Source: NYT
KARACHI,
Pakistan — In this chaotic city of 18 million people, an exhibition of works
by Pakistan’s most significant contemporary artists shows just how imbued
with violence daily life here is: on the street, in the air and in the debate
about the future course of the nation.
Installed
in the elegant rooms of the Mohatta Palace
Museum, a confection of Mughal architecture in pink stone, the
exhibition, “The Rising Tide: New Direction in Art From Pakistan,” includes
more than 40 canvases, videos, installations, mobiles and sculptures made in
the past 20 years. Its curator, the feminist sculptor and painter Naiza Khan,
said her aim was to show the coming of age of Pakistani art, which blossomed
when censorship was lifted after the death of the American-backed Islamic
dictator Gen. Zia ul-Haq.
Violence
was not an intended theme. “I wanted the works to reflect the many strands of
the urban condition,” Ms. Khan said in her light-filled studio in an upscale
neighborhood here.
But the
corrosive impact of Pakistan’s struggle with Islamic militants, its tortured
relationship with the United States and the effects of an all-powerful
military pervade the show.
The
artist Abdullah Syed, for example, assembled a fleet of drones — the pilotless American aircraft that fire missiles
at militants in Pakistan’s tribal areas — constructed from the blades of box
cutters, the very instruments used by some of the 9/11 attackers. They float
on wires just above the viewer’s head, the silvery blades shimmering
menacingly in bright light.
A
second fleet of drones is constructed from dollar bills folded into the shape
of the planes and stapled together in circular patterns that resemble those
of an oriental carpet. Called the “Flying Rug,” the paper fleet casts an
ominous shadow on a nearby wall.
Mr.
Syed, one of several artists in the show pursuing a career abroad, teaches at
the University of New South Wales in Australia. “I’m always navigating ideas
between the West and here,” he said, perched on a ladder as he hung his
killer fleets. The “Flying Rug” takes sides: “I’m saying, ‘To hell with Uncle
Sam.’ ”
Though
in the West the drones are often seen as an essential element in the fight
against terrorism, in Pakistan they are considered imperial interference by
the United States, he said. In the show’s catalog Mr. Syed notes that
according to one estimate, drones have killed more than 1,000 Pakistani
civilians since 2004. Many more civilians have fled the tribal areas and
settled in Karachi to escape the attacks, an influx that has sharpened the
city’s political tensions.
In
recent years work by Pakistani artists has begun appearing in museum shows
outside the country — in Paris, London and Dubai. Ms. Khan wanted to bring
them home, to show the strength and variety of their projects. Among her
choices are Rashid Rana, whose “Desperately Seeking Paradise,” a huge metal
cube covered in photographs of the dilapidated residential buildings of
Lahore, appeared at the Musée Guimet in Paris recently; and Imran Qureshi and
Anwar Saeed, whose works appeared in “Hanging Fire,” a survey of Pakistani art at Asia
Society in Manhattan last year.
Mr.
Qureshi is a leader in the modern school of Pakistani miniature painting derived
from the court painters of the Mughal era. But rather than paint delicate
images of princes and princesses, modern miniaturists have expanded their
vocabulary. Ms. Khan chose a Qureshi miniature of a missile, painted after
Pakistan conducted nuclear tests in 1998. Also on display is a large-scale
triptych panel by Mr. Qureshi of drips and splotches executed in a lush
pomegranate hue. Or is that the color of blood?
Part of
what differentiates this exhibition from the recent shows of Pakistani art in
New York and Dubai is the inclusion of young people fresh out of the
country’s growing number of art schools.
Sara
Khan, 24, a recent graduate from the art department at Karachi University, is
from the Pashtun ethnic group, whose traditional homeland is in the turbulent
tribal areas in northwest Pakistan, where the army is embroiled in fighting
militants. To escape the lack of development in the region, many Pashtuns
have moved to Karachi in the past 30 years, among them Ms. Khan’s relatives.
Ms.
Khan, who was born here and has never been to the tribal areas, doesn’t even
speak Pashto. “They call me a fake Pashtun,” she said in an interview.
In her
work Ms. Khan uses emblems of Pashtun culture painted in the style of a
children’s primer on pages sized to resemble a school exercise book. Among
the images: an AK-47 rifle — the standard-issue weapon of the tribal zone — a
bullet and a series of domestic items, including bread, milk and eggs.
“Pashtuns
are very strong, but I am showing emblems in a soft way,” she said. “I am
saying, ‘We are not exactly what you think we are.’ ” A simple two-part work
by Risham Syed reflects the violence that many urban, middle-class Pakistanis
feel. A red wall lamp similar to those that hang in the homes of the
well-to-do in Lahore, in northeastern Pakistan, is juxtaposed with a tiny
4-by-6-inch canvas, painted in a brutally realistic style. It shows a lone
man in Islamic religious garb futilely trying to damp down a wall of flames
that engulf a building.
Ms.
Syed, who teaches art at Beaconhouse National University in Lahore, seems to
be edging close to the question some Pakistanis are raising gingerly about
the responsibility of extremist clergy for the wave of suicide bombings in
the nation’s cities.
Ms.
Khan, the curator, took a year away from her studio in Karachi to put the
show together. She felt strongly, she said, that even though fear and
violence emerged as central themes in the art, Karachi should be seen as more
than just a city of gangland killings and ethnically directed shootings.
“It
means a lot to me to bring art center stage at a time when so much is denied
in the country,” she said.
