Cosmopolitan Sindhi

A landscape of rough earth and devi trees adorns the entrance of KOEL Gallery, Karachi. There is something mesmerising in the image. Perhaps it is the scrub’s wild lines and timbre, growing out of dusted land – or a quiet vacancy at the deep center of the photograph. Taken by Noorjehan Bilgrami, near Makli in Sindh, the image appears neither ironic nor romanticised. It exudes self-possession. The photograph serves as an inaugural banner, commemorating KOEL Gallery’s fifth anniversary show, Artists from Sindh.

Upon entering KOEL one is struck by the scale and range of the work on display. It showcases almost 60 artists from interior Sindh, covering a timespan of three generations down to the present. The exhibition has been jointly curated by Ms. Bilgrami and Muhammad Zeeshan. And its power is undeniable. The show brings together masters alongside mid-career and emerging artists, at once celebrating this diverse assemblage of creators whilst locating the gallery’s place in a wider context.

More specifically, artists have been sought from three regions in the main: Mirpurkhas District, Hyderabad District, Upper Sindh and Khairpur/Sukkur District. A fourth general category is also maintained. Because of its focus on semi-urban Sindh and art apprenticeship in the absence of a supportive culture, Karachi’s artists not included in the show. Given this, the exhibition raises a number of critical questions almost immediately.

Foremost to one’s mind is the exhibition’s grounding premise. What in fact is the effect of using Sindh as a frame of reference? Contemporary art scholarship shies away from fixed (locational) categories, as these tend to essentialise and ghettoise artists. Such categories valorise binary polarisations and simplistic formulations like ‘us vs. them’, ‘insider vs outsider’. And indeed, as contributing artists themselves suggest on the floor of the show, there is no such thing as ‘Sindhi art’, per se.

Muhammad Zeeshan further clarifies this: “We wanted to avoid the kind of regional politics that are ushered in with the mention of Sindhi as language or as a singular cultural origin.” In terms of methodology then, the exhibition is not based on an exhaustive survey of art production in the province. Nor is it conceived of as a platform for showcasing a civilisational heritage. That said, a critical mass of artists have however emerged from across the region over the last two decades. How are we to make sense of this exceptional phenomenon?

Bilgrami and Zeeshan structure the exhibition around a more intimate arc – a living ustaad-shagird tradition in the region – which has borne and continues to produce artists of outstanding caliber. At its narrative heart, the show celebrates five legendary ustaads or master artists. These include Abdul Fatah Halepoto (teaching based in Hyderabad), Lal Mohammad Pathan (Mirpurkhas), Mirza Irshad Baig (Mirpurkhas), Muhammad Rustam Khan (Mirpurkhas), and Mussarat Mirza (Sukkur| Jamshoro).

The exhibition singularly honours them, and it identifies communion between different generations of teacher-artists from Sindh. A palpable air of reverence marks the show’s opening. Graced by a number of ustaads as well as their students – Karachi and interior based, others drawn from Lahore and Islamabad – the occasion offers a beautiful moment of reckoning. It bears potential for further research and documentation into the life-works of these reticent pioneers.

[quote]The nature of apprenticeship marks a key aspect of the show[/quote]

The nature of apprenticeship itself marks a key aspect of the show. Homage is paid to exceptional teachers associated with formal art centers. Alternatively, in areas devoid of accessible institutions, ustaads far ahead of their times have served as iconic figures – either within a commercial framework or within the context of studio/personal tutelage. With reference to the former, ‘the shop’ has served as a generative force for a constellation of artists. These include the now mythical list of Abdul Jabbar Gull, Ahmed Ali Manganhar, Aqeel Solangi, Mohammad Ali Talpur, R. M. Naeem (and Muhammad Zeeshan) among others.

Genres such as sign-making, the painting of cinema hoardings, portraiture of renowned political and movie personages etc., have facilitated a kind of dynamic initiation into the realm of the ‘tasveer’ within semi-urban Sindh. In this regard, critic Nafisa Rizvi references a conversation with Ahmed Ali Manganhar – she describes in her catalogue essay a seminal moment in art training.

