Ever since Khalil Chishtee has emerged on the art scene, his modest and seemingly effortless sculptures have repurposed the banal detritus of consumer culture and seem to telegraph the malaise that afflicts human relationships. His creative tactics have essentially remained the same since then, and his career has flourished. Recently, at the V M Gallery in Karachi, his sculptures employ plastic that one might find discarded on a sidewalk. The flotsam and jetsam are carefully marshalled into statements that can be tethered to Post-Minimalism.

Chishtee's material reach has extended over the years, allowing him to colonise space in different ways while never forsaking his simple and transparent construction methods, which involve the barest manipulation of his found objects. As a general rule, he elicits moments of unexpected delight from such a commonplace material. But some of his recent work darkens this pleasure with more disturbing allusions.

Below are excerpts from an interview during the artist's recent visit to Karachi from San Francisco:

The News on Sunday: What themes have you worked on, of late?

Khalil Chishtee: As far as the themes and ideas are concerned, everything I do is related to my being. Every situation I depict can be found within me. Patterns of social hierarchy that qualify people as good or bad can all be found inside me because I am also a product of the society that has spawned these types. I strongly believe that all fears are born out of the fear of death while all pleasures are subservient to sex.

While living in Islamabad, I found a couple caught in the same situation as my own that bordered on love and despair. It was a conflicting time for the couple where legal separation had begun to look like the only plausible solution. It shocked me to see how the couple would first punish each other with tormenting words and then proclaim 'But I love you so much'. This gave birth to my show entitled, 'I Love You', in which all figures appeared in pairs holding guns in hand. It made me understand that our emotional perception does not always match our articulation.

TNS: Where did the choice of material -- trash bags -- come from?

KC: Trash bags came from my experience of seeing garbage bags all around me during my initial stay in New York City. At first, I was quite thrilled to hear the term 'trash'. Later on, when I moved to El Dorado Hills in California, laid out on a grid, I discovered that the roads and the markings on them appeared to be permanent. On the other hand, the houses and warehouses defied all notions of permanence. Ironically, the sheets employed as roofing material were so thin that they could barely endure the impact of frequent hurricanes in the region.

This somehow reminded me of Indus Valley. The cities in Indus Valley, also laid out on a grid, could not survive the ravages of time. I could see a strong similarity between the two. Clay was the most commonly found material in Indus Valley, and everything there was fashioned out of terra cotta. In the United States, plastic was the most commonly available material. I felt this was the Indus Valley of plastic!

The impermanent nature of the material and its appearance as garbage bags overnight made me dwell on the notion of disposability; perhaps, somewhere, in these bags, lie some relationships, as well.

TNS: What goes into the construction of plastic bag sculptures?

KC: Trash bags feel like clay in my fingers. No adhesive or thread is ever used to construct the sculptures. For the first three years, I was much against the use of armature. Soldering iron was too hot for plastic, so I would occasionally use the heated tip of the glue gun without glue in it for welding. Even the larger pieces such as the self-portrait were constructed by merely tying plastic with plastic. But later on, I realised, there's no religion to it. In 'Seduction II', for instance, I used a wooden plank for the dining table, covered in plastic. If a piece requires support, I use thin pieces of wood or plastic pipes now.

The plastic I use is polythene-based shopping bags with a lot of calcium in it that makes it fairly brittle. That also makes it less flexible. The stiffness renders work a lot easier: when I suspend it, it droops with gravity. It is so lightweight that even the slightest breeze makes it swirl which lends it a very interesting character. If you take '401-K', it's been sculpted out of translucent plastic while the figures' undergarments are made of coloured plastic labels (for example, Maqbool Chhalia foil for the male figure's underwear) bought from Kohri Gardens.

TNS: How does the concept of love translate in your work?

KC: The desire to inflict pain is only human; it is a manifestation of love. The fact that your beloved has not left you despite the pain you made him go through yields you satisfaction. It also helps you claim, "He's mine" because he's withstood the travails of love. True as it all may be, I don't agree with it.

It is my wish and not necessarily my need that my beloved should reciprocate my sentiments on equal terms. If I am truly in love, I am also helpless. The only kind of love I have known all my life is love without expectation of a reward. Even if my feelings remain unreciprocated, I can't afford to leave my beloved.