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The feminist sculptor and painter Naiza Khan, who curates the exhibition, said her aim was to show the coming of age of Pakistani art By JANE PERLEZ December 17, 2010
“It means a lot to me to bring art center stage at a time when so much is denied in the country,” she said.
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KARACHI,
Pakistan — In this chaotic city of 18 million people, an exhibition of works
by Pakistan’s most significant contemporary artists shows just how imbued
with violence daily life here is: on the street, in the air and in the debate
about the future course of the nation.
Installed
in the elegant rooms of the Mohatta Palace
Museum, a confection of Mughal architecture in pink stone, the
exhibition, “The Rising Tide: New Direction in Art From Pakistan,” includes
more than 40 canvases, videos, installations, mobiles and sculptures made in
the past 20 years. Its curator, the feminist sculptor and painter Naiza Khan,
said her aim was to show the coming of age of Pakistani art, which blossomed
when censorship was lifted after the death of the American-backed Islamic
dictator Gen. Zia ul-Haq.
Violence
was not an intended theme. “I wanted the works to reflect the many strands of
the urban condition,” Ms. Khan said in her light-filled studio in an upscale
neighborhood here.
But the
corrosive impact of Pakistan’s struggle with Islamic militants, its tortured
relationship with the United States and the effects of an all-powerful
military pervade the show.
The
artist Abdullah Syed, for example, assembled a fleet of drones — the pilotless American aircraft that fire missiles
at militants in Pakistan’s tribal areas — constructed from the blades of box
cutters, the very instruments used by some of the 9/11 attackers. They float
on wires just above the viewer’s head, the silvery blades shimmering
menacingly in bright light.
A
second fleet of drones is constructed from dollar bills folded into the shape
of the planes and stapled together in circular patterns that resemble those
of an oriental carpet. Called the “Flying Rug,” the paper fleet casts an
ominous shadow on a nearby wall.
Mr.
Syed, one of several artists in the show pursuing a career abroad, teaches at
the University of New South Wales in Australia. “I’m always navigating ideas
between the West and here,” he said, perched on a ladder as he hung his
killer fleets. The “Flying Rug” takes sides: “I’m saying, ‘To hell with Uncle
Sam.’ ”
Though
in the West the drones are often seen as an essential element in the fight
against terrorism, in Pakistan they are considered imperial interference by
the United States, he said. In the show’s catalog Mr. Syed notes that
according to one estimate, drones have killed more than 1,000 Pakistani
civilians since 2004. Many more civilians have fled the tribal areas and
settled in Karachi to escape the attacks, an influx that has sharpened the
city’s political tensions.
In
recent years work by Pakistani artists has begun appearing in museum shows
outside the country — in Paris, London and Dubai. Ms. Khan wanted to bring
them home, to show the strength and variety of their projects. Among her
choices are Rashid Rana, whose “Desperately Seeking Paradise,” a huge metal
cube covered in photographs of the dilapidated residential buildings of
Lahore, appeared at the Musée Guimet in Paris recently; and Imran Qureshi and
Anwar Saeed, whose works appeared in “Hanging Fire,” a survey of Pakistani art at Asia
Society in Manhattan last year.
Mr.
Qureshi is a leader in the modern school of Pakistani miniature painting derived
from the court painters of the Mughal era. But rather than paint delicate
images of princes and princesses, modern miniaturists have expanded their
vocabulary. Ms. Khan chose a Qureshi miniature of a missile, painted after
Pakistan conducted nuclear tests in 1998. Also on display is a large-scale
triptych panel by Mr. Qureshi of drips and splotches executed in a lush
pomegranate hue. Or is that the color of blood?
Part of
what differentiates this exhibition from the recent shows of Pakistani art in
New York and Dubai is the inclusion of young people fresh out of the
country’s growing number of art schools.
Sara
Khan, 24, a recent graduate from the art department at Karachi University, is
from the Pashtun ethnic group, whose traditional homeland is in the turbulent
tribal areas in northwest Pakistan, where the army is embroiled in fighting
militants. To escape the lack of development in the region, many Pashtuns
have moved to Karachi in the past 30 years, among them Ms. Khan’s relatives.
Ms.
Khan, who was born here and has never been to the tribal areas, doesn’t even
speak Pashto. “They call me a fake Pashtun,” she said in an interview.
In her
work Ms. Khan uses emblems of Pashtun culture painted in the style of a
children’s primer on pages sized to resemble a school exercise book. Among
the images: an AK-47 rifle — the standard-issue weapon of the tribal zone — a
bullet and a series of domestic items, including bread, milk and eggs.
“Pashtuns
are very strong, but I am showing emblems in a soft way,” she said. “I am
saying, ‘We are not exactly what you think we are.’ ” A simple two-part work
by Risham Syed reflects the violence that many urban, middle-class Pakistanis
feel. A red wall lamp similar to those that hang in the homes of the
well-to-do in Lahore, in northeastern Pakistan, is juxtaposed with a tiny
4-by-6-inch canvas, painted in a brutally realistic style. It shows a lone
man in Islamic religious garb futilely trying to damp down a wall of flames
that engulf a building.
Ms.
Syed, who teaches art at Beaconhouse National University in Lahore, seems to
be edging close to the question some Pakistanis are raising gingerly about
the responsibility of extremist clergy for the wave of suicide bombings in
the nation’s cities.
Ms.
Khan, the curator, took a year away from her studio in Karachi to put the
show together. She felt strongly, she said, that even though fear and
violence emerged as central themes in the art, Karachi should be seen as more
than just a city of gangland killings and ethnically directed shootings.
“It
means a lot to me to bring art center stage at a time when so much is denied
in the country,” she said.
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