Life

Life , as the year 2024 ends, I sit hear Dec 24th trying to fantom the courage to let the words narrate the truth in all its bitterness and beauty. Let me close my eyes and go back to when I was a child age five or seven, before the pre school era, I am visiting my first cousin’s house, as I enter the room the grab their toys and leave, because I have come, the event happens again and again and it replays in my mind more than the time it may have happened. The echo of my maternal aunt voice , “ Get of the tricycle you will break it” When I made a table and chair out of drinking straws she said “don’t bring your garbage to my home” and tossed those little things in the trash can- Hiding mangos from me so they don’t have to share a fruit or two with us – 

and I then I grow up, family friends the same sort of stories playing on the loop, again and again. 

Fast forward and into the near past, when I cross dressed, as an artist besides making an statement of fashion, and objectification I admit I was looking at a female figure which had never been present in my life, in me when I wore those skirts and tops. 

Now when or if I wore something which by the dictation of social norms is meant for a women to wear, I have that consciousness that a part of me is looking at my own image and liking it to fulfil the void in my life. Life .. My Life …….

Life, As the events unfolded, as I practiced what I preached, as I implemented gender equality in my life, as a practiced the activism I preached all my life, I became sensitive as I was hurt, I became cautious that I wont hurt others the way I was hurt, I grew sensitive, I grew compassionate, I grew caring …… In a society which is void of all these notions. 

Today, I realize the society made me pay my price, my relatives don’t even want to be seen with me, People cant imagine living a life with me. A women wouldn’t need respect, she would need someone to respect her and keep her on track , I was told by a “feminist” I will have to be oppressive and force my self on women to be seen as sexy, manly and marriageable sort and not the Friend zone , Bro zone kind of a person – 

Society, that I have rebelled all my life for that was right tried to get me, by showing me my place, and it worked. I realized my place is not to fit in, I realized I am the light, if someone would come near me, will surely get burned. I am the light so I will be in the dark, I will be alone, and I will be showing the path to others . 

Life that begun years back when a child broke his heart, that broken heart let the light in its core through the cracks, that soul which you thought became fragile became a bit too strong. When you set me on fire to burn me I became the light, the light which would burn anyone who comes near me. I became someone who no one will even dare walk pace to pace with, but someone who will be understood centuries from now, when It will be to late to get a hold of me physically. 

Life ….. which was simple, but bitterness and hurt in the early days sprouted something so amazing from it that would be hard for anyone to comprehend completely long after I am gone. 

Life, is strange … and I have just begun to explore it… Life ..       

Life

The seven great failures of a society by Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai

A simple question that kept me wondering for the longest of the times when ever I read through The seven tragic love stories of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai kept was that why all the true love for the mystic sufi had to end in tragedy, was it because love often doesn’t flourish, or does love sets you on the path of destruction, but then although the lovers end up in a tragic end, they were always portrayed as heroes. 

But then came a realization, the seven tragedies are not a failure of the lovers, rather a celebration, these stories in fact are the failure of the society, where the ego and the social pressure, fails to understand the strength of love, the strength that even life or death can not weaken even the slightest. These stores are the a commentary on a society which failed to see the beauty of something so pure, it is almost Godly, pious and the essence of all worships of a lifetime. The stories are the sad state of the society we have been living in which refuses to respect, honor, give choices and blinded by the ego, materialistic superficial social norms and so called pseudo honor that revokes anger blinding us to destroy something which was required to be celebrated.

These stories hold relevance in todays so called modern society, where daughters, sisters and even mothers are killed for expressing love and deciding to get married to a person of their choice. Even men who decide to take a bold step against the social norms are threatened and killed in the name of honor, the wife who decided to break free from her husbands and breath an air of freedom are threatened to be killed and often even actually killed while most just see the victim as the actual criminal. 

Love, freedom to chose a life partner, freedom to work, freedom to have an identity and the right to make decisions are a human’s basic right. They may be a little unconventional at times but they need to be respected they need to be celebrated and honored as long as they don’t hurt any other human being, and don’t break any state or religious laws of what ever the religion you may follow.   

