THE WAY IT WAS: Roll up your sleeves —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan
The expression of our leading artists has their own unique character. It can
only be comprehended in the context of their aesthetic or social experience and
engagements. The moment a critic tries to measure or compare achievements of our
painters with western artists in terms and phrases employed by them, he seats
our artist in the back row
There was a time every citizen stood up to make himself useful to the community.
There was never dearth of volunteers for a good cause. These days there are only
a few who speak up and step forward without an eye on a personal gain.
I am reminded of a blind man who was approached by a kind person who informed
him, “Hafiz jee, they are cooking halwa.” The blind man whined, “Sahnoon
key (What business of mine is that?)” The person shouted in his ear, “Hafiz
jee, it is for you.” The blind man admonished him, “Fer tuhanoon key (In
that case, what business of yours is that?)”
Fortunately there are still around people with warm hearts who believe in social
activism and are willing to give part of their valuable time without the thought
of an immediate reward. After independence the enthusiasm for building the new
country slowly waned. By the time we were grown-ups the spirit was already
tainted with a degree of cynicism.
In the late sixties, however, a new spirit infused our hearts. It was a
burgeoning feeling that impelled people to unite to change established society,
its values and norms. Artists and writers strove to create what expressed a
closer identification and understanding of the society and the world they lived
in.
It was during these times that the artists in Lahore got together and
established an organisation that arranged its first independent show at the
Lahore Museum in 1971. Subsequently, the Fine Arts Equity united with the
writers, actors and musicians to form the Pakistan Artists Equity that
represented their interests in television, radio and state cultural
organisations throughout the country.
To escape state interference — to which the artists were subjected during the
Lahore Museum exhibition — the fine arts wing of the Equity established an
independent gallery at artist Moeen Najmi’s residence. Mr Najmi accepted the
responsibility to curate exhibitions and direct its everyday affairs. Since the
Equity was a strong representative organisation of visual and performing artists
it was represented on the governing boards of the Lahore Arts Council and the
Punjab Arts Council as well as the Pakistan National Council of the Arts,
Islamabad.
The Equity supported the establishment of the provincial arts councils. In
Punjab, art councils were also established in several major cities including
Multan, Bahawalpur, Dera Ghazi Khan, Faisalabad, Gujranwala, Rawalpindi and
Murree. It also encouraged formation of a national theatre, people’s roaming
theatre, a national folk and traditional heritage institution and a national art
gallery. In the field of radio and television, the Equity negotiated an
agreement with the authorities as a result of which the performance fee of the
TV and Radio artists was substantially raised. All this happened in the course
of a few years.
The conditions for arts and the artists might have continued to improve but for
Zia ul Haq who banned all trade unions, student organisations and writers’ and
artists’ associations. Immediately, the cultural mafia stepped in and once
again took command of the state institutions from where the artists had worked
so hard to remove them. (I hope Dr Enver Sajjad, who was very active in the
formative years of the Equity, spares time some day from his creative writing
and pens down the facts in greater detail).
The “cultural vultures” captured the meagre resources reserved for arts
during the Zia regime. It is unfortunate that the mafia was allowed to maintain
its hegemony even after the restoration of democracy. Ignoring collective
interests of the artists caused the cultural institutions to lose support of the
artists, and eventually, their clout with the government. The Punjab Arts
Council, once a vibrant organisation, now lacks funds sometimes even to pay
salaries of its staff — what to talk of holding an annual exhibition or a
concert. The situation of the Lahore Arts Council (Alhamra) seems to be better,
probably because it has two halls and display galleries where artists can come
and exhibit their work or give a performance.
They wait for things to happen rather than reach out and make them happen. The
Pakistan National Council of the Arts has held only six national exhibitions in
three decades, most of them in the ‘70s. Not that it is primarily the
officials’ fault. The main reason for this lack of activities is a lack of
funds. But without the active support and participation by the artists these
organisations can never get adequate funds from a government that considers
modern art and culture an anathema. The government today would readily spend
millions to woo the Muttahida Majlis-i-Amal rather than spend a fraction of that
on the arts.
It is laudable therefore that artists of Lahore and the Punjab rolled up their
sleeves in 1985 and took their affairs in their own hands by establishing the
Punjab Artists’ Association. The Association is presently holding its 19th
annual exhibition and the 7th national show. In the two decades of its existence
it has remained focused on promoting art and artists. It claims to have
introduced scores of artists who are today nationally recognised. Its members
seem determined to keep the arts alive and free in a society derailed by
philistines, hijacked by ‘culture vultures’ and subverted by extremists.
When the Association was formed in 1985 there was hardly an art gallery of
consequence. Since then, several galleries have been established. Private
galleries have created extra space and freedom for artists. Governments are
often too conservative or cautious for an artists’ calling. The galleries have
established an everyday link between the artists and the buyers. There are many
artists today who can live by their work. The art world has changed
qualitatively.
But there have now emerged problems of another nature. Many of the gallery
owners are now concerned only in making money and selling art as any other
commodity. There are rumours that a few of them are even selling forgeries and
flogging spurious copies of well-known artists’ work. In these circumstances
the artists can be easily persuaded by private galleries to manufacture artworks
for them to dupe their naïve customers. Artists perforce are tempted to
increase their turnover. Fortunately, artists who manufacture works that have
the stamp of their style but not the spirit of their soul cannot survive for
long.
In the last half-century painting has achieved a high level of excellence in
Pakistan. It has an unusual diversity of styles, expressions and concerns. The
Pakistani artist has not worked with any national agenda but created works that
are motivated by his individual rapport with nature, concern for people and
society. In the present exhibition there are on display abstract and
non-representational paintings; modern and traditional miniature; portraits and
calligraphic renderings; eternal images of the female form; women’s rights and
social issues; broad rural prospects, narrow city lanes; common sights and rare
insights; individual visage of trees and delicate demeanour of flowers, tendril
and leaves; myths and reality; humour, wit and plain anger; and many more
observations, reflections, thoughts and asides, each distinct in temper, manner
and mood.
There is today a great need to evolve and strengthen indigenous tools of art
criticism with which we can evaluate our own artistic achievements. The use of
language and terminology employed in the European context is often not
appropriate for describing the intent and nature of a Third World artist’s
work. The expression of our leading artists has their own unique character. It
can only be comprehended in the context of their aesthetic or social experience
and engagements. The moment a critic tries to measure or compare achievements of
our painters with western artists in terms and phrases employed by them, he
seats our artist in the back row. In any case analogies are mostly misleading
and are best avoided.
Sadeqain and Shakir Ali both employed in their respective manner certain devices
of cubism, but were they emulating or pursuing the ideals of cubism? No, they
were not; not any more than Picasso when he derived inspiration from African
sculpture. It is hoped that soon critical talent would emerge with tools and
terms that can faithfully describe the concerns and achievements of Pakistani
artists. It is only when we can expound and define the achievements of Pakistani
artists in their own context and sever our dependence on modern post-colonial
parlance that our artists will be truly understood and appreciated. For the
moment let’s keep the sleeves rolled up.
Prof Ijaz Ul Hassan is a painter, author and political activist