Starting late February, a different side of 海角论坛 Chancellor Mauli Agrawal will be on view at Englewood Arts, where a curated selection of his paintings and photographs will be exhibited as part of “Impressions, Seen and Felt,” on view Feb. 20 through April 18.
The free exhibition at , 10901 E. Winner Road in Independence, follows Agrawal’s recent public showing of his work last spring at Second Presbyterian Church in Brookside and offers a curated look at a creative outlet he has cultivated quietly over many years.
Since coming to 海角论坛 in 2018, Agrawal has led Kansas City’s only public research university through a period of significant growth — advancing student success initiatives, improving campus facilities and, most recently, guiding 海角论坛 to Carnegie Research 1 status. An engineer, researcher and former academic leader at the University of Texas at San Antonio, he now oversees a vibrant academic community where the arts play a visible role in campus life.
A self-taught painter and photographer, Agrawal uses art as a personal, restorative counterbalance to his professional life in higher education and engineering. The works featured at Englewood Arts reflect that sensibility: paintings that unfold through exploration rather than rigid planning, and photographs that pause on fleeting, easily overlooked moments. Together, they trace a life shaped by movement, observation and reflection – from India to the Carolinas, Texas and now Missouri.
Ahead of the exhibition’s opening reception on Feb. 20, Agrawal sat down to reflect on how his art has evolved and why creativity matters — not just in galleries, but in leadership, learning and daily life.
This isn’t your first time sharing your work publicly, but this exhibit represents a specific moment in time for you. When you look at the work being shown at Englewood Arts, are certain pieces more representative of where you are now as an artist?
The gallery curator selected the pieces, which ended up being about 14 or 15 paintings along with a group of photographs. Some of the photographs have been shown before, but many haven’t. The gallery will be selling the photographs, and any net proceeds will go directly to the . I’ve never sold my work before, so I honestly don’t know if even one piece will sell — but whatever does will support students, which I appreciate.
I do think my approach to art has changed over the years. Early on, I was very focused on technique — on making something look ‘right.’ Now, I’m much more comfortable letting the work go where it wants to go, rather than starting with a fixed idea or a firm plan.
I usually begin with a concept, but as the painting develops — either because the idea evolves in my head or because the painting itself seems to ask for something else — I adjust. Maybe it needs more balance, more color, or something that gives it more meaning. It’s never fully planned. It just evolves.
I’ll give you an example. I have a painting that features poppies and a hummingbird. The hummingbird was never part of the plan. I was just painting flowers, but when I stepped back, it felt like the composition needed something more. The painting was calling for it.
That led me to start reading about hummingbirds, and they’ve taken on more meaning for me. They’re really vibrant and colorful — they represent the vibrancy of life. Their wings flap at something like 60 times per second, and the movement of the wing tips makes the shape of an infinity symbol. That sense of the Infinite has found its way into some of my recent work.
Some of the pieces invite viewers to write down what they see or feel. Why was that important to you?
On a few paintings, I shared a word scramble — words that came to mind while I was painting or as I look at the work now. I asked the gallery to provide paper and pencil so viewers could write down what they see.
It’ll be interesting to see whether their impressions line up with mine. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter if they match or not. Art shouldn’t prescribe meaning. It shouldn’t tell you what to think or feel. How we experience art lies in the interaction between the piece and the viewer.
The same is true of poetry, or music. A poem or a song might resonate deeply with one person and not at all with another. That doesn’t make either response wrong. It’s interpretive. If my work has changed over time, it’s moved from technique toward meaning — toward that interpretive space.
Your professional life is highly structured and fast-paced. How does your creative practice fit into that reality?
It’s my quiet time. My meditation time. I paint mostly on weekends, but not every weekend. You have to feel it. I can’t say, ‘I have two hours, I should paint.’ If the urge isn’t there, I don’t force it.
Sometimes months go by where I don’t feel like painting at all. Then all of a sudden, I want to paint all the time — for weeks. It comes in waves. But I’m not doing this professionally. I do it because it brings calm and focus.
How do you know when a piece is finished?
Sometimes I think I’m done, and I’ll hang the piece somewhere and live with it for a while. Over time, I’ll go back and make small changes.
I recently revisited a couple of paintings that were almost 30 years old. The technique wasn’t quite right — the light source in one corner, a shadow that was off. Nobody else noticed it. My wife said, ‘Mauli, that’s been hanging there for 30 years.’ And I said, ‘Yes, and it’s been bothering me for 30 years.’ So, I fixed it.
Most of the time, finishing is about stepping back — literally and figuratively — and deciding whether to leave it alone or return to it later.
Both painting and photography depend on close observation. Has making art changed how you move through the world?
It’s all about observation — taking the time to truly see something. Not always following the beaten path.
Most of the photographs in this collection are very ordinary scenes. Places hundreds or thousands of people pass by every day. But something catches my eye — the way the sky and clouds interact with a house, or how colors and shapes come together in a frame.
A barn, for example, is just a barn. It’s falling apart, decomposing. But if you stop and really look at it, there’s beauty there — even in the rotting wood in the middle of a field. It says something about time.
Those moments are fleeting. You could walk past them and never notice, and nothing would really change. But for me, they matter. Capturing them makes a transient moment permanent.
As an engineer and scientist by training, does your analytical instinct show up in your creative work?
It does. My favorite period in art history is Impressionism. I’m still amazed by how artists used tiny brush strokes and colors — dots that don’t look like much on their own — and your mind assembles them into something whole. Water shimmers. A tree appears at the edge of a lake. It’s abstract, but your brain fills in the gaps. It’s a mind trick.
I used to try to do that more directly. But my training as an engineer made me want everything to be precise. Straight lines. Perfection. Over time, I’ve learned to let that go. When you look closely at paintings in a museum, nothing is perfectly straight. A tree isn’t a straight line. It’s all over the place – almost alive.
I’ve gotten better at not letting precision pin me down.
Many people know you primarily as a university leader. What do you hope viewers understand through this exhibit?
It’s not really about what they should understand about me. It’s what they might understand about themselves.
All of us are multifaceted. At 海角论坛, I play a leadership role, and I expect excellence from my team. But once I find people who share that commitment, I think of them as friends. I care about who they are beyond their job titles.
We’re too eager, as a society, to put people in boxes. Chancellor. Painter. Engineer. But none of us are one-dimensional.
When I taught first-year biomedical engineering students, I used to show them images of my patents — and then images of my artwork. They were like, ‘What is this?’ And I’d challenge them: the core inventive part of your brain is the same, whether you’re creating technology or art. You need to work to develop both. The more you embrace your creative side, the better you’ll be at everything else you do.
I was told early in my academic career that I’d burn out if I didn’t have another outlet. For me, painting is that outlet. Sometimes I go to my basement studio with a cup of coffee, turn on music and disconnect from everything else. It’s my happy place. And sometimes, we all need that.
Kansas City has a strong arts and cultural community. How has living here influenced you?
I love how deeply Kansas City is invested in the arts — both the visual and performing arts. I don’t think people realize how rare that is. In many major metropolitan cities, you sit in traffic for hours to get to a museum or theater. Here, we have access, depth and quality.
When my wife Sue and I moved here, I didn’t expect that. It was a great surprise. It’s an incredibly inspirational place to be. We’re very lucky.
“Impressions, Seen and Felt” opens with a public reception 5:30 p.m. Friday, Feb.20, at Englewood Arts, and will remain on view through April 18. Works for sale benefit the 海角论坛 Student Emergency Fund.
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