Let there be love, let people have free will to marry by their choice, live and let others live.        

The seven great failures of a society by Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai

The Body Bakery !

Umaina Khan at Artchowk Gallery

23rd. May to 1st. June. 2024

Curated by Jamal Ashiquain.

Reviewed by Paul-Mehdi Rizvi.
( https://www.instagram.com/paulmehdirizvi )

It would not be out of place to point out that, generally, Umaina Khan’s works tend to produce a type of hallucinatory splendor. The exhilaration of flat surfaces covered with irregular blocks of glowing and strident cyans, magenta, and yellow, strategically sculpted with black or chromatic lines, is all the more paradoxical in that their essential content — consciousness housed in the human body itself – is the subject of deterioration or disintegration. To explain further, Khan powerfully interrogates the situation in which attitudes toward women are expressed in commodification, and seeks to demonstrate how this triggers an alienation of daily life – the human female figure as an inhabited territory is always under investigation, and it seems clear that for Subcontinental aesthetics, the very societal representation, indeed, of female bodily space itself has come to be felt as incompatible with the reality of the body: a kind of vicious aesthetic hegemony far more pronounced than in any earlier era.

Emile Durkheim, a founding figure in sociology, introduced several key concepts to understand social order and disorder, including the theories of anomie and hypernomie. These theories are particularly relevant to women in our societies, when examining on a wider scale, the effects of Capitalism and Patriarchy on society.

Anomie is a condition where social norms are unclear or breaking down, leading to a state of normlessness. Durkheim first introduced this concept in his study of suicide, where he linked anomie to social instability and the breakdown of moral regulation. Anomie arose when there was a significant disruption in the social fabric, such as rapid economic changes, leading to individuals feeling disconnected from the collective conscience and social norms.

In the context of Capitalism, anomie could be understood as a result of the relentless pursuit of economic growth and profit, which often undermined traditional social norms and values. Capitalist economies are characterized by constant change, competition, and innovation, which could disrupt social cohesion and create a sense of uncertainty and instability among individuals. The focus on individual success and material wealth could lead to weakened social bonds, increased feelings of isolation, and a lack of clear moral guidance, all of which contributed to anomic conditions.

Hypernomie refers to a state of excessive regulation and rigid norms, where the individual’s autonomy is severely restricted by overbearing societal rules and expectations. Unlike anomie, where there was a lack of regulation, hypernomie involved too much regulation, stifling individual creativity and freedom. In relation to Patriarchy, hypernomie could manifest through the strict enforcement of gender roles and expectations. Patriarchal societies imposed rigid norms on individuals, particularly women, dictating acceptable behavior, roles, and aspirations. This over-regulation could lead to a suppression of individual identity and autonomy, creating an environment where individuals, especially women, felt constrained and oppressed by societal expectations.

Khan also deploys the visual dynamics of panoramic canvases. Normally, these are particularly well-suited for landscapes and cityscapes. They allow artists to capture the vastness of a scene, emphasizing horizontal elements such as horizons, skylines, or sweeping vistas. Artists could use the extended width to create a sense of progression or movement across the canvas, effectively telling a story or depicting a sequence of events in a single piece.

In the case of Khan, it is the psychological and emotional impact that demanded immersion and engagement. The unusual proportions evoked specific emotional responses. For example, an elongated horizontal canvas could convey a sense of continuity, expansiveness, or even tranquility, depending on the subject matter and execution. Rotated, the narrow coffin-like confines produce restriction and suffocation, simulating baking trays, and thus challenge viewers to think differently about composition, narrative, and their own placement in the scheme of things. The works titled Skinny Love and Waiting For A Treat (acrylics on canvas) could be included as examples.

Apart from a strong dose of irony, an accomplished sense of design and composition runs through Khan’s works: The Cake Couple, a large canvas with a broken yellow background out of which two figures – one predominantly in pinks and the other in blues – has been sculpted. Almost surely this is a commentary on gendered colour, and the artist has produced a menacing tone in the positioning of the desserts which replace their heads.