There was an installation called 'Understanding' in my show at Rohtas Gallery in Islamabad, loosely inspired by Iftikhar Arif's 'Dayar-e-noor mein teerah shabon ka saathi ho/Koi to ho jo meri wehshaton ka saathi ho.' One figure is holding the other, almost lifting him from the ground, with a gun to his heart. He holds a container in the other hand behind him, collecting his own blood in it.

In another work, 'Your Success, My Failure', there is a female walking on a tightrope while the figure below is waiting for her fall. Or is he out there to protect her lest she falls? If you look closely, you will realise that the man standing below is naked. In yet another piece, there's a woman on a wheelchair with a long braid that disappears into space, held up by fish line. A short-haired girl is shown walking on it.

All these works are built on situations I have lived through.

TNS: Tell us about the title of your recent show 'Toys R Us'.

KC: The title is derived from a huge corporate chain of toys in the US and Europe called Toys R Us. When I first came across it, it really intrigued me. It was funny but true that toys are not for us but that toys are us.

Because of the way one is conditioned, one is never free. One is always hooked on to something else. Whenever we talk about freedom, we talk about attaining 'freedom from', which is akin to saying I want to get free from one thing to be chained to another. Talking about the strings attached to my sculptures, the fish lines are meant to be visible. They are left there intentionally. In the kind of organised intellectual society we live, freedom is just a concept. But what J Krishnamurthi talks about is pure existence -- a state of mind where thoughtlessness prevails. We are always trying to tie-knot one thing to another. It's almost like falling out of one doctrine to adhere to another!

TNS: What does 'Humiliation is a Gateway to Peaceful Living' allude to?

KC: This particular piece alludes to my experience of being in and out of the US, three times in a row ever since I left here. The moment they see you carrying the green passport at the Immigration in USA, they single you out and walk you into a glass cabin. The Immigration Officer who comes to rescue you takes you to another spot, and runs a circular disc made out of paper through your entire hand baggage. While your very personal belongings are being scanned, the rest of the world is busy watching you as if you were a criminal. Then they make you stand on a pair of footprints while the ducts below send up strong wind. It's extremely humiliating to go through this procedure. That is the experience this piece is based upon.

I had a similar experience en route India back in 1986. The customs had zipped open a Pakistani female's entire hand baggage and strewn it across the platform. Think of the Afghan families that come dreaming of a peaceful life to Pakistan to flee war. It's the line we have drawn and the people taking care of it. The price one has to pay in order to escape devastation is very high. The figure in my piece is emerging from a suitcase, his face hidden in his hands.

TNS: What is the attitude towards art making in the US?

KC: Most art institutes in the US tend to believe that one must struggle hard to look for content in art. The teachers are trying to help you identify your concerns. It's superficial to assume that artists should not use clichés in their work, or that they should know how to relate to a tradition. When I was at the art institute, I liberated myself from such constraints and was not afraid of using clichés. California State University in Sacramento strictly admonished against non-figurative art. I was doing text-based work much appreciated by people.

When I started making figurative work, it was all narrative-based. See, art is not a religion: there are no virtues and vices in it. There is so much that one only does for others in life. Can't one do something for oneself being alone in a studio, standing before a canvas? Can't I afford to be 'me' there?

TNS: What do you think of foreign residencies and workshops? Most of them have begun to sound like 'paid vacations' for artists.

KC: I believe the idea of organising international residencies and workshops was conceived with those artists in mind who had been producing studio-based work -- those who had been confined to a singular space and had continued to produce similar work over a period of time. The idea was to transplant those artists to a new environment. Or to help them rediscover themselves in an environment where there are no market pressures and survival issues, where board and lodging are free, and materials are provided for. But when you look at the artists' CVs today, you realise that residencies have done to them exactly what studios did.

Two years ago, when I went to Sanskriti Pratisthan and met O P Jain, he lamented that most artists who come to the residency programme from Europe don't even avail of the studio spaces. Instead, they are busy visiting Jaipur and Agra. I've witnessed artists who secure one residency as a ladder to earn another. Like the sale of one painting leads on to further sales, one residency helps earn more. But the point is what have you achieved?

I think the selection committee should be a lot more responsible in screening the artists -- they should see where the artist is coming from, what his work is like, and if he deserves the residency experience. If the organisers are merely investing to have lip-servants for future, it's barter.

Several years ago, the celebrated Indian novelist and activist Arundhati Roy gave a public lecture in Lahore. During her talk she questioned the value, worth and relevance of nation-state and its emblems such as the flag. According to her, it is merely a piece of cloth that is used for tying public's patriotic sentiments.

