October 30, 2003

Sabahat Muhammad reports on the rapidly developing art market in Karachi

Four people stand in a long white gallery, taking in the works of a bright young talent. Of the four, a couple, an investment banker and his wife, are searching for original works of art to decorate their shiny new apartment with. The works must be conversation pieces, must go with their decor, and must have, within the next few years, some recognition in the art world.

This couple set up their first apartment seven years ago, with posters from the New York Metropolitan Museum and preferred handicrafts, or Zainab Market antiques to paintings. They weren’t buying cheap calendar shots and remote landscapes, but they didn’t care much for local art.

Of the other two, one has been carefully saving for the last four months to buy an original Pakistani artist, and to start a collection, because she is a genuine lover of art. Her collection so far is meagre, in comparison to the older art collectors in Karachi, but she knows she has to start somewhere. She prefers to buy the younger artists, primarily because of financial considerations, but even then, she remains selective. Decor and status of the artist are the least of her incentives. She buys because the work speaks to her.

The fourth is a young lawyer, living in England. Price is inconsequential, but status is not. He represents his community in a foreign land and he doesn’t want his children to grow up indifferent to Pakistani culture. Art and music are his best sources. This young artist, however, is not quite what he had in mind.

He wants the old names, the masters, the Gulgees and the Sadequains and the Jamil Naqshs. Those are the artists he reads about; the artists mentioned in glossy coffee table books. Those are the artists he wants to acquire. His wife, like the investment banker’s wife, prefers the work of local artisans. She decorates her house with “ethnic” items, like Banaras saris or carved wooden mirrors from Swat. Her taste is traditional.

As profiles of the kind of people buying art today, these four buyers represent perhaps the largest growing sector in the Pakistani art market. All young, ranging from the early twenties to their early thirties, from diverse social backgrounds, they come to buy with a strong desire to discard pale reproductions and imitations in favour of the real thing.

In direct relation to the rising standards of lifestyles, educated and independent youngsters today are willing to invest in the Pakistani artists’ community. The desire to own houses built by architects, to buy designer-made clothing and furniture, translates — in terms of art — into works of artists that will most probably be highly recognized in the future.

Galleries like Zenaini and Canvas testify to a growing clientele of young couples and individuals, much like the four mentioned at the start. This generation of buyers will buy in installments, will wait till they can afford it, or will forgo that new CD player to own a piece of canvas or a sculpture that takes their fancy.

They will buy based on what they like, what appeals to them, or they will bring friends and relatives for an opinion. Almost all the gallery owners TR spoke to said that these are buyers looking for quality and not ashamed to admit that they know nothing about art. They buy what appeals to them, but liberally follow recommendations of gallery owners and friends who claim to know something about art.

Artists now accredited as “Old Masters”, like Chughtai, Sadequain and Gulgee, are rarely a target for this generation of buyers, unless price is not a consideration. The big names will still be bought by an older generation of collectors, and sometimes, by the rare youth that prefers to spend on art rather than hi-tech gadgets and a futuristic lifestyle.

As a group, they are displacing the art aficionados of old, many of whom were intimately acquainted with the artists whose work they bought. This generation of art lovers is more distant from the artist. Their motives for buying range from pure appreciation and love of art, to investment opportunities, to maintaining social status.

Unlike their first generation counterparts, today’s buyers may acquire a passing acquaintance with the artist, but only a small segment within them will actively pursue a deeper relationship. This buyer’s relationship rarely goes beyond the work itself, and the dialogue of art remains within the confines of the frame.

A gathering within this group will not be discussing the works of the latest artist. There will be no critique of the artist’s ethos, or intention. They will not ponder the message behind the work. The driving factor remains visual enticement and the distant appreciation of a stranger staring at a stranger’s work.

This, perhaps, is the most significant change in the art market today, and it is this change, primarily, that lends to the illusion of an increase in buyers. The cozy intimacy of buyer and artist co-existing has dissipated over the years.

While there are exceptions to every rule, the trends indicates that while the market has increased in actual numbers, in terms of a percentage of the population of Pakistan, the market has barely grown.

The profile of today’s buyer is as true of the buyer 30 years ago. Sadly, art predominantly remains the domain of an elite, select cadre of society, whether as buyers or admirers. The reality is that art has hardly penetrated the lower cadres of society. Fine Arts (and this is true, to some extent, worldwide), is considered a luxury only “high society” can afford.

The works of great artists are celebrated in places of privilege. The average crowd at the Gallerie Sadequain, for instance, is still the elite segment of society. When there is no exhibition or event at the Gallerie, loiterers will sit in the shade of the Frere Hall Gardens, but will not go upstairs to gaze at the ceiling bearing Sadequain’s work.

