Art house

A living city that goes back thousands of years, Lahore is virtually a museum that invites visitors to experience Mughal architectural jewels together with Sikh brickwork and frescoes, Indo-Gothic colonial buildings and post-modern architecture, in equal measure. Royal Mughal ateliers put it on the map for travelers, and textile and carpet connoisseurs alike. Subsequent invaders also left their mark on its walled city and there are still many houses with a distinctly Sikh footprint.

One such house or haveli is the Fakirkhana inside Bhaati Gate, which was built in the mid eighteenth century and was given to the famous Faqir Nuruddin and Faqir Azizuddin, Muslim brothers who rose to be ministers in the 19th century court of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, where Persian was the official language. According to the Faqirs’ heirs and present owners, their private collection of art and artifacts began at that time and range from ancient Gandhara, to Early Mughal miniatures and textiles, including personal gifts from sovereigns including the Mughals, Sikhs, and those bestowed by Queen Victoria.

To curate an exhibition of cutting edge contemporary artists in this already packed space was nothing short of a courageous initiative by the intrepid Zahra Khan, a young curator with several years of experience with international galleries. As a ‘collateral’ or associated event of the recently concluded Lahore Biennale, her exhibition can best be described as a microcosm of the larger Biennale.  Titled “I too am a part of this history…”, a quote from her conversations with Faqir Saifuddin, the present owner and custodian of the Faqirkhana collection, she set out to remind us of our tangible and collective heritage, enrich our cultural consciousness and demonstrate the significance of how it relates to the agency of contemporary artists and their oeuvres.

Experiential works such as Hasan Mujtaba’s ‘Chronicles of the Future’, where a large canvas covered the entire courtyard, were a subtle yet clever way of luring in even the accidental visitor. A foot over the charcoal laden threshold meant their imprint on the canvas and the space became indelible. Likewise, Akif Suri’s installation ‘New Lords Make New Laws’, a suspended wooden backbone constructed out of Victorian furniture legs and finials, was on-point at many levels. Appearing like a dinosaur skeleton found in Natural History museums around the world, it was a familiar spectacle yet its components told the distinct tale of the vast baggage of colonial authority and the distortions of indigenous social constructs and belief systems.

An approach to ‘fit-in’ was employed by both Affan Bhagpati and Saba Khan, where the artists created trophies and testimonials in non-traditional materials, compelling the viewer to think about authenticity of newly created ‘heritage’, which is often served to the masses as ‘development’. Bhagpati’s altered strainers and spoons, while desirable, made one think of the purpose and re-purposing of old utilitarian objects and associated histories; while Khan drew attention to elusive international accolades sought after by emerging artists, to validate their practice in the absence of genuine local patronage, owing entirely to which artists and artisans once flourished.

To create a miniature painting with handmade paper, pigments and fine brush strokes, is an extremely painstaking process, so for Quratulain Shams to then wrap her beautiful creations in caution-tape was a bold action and appears to convey the necessity of engaging with art and keeping it accessible, rather than as a precious commodity. The viewer’s attention draws towards reality, rather than covering up the veracity of the image in miniatures, which traditionally, were illustrative chronicles of the times.

Noor Ali Chagani’s experiment with the humble brick of varying sizes converts something hard, rigid and weighty into a malleable medium. Using miniature bricks fashioned as armour-like jewelry, he enhances their perceived preciousness, and the inaccessible placement of the bust, was as if it were the adornments of an empress, found in a museum. Sophia Balagamwala made interventions with acrylic and enamel on a ceramic vase as a strong commentary on the writing and re-writing of histories and provenance, taking her cue from objects within the venue.

Mohsin Shafi’s audacious work is full of surprises; he remained true to form with his ‘art history’ animation. Not only terse, it boldly conveyed the message that all artists do not reach the ‘heights’ of fame, which was projected on the ceiling of an interim space. His tongue-in-cheek statement hit the nail on the head as one traversed through the labyrinths of the haveli admiring hundreds of ancient artifacts with absolutely no knowledge of the artists’ names, who flourished in a bygone era. This was in direct contrast to his site-specific ‘Confessions of a Secret Lover’, where he not only confesses to the crime of ‘stealing’ but also provides a list of all the stolen objects and dates they were stolen. One was drawn into examining each of the items and had it not been for the constant nudges from others waiting to get ahead, viewers could be tempted to swipe an item from his tea-stained papier mache box, as if it were a treasure chest.

For Quratulain Shams to then wrap her beautiful creations in caution-tape was a bold action and appears to convey the necessity of engaging with art and keeping it accessible, rather than as a precious commodity

A place of prominence in the main living room or gol kamra was provided to some well known names. Were they included solely for their draw, betraying a lack of confidence in the relatively young curator?

While paying a befitting tribute to the almost 20,000 carefully crafted artifacts and antiques that inhabit the Faqirkhana, Zahra’s selection of 23 artists was a tad too many, considering that the entire biennale in seven sites had a mere 50 artists. A comfortable ingestion of the approach and the nuanced context of these works was at times lost to viewers as they cautiously navigated the space trying to avoid crashing into a Timurid jar or knocking a Mughal miniature off the wall. The venue and permanent collection of objects at the Faqirkhana is in desperate need of preservation and Zahra’s commendable effort succeeded in drawing more attention to them.