The News on Sunday (TNS): Aisha and Imran, Raking Leaves commissioned the books both of you published in 2010; was this first project of its kind to be undertaken here?

Imran Qureshi: Yes, I think it was the first such project here on this level; other such projects that may have been carried out have not been done at this level. We worked on the books for two years, and travelled to London several times for meetings. We were involved with the process at every stage, and we also used to go to London to look at what the book designers were doing. The curator of this project, Sharmini Pereira, was very nice to work with, and overall I have to say that I learnt a lot, and everything was handled in a professional manner. We were involved at every stage, down to printing.

Aisha Khalid : I think the concept of an ‘artist’s book’ doesn’t exist here, in fact when the proposal came to me, they had to explain the idea to me initially, since even I didn’t know what it was. A book launch was held in Lahore, and one in Karachi as well, so I think we can say that a lot of people learnt about the concept.

IQ: The books themselves are works of art – there are books on art, but the book as a work of art was something new here too.

AK: I made 350 paintings for my book, which is inspired by our legacy of colonialism – it is about the effect language has. In a way it also explores the boundaries of the miniature which is a traditional art, since the book is accessible to anyone.

TNS: I believe the books were to be taken to different cities as a travelling exhibition; where all did this travelling exhibition go?

IQ: The first book launch was in London, followed by Lahore, then Karachi, Hong Kong and Colombo.

TNS: Where did you think you got the most interesting response?

AK:  For my book it was definitely in Hong Kong, since they also have a colonial past.

IQ: For me it was London, followed by Lahore. Our Lahore launch was really well-attended, with over 500 people present.

TNS: As a husband and wife artist duo, the joint shows you have held have been at the Corvi Mora Gallery in London, in 2001, 2007 and 2010…

IQ:  No, these aren’t our only joint shows, we have had several more. There was one in Hong Kong in 2010.

AK: And in 2007 as well.

IQ: We have had joint shows in Karachi also.

TNS: What are the advantages of working together?

AK: For one thing, we get to travel together, so that is fun. But you see we have never planned it in this way. The Corvi Mora Gallery is our dealer so the suggestion to hold a joint show has always come from them.

IQ: We have never suggested to any gallery that we want to do a joint show.

AK: Similarly, we have been invited to show together in Kabul, and in Vienna, and at some biennales.

IQ: And in Delhi as well.

AK: Our work is very different, the issues are different. We have different temperaments. In a way you could say that our work supports each other’s.

IQ: Yes, I would agree, visually there are a lot of differences in our work; the execution is different, though we both work in the same tradition of miniature painting. It is never planned in any way though – that we will work together or display together. In fact, the Corvi Mora Gallery recently approached us saying they want us both to contribute for their next calendar, but we refused.

AK: (Laughs) Yes, we said we have had enough and we don’t want to do another joint project right now.

IQ: Yes, I think it becomes a bit of a formula as well – both showing together.

TNS: And what are the disadvantages of working together?

AK: When we both go away together the kids are left behind! But besides that I wouldn’t say there are any disadvantages.

IQ: There is no element of competition you see. The people who appreciate Aisha’s work are not the ones who like my work, and vice versa.

TNS: We have been talking about you two showing your work in lots of different countries, which country would you say you like showing in the most because you have a receptive audience there?

(Both simultaneously): Hong Kong.

IQ: I like showing anywhere actually.

AK:  Yes that’s true, for example we both showed at the recent Sharjah Biennial this year, and we got an overwhelming response over there too, far more than what we expected. Our work was talked about at every forum, and written about in so many publications. We would not have thought that out of 120 artists, two people would get so much attention.

TNS: What would you say the reason for that could be? Cultural similarity?

IQ: I suppose our work. (Laughs)

AK: I think because it was issue-based work.

IQ: No, I don’t think that was the reason either. Or maybe it was that they found our work different, due to the detailed execution (going beyond just conceptual work). Since in the West they concentrate on the concept, ignoring the other aspects of creating a work of art. In our work maybe they found both the elements were there. 

