LOST IN TRANSLATION:

In the last two decades, a lot has changed in the Pakistani art scene. Every year young graduates from art schools are entering the art world by the dozen. The ‘Art market’, that was practically non-existent earlier, is considerably established now, especially with the expansion of media coverage there is an increased interest in the country’s art internationally also. It has resulted in an active showing and viewing of a varied art practice at local galleries and this shift, in how art works are looked at and experienced, has opened up new avenues for artistic expression. Of course it’s a good sign, but now galleries want quantity and artists submit to that by doing lots of mediocre work, most of which is sheer repetition, cliche and strangely unconsidered political and cultural mysticism that tiers one’s eyes and brain with its uninspiring pseudo-conscious ramble. But I doubt if a (traditionally) restricted art world, with only a handful of stewards, is the solution to protect us from this fate of an art scene swamped with mediocrity. But on the other hand what matters is the variance, the overall distribution and probabilistically speaking, more art works mean more ‘great’ art works (not to say that there is an explanation for ‘great art’). And besides this perfunctory encounter that reduces art to good, bad or mediocre, the spectator’s real task is to adopt a semiotic approach to reading visuals that has relevance for understanding the process of interpretation, in an endless production of meaning because of human subjectivity. But that just puts a lot of pressure on the spectator's poor shoulders and evades the artist from much responsibility. Or perhaps this is only a result of my preoccupation with a rather philosophical attempt to understand the ‘experience of art’ (not in a particularly academic way, but as a reader).

As three shows opened in Lahore this month, I only managed to get a peek at two. One at Rohtas 2 (of works by Mariam Ibraaz titled Excerpts from Eroded Inner Verses) and the other at Greynoise (showing works by Basir Mahmood titled I Won’t Leave You Till I Die). Mahmood’s realism and Ibraaz’s surrealism, both examine the spaces that inform our understanding of the present. Ibraaz’s fine sense of composition is certainly the strength of her digitally manipulated photomontages. Expressing the unconscious/subconscious through suggestive yet indefinite visual references, Ibraaz writes; “Each work in ‘Excerpts from Eroded Inner Verses’ is a psychological space, imitating reality, revealing emotional states of mind and experiences.” These obscure landscapes, collaged with some shadowless objects, removed from their context and reassembled within anomalous landscapes, accompanied by even more obscure titles, surpass the limits of nature. Shifting back and forth between two and three dimensionality, between foreground and background, these juxtapositions deceive the eye, exploring reality beyond physical reality. This special attention to the expression of emotion/feeling resembles the form of poetry, and I wasn’t surprised when I read, “The imagery is mostly derived from my poetry; it is subtle and layered, allowing the viewer to enter the space and read it at a more personal level (mentioned in her artist statement). I secretly wished that the artist had planned a reading of excerpts from her poetry, at least for the opening, or perhaps our personal narratives imprinted on those visuals makes the experience more compelling.

Mariam Ibraaz: Slumbering in the the aftermath & For the longest time i carried it on my shoulders.

Basir Mahmood, I won't leave you till I die.

Basir Mahmood, Islamic Lion.

Once someone said, “Images are easier to misread”, but so are words, I thought. Whether titles help us understand the work better or they change the visuals or dominate them or disrupt the flow, are questions that vary from work to work. But in Mahmood’s case, I can’t seem to decide. Anyway, contrary to Ibraaz’s work, Mahmood’s is rooted in the here and now, containing an element of reportage. The work deals heavily with the political and cultural tensions in Pakistan. The narrative style of his documentary works is charged with humanism that is subtle, while the titles provide a touch of irony. For example, in ‘I Won’t leave you till I die’ (three channel video installation that runs on a loop) there is one man in each, who is caught in a scuffle with an invisible person who morphs with the white background from time to time, making the other figure as present as the clothed man yet absent, creating an interesting variety of appearance and disappearance of lines and shapes. Similarly ‘We’ve been ruled by many’ and ‘Fruit for all, land belongs to know one’ (digital prints), are also socially conscious works that address the core problem of inequitable land and natural resource ownership in a country where the politics of land reforms have always been dubious. It is extremely difficult to de-link formal concerns from conceptual aspects in Mahmood’s methods of production, through highly diversified mediums. From video to digital prints the imagery is both recognizable yet abstract, especially in ‘Islamic Lion’ and ‘The Goat’, that are a display of zoomorphic calligraphy in white, appliquéd on a white canvas. This time it is text that morphs into living forms, such as a lion (or just a hanging piece of raw meat in case of ‘The Goat’). Mahmood’s realism, (be it in the practice of acceptance of reality, the view that the subject matter of politics is political power and not matters of principle, the act of representing reality accurately, or in the art historical context of rejecting traditional ideas about beautiful and appropriate subject matter in favor of simple, sincere and un-idealized treatment of contemporary life) is an examination of our experiences of the everyday that shape our interpretations of the present. Such deconstruction is hence the only legit form of interpretation in both making and viewing.