This reviewer has always expressed an unfaltering preference for figurative, objective and representational art—with or without the partial fracturing of an image, over what is commonly referred to as 'abstract art.' By abstraction he is, of course, referring to a painting or sculpture where a visual language of form, colour and line is used to create a composition that betrays varying degrees of freedom from the visual references that surround an artist. One of the reasons for this partiality—though it is not necessarily the major one—is that it is so very much easier to do a nonfigurative, nonobjective and nonrepresentational painting than, say, a portrait of somebody like the late Benito Mussolini, where the artist has to capture that hint of malice in the sardonic smile, while Il Duce, resplendent in sated corpulence, his uniform bursting with pride and inundated with sparkling medals, poses for the artist.
The liking for representational art is a purely personal preference and should not discourage those abstract artists in Pakistan who are embarking on their first solo exhibition, and believe that there is nothing wrong in reproducing an illusion of reality and demonstrating alternative ways of describing a visual experience. After all, isn't it a fact that perfect representation is likely to be exceedingly elusive?
Some abstract artists often package homespun theories, and say that classical art should be underpinned by what they refer to as 'the logic of perspective.' They then stick a lot of convoluted reasoning into their mission statement to justify what they are doing. Others just do their thing and hope for the best. Occasionally they find the right formula for blending colour with design and produce a composition which is pleasing and agreeable, as happened in the case of Erum Jafar Siddiqui.
This reviewer met Siddiqui in the Indus Gallery,Karachi, last week, where she had strung up 30 of her paintings done in acrylic wash, some on canvas, and others on paper. In the course of a meeting he picked up a few nuggets of information. Siddiqui had been taught art privately for four years by Seemi Piracha, and in 1994 headed for the Dublin Institute of Design where she spent the next two years in the rainy, windy capital of Ireland. She didn't see any leprechauns or meet any gnomes, but she did come across a large number of very friendly and helpful people. Anticipating a question that a lot of people must have asked her, she said with an unaffected precision, 'I do have a copy of Ulysses, but I have yet to read it.'
When Siddiqui first started to paint, her lessons in the institute helped her to understand and balance the various objects in a composition, and to place a key force, like the twisted waves in a gathering storm, in a spatial setting. She was weaned on figurative work, but after a while she graduated to bridges buildings.
There was a period of hibernation during which she played the role of a doting mother of three children. And then four years later, the ghosts of the Irish castles beckoned to her and she once again took up brush and paint.
The current exhibition has a definite theme which centres on hope, will, determination and courage. The titles of the paintings are elegant and tasteful and speak of an educated mind. There is a quotation from Dr Iqbal in one of the pictures which is quite fetching. 'The pharaohs of today have stalked me in vain. I fear not, I have Moses' wand.' That quotation, in a sense, sums up the leitmotif of the exhibition.