AK: Yes, I think that when people look at art being produced in western countries they realise that skill has become minimal.

TNS: Really, do you think so?

AK: Yes, I think that has become a problem, but artists in the West have recognised that and are reverting back. At present it is at that extreme where you can place any object in a gallery and say it is your exhibit, and explain the concept. Also perhaps the issues we had tackled were such that they generated interest (at the Sharjah Biennial), for example my work was based on Kashmir. Generally though, I would say that wherever I’ve shown, I’ve received a good response.

TNS: What are you working on at present?

AK: I am working for my show at the Corvi Mora Gallery in London. I have also applied for the Jameel Prize this year, [an international award for contemporary art and design inspired by Islamic tradition] which the Victoria and Albert Museum gives. The results will be announced in September. I shall also be conducting a workshop at the V&A in September.

IQ: A show of my work just opened at the IFA Gallery, and another one at the Ohio Contemporary Arts Center, there will be a show in Bombay in November (these are group shows), and I shall also be showing at a major Biennial next year.

TNS: Miniature painting has made massive leaps from the early 90’s onwards; what would you say have been the reasons for its substantial growth at this point?

IQ: I think that training matters a lot – the environment that NCA provides.

AK: Yes I think that is true – and maybe Imran won’t say it the way I would, since he teaches in the miniature department – but in all the years since he has been teaching a lot of good painters with a contemporary approach have emerged. When I was teaching we were not allowed to break the boundaries. But as a result of that my skills are very strong, and now I can do anything at all because of my mastery over skill. Students now also have many examples of people working in the contemporary style to follow.

TNS: Would you say that Shahzia Sikander is to be credited with starting this movement?

AK: I would not say that, since when I was a student I only used to hear her name, and I can’t say I would give credit because I have never seen her here.

IQ: Her contribution here is zero.

AK: She never came here and worked. We never knew what she was working on; she never came here and shared. She has never had a workshop here, or lectured or taught. On the other hand, if you take someone like Rashid Rana for example, he keeps others involved in what he is doing.

TNS: But she drew attention to the art form internationally …

AK: So have many other artists. But internationally as well I would not say that personally I have ever gained from any exposure that she gave to the art form. My work initially gained recognition in England (besides over here). You give credit when the other person either comes and teaches here, or… 

IQ: Or is directly involved in some way.

TNS: There is a school of thought which thinks that miniature painting is overpriced…

IQ: Miniature? Do you know what the prices of paintings and sculpture nowadays are? This is said a lot about the prices of miniatures, but why don’t you come to the thesis display at NCA and look at the prices of art works from other departments, even print-making.

AK: Look at even the prices of digital paintings. 

IQ: And we, the miniature painters, are the ones given a bad name. (Laughs)

TNS: Okay let’s talk about the arts in general…prices of art have gone up in the last several years…

IQ: Absolutely, and what has happened is not entirely right either, because it was not a natural process. If you look at myself, Aisha or Nusra or any other artist, the rise in our prices was slow. Prices would start from 3000 or 4000 and it would take years for the price to rise to even 15,000. Plus, time is not the only factor that determines the rise in pricing, there are many other factors, such as where you show, what are the reasons for the price of your work to rise, where is your work going, what experience do you have, and so on. Nowadays, people tend to think that the moment they graduate they can start putting up huge price tags. They seem to think that if a work by Aisha Khalid sells for x amount, so should theirs too.

AK: Yes, students do have this approach.

IQ: But the good thing is that such highly priced work did not sell at the NCA thesis show last time, which I think has sent a very good message. At times you couldn’t believe that the prices of works were of the graduating class.

AK: Another factor has been that recently students have been getting the opportunity to show abroad very soon after graduating, which gives them the wrong signal.

TNS:  Would you say that is a bad thing?

AK: No, but it spoils the students – once they’ve seen the prices in dollars, they convert the same prices for sale here. Whereas you can’t do that – you have to do pricing according to the local market over here at home.

IQ: The galleries over here are also to be blamed. They also bemoan the fact that prices have really gone up, but then why do they allow shows in which prices are inflated to be put up? Similarly, there are issues with galleries abroad as well: at times they tell the artist not to sell work for less than the amount it sold for at their gallery, how can you do that back at home over here?