The single work that stands out from the rest in terms of its imagery and technical execution is a large box-like structure titled How many Am I (acrylic on canvas). It is in fact a processual work apparently completed over a period of four years or so, as per the curator of the exhibition. This work is more reminiscent of a landscape or story-telling picture, with its obvious sectioning, and includes some striking examples of experiments with calligraphic Urdu and printed text.

We must turn our attention at this point to the other important aspect of the exhibition, that is, to its curatorial statement as written by Jamal Ashiquain. Ashiquain writes of “the existence of a person, reduced to a body, wrapped in sweet colorful fondant, presented to be devoured by the men and women who chose to worship and sacrifice their soul to patriarchy.”

Jamal Ashiquain is himself a personage of some standing, being an artist, photographer, performance artist, and archiver in the arts. He is no stranger to discussions and discourse of sexuality and gender in the arts. This writer recalls a significant phase of Ashiquain’s activity, some years ago, in which he was often present as a photographer at art venues, dressed ambiguously in women’s clothing. To most viewers who attend exhibitions with high expectations of immersion in the Arts, or have the notion that a gallery might at least be the one place where art and life meet, this was an exciting and highly satisfying encounter, especially given the virtually reverent ambiance most galleries attempt to surround the art with. Interestingly, this line of investigation, so to speak, turned out to be regarded by some as being too disruptive; indeed an odd reaction in the very locales where such discourse must find support, or else be destroyed and suppressed.

The Artchowk Gallery premises are expansive and by reason of being neatly divided into two large show spaces, invite experimentation. Thus, in one section, the exhibition included an unknown performer clad in a traditional ‘shuttlecock’ burqa, wielding a carving knife and offering slices of cake to visitors. Perhaps this demented figure, apparently a stand-in for the artist herself, with a cake embroidered into the headpiece of her burqa, drew only the merest response since one encounters the strangest and most absurd scenarios in the daily run of life here. In the other section, viewers had to contend with a performance collaborator better known as TeeJay, ominously dressed in a pink suit and wearing gloves, handing out wrapped sweets, his eyes enigmatically hidden behind large white-framed sunglasses.

Ashiquain, in a brief conversation during the exhibition opening, with this writer, pointed to the extreme perceptual disjunctions that are the result of the collision of constructs built up in popular media on the one hand, and reality itself. Much could be said about this situation, and in fact the discourse surrounding falsely perceived identities is as old, say, as the invention of television which eventually instituted a regime of the Image.

Luhmann writes: “The selective acquisition of information can only be grasped adequately as an achievement of the system, and that means, as a process internal to the system. The unity of information is the product of a system – in the case of perception it is internal to the system, as it is of a psychic system, as well as in that of communication of a social system. So one must always clarify which system is making these informational statements.” (Luhmann, Niklas: The Reality of The Mass Media; Stanford University Press.)

Given that, in Pakistan, we are presented with a barrage of information emanating from and controlled by a mass media that is inextricably entwined with our own authoritarianism, feudalism, and the machinations of hyper-capitalism, then, however difficult an endeavor it may be, it is just a matter of recognizing the effects and symptoms of the anomie and hypernomie that we have spoken of above, as theorized by Durkheim.

The combination of Umaina Khan and Jamal Ashiquain as two proponents of a discourse on sexuality, gender, and patriarchy then forcefully reminding us of the actual pharmaceutics of our sugar-coated existence, of the societal outer-capsule that must at all costs resist analysis or dissolution in order to avoid an exposition of sordid truths.

The Body Bakery !

The Tree

You know when come across a tree there are two things you can do with it :

You fruit the tree, then you ask for its branched, and then for its wood after which you move on to another tree .

Secondly you can reap the fruit, nurture it and take a few branches , you want and nurture it more and get a bit of wood nurture it further so it grows , fruits, blooms and is fit to give you more of it all.

but the last one takes patience, compassion and humanity, which is lost.

No wonder these days, the fruit is scarce and the shadows are rare.

The tree has now reduced to a stump, a few nascent branches, too shy to shine in the summer sun are springing out in weird directions. The fear the sound of the axe, a tool essential to prune a tree to grow strong and graceful, because the very tool has always been used to chip this one little tree to a stump so many times that the tree knows the tool would only bring destruction to it and nothing more.

