Tamasha Meray Aagay

Miniature painting in the Indian subcontinent was established in the latter part of Emperor Humayun’s reign. On his return from Persia the great ruler brought with him two renowned miniature painters from the Persian court: Mir Syed Ali of Tabriz and Abdus Samad. Subsequently during Akbar’s reign a host of local artists worked under their direction. When Jahangir ascended to the throne greater contact with the western world brought naturalistic tendencies to the forefront, with birds, flowers and trees beginning to make an appearance, though at this time and in that of Shah Jehan the most popular themes still revolved around court life. Later, with patronage declining and political upheavals decimating princely courts, wandering artists found sanctuary in hilly principalities. Thus emerged the Pahari style, where they blended the sophisticated and previously dominant Mongol style with the more vigorous and energetic folk art of the hill people, using new idioms and generating a brief but exquisite renaissance of miniature painting.

In recent times at Lahore’s NCA, the pioneers of miniature painting were Haji M. Sharif, followed by Ustad Shuja. Then came Bashir Ahmed, who after eight years of tutelage under two hereditary court painters evolved a contemporary genre of this art. In 1983 he modified the existing NCA curriculum and produced a syllabus for a miniature art degree programme, including the expansion of the genre into different styles and subject matter, measures that have made this art form an international movement.

Naveed Sadiq, one of the renowned contemporary artists influenced by this technique, himself graduated with distinction in miniature painting from NCA, and has taught the subject at Karachi’s Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture, besides conducting many solo and group shows. Last month he did a solo show of his work at Karachi’s Koel Gallery.

[quote]Naveed insists on posture and says for the very fine work even the breath must be controlled[/quote]

Imran Qureshi, NCA miniature art lecturer has said that, “It takes a special kind of student to major in this form. Miniature students have to sit on the floor all day, holding their papers close to their eyes, balancing both paper and painting arm against the body. The floor replaces the stool, the hand becomes the palette, mussel shells are the mixing bowls, and the lap becomes the easel.” There have, of course, been modifications in this, and a trip to IVS found students sitting on cushions placed on the floor, and working on low tables, though the mussel shell mixing bowls and the handmade squirrel hair brushes for minute details were very much in evidence. Modifications notwithstanding, Naveed insists on the importance of posture, and says that for the very fine work even the breath must be controlled.

“Miniature art is a discipline with its own requirements,” he says, “There is the all-important stylization, and the discipline of image making, with its fine lines, which we call pardakht, and the layout of the composition. It’s difficult to convey your thoughts in this medium but even then I am keen to translate my thoughts into this style.”

“Some artists say that when they’re painting they’re not aware of what they’re doing - that the piece has a life of its own,” I offered.

“But miniature painting requires a lot of time, patience, and you need planning,” he rejoined. “It’s not spontaneous at this stage of my career.  Of course you can make changes during the process, but there must be a clear picture in your mind before you start a piece.”

As to the main problems of the miniaturist, he feels that this varies from individual to individual.  “At the exhibition opening, people asked me how I could do things - e.g. the shining eye of an animal - in such intricate and faithful detail. For me, it’s neither a piece of cake nor a headache. While teaching at IVS I used to tell my students that drawing is the grandmother of all disciplines in the visual arts. So when you’ve mastered this, if you have the required sensibility you can do anything, no matter whether you have a pen in your hand, or a stick, or a stone. But before you can engage in the stylization of miniature art you must  be able to render images realistically.”

[quote]Today there is no sensitive rendering – no pardakht - in the minute details[/quote]

The jidwal border, called tehzeeb in Persian, is an important aspect of miniature painting. In the Persian style of miniature the picture is allowed to spill out over this border, though in the Moghul style it must remain within it. So whichever way you choose you still remain part of the tradition, despite the experimentation that is so evident among today’s miniaturists. An artist, not a miniature painter himself but one who uses elements of this style in his work, once told me that in his view miniatures being produced nowadays are just small pictures, not true to the style. Asked for his reaction to this, Naveed said, “Somehow I can agree with him, because today there is no sensitive rendering - no pardakht - in the minute details. But atists are exploring keenly, breaking the boundaries these days. In the era of Persian and Moghul miniatures they were working for their kings, documenting history and court life through this means, but now it’s become a matter of individual expression...maybe that’s why the style has changed so much. However, it’s a positive development, because once we are done, artists will resolve these matters and settle down again to the required sensibilities.”

I myself enjoy experimentation, though for me the respect for the discipline of this genre is a priority.

I enjoyed the miniature aesthetic and sensitivity of lines in Sadiq’s Koel show. One viewer was heard asking how the artist could produce such peaceful work while living in Karachi. But to not realize that Sadiq is concerned with socio-political and economic conflict, and such evils as target killing is to be deceived by his delicate touch.