AK: Or they say if you sold a painting for Rs 20,000 in Pakistan, sell your works to us at the same price.

IQ: In fact, I would give credit to the Corvi Mora Gallery for this, who are our dealers, we have never suffered as a result of any misunderstanding based on price differentials. They always make it clear to the purchaser that the prices at which we sell our works are different in the UK and different in Pakistan. It would be strange also if you don’t have a strong base in your own country, and abroad your works are selling at high prices.

AK: I think artists themselves are now resultantly trapped in all these monopolies.

IQ: Yes, they are happy for the initial period that they are making money, but after that, when they are unable to sell at those prices, they find it difficult to come down to earth. It is all an unnatural process.

TNS: There is also a school of thought which believes no new concepts are being explored, that themes have become hackneyed…

IQ: My question to people who think so would be, how many new ideas are being explored in the other art forms? I think that a lot of exciting work is being done in miniature painting at present, especially if you compare to the other arts. Maybe Aisha’s is the biggest example in this case, not only is she doing miniatures, but textile related work, videos, and so on.

AK: A lot of the criticism in the media at present is what you can call criticism for the sake of criticism. In fact I think that in NCA it is only the miniature department where new work is being done. If you look at the painting department, for instance, they stick to only producing oil on canvas, and not exploring new avenues, such as video art. It is almost as if there is an agenda against miniature art.

IQ: But that doesn’t make a difference, since when there is a huge movement, it has its positives as well as negatives.

 

Like last year the urs of Waris Shah at Jandiala Sher Khan was a lacklustre affair because the usual festivities associated with the urs including the continuous recitation of Heer for three days were conspicuous by its restraint. It has been a while since the urs of Waris Shah was toned down to such an extent that it almost lost its cultural significance. The authorities were extra cautious, insistent on reducing the rituals to minimum.

The cultural expressions built around Heer are such important happenings for the Punjabis that not to remember them fully almost amounts to sacrilege. Somebody in the past must have made a conscious decision to sing Heer in bhairveen and then it caught on to become a standard practice. Bhairveen on the other hand is a raag, which has been mentioned in texts much more ancient that the poem Heer itself.

Called Sada Suhagun, it can be sung at any time of the day and night. Because of this universal character a musical performance usually is wound up by an item in bhairveen. Other than the seven flat notes it is permissible in bhairveen to engage all notes that make its scope bigger than that of any particular raag. Not confined to a certain area or a region with many variations bhairveen is sung in various parts of South Asia. From the tunes in Afghanistan to Sindh, to Bengal, bhairveen is a universal melodic mode that fits into whatever clothes that had been tailored according to the style and taste of the various regions of the country.

In the absence of the recitation of Heer as compensation one can turn to the text. One of the most authentic manuscripts of Heer was edited by Abdul Aziz-Bar at Law. We now know a little more about the man and his passion for the Punjabi classic through the writings of his son, the famous historian K.K. Aziz.

For many years Abdul Aziz lived on his agricultural estate at Ballamabad in district Lyallpur. Though the kakezai clan had lived round the Beas for centuries, his father Ghulam Nabi, a medical doctor, built a fortune buying havelis in Batala, houses in Lahore and agricultural estate in Ballamabad. Though a barrister, Abdul Aziz’s heart lay not in his legal practice but elsewhere as a historian, particularly interested in the Mughal era. As one day he heard Heer from a local bard he was so smitten by it that he purchased all the available copies first from Lyallpur and then Kashmiri Bazaar Lahore, engaged a teacher to make him read Punjabi fluently and explain the Punjabi turn of the phrase. He also learnt the Gurmukhi script as he started a comparative reading of the texts. He realised that Waris Shah’s Heer was the most superior but lacked consistency.

There have been many Punjabi versions, the most notable being of Damodar, Ahmed Gujjar and Mukbal. Heer has also been written in Persian, Hindi, Urdu, Haryani and Sindhi. Sardar Abdul Qadir Aafandi first translated it into English from the Persian version of Mir Qamruddin.

