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InterviewArtPeople

by Alexandra Mansilla

H11235: ‘Street Art Has a Unique Power You Don’t Get On Canvas’

1 Jul 2025

Huge faces on city walls. A touch of calligraphy. Enormous hands. Giant animals.
Kiran Maharjan (aka H11235), a street artist and muralist from Nepal, creates works that will absolutely blow your mind. It is a mix of everything — you could stand in front of one of his murals forever, staring at every detail and trying to figure it all out.
On July 4, he is taking part in No Trespassing, a new exhibition at Ishara Art Foundation, where he will present his latest work, "our anthropocene conundrum".
Before that, we decided to chat with him about the pieces that make up his art — why he gathers all the details like a puzzle, how he got started, and what he is planning to show us in the future.
— Kiran, I came across an interview you gave about ten years ago where you spoke about your artistic journey. You mentioned that TV had a big influence on you at the time, even though you didn’t know you would end up an artist. What kind of shows were you watching back then?
— I used to watch a lot of TV. Pretty much every chance I got! There weren’t that many channels back then, so I ended up getting really into cartoons, but also watching tons of National Geographic and Discovery Channel shows — basically, anything about nature and wildlife. I was a huge fan of Steve Irwin from Australia, and watched many of his programs. His work left a lasting impact on me in my later years.
As for cartoons, I especially remember watching "Courage the Cowardly Dog."
I also remember when I was a kid, I had a sketchbook, and I used to try to draw the different characters I saw on TV. It was quite meticulous — I would attempt to draw a character in one pose, then watch the show, and whenever the character returned to that pose, I would remember a few lines, quickly draw them, and keep going.
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I Am Here (2019)

— And also, you had a teacher who played a big role in your life.
— Yeah, I had a teacher, Bara. This was when I was about sixteen. What made him different was that whenever we asked him questions, like how to draw a figure, he never gave straight answers. He would always respond in this sort of philosophical way, which made us really think for ourselves. I found that pretty fascinating.
He used to come to our school to teach us, and eventually, I started going to his studio after school. I would stay there for about an hour, just drawing on my own, with him sometimes giving me a few things to work on.
I studied under him, and in Nepal, after the 10th standard, you are expected to decide your future path. Influenced by my teacher, I narrowed down my choices to either becoming an artist or a herpetologist, mostly because of Steve Irwin. Those were my two options.
I explored where I could study herpetology, but it seemed challenging, as it would require studying abroad, which didn’t appear to be a viable option at that time. Ultimately, I chose art. After making that decision, following the 10th standard, I continued studying and creating art under his guidance for a very long time.
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H11235's projects from different years

— I remember you once said that if you weren’t making art, you would probably be doing something with literature, because you love it so much.
— Yes, I love literature! During high school, I met some very interesting friends, especially two close ones — one ended up becoming a writer, and the other a musician. The three of us formed a kind of creative trio, studying literature together, sharing poetry, exchanging ideas, and generally inspiring each other. At that time, I was reading a lot, especially fiction and various research books. One book I encountered then was Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder, which deeply intrigued me and eventually influenced my artist name.
That period became a phase where I did a lot of writing myself. I even considered going into photojournalism and combining that with writing, but ultimately that didn't happen — I guess my interest just didn't fully develop in that direction.
— So, Sophie’s World influenced your artist name. How?
— When I first got into street art and graffiti, I was tagging around and doing a lot of illegal graffiti. So I needed to come up with a name — one that would really resonate with me in some way. At that time, I was reading Sophie's World, and one of the chapters was about Fibonacci numbers. I was fascinated by that concept. It felt like Fibonacci numbers represented a sort of universal order, a way to neatly arrange everything in one cohesive space.
By then, I had also realised that I liked the idea of two opposing forces working against each other. So, the numbers "11235" ended up symbolising the order of the universe, since these are the golden numbers the universe follows. The "H" in my name came from my fascination with the character Hyde, from Robert Louis Stevenson's Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Hyde represented chaos — a character who didn't follow any rules.
Combining these ideas made perfect sense: Hyde embodied chaos, and "11235" represented order. That is how my artist name came about.
— Wow, that makes so much sense! So, you did a lot of illegal graffiti. I’m sure you remember your very first piece — was it scary for you to do it, knowing it was illegal?
— When you realise you are actually going to do graffiti and you are walking down the street knowing you will have to stop and do it, it feels quite intense. I was a very introverted kid back then, so just being in a public space was already difficult. But being in a public space, doing something that draws attention from people, wanted or unwanted, was especially scary.
The first time wasn't good at all; in fact, it was pretty bad. I just did my tag really quickly and ran off immediately, because people were approaching. I remember tagging a building close to where I lived, though it doesn't exist anymore.
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Prasad (2015)