The Tree

My performance titled ” I am ….”

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Art, as we all know, is an expression and when this expression is in the form of a performance, the term used for this form of art is Art Performance.  In this form of art, an artist puts her/himself on the line to make a statement. In my case, the journey started on Friday the 13thof March 2015, when I first slipped into a skirt and did the first part of my performance.

I was wearing a shimmering skirt with a ladies shirt, hidden under the overalls. My first stop was Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture (IVSAA). I go into the washroom, shed my overalls, and out comes a guy wearing clothes which even the bold women of the region would think twice before wearing in public.  I paraded all over IVSAA, and then did the same at T2F, KOEL café, Koel Gallery, Sanat Gallery.  And Fika Café.

All these spaces were taken up by surprise, all were related to fines arts, in each of these place, I would have required a proper permission to exhibit or do an art performance or even do photography.

The performance is Titled “ I am …. “ and as most of my works it was designed and conceptualized to trigger questions. Is he a guy, or a girl, do clothes define gender? gender orientation? how it feels when men are objectified? why am I doing it? What am I gaining from it? Is it a shoot, a show, or my preference of dress up ?  and a  lot many more questions.

Besides these questions, there was a very obvious but yet overlooked layer of vandalism in the performance. I was invading a space, doing a performance, leaving its managing team and people having their lunch baffled as to what is going on and leaving without an explanation. The layer of vandalism to point to the vandalism a woman faces every day in our society, it’s different but its there and goes very much unnoticed.

For me it was a breakthrough, I came over my fear of public performance, I came out and expressed and I could see that the questions I wanted to raise were in the minds of the people but they were too shy or may be taken back to bring them up so they remained baffled.

It was then that I decided to extend this performance further. It was just me dressing up differently. Within days I had bought a few stretch ladies pants, and some shirts which won’t be strikingly feminine but tailored for ladies, It was very tricky to select what I could wear because I didn’t want to trigger any rage or anger, but just questions.  I slipped into these new clothes and walked the streets of Karachi.

A few heads were turned, I overheard comments, “ Look at his legs”, “Is he a guy ?” , “ Must be gay”. I had to be aware of my security, I had to be vigilant not to run into trouble, I had to carry a “ Normal set of overalls” A normal baggy pant and a tee shirt to cover up when I am in the “ Difficult parts of the city.

Another challenge was my being accepted, yes some of my friends started avoiding me, my own relatives started to avoid being seen in malls like this with me, a lot of artists started to laugh at me and the irony of the whole process was that I had to be tight-lipped about the fact that it’s a performance, because obviously explaining would have killed the whole purpose of it.

To step up the game another notch, as I was at the time the official photographer for Sanat Gallery, I somehow convinced the director of the gallery, Abid merchant to allow me to dress up for the show,  He was not aware of the fact that A: It’s a performance, B: part of the performance is about vandalizing too.

Starting off in March 2015 each time I was covering a show a Sanat, I would dress in a bright skirt, or a shining dress, totally of a woman who may have walked right off the fashion ramp, It would show skin, it would be pink, yellow shimmery blue. and I would wear it over my body,  own it along with the actual identity of my masculine gender, straight orientation, with an intention to vandalize every single show I was professionally covering in a Gallery which was paying for it.

The audience were all artists, I was laughed at, made fun of, was questioned was rumored to be gay, or belonging to the alternative gender and there were all sorts of gossips. My dresses were talked about and people waited for the nest show to see what next will I pull out of my sleeves. Sadly not many could understand or figure out that it was an expression and it was a work of art.

The performances continued till October 2016, which is when I realized I should stop because by now people had stopped questioning much and started to accept me in these dresses. And the whole purpose to trigger thoughts was fading away. It was time to end it and I decided to keep it unannounced.

I suddenly changed my ways of dressing, started wearing normal men’s clothes and that triggered yet another wave of questions? Why are you wearing men’s clothes? what happened to the man we knew? You look odd, thought that was your style. And a lot many comments and questions that followed.

