The exhibition currently being held at the VM Art Gallery, Karachi, contains the fruits of the endeavours of two artists whose works, while they are dissimilar, nevertheless have something in common—a distinctive polished finish.

Anjum Ayub, who made her mark some time ago with her ‘Egyptian series’, has exhibited a number of prints full of radiant effusiveness which display a wonderful sense of design. And Mohsin Jaffri, who is a prodigious artistic acrobat, has come up with a clutch of paintings that are lyrical and highly pleasing to the eye.

These days, it is quite rare to come across an artist who can produce a mission statement that actually makes sense and is not a lot of meaningless gobbledygook. Jaffri, who spent 35 years in the US, Britain and Saudi Arabia, is one of these cerebral artists who realises this important fact. In an explanation of what he is trying to achieve, he quotes liberally from Linda Saccoccio. “Lines create an experience beyond the literal. There is so much potential in losing and finding the line again. Like letting go and being awakened. Lines, like music, create potential for mystery.’

He goes on to write, “The renowned Swiss artist Paul Klee interpreted lines as dots that went for a walk—a profound analysis that compelled me to explore the mysterious mapping of the lines charting our journey in life—a journey that begins with a singular dot and leaves behind an intricate trail of lines present in a multitude of different shapes and forms. Or a journey that weaves a tale of lines even and lines grained, lines static and lines constant, lines playful and lines staid, lines merging and lines parting, lines partial and lines complete...”

By now it must be obvious to the reader that in his sparky collection, “Linear dimensions”, lines form the nub of his compositions, the leitmotiv of the grand design. Then, there are the embellishments, delicate splashes of colour that define contours and are intertwined in what could pass for barbed wire hooks in some paintings and a cross between a mutilated concertina and what one is likely to see on the screen during open heart surgery, in others. It is almost as if the eye can follow every stroke of the brush.

One gleans from Ayub’s refreshingly modest, short half-page CV, that she graduated from the NCA in print making , has had 23 solo exhibitions and demonstrated her talent in Bangladesh, Iran, the UAE and Japan. Her mission statement, however, illustrated what this reviewer pointed out earlier in this narrative. What is one supposed to make of the following lines from ‘I paint what I see?’

“…I use more than my eyes to see. Memories can be as vivid as objects. Ambiance can be as real as landscapes. Moods can be colours. The soul can have a face. Experiences can be rooms that are personal on paper as well as in the mind. I am deeply attracted to—and moved by—the concerns of the soul. Please open more than your eyes when you view my work… I wish to share comments on what is going on in the world—which after all, is a surrealistic place.”

Meaningless jargon where the imagery doesn’t gel should be avoided like the plague. This reviewer’s advice to this talented artist, and to other budding painters who want to conquer the world, is, next time cut out the literary waffle, unless you are making a significant point. There is an old Chinese saying: “One picture is worth ten thousand words.” Ayub need not worry. Her prints speak for themselves. Her composition of a red vase with red flowers guarding a shrunken, unclothed man playing a flute was the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree; and one would be very surprised if it didn’t end up with a red sticker.