— Once, when you were talking about Prasad — the street art project where you covered the streets in Nepal with faces — you said you have always been fascinated by faces. Could you tell me why? Is there a story behind that?
— I remember when I was very young, my dad used to make art as well, so I had his sketchbook. In that sketchbook, there were many of his drawings, and I used to draw faces in it when I was really, really young. Because I was watching a lot of cartoons at the time, I remember trying to create realistic faces but ending up drawing eyes like those of Mickey Mouse.
I distinctly remember my dad teaching me how to draw a human eye properly, which was quite fascinating. So, I have always been interested in faces — I love painting them, which is why I do it.
I wouldn't necessarily say faces are a portal into someone’s personality, but for me, a face carries significant meaning — whether it is related to identity, heritage, or the many other things associated with it.
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Birth (2017)

— There is one painting that really caught my eye — it is called Birth (2017), and if I understood correctly, it is one of your favourites. Could you tell me more about it? What does it mean to you? Why did you create it? What is the story behind it?
— That painting was created for a two-person exhibition, and it was one of my first exhibitions featuring street art. The concept of the show was influenced by my ongoing interest in animals and their significance. I wanted to explore connections between humans and animals in different ways.
This exploration was important to me because I have always been fascinated by animals, but at the same time, I have also been driven by environmental concerns, understanding how crucial the environment is to our world.
In this particular painting, I wanted to highlight the similarities between humans and animals, specifically during the fetal stage. When mammals develop as fetuses, they all initially look nearly identical. It is only later in their growth that they diverge significantly. Biologically, this seemed like a clear point of connection between humans and animals.
The baby elephant depicted in the painting was actually inspired by a real elephant fetus I saw in a Natural History Museum here. I was deeply fascinated by it and had always remembered that image, so I knew I wanted to create something based on it.
On the technical side, it was also an important work for me. I was using spray paint extensively at the time, and the quality available here was very poor — similar to the paints available in the '60s or '70s, very liquid and limited in range. I had to actively mix my own shades, blending colours inside the cans, trying my best to achieve the desired effect. This experimentation and effort made the painting even more meaningful.
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Order and Chaos (2018)

— My next question is about your 2018 artwork, Order and Chaos, which you did for the Kochi Biennale 2018. Could you tell me more about it?
— This piece is in Mattancherry, one of the oldest parts of Kochi, full of buildings that are 300 or 400 years old and still in use. The specific facade I painted on was actually part of a metal barrel reconditioning shop — barrels for oil would come in empty, get fixed up, and be sent back out. When I first saw it, I found it fascinating: you have something old and worn down, but with skill and time, people bring it back to life. The place itself has been there for almost a century, which really fits my idea of using our skills to create order within chaos.
That is what inspired me to paint hands there — I had already been working with hands as a motif, and in this context, it made sense. People use their hands and skills to fix and rebuild, and I wanted the mural to reflect that. The architecture of the facade supported the idea too; the shape and structure felt right for it. Plus, there are a lot of old churches in the area, and the facade itself reminded me of a church altar, which added another layer to what I wanted to express with the piece.
I feel that street art and murals have a unique power that you just don’t get with a painting on canvas. When you paint something on a building, it becomes part of the landscape. It connects to its surroundings and the context it lives in — and that has always been an important aspect for me whenever I create new work.
— A random question just popped into my head — what has been the hardest surface for you to work on so far?
— Oh, it has to be the wall I did in Banaras. It wasn’t a flat wall — it was built out of river stones, so the surface had gaps that were sometimes six inches deep, sometimes three inches. It was really uneven. For my style of work, which can be quite photorealistic, that made things especially challenging. But that is what made it interesting, too.
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Farmers of the Sea (2023). Photo: Sohil Belim, Aloysious, Sky Raw Drones & Rathna

