The geometry of being: How I found meaning through patterns
- Independent Ink
- Oct 19
- 6 min read
Soon, I began noticing patterns around me, in the curve of a staircase, the petals of a flower, sari borders, the shadows cast by windows, the tiles on sidewalks and countless other places. Even the most ordinary objects seemed to have some hidden geometry waiting to be seen.
By Uttara Shidore in Bombay
I began learning how to draw geometric patterns during a particularly stressful phase of my life, when I was searching for something that could still the noise of everyday life. One evening, quite by chance, I came across a tutorial on Celtic knots, and something about their endless loops and interwoven paths instantly drew me in. My first attempt at drawing was clumsy, yet, there was something deeply calming about the process and the way the pattern gradually emerged.
What began as a simple drawing exercise soon became a ritual I looked forward to at the end of each day. There is something profoundly reassuring about predictability, not as monotony, but in the way geometry always keeps its promise. When I worked on a pattern, I knew that no matter how tangled it seemed the design would eventually resolve. That certainty brought a deep sense of peace.
Geometry steadied me because its laws never changed. In its predictability, I discovered something almost spiritual, a quiet faith that order, however delayed, would always return.
With time, the practice of drawing patterns became my teacher. The geometry of patterns taught me patience, because precision cannot be rushed. It taught me humility, because even a small miscalculation can alter an entire composition. It taught me focus, because accuracy demands mindfulness. And most of all, it taught me trust, that even when I could not see the complete design at first, it existed, waiting to emerge through steady effort.
My personal turning point in this exploration came when I discovered the works of M.C. Escher, an artist whose boundless imagination transformed the way I understood geometric art and its possibilities. His art was unlike anything I had seen, tessellations of birds, fish and reptiles flowing seamlessly into one another. Through his work, I began to see pattern not merely as design element, but as a philosophy.
Escher taught me that pattern is not static, it evolves, folds and reflects, mirroring the movement of thought. My fascination soon deepened into curiosity, leading me beyond drawing patterns towards the desire to understand the quiet logic that holds them together. For this I had to turn to geometry and mathematics, not as abstract disciplines, but as tools for deepening my understanding of symmetry.
As a student, I had always been ‘bad at maths’. So, when I started spending hours analysing tessellations, calculating angles, and exploring symmetry, my family was both surprised and amused. The irony was not lost on me, what had once been a source of anxiety and shame had become a playground for curiosity. Patterns had transformed numbers and geometric concepts into tools for beauty and art. I really wish we had all been encouraged to approach mathematics with a touch of imagination in school.
Soon, I began noticing patterns around me, in the curve of a staircase, the petals of a flower, sari borders, the shadows cast by windows, the tiles on sidewalks and countless other places. Even the most ordinary objects seemed to have some hidden geometry waiting to be seen.
This new way of looking at known things deepened my interest, showing me that patterns are not just artistic exercises confined to paper. I felt a pang of regret remembering the monuments I had visited in Delhi as a child, marvelling at their grandeur yet missing the intricate patterns that adorned them.
Some people began to question my growing fascination. “You’re still obsessed with those patterns?” they would ask. It seemed a little alarming, this unwavering devotion to lines and grids. Unlike landscapes, portraits, still life, or even abstract expression, patterns have rarely been seen as real art. In the traditional hierarchy of art history, pattern sits quietly at the margins. But, to me, the process of deconstructing a pattern brought an almost childlike joy.
It felt like unlocking a secret, as if I had momentarily stepped into conversation with the artist who first imagined it centuries ago. And for someone who had never drawn anything before, it seemed like a gift, this new found ability to create something beautiful. One upside of my obsession though was that it made gift-giving easy for others; books on art, compasses and endless art supplies!
My curiosity expanded, I now began a deeper study of geometric traditions from around the world, and what struck me most was how universal this language of pattern truly is. Human beings were creating patterns long before the word geometry existed. The Egyptians adorned tombs and temples with repeated lotus and zigzag motifs symbolizing regeneration and water. The Greeks gave us the meander, or ‘Greek key’, representing eternity and unity, motifs that travelled through architecture and pottery. The Romans translated geometry into mosaics, while the Islamic world elevated it into spiritual abstraction, crafting infinite tessellations that mirrored divine perfection.
In Asia, geometry took many forms: the Chinese lattice, balancing structure and emptiness; the Japanese Notan, exploring harmony between light and dark; and the Indian mandala, mapping the cosmos within a circle. To study patterns, I realized, is to study civilization itself. Each design carries its culture’s philosophy, cosmology, and aesthetic tradition. Patterns are not mere decoration, they are distilled thought and memory preserved in symmetry.
What unites some of these traditions is a reverence not just for proportion and symmetry but also for imperfection. Many Islamic artisans for instance, deliberately introduced tiny flaws in otherwise perfect designs, believing that only God can achieve true perfection. Likewise, in Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi honours impermanence and irregularity. Through this I learned an important lesson; that the geometry in patterns is not just rigidity, it is also discipline with room for grace.
Out of all the patterns I have studied, two traditions resonate most deeply with me; Islamic geometric patterns and the Japanese concept of Notan. Islamic geometric patterns, endlessly repeating without beginning or end, reflect a worldview rooted in infinity and unity. By avoiding representational imagery, Islamic geometry becomes a form of abstraction that speaks to the divine, a reminder that God’s perfection lies in unseen structure.
To me, drawing these patterns feels like a silent prayer—healing, meditative, and cathartic.
The Japanese concept of Notan emphasizes the dynamic balance of light and dark, positive and negative space. Working with the concept of Notan has been transformative, deepening my understanding of how simplicity can convey profound complexity. Much of the art I create nowadays, blends these two concepts, allowing me to simultaneously explore both harmony and contrast.
One of the happiest discoveries in my journey came when I learnt that Islamic geometric patterns were also a source of inspiration for M.C. Escher. It was as if two distant forms, one rooted in devotion and abstraction, the other in imagination and illusion, were speaking the same visual language across time and space.
This taught me that art is not ownership, it is a continuing dialogue.
Today, I no longer draw patterns only for relaxation. I approach them with reverence, aware that every motif was once part of a living tradition. I am not merely copying designs, each line I draw is a homage to the past, a connection to centuries of human creativity, and a lesson that life itself has a pattern. There are moments when things feel disconnected, when the design seems to break apart. But like a tessellation, every irregularity serves the whole. With distance and time, the pattern resolves. Everything, eventually, falls into place.
Image 1 : Exploring how colouring variations change the appearance of an Islamic geometric pattern.
Image 2: Applying the concept of Notan to an Islamic geometric pattern, The differing shades at the top and bottom create a striking contrast.
Image 3: Exploring the visual paradox of Escher-inspired impossible forms within an isometric design.
Image 4: A pattern inspired by the Alhambra Palace in Spain , celebrated as one of the richest sources of geometric patterns in the world.
Image 5: An islamic geometric pattern from Chella Necropolis, Rabat, Morocco.
Image 6: A playful cat tessellation,
Image 7: An interpretation of Escher’s Detail of Regular Division of the Plane, Drawing No. 69, re-imagined in the form of a mandala.
Uttara Shidore is a diversity and inclusion consultant, and a self-taught artist. She lives in Bombay with her husband and son. You can see more of her art on Instagram at @uttara.s