I had decided to reveal the fact that it was a performance after almost one and a half years of ending the performance that I was in. two years because 1: I don’t like explaining my art, 2: some personal matters were keeping me mentally occupied and I couldn’t dissect and explain what I did 3: I wanted people to forget before I strike again and jog their memories.

I am very thankful To Sanat Gallery for allowing me to wear all those dresses while covering their shows, to Khalil Chishti for encouraging me on the first performance, to ZAK for his encouragement, and to everyone who helped me and supported me and allowed me to express freely. I apologize that none of my supports had any clue of the complete picture and scope of the performance.

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My performance titled ” I am ….”

Ugly Chirpy

Chirpy was ugly, her feathers all plucked out, her beak a little crooked , but her eyes were like diamonds, deep and sparking, but no one ever looked in them, kids always threw stones at her and her own flock of birds hated her , unless of course she was needed. It was only then that she was praised and loved only till the task was done, because Chirpy was brave, wise and learned. 

Chirpy used to live in her lonely nest  on a tree which has even less leaves than the feathers on Chirpy’s  body. 

One. Fine evening Chirpy decided to spent the night at another tree, where her friend CooCoo had stationed to for a few days during his migratory trip to the north. The weather was still a little cold these days, the night was crisp and clear , stars glittered in the skies . Chirpy was happy her best friend CooCoo was in town. She left her tree and went to the lush thick tree where CooCoo was staying , She brought him food and made him more at his makeshift nest.  They sat and ate together on the branch , but then suddenly the weather changed . 

The breeze stopped the air became warm and unfriendly, suddenly from a distance they hear a thunder ! It scared them ! Then there was thunder which was so loud that it shook Chirpy’s soul. CooCoo found a safe spot for him self and Chirpy was left out on the branch . It started to rain , the water started to seep into the skin slicing through Chirpy’s heart, and then there came the hailstorm. 

CooCoo was warm, sitting in cozy small pipe. Not bothered about what Chirpy was going through, he was sleeping , singling and chirpy was dripping wet . 

The tiny pallets of ice started to his Chirpy’s soul, he was quiet , he saw there was some rain starting to reaching where CooCoo was. Chirpy quickly went and saved CooCoo from getting wet. 

Chirpy was there the whole night, her wings spread to protect CooCoo from getting wet. She was cold and shivering, the storm had eased down, the rain too was getting tired and was planing to take a break but not Chirpy 

The hailstorm and cold and stolen the much of the warmth from Chirpy’s soul but hope was still alive. As rain stopped and the sun came out Chirpy trembling came down to CooCoo only to find him calmly asleep, She woke him up, CooCoo looked pissed as if he was mad at Chirpy for not letting him get a little wet in the rain. Chirpy now cold and needed a hug to warm herself a little but all Chirpy could get was a cold halfhearted hug, and an impress which said , why did you not let me be a little wet last night . 

Chirpy knew it was time to go home, but he thought maybe she is wrong and thought to stay with her friend but then CooCoo flexed his wings and said , i have to go north, your warm and try weather is not my thing , he warned Chirpy , Dont follow me, you dont have feathers to keep you warm in the north, and seriously i dont want to look like an idiot flying with a featherless bird like you , Shuu go away , i will drop by for some food on my way back , but right now thats all i can take of you . 

CooCoo flew off and Chirpy went back to his lonely nest , which was by now cold and wet too.

Ugly Chirpy

Void

You stand in pitch dark and have to keep walking and keep falling through one hole after another but continue , with broken bones, bruised skin , you pray this fall be your last but you survive it all and the pain becomes louder so do you cries and screams but its pitch dark, and so silent that your scream is absorbed into the void and doesn’t even fall back to your ears. 

 

Void

Words

And you think the words i said were sublime ? They came from the heart and were to pierce the soul, they were to revoke storms and thunders . But they were absorbed and no magic emerged out of them…. And I wait…. 
Will this mountain soon crack and a rivers will flow from its chest ? Or will it be a volcano which will burn down all that is beautiful to ashes !
Words