To look for the authentic Waris Shah text, Abdul Aziz started his search from the old handwritten manuscripts in 1928 and he sought the help of his friends Hafiz Mehmood Shirani, Sirajuddin Azar and Sir Shahabuddin. He collected about sixty manuscripts and began to collate them and was further helped along the way by Sardar Mohan Singh, Milkhi Ram Giyani, Sardar Sundar Singh, Pandit Jai Chand, Sardar Sahib Singh, Professor Woolner, Abdullah Yousaf Ali and Bakhshi Tek Chand.

Waris Shah wrote his Heer in 1766. The original manuscript has been lost to history as the oldest goes back to only 1821. Its first printed version in the Persian script known as Hope Press edition came out in 1865, though, according to Mohan Singh Diwana it was first published in 1851 by Chashma Noor Press, Amritsar.

As the printing press became common, the purpose behind the first printed version, the Hope Press edition, was to bring into print whatever was available in order to preserve it. When the printed edition started to sell, the book traders with the help of some editors made massive interpolations to cater to popular taste. Two most notorious editors were Hidayatullah (1885) and Piran Ditta (1910). In the 1930s Mohan Singh Diwana pointed to the necessity of an authentic text of Heer Waris Shah. He himself edited Heer by going back to the manuscripts rather than the printed edition.

The most difficult task in the preparation of the true text is the variorum study of the vocabulary used. Most words are pregnant with layers of meanings, extended connotations, spirit, tenor, import, purport, force, implication, scope, expression, extended semantics, wealth of significations, emphases, shapes, nuances, the variety of usage, the changes occurring in their use as time passes.

One of the criteria of judging the correct and incorrect use of the word was its currency when Waris Shah was composing his masterpiece. So Abdul Aziz went about finding the oldest persons alive, and still in their senses to use them as a dictionary. He also had a library of about 25,000 books and manuscripts that he could refer to in his ancestral haveli in Batala, a treasure trove that became suddenly inaccessible due to partition and the family migration to Pakistan.

Abdul Aziz’s main passion for Heer seemed to have eaten into his fortune for he spent money lavishly to get hold of manuscripts or persons who could recite or narrate Heer. It appeared from his son’s account that he was no longer a man of fortune by the time he was through with his life’s passion.

And in the end did not earn him full satisfaction for and when Dr Muhammed Baqir under the Punjabi Adabi Academy finally printed it in 1960. Out of the sixty odd manuscripts only twenty-three manuscripts were mentioned and the entire text teemed with errors.

In the 1970s Sharif Sabir went to work on Aziz’s edition with the advantage of having examined three more manuscripts — one he found in Chunian, another in possession of Mian Anwar’s family and the third one with the Punjab Public Library. This beautifully printed Sharif Sabir’s edition has been the outcome of the Waris Shah Memorial Committee established in 1975.

In a strange scheme, the twenty first century has reverted to the fifth century BC; when Plato described the world as a cave in which shadows of archetypal forms are illuminated through divine entity. He illustrated his concept, suggesting that what we see as tangible things are merely reflections on the wall, caused by primordial forms.

Intriguingly, the description of world by the Greek philosopher seems to be true in this age of virtual reality, where visuals (shadows) have taken over the actual objects.

The importance of image in the present epoch is evident in two ways. In a literal sense, the image has replaced the real. Now TV screen and computer monitor satisfy man to the extent that he does not need to meet a person in flesh or see an actual situation because everything is available on channels or on his computer through his emails, internet and various social networks like Facebook. One example of this phenomenon is seen in the obsession of possessing farms on Facebook, and looking after imaginary animals.

Rapid and widespread use of image has become so much a part of our lives that soon man will be exposed to a screen only, instead of having any contact with other human beings. Even now, a citizen can spend his whole day at home (especially if he is living in a developed country) and is not required to move out or meet anyone, because he can buy his groceries, read his newspaper, work for his office, order his food, watch a film and chat with his friends – all on the internet. So the outside world and others have been reduced to or converted into virtual representations (or shadows if you still refer to Plato’s cave), as he is for other people!