— You also have that stunning diptych mural, Farmers of the Sea. Is that the biggest piece you have ever created?
— Could be, could be!
The wall and the building it is on were built by the government for the fishing community living in that area. Everyone in that house — and the twenty or so houses just like it — are fishermen and their families. It is right next to the beach where they head out at night to fish and come back with the catch. So for me, the environmental aspect was always going to be part of this piece.
When I was there figuring out what to paint, I spent a few days walking around, meeting the fishermen and their wives. I loved the dynamic: the men go out to sea in the middle of the night, then come back, and the wives run the stalls where they sell the fish. It is a whole rhythm that is unique to this community.
Also, this area was hit by a huge cyclone or tsunami years ago that killed many people, so there is that history of environmental destruction, too — climate change, but also how these people still rely completely on the sea for their livelihood. All of that came together in this mural and shaped what the image became.
— And now, starting July 4th, you are part of the No Trespassing exhibition at Ishara Art Foundation. Could you tell me more about the work you are showing there?
— The idea was to build a connection between where I come from and what Dubai represents — to find parallels and similarities between species, but also in a physical, structural sense. I wanted to show hands as the forces that build the structures we live in — to talk about construction, building, and how we relate to the built environment we have created for ourselves. The title was our anthropocene conundrum — exploring how old and new architecture have to coexist side by side.
That was the initial concept, but because of practical issues, I couldn’t actually be there to make it happen. The piece is so technical that no one else could really execute it except me, since it is a style that I have developed myself. So Priyanka [Priyanka Mehra, the curator of the exhibition] and I decided we needed to create a different work — one that would still say what I wanted it to say, but that we could actually produce realistically under the circumstances.
I created a fully abstract work with mixed media. It is a reminder of how borders can directly shape the outcome of a project; if I had been able to come, the work would have looked very different. Now, this unexpected void becomes its own kind of conversation starter.
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our anthropocene conundrum (2025)

— So, my last question is about something I find really fascinating about your work — this evolution I see in it. When I look at your early pieces, like the faces covering the streets of Nepal, the black-and-white works, the calligraphy, and then compare them to more recent pieces like Five Senses or what you are showing now in No Trespassing, they feel so different — there is collage, there is this layered approach, it is a whole new visual language. Could you tell me what happened along the way?
— Sure! I started painting faces on the streets — that was always what interested me. I really wanted to learn how to use spray paint to paint faces well; that was my first goal. But at the same time, I kept thinking about what I actually wanted to put out there — what ideas I wanted to express. Contradiction has always been a theme for me, so painting black-and-white faces became a way to show how, as humans, we are still biologically not so evolved — we are evolving, but slowly — while at the same time, there is this other evolution happening, an intellectual one.
The black-and-white faces represented that biological side, and the calligraphy — often in a striking colour like red — symbolised the intellectual evolution we are all going through. I did that for a long time, and it got me noticed — I was spray painting faces when nobody else was doing that in my area or even in my country. The style was very bold, and it caught people’s attention. It also fit naturally into the Prasad project we did later, so it all made sense. I painted that way for six or seven years.
The calligraphy itself was interesting because it is Ranjana Lipi, a traditional script from my community — very technical, very beautiful — so I wanted to use it. But over time, I started to move away from it because it just stopped exciting me. I realised I was saying the same thing again and again about biological and intellectual evolution, but I wanted to talk about other things too. My old style started to feel limiting.
Around 2015, I did an exhibition with the Alliance Française, and I think that show marked the beginning of my shift in style, even if the real change happened later. It was a scary decision — as a street artist, you spend years developing a visual identity that people recognise, so letting go of that and starting something new felt risky.
Now, with the newer work, I feel like I can say much more. It opens up so many more directions for me.