Naveed’s pictures are all untitled. The first one (picture 1) shows the artist himself lying with his ear literally to the ground, and holding a “rerah”, an innocent toy that he played with as a child. He lies there helplessly, unable to do anything but listen to the daily current of violence around him. “All around us so much innocence has been lost, there is so much bloodshed, with innocent people becoming part of the tamasha due to target killing, random killing and such like that it seems that we die every day.” Even the little toy outside the jidwal border bleeds, while the human figure is outlined in red. Then rain falls on the dry tree, so that it becomes green again, giving us hope. Colourwise this is a skillful composition, with the background in two shades of brown, but lightened by areas of pale yellow and the white outline of his clothing. In the green water approaching from above, and the lighter coloured area on which he lies, he has subtly suggested not only hope for better days, but also our connection with the land itself.

In his next intriguing piece (oicture 2), against the tea wash the black and white wings portray the battle between positive and negative forces, with a target placed between them, representing target killing, while a curved road runs through the background, tacitly asking where society and the world at large are going. Two fighting bulls are skillfully outlined in the lower portion, heads artistically locked in battle below the jidwal border, the creatures in danger of falling into the black water of negativity below, or of being inundated by it from above. So as with humans, creatures of the same genus and species are fighting each other.

[quote]We see the angel of death erecting a target[/quote]

The battle continues in his masterly rendition of two elephants fighting (picture 3), not just out of male pugnacity but over territory – as portrayed in the map-like lines dotted with thumb tacks surrounding them. This is a beautiful and subtle composition, done almost entirely in shades of brown over a tea wash, the brown, prehaps, indicating that in some ways we are still in the Stone Age. Apart from the pair of sandals at the top right below the mountains, and the tiny satellite dish opposite indicating the electronic media, it is interesting to see how successfully the action is confined to a fairly small space just below the picture’s horizon without spoiling the picture’s balance or completeness. And while the elephants’ trunks are elegantly intertwined, the threat of control by an outside hand is delicately indicated by the harness that encompasses one of the animals.

Sandals appear in a number of the exhibits, indicating the custom of removing one’s footwear out of respect for a holy place or for the sanctity of another’s home. And ironically this is done even when those entering the premises do so with evil intent and malice. In another extension of the same idea we see the angel of death in a piece, erecting a target – again suggesting target killing, yet he has taken off his sandals politely before starting.

Then our eyes are assailed by a bathroom shower (picture 4), topped by a pair of sandals and releasing a fall of blood, close to an area of green water that represents both Pakistan and  Islam. The inference is that the blood of Muslims falls daily, like a perpetual shower. Interestingly, while the artist was preparing the layered wasli paper the portion now covered in green peeled off accidentally, so as an experiment he incorporated it into the picture. “I didn’t push myself to do this,”  he explains. “It just happened.”

Further on, Naveed Sadiq himself stands before us, dressed in mufti, holding a white flower of peace and with his head in the clouds (picture 5). Here of course the head in the clouds signifies not divorce from reality but a stern reminder of it, since regardless of time or place we may still be targeted, or despite anonymity we may become victims of random killing. Much of the picture’s impact is  due to the dominance of the unusual, dark central figure and to the judicious use of colour here and there, while added interest comes from the map and the grid, with their relevance to the miniature aesthetic.

One of his final pieces (picture 6), with its combination of Mughal and Persian miniature styles, shows the shadowy figures of Emperor Shah Jehan and Dara Shikoh riding on horseback through blue water,  its colour a pleasing contrast to the light and subtle background. Up near the mountains we see a blue lake, the tree of hope and a cloud above these shedding rain, a naural phenomenon honoured in poetry and ghazals. But  looking closely at  Dara Shikoh’s somewhat stylised horse we find that it is an image of death in life, since in its rear the skeleton is visible. Near the riders and their mounts, the interesting image of the tent signifies the cordoning off of a part of history, allowing us to see a new beginning.

However, once again the peaceful and pleasing image conveys a serious message, with the quote from the respected Parveen Shakir, some of whose poetry was overtly socio-political. Her image of the old tree, beloved by the birds but cut down brings to mind the death or assassination of a revered ruler,  the decay of much that he has striven to attain, and the death of loyalty among hitherto faithful retainers.  We are also forced to consider social evils such as the destruction of nature and historic structures for personal profit by the timber mafia, the industrialists, the so-called developers and more recently the advertising companies.

Sensitive, gently didactic, true to the miniature aesthetic – such work is Naveed’s life.  And in viewing it our own lives are enriched.