The power of image is apparent on another level too: how people, practices, cultures and customs are presented to outsiders. Often the represented image conceals the reality; hence all of us, no matter if we are politicians, actors, sportsmen, corporate employees or minions, are constantly shaping our image. Sometimes by hiring image-building companies, which guide their clients on how to speak, dress and behave in front of public. So not only is the man of twenty first century repeatedly interacting with his fellow human beings via the process of virtual transformation, he himself is fabricated and composed according to the needs of spectacle.

Undoubtedly in our world and times, image is the supreme obsession and image-makers (including TV anchorpersons) are the most sought after individuals or groups. The power of image is not limited to individuals, but also in how a country is depicted in the international media. Some nations enjoy the status of most profound, cultured and peaceful societies, while others are struggling to come out of the shadows of various labels, such as terrorist, rogue, barbarian and culprit countries. 

Unfortunately Pakistan is facing the latter fate. The country, despite its multifaceted character and history in arts, culture and peaceful existence, is often portrayed in a negative one-dimensional manner to the outside world.

Perhaps it is time to project the actual face of the country which, like any other modern nation, is multi-pronged. It is rich in culture, with writers, actors, artists and other creative people active in pursuing their craft. Whatever they produce may not be for the sake of a political reason or national cause because an artist or writer is primarily compelled by an inner calling to create. Yet their outputs can be utilised to offer a new vision of the country which has the capability to conquer and surprise the world (like the recent visit of our foreign minister to India, which was a successful step towards taming and dominating the ‘hostile’ media).

Likewise, in the realm of visual art, Pakistan’s potential to make a mark globally is a possibility that has not been fully explored. One such opportunity can be the Venice Biennale, an art event which in its importance, prestige and number of participating nations is like Olympics (as defined by Dr. Federico Bianchi, Head of the Economic and Commercial Office at the Embassy of Italy in Islamabad). Many heads of states visit this exhibition which attracts artists, curators, collectors and media from all over the world. The event is open for countries to have their national pavilions and select their artists (represented by country commissioners and curators). According to Venice Biennale’s president Paolo Baratta “the Biennale is like a wind machine. Every two years, it shakes the forest, unveils hidden truths, gives new strength and light to new sprouts, showing older trunks and persisting branches from a different perspective. The Biennale is a great pilgrimage, where in the works of artists and in the work of curators the voices of the world meet, to talk about their own and our future. Art here is meant as a continuous evolution.”

At a time when our artists are showing internationally at some very prestigious places (like Muse Guimet in Paris), perhaps the country can plan to participate in forthcoming Venice Biennale (to be held in 2013). It may highlight the image of Pakistan as a nation associated with its artists and creative individuals who are already part of the contemporary art world. The need to be part of this exhibition is urgent since both India and Bangladesh have already participated in this year’s biennale and Pakistan’s earlier plans (in 2009 — ahead of two neighbouring nations) had failed to materialise for multiple reasons.

One hopes this time our government will not lose the great chance to project a positive image of Pakistan at an international forum, especially since the Prime Minister of Pakistan had recently invited artists to discuss how the image of the country can be represented in a better manner. A fruitful endeavour, because this time the artists were giving suggestions to the state rather than the state ordering them (as happened during the dictatorship).

This openness — of listening to artists — is a commendable initiative on the part of the government because both artists and government can collaborate to project a pleasant image of Pakistan. This may shock, shake and impress the world which fallaciously believes we still live in caves, not of Plato, but of Taliban.

Stages of death

One about riding in cars and checking out geographies

Autoerotic asphyxia means the intentional restriction of oxygen to the brain for sexual arousal.

A cursory glance at Mehreen Murtaza’s ‘Auto-erotic Asphyxiation’ reminds one obliquely of Andy Warhol’s Death and Desire series, where his fascination with horrid car accidents were rendered out in large grainy silk-screen prints, the cars —actually a car, duplicated over and over again in rows — careening off hills, crashing, combusting and burning out in deep shades of red, purple and green grotesque majesty.