“A slew…of youngsters would watch, as the artists would draw the grid on the huge boards. The painter’s apprentice would then fill in the basic colours imitating the photographic still from the upcoming movie and the senior artist would add the final masterful touches before the board went up – the highlights, the glow of light and the customary raw pinks to enhance the colour of skin pigment. These were…methodologies worked out by signboard painters to maximise drama, especially for distant viewing. It was an act of creation that the young artists would not forget.”

This homing ground is accompanied by further mentoring of outstanding talent, as well as a resonant culture of narratives circulated among peers. Even in the absence of direct contact, Zeeshan suggests, stories about ustaads and their work become legends and legends become oral schools of learning. Such informal apprenticeship has seasoned an entire lineage of students, prior to their enrolment at metropolitan institutions such as NCA Lahore or IVS Karachi. Their presence remains vital – within the microcosm of the show but also within a wider art narrative in Pakistan.

[quote]Within the show's rich multiplicity, one is hard-pressed to see the quotidian or expected cultural expression[/quote]

The particular intellectual and aesthetic migrations by contemporary artists from Sindh fall outside the parameters of this essay. However, in terms of its evident statements the exhibition certainly bucks stereotype. One may imagine a visual registry of the region’s great craft traditions; images of colourful Thari women; graven poverty; the mystic shrine or a desert landscape; reference to its literature and music; or further still, references to Mohenjodaro and latent historic imageries. Within the show’s rich multiplicity, one is in fact hard-pressed to see the quotidian or expected cultural expression. Collectively, the works on display present wide-ranging art practices and a seemingly innate cosmopolitan sensibility.

Another more tentative statement may also be made. That is, a discernable current of abstraction runs through the show. This does not mean figural presence is entirely missing. Historically older artworks do present a strong mimetic instinct. But in an almost prescient manner, the show demonstrates a blurring of original distinction.

There is, in the hyperrealism of Ustaad Rustam, and in the soft oil-based markings of Mirza Irshad Baig, a keen experience of line. In contrast, works by Lal Mohammad Pathan, Mussarat Mirza, and Fatah Halepoto provide instances of a more considered transformation of objective reality. In Mussarat Mirza’s remarkable Dar-e-Tooba, the burnt ground itself turns to gold-sienna hues, with lines of architecture barely visible through the sheen.

I am also struck by exceptional works amongst subsequent generations of artists, wherein a landscaped or spatialising tendency, abstractive form, and visual rhythm appear as critical constitutive elements. It is as though these gestures vividly enable meaning. They are evident in the work of a number of mid-career artists – and then further still. Arif Hussain Khokhar’s work with line and Qadir Jhatial’s talent with colour-blocking come to mind in particular.

“The idea for us to come back and contribute to Sindh will probably not be realised in the way that [Sain Fatah] imagined,” suggests Mohammad Ali Talpur, co-curator for the 2010 exhibition, In the Milieu of Fatah Halepoto (Fatah Jay Aaassay Paassey). Talpur’s observations of his teacher apply equally to this wider field of attendance. “He had a vision that his students would take the imagery of Sindh and breathe life into it. [And] we are doing it… Our work has the same essence and roots of place but manifested differently.”

[quote]"What does the term 'art movement' mean to us?"[/quote]

In closing, I am reminded of a comment by Aqeel Solangi at the Artists’ Talk held in conjunction with the show. “What does the term ‘art movement’ mean to us?” Solangi asked rhetorically. “What is its historical inspiration, its meaning and unfolding? In fact what makes a movement…? Where are we looking?” The series of contemplative queries were met with a pause in the audience. We clearly did not know how to respond. But the silence was deeply felt. Artists from Sindh, the exhibition, perhaps fully pictures this moment’s ambivalence and uncharted potential.

Maha Malik is a freelance writer based in Karachi