a result, her work spans a range of media, including painting, textiles, and photography, reflecting an ongoing process of experimentation and growth. 

Through her practice, Warris investigates how personal and collective memories influence the way we connect to home, culture, and the people around us. Drawing from her experiences growing up in Trinidad and Tobago, she uses familiar symbols, stories, and moments of care to explore how comfort can be found in both the ordinary and the remembered. Her work seeks to visualize the emotional landscapes people carry within them, revealing how nostalgia and familiarity help shape identity and provide a sense of belonging. 

The Caribbean is defined in a multitude of ways whether it be by its history, geographical location or the shared experiences of its people. However, if I had to define the Caribbean it would simply be home. When I think of the Caribbean it is the one constant that I always come back to, that idea of home and belonging, a place that has shaped me into the person I am today. While home can be marked on a map, its spirit cannot. For me, the Caribbean soul is found within the memories, rituals, and everyday experiences that remain with us long after the moment has passed. It is the feeling of familiarity, comfort, and connection that ties us to both place and people. 

The soul is like the wind, ever present yet invisible to the human eye. Some days it feels stagnant and still, while on others, it’s a gentle kiss. Then, there are times when it storms, roaring to life with a force that can not be ignored. They say the gentlest flutter of a butterfly’s wing can kickstart the most devastating storms. This idea is a reminder that the smallest forces can influence something far greater. The soul is a reflection of this, shaped by fleeting moments that impact our lives immensely. Like breeze blocks, whose openings give shape to the wind allowing the unseen a place to pass through, the traces of our experiences and environment allow the soul to be understood.  

Just as the soul takes shape through its environment so does the idea of home. Home isn’t just a building or a place, it is more than that, it’s the feeling and memory of comfort (Alzahrani). While home can be described as a concept it is often represented by the physical house we inhabit. In my piece A Brown Girl in the Ring I explore these tangible symbols of a home. A brightly painted pink house, a garden filled with orchids, breeze blocks, wrought iron, and that hummingbird feeder my mom makes sure it is full of fresh sugar water. That is my Caribbean home. Flowers are a familiar feature of many Caribbean houses, whether hibiscus plants, yellow buttercups, or vibrant red and yellow ixoras. Among these, ixoras hold a particularly special place in my memories of childhood. Recesses spent weaving together the flower for friends to wear as bracelets or necklaces. As I reminisced on days in primary school I thought back to the song Brown Girl in the Ring where the chosen girl would dance in the middle while friends created a circle around her, singing the song. These physical rings became a symbol of togetherness, community, and belonging. Thus, in the work, I place myself within that memory, as the brown girl in an embroidered ring, surrounded by those interlinked ixoras. The self-portrait depicts me wearing a saree, a traditional Indian garment. As an Indo-Trinidadian raised in a Christian household, some of my fondest memories come from celebrating alongside Hindu friends and relatives during Divali. Participating in traditions that weren't necessarily my own but still felt familiar. Those moments taught me that Caribbean identity is often built through connection and cultural exchange, creating spaces where traditions and religious boundaries become points of connection rather than division. This piece investigates how soul and home become, intertwining memory, place, and experience to shape who we are.  

My second piece, Bush Medicine, highlights both the traditional and personal healing remedies that I associate with the Caribbean. It showcases the cures made from plants such as lemongrass, zebapique, chandelier bush, and other herbs, often suggested by aunties, neighbours or encounters made while sick. While these traditional remedies are deeply woven into the fabric of Caribbean life, my own memories of healing are rooted in something much simpler, lime and honey, and a jar of Vicks VapoRub. Whenever I was sick as a child, my mother would hold me down and rub Vicks from head to toe. At the time, I despised the ritual. The sharp menthol scent seemed overwhelming, the burning sensation beneath my nose and the vapours that made my eyes water. I would squirm and protest as she insisted that it would make me feel better. Yet despite my resistance, it became a familiar act of care and now acts as a catalyst for comfort in times of sickness. At the first signs of a stuffy nose or headache, I reach for that familiar blue bottle. These small rituals became symbols of home and over time shaped my soul. 

When I think of the Caribbean soul, I think of memory. The places we move through. The people who shape us. And all the ordinary moments that slowly become home. Like the wind moving through a breeze block, these memories leave traces behind. And through those traces, we begin to see the shape of a soul.