A few out-of-true lines from Pakistan

Dignified — nothing else about Pakistani artist Ayesha Jatoi’s persona grabs your attention. Her works speak the same quiet, unassuming and unpretentious language. Her paintings would first appear like line drawings, geometric alignments, uneasy to fathom. A closer look would show you some images and text. Trained as a miniature painter and photographer at the National College of the Arts in Lahore, she says: “The subcontinent’s approach to art has always been about capturing the essence. For instance, when one line says it all, why add more?”

Her lectures at the National College of Art, Lahore, where she teaches art are increasingly referenced around shared cultures and combined artistic heritage. “If Picasso and Matisse can be owned up by all of Europe, why should artists such as Amrita Sher-Gil not belong to the entire subcontinent?” Lahore museum, she says, has one of Amrita’s iconic paintings, The Veena Player. For her artists belong to everyone. “Who can escape India’s traditional arts’ dominant position in the world?” Ayesha often talks about Hindu mythology and philosophy to impress upon her own artistic practice. “There is much that binds us on both sides of the border; sufism and mysticism for instance. Then there is classical music, which is my inspiration.” 

The sensibilities of Pakistani artists, according to her, are different. “Long years of dictatorship and restrictions on arts, such as dance, have made artists more sensitive.” Since their artistic responses emanate from these limitations, they have mastered the art of saying things obliquely. Besides, the Pakistani artistic fraternity is unfettered by the economics of creation. “There is no compulsion to lock oneself in a studio to paint ceaselessly.” While a majority of them have a career in academics, “as most artists go back to teaching,” the market in Pakistan isn’t that big either.

Art in her home country, she feels is in a very subversive place and an artist has to be a rebel of sorts. Like several Pakistani artists, she also articulates concerns about violence. Since many a Pakistani roundabout is peppered with remnants of war fighter jets, tanks and submarines, she decided to create a public art performance around a fighter jet of 1971 war placed at China Chowk. The painted red coloured clothes, which she would hang around it during peak traffic hours, conveyed at many levels. While the allusion of red as a symbol of violence was not lost on anyone, clothes became a metaphor for bodies. 

In yet another public art project she wrote on a billboard, “Aap ko abhi kitni aurtain nazar aa rahi hain?” (how many woman can you see right now?) Placed in a busy market in Lahore, it explored key gender issues especially their place in public spaces. In India she is surprised to see women confident in their gait and attire while walking around in public glare. 

Using colour sparingly she believes that VIBGYOR hues create their own dynamics, end up seducing the viewer and leave little room for imagination. And she would rather have her viewers immerse themselves in her creativity. Art of minimalism is aimed at achieving maximum impact. For Ayesha, it’s the viewer that completes the work. Yet she would not indulge in any gimmick to trap them. Be it her work Krishna Revelling With The Gopis or Lady Yearning For Her Lover or Women Offering Snake A Drink.