The couples who live abroad and buy Pakistani art when they return to visit, have connections with the same crowd that visits galleries regularly. These are the young individuals of cosmopolitan cities in Pakistan who are buying art, whom they are friends with, went to school with, are related to, or work with within the elite circle.

This cadre has risen enough to scrape the surface of an upper-middle class society aspiring to enter the elite circle, and a younger generation has stepped to the forefront, picking up from where their fathers left off. They are educated, they travel abroad, they are exposed to countries that celebrate their rich cultural heritage, and they see that the refinement of human existence and experience comes from an appreciation of art.

They are a working class, they may even be new money, but they are a privileged class, nonetheless. As Riffat Alvi of V. M. Gallery says, the people who are courting artists all over the country are essentially the same people making rounds of new places. The increase in galleries and exhibitions, therefore, doesn’t reflect a change in the demand for art, rather, it caters to the demands of more artists.

With the addition of the Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture (IVSAA), and the increased activity in related disciplines, such as architecture and textiles, the artists’ community is expanding. An average of 50 to 100 new artists graduate every year from the Karachi School of Art, IVSAA, the Arts Council and a smattering of smaller institutions.

Perhaps only a few of them will actually make a career as a painter or sculptor or printmaker. Compared to the first batch that graduated from the Karachi School of Art, (four people graduated in Fine Arts, at its first convocation. Two of them, Mashkoor Raza and Riffat Alvi, have actually made a name for themselves as artists), however, this number is phenomenal. This is the number that has prompted a concerted effort by the artists’ community to bring art into the public domain.

The pioneers of art in Pakistan, celebrated names such as Ali Imam, Bashir Mirza, Shakir Ali, to name a few, managed to create an environment for artists to grow in. Perhaps because of political unrest, and the challenge of being creative and expressive against all odds, these artists were determined to continue their work in the face of authority and opposition.

Their efforts have borne fruit, clearly evident by the increase in the number of galleries and art schools. At the time Mehr Afroze started her career as an artist, there were two or three galleries in Karachi: Bashir Mirza’s gallery (which was, in fact, the first art gallery in Karachi), the V. M. gallery, and in subsequent years, the Indus gallery. That list has now grown to 15-20 galleries. In 30 years, however, this is not really a significant expansion.

What the artists’ community has managed to do, however, is initiate exhibits on a large scale, such as the Takhti exhibition, or continuing exhibits in collaboration with foreign artists such as Vasl. Karachi now boasts the beautiful Mohatta Palace, and plans are underway for the Foundation for Museum of Modern Art (FoMMA) to build the Contemporary Art Museum.

FoMMA’s affiliate, the Contemporary Arts Resource Centre, is compiling a database on contemporary visual arts, artists and architects, as a resource for research into art in Pakistan. The road map for an art aware population is already being laid out, but there is a long way to go before we can claim to be a society that aspires towards cultural consciousness, recognition and perception.

Unlike the west, our children don’t make field trips to the museums; they don’t visit the National Art Gallery. Art education at the primary level still churns out: a red rose and a yellow sun, with a blue sea and green trees.

The level of activity that came through cultural institutions such as Goethe and the Alliance Francaise has decreased sharply, and as a result, art education is segregated and isolated — a death warrant for cultural awareness.

A generation of students, benefiting from exposure to foreign cultures, has given way to commercially inclined children more interested in filmi music and dances rather than drawing and painting.

The challenge that our artists face, then, is to widen the small circle of people making the rounds of exhibitions, to make them open to the public, and to make them aware that art is an essential part of social growth.

A group of young couples with bright futures residing in Gulshan and Nazimabad, were asked what they thought of art in Pakistan. They unanimously referred to Sadequain, Gulgee and Chughtai. Only one of the 16 people approached had heard of Ali Imam, and that too only because he had visited the Indus Gallery when it was located on Sharae Faisal.

While three couples said they are interested in buying local art, they are hampered by financial and geographical constraints. With no galleries in their area, they have no idea where to go, or what to buy.

Many of these couples also come from traditionally zealous families, with ties to Jamaat-e-Islami and similar institutions. Art is at the very least frowned upon, and at best, they prefer landscapes, avoiding figurative work altogether. Artists still receive requests for work that does not depict the human form at all, even from educated, liberal buyers residing in Clifton.

The questions that remain are, what do we do to ensure that today’s market continues to grow? What happens when this new generation of buyers gives way to their successors? As more and more artists come into the market, can we be sure the number of buyers will also increase in proportion?