Letters to Taseer

Its been a year since Salman Taseer was shot dead by his own bodyguard for reasons that we are all familiar with. As much as I would like to believe that his death wasn’t in vain, his first death anniversary this month was a reminder that nothing has changed, that we live under constant threat to be falsely implicated for raising a voice or perhaps having an opinion alone is enough to get one killed. Letters to Taseer, a two part exhibition at Drawing room Gallery, the first of which opened on 5^th of January, is an exhibition dedicated to honoring the memory of this man whose courage to speak, earned him 26 bullets. Or perhaps the show testifies that this fearlessness is not buried with him, instead it has inspired many others to have the courage of their convictions. Perhaps a gift, intended to show respect and admiration, or may be a celebration of the life he lived.

Seven artists; Faiza Butt, Imran Mudasser, Mohammad Ali Talpur, Noor Ali Chagani, Quddus Mirza, Rashid Rana and Saba Khan have been selected from a pool of participating artists, for the first part of the exhibition, curated by Salima Hashmi. The political dialogue that the work generates, is part of each one of these artists’ respective practice.

My experience of witnessing these works at the gallery, can not be dissociated from the dialogue that I had with my seven year old nephew, Naail, about the works, as he was accompanying me at the show. His display of curiosity about every single work, long attention span, active engagement, the desire to meet the artists and ask them questions to satisfy his need to know and his confidence in looking and talking about what he saw (especially for a kid who didn’t grow up going to art museums and galleries, in fact if I’m not wrong this may be his first encounter) made it a very unique experience for me. Perhaps all children have a native interest in art, all they need is a little bit encouragement and help to enjoy it.

It wasn’t anything unique particularly, but it was unique for me, I was amazed at his display of such a 

Butt’s collage, titled Zaever Zangeer, is a collage/photomontage of various items; such as; jewellery, bones, plastic bags, cigarette butts and e.t.c, to give shape to the words of Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s poem ‘aaj bazaar main pa bajolan chalo…’ (let us walk in bazaar in shackles), lettered onto the light-box, imitating the poem’s language of symbols, references, metaphors and similes. Naail was fascinated by the technique and so was I, he enjoyed the imagery, the apt choice of items for lettering certain words in the poem and most of all the element of discovery. But on a closer introspection of the work, he concluded that, “I don’t like the words in it, like blood stains and head covered with ashes”.  Perhaps the violence upset him and that’s exactly what it was meant to be, a sign of defiance. Using Faiz’s poetry in art these days is a common sight, particularly because his verses are shockingly relevant to this time and age. It’s a difficult task to balance ingredients such as extremely powerful verses and an empowering context, for a work to be informed by them yet do something more.

Faiza Butt

Zaever Zangeer

6 x 77 x 30 Inches

Dura trans-print mounted on light box

Edition of 2/3

 2011

Mudasser’s black heart and moths, enclosed in a pencil-drawn illumination, lies somewhere between irony and devotion. Talpur’s mashq is a simple (yet beautiful) calligraphy exercise that is done with kalam and ink. The work is an endless exercise into deconstructing the meaning of the word itself and a form of devotion, disciplining and meditation. The patterns formed with varying densities of ink, gives the illusion of 3-dimetionality and movement, touching on memory, time and repetition.

Imran Mudassar

Untitled

Pencil and poster paint on paper

2011

Mohammad Ali Talpur

Mashq

Ink on paper

2011

Chagani’s tiny replicas of terracotta bricks, in the form of a wall and a cubical structure, titled Silence and Frozen, dropped Naail’s jaw. Also it was easy for him to interpret what the wall may signify. “Walls are to separate one area from another – to create boundaries – to hold someone back, e.t.c - or may be it is to do with all the good work he did for flood and earthquake victims, he built houses for them, you know!”, said Naail (he couldn't decide whether he needs to read them in the context of Taseer alone or whether he should look at the works for what they are, at times he could do both with the same work, which was pretty impressive). Perhaps it symbolizes the cold of silence and the finality of death, whilst commenting on the politics of labor, both literally and metaphorically.

Noor Ali Chagani

Frozen (left), 16 x 7.7 x 4.6 Inches

Silence (right), 13 x 21.5 x 2.5 Inches (including the base)

Terracotta Bricks, limestone, cement and concrete

2011

Mirza’s diptych, titled In Praise of Red, is literally a pool of blood, juxtaposed with a picture of a funeral, some broken Urdu letters, with both a subdued reference to bodies in the background and a rather direct image of a muscled human skeleton, possibly from a book of anatomy studies. A display of violence embedded in our everyday experience.

Quddus Mirza

In praise of red

72 x 96 Inches

Mix medium on board

2010 

This violence is also the subject of Rashid Rana’s photo-mosaic, which from a distance looks like a Persian rug, titled Red Carpet. The grid, on closer inspection, is actually an assemblage of images of slaughtered animals. This analogy adds an irony to the otherwise uninfluential imagery of slaughtering of humans that we see repetitively on television and have grown immune to. It is only when one steps back from those small images which are knitted together in the narrative that one can see, what Henry James calls, “the figure in the carpet”.

Rashid Rana

Red Carpet 1 (above)

detail (below)

95 x 135 Inches

C-print + Diasec

Edition of 5

2007 

Khan’s installation is perhaps the only work made particulary for the show. White mesh, white cotton drapes, threads and dust, titled Going Home, is a reminder that “Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return”.

Saba Khan

Going Home

72 x 48 x 84 Inches

Nylon mesh, cotton thread and dust

2012