May 11, 2002

‘Where is enlightenment found?

Is it in the rays of sunlight entering a dark house? Is the answer found on silent stairways?

Within high walls, or on the wings of a bird in flight?

Is it a journey of the mind or a half-opened window?

Perhaps it is a person sitting alone in the shade Or a door veiled by a fine curtain that, if lifted, will reveal all the secrets of the universe’

IROUGHLY translated into English the mystical Urdu poetry Mussarat Mirza recited to explain the symbolism found in her latest paintings. Quest for Enlightenment, exhibited at Canvas, Karachi, in March, consisted of fourteen paintings oils on canvas. The work could only have been the creation of an artist of maturity.

Mirza’s imagery encompasses light and darkness, stairways, windows, rooftops, religious emblems and birds. Shadowed figures and birds appear together constantly, perhaps representative of the body grounded by circumstances and the spirit free to roam at will.

Thoughtful, reserved, yet warm and accessible, Mirza smiles in the same engaging manner I remember from three decades ago. That was the first time we met, after she had just graduated from the Punjab University, and was exuberantly looking forward to joining the newly opened fine arts department at Sindh University. Intense, sensitive and introspective, Mirza has used her vision of her hometown, Sukkur, and its cultural ambience as a wellspring of inspiration since her childhood. Her aesthetic idiom is strongly monitored by her background and surroundings.

She spoke of her childhood growing up in a large, loving family. “I was number six and I loved to sit in the kitchen where my mother made chapattis for us on the coal range. She would make tiny ducks from atta and hand them to me to bake on the tawa. I began to make forms myself. Birds, animals and people would be formed from atta mixed with water.

“I had a gift for drawing that was particularly appreciated by my father. He would take me out to sketch by the riverbank he loved, and tell me about the lives of the people of the area. ‘They would not like you to sketch them’, he would say, and I understood. Our doors, windows and the rooftop of our house were open to me, thus the world was revealed from an observer’s point of view. I loved the streets surrounding our home, the vast panorama beyond, the mystery of changing light and the birds that came for a while and flew away into the open skies. All these became symbols etched on my psyche.”

Mirza exhibited her paintings for the first time at the Karachi Arts Council in 1968. Her early paintings were concerned with social issues of the people of her area of Sindh. She approached her subject in a contemporary way that was integrally nurtured by her environment, the colouration filtered through dust prisms. In the mid-70s she disappeared from the exhibition circuit, to reappear a decade later, and showed her experiments with abstraction.

Explaining that period, Mirza says, “For ten years I worked spasmodically and did not show my work. I was so angry. People around me were killing each other. It was the time of the language riots. Imagine people fighting over language. I felt the crows up in the air were better than people, and ever since then have had a fondness for them. I painted them a lot. I used to paint and destroy my work. I used to wonder as to for whom I was painting?

“My room at Jamshoro was full of half-finished pieces. I destroyed them all. I still do that. During that period, I studied a lot, did a lot of reading. Whenever the opportunity arose I would go home to my family in Sukkur. My work during those years was disturbed. Now it is entirely different. I have become profoundly concerned with issues of the spirit, an inner journey and a continued quest. Ten more paintings on this subject are in my studio, unfinished. I feel I have a lot more work to do on this subject.”

Renowned for her exquisite mastery of oils, she was awarded the Asian Shield for watercolour from Osaka, Japan in 1988. In the 1990s half-opened windows, doors and stairways appeared in her work, reflecting a more personal, inner-directed journey. Emotions were expressed through barely visible, shrouded female forms. There appeared religious symbols of domes and flags. Dreams, aspirations and unfulfilled desires emerged in the shape of birds and enclosing, walled interiors. While her figures remain undefined, the atmosphere surrounding them is strongly evocative.

Studying her recent work displayed at Canvas, one finds the richly textured canvases resounding with unseen nuances, as if a presence has moved across the canvas and left a shadow behind. Mirza spoke of her work: “My experimentation is concerned with the technique, not the subject. Painting is a painstaking process needing a lot of thought. Preparing my colours takes time, I am uncomfortable with noise and bright colours. I prefer dusty shades.

“I don’t remember ever finishing in a few sittings. When using a knife, I give the paint time to dry and then scrape certain areas. Where adding form, I use a brush. Then I apply a thin layer of colour and again leave the paint to dry. Some of my paintings have taken six months of work before I am satisfied.”

Mirza’s elder sisters left Sukkur to study medicine in Lahore and her mother urged her to join them. “I could not face the thought of it”, she said. “I was saved by my father. He loved art and he arranged for me to join the Punjab University’s fine arts department. I joined my sisters in Lahore but studied art. Khalid Iqbal was a great teacher, he wasn’t a prolific painter, neither did he lecture for hours on end, but he knew how to get the best out of his students. Punjab has produced many landscape painters, some good, some bad, but Khalid Iqbal is the best.

“My life as a mature person started at the University of Sindh, Jamshoro, where I joined the department of fine arts. There I made my friends. I stayed for 27 years, between ‘72 and ‘99, when I retired as a professor of fine art.”

Now living in the family home in Sukkur, Mussarat Mirza talked of the studio-cum-gallery she opened in the town and her future plans. “If I had a magic lamp, I would make a wish for Sukkur to become a beautiful city. Since there is no magic, I have to work in a practical way. The art workshop is open for two hours a day and is conducted by a colleague of mine, who was trained at NCA. There are a few students at present, about six of them, and we give them a thorough grounding in art.

“I don’t teach, I believe I am not a good teacher. I leave it to my associate. Students hang their work in the gallery and people stop by to visit and look round. One of our former students was a very poor boy from the interior of Sindh. We taught him English and painting, and in six months he learnt so much. Now he is studying at NCA in Lahore, and that confirms my faith in what we are doing.

“Another burning ambition is to reactivate the Arts Council in Sukkur. During my father’s time it was very lively, there were mushairas, music evenings, and arts-related programmes. It all came to a halt because of a lack of encouragement. My most challenging ambition, but I am determined to see it through, is have a museum of handicraft in Sukkur. The town was once a centre of culture. It has a proud history and brilliant craftsmen.

“My aim is to contribute to keeping the rural arts alive and to introduce modern innovations into the traditions. I envisage a museum that will display a permanent collection and will also market handicraft to encourage the craftsmen, otherwise these arts will die out. One good thing that has happened is that the local people now refer to me by my own identity instead of calling me ‘Mirza Sahib’s daughter’, or the doctor’s sister.”

At that thought — of being singled out — Mussarat Mirza’s delightful smile lit her face.