‘Auto-erotic Asphyxiation’ is 49 grainy, polarised, almost photo-copish photographs arranged in a grid, seven in both directions. Here too are cars, occasionally dashboards peeking, and windshields intact. Some strange duplication works its way through, are white cars following black ones or vice versa? The cars here are not careening off or burning out but merely static, some standing still, looking through underpasses and blackened trees, some stranded against pickets and iron rods, yet the whole grid seems to be in transit, moving in four lines of its black frames.

Somehow, ‘Auto-erotic Asphyxiation’ should be presented in stages, the grid, the text, and what about the text, the captions? Look at them, roll them onto tongues: Model Town A Block, Johar Town, Sunday Bazaar Parking, Faisal Town, Gourmet Restaurant parking, Inner City, near Badshahi Mosque and Cucoos Restaurant, behind Red Light area, Defence Housing Authority, Lahore University of Management and Sciences (LUMS) Parking lot.

Familiar names, known alleys. ’Auto-erotic Asphyxiation’ is actually a clever, voyeuristic mixture of a ballpark, part hazy road movie, part documentation and all sexual perversion. Documenting the city at night, Murtaza has mapped out 49 places, which are known to be car dating spots in Lahore.

But death also blankets over perversion in Auto-erotic Asphyxiation. Asphyxiation itself swirls in double meanings. Autoerotic asphyxia can result in death, so can being trapped in a car without oxygen or for that matter a grid.

Two about mental frequencies and radio blackouts

William Utermohlen was an American painter living in London, who painted as many painters do self-portraits as well as London street life, the Vietnam War and a group of minstrels from his hometown in Philadelphia.

In 1995, Utermohlen learned that he was suffering from Alzheimer’s and till his death in 2007, turned out a stunning series of self-portraits. There are seven painting and two drawings, which slowly, hauntingly show Utermohlen disintegrating right in front of us, a study of the brain slowly losing its edge. The first one from 1967, shows a young bearded man, solemn face, the eyes quivering perhaps not sure of an uncertain future. The hand, however sure, the shadows exact. The next one jumps ahead 39 years, the beard is gone, the once fluffy hair now strands of pencil marks, the eyes peering at you, the mouth small and curled up, the whole awash in sick yellow, a dash of blue and red paint slips towards the edge.

In 1996, the face is shrouded in uncertainty and black. 1997 seems especially bleak, the eyes wobbly, there is still the yellow, the red, the blue now into black. And because Alzheimer’s is known for diminishing the power of the brain’s right parietal lobe, an area that controls visualisation and perspective, Utermohlen’s art shows a drift from his prior expert use of line and detail, the strong use of colour remains until the very last two, 1999, the facial features now gone, the head now abstraction, messy, scratched onto mass of surface. The last 2000, a drawing, a child’s drawing of a forgotten self, full of anger and fear towards fate.

The self-taught Spanish photographer David Nebreda suffers from Schizophrenia day in, day out and his photographs are a way out, or from the viewer’s perspective a way in into a very disturbing place.

Over a period of twenty years, Nebreda without leaving his tiny apartment reduced his body, through extreme starvation, into a bag of bones. Nebreda’s most haunting photographs are from the period of 1992 to 1997. One view to look at them would be, of pure disgust— the photographs contain poking bones, razors cuts, the blood spurting. Crowns of thorns, dirty beds and the face, the eyes glazed the expression at once of pain and of an expression that is purely unreadable.

This particular ‘Autoportrait’ are four exposures of Nerada’s body, his head shaven, his body showing signs of starvation. The face, mostly hidden in dark shadow, the posture Christ like. The mysterious triangle might refer to the Eye of Providence (the all-seeing eye of God) but the triangle is empty, redemption has not yet been achieved.

The other view would be imagining what grotesquery Flannery O ‘Conner only hinted at in Wise Blood. The photographs are exorcisms, the belief that salvation only comes through pain, that passion means to suffer; Nebrada’s photographs are beautiful as they are unbearable.

 

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