It is certain that Sana Arjumand was not present during Ms. Roy's speech, but somehow her recent work testifies to what was said that afternoon. Arjumand has been using the country's flag in her paintings, along with other symbols which depict power and glory in these circumstances. Figures clad in the country's flag or adorned with crescent and star (icons representing national identity) portray a society that may appear united under the nationalistic slogan and ideological rhetoric but, in reality, is on the verge of collapse.

Though by no means does she predict a doomsday scenario. Instead, her work (exhibited from Nov 4-13, 2008 at Canvas Gallery, Karachi) reflects the current changes in our culture. A nation that was once associated with liberal thinking and democratic ways, but subsequently subjugated to military usurpers and has lately been threatened by the wave of terrorism. Fear of terror does not only exist in our imagination or the media; it endangers our day to day existence and shapes our conditioning. Blasts at hotels, police stations, or roadsides have now become incidents which are losing significance as 'breaking news' -- unless the death toll is incredibly high or the target exceptionally important.

Arjumand draws her inspiration from this situation as well as from the relationship of power, both between nations and among people. Individuals in her work bear an expression that can be called melancholic. Faces, features, eyes and lips suggest the state of mind of those who are destined to survive in the 'republic of fear'. The fright of being a potential target, the terror of becoming victim in a bomb explosion, the dread of regarded a criminal in the outside world and the anxiety of bowing to religious fanatics in one's own homeland are all evident in her canvases. Women dressed like militant students from an Islamic seminary, or youth – both male and female – surrounded with a crescent and star (often the stars are studded on lips to seal them!) denote the cruel reality of a society in search of an identity viz. East and West, local and foreign, sacred and secular.

Along with the prominence of religious symbols and sentiments in her artwork, the notion of nationalism is also put to inquiry. Signs of nationhood are painted with a sense of humour – converting the crescent into a sickle, joining stars in the form of a necklace or transforming the portrait of national leader.

Attempts of these kinds not only indicate the courage of the artist, they also records her urge to comment on her surroundings. However, her modus operandi is not melancholic or pessimistic; the choice of imagery, the manner of stylizing the figures and the selection of a specific, gaudy colour palette indicate the element of popular sensibility in her aesthetics. A crucial aspect because the urban popular sensibility has the ability (tendency) to transform the gloomiest happenings into visually delightful experiences (One can draw a parallel from the Moharram processions, in which the tragedy is recalled and mourned, yet the mood is a visually appealing one – the Tazeas, along with the expression of passion, the ritual of self flogging. Both the emotionally charged action and intricately crafted replica's of Imam's mausoleum reveal the power and presence of art in a society).

Sana Arjumand's work, in more ways than one, serves as a mirror to our society: a device that alludes to something beyond appearances. It documents the internal conflicts and a state of confusion -- pressure from the fundamentalist sections, besides the effects and after-effects of globalisation. She chronicles this stage of transformation in our life, a melange of contradictions, where East and West, ancient and modern bleed (either in a violent way) or blend – often in a seamless manner.

So whether it is the figure of a lone female, the group of girls fully covered in white, shroud-like, gowns or bodies in different postures, the narrative in Arjumand's work conveys a sense of destructive tendencies. The annihilation takes place on two levels. One, it is about a single man or woman, aiming to sacrifice life for a greater cause or destiny or destination i.e. paradise and hence carries the bomb in order to explode it at a crowded site. On another level, it illustrates the whole nation on the path of collective demise. Both of these stances, or circumstances, cannot be easily separated, since one depends upon the other or rather supports the second.

All these concepts are dealt in a language that can be developed into a refined idiom. The method of stylisation of forms, elongated figures, stretched features, and swirling bodies, suggest an urge to convert reality into a fantasy; yet, at the same instance, these can be viewed as efforts for formulating a personal style. In this sense, Sana's approach appears contrived to an extent, especially with contorted figures and grimaced faces, which have also become a formula-like solution.

Besides the attempt to devise a particular visual vocabulary, the painterly surfaces of Sana Arjumand affirm her skill, and ability in handling the medium. The method of applying layers of colour in a sensitive scheme adds another dimension to her work, as the multiple coats along with different substances remind the structure of reality – revealing some areas while hiding others. A view of reality that may be comfortable for the majority but not for Sana who is is keen to unearth the unspoken, unseen and unpleasant segments of self and others.

Beyond Light and Shade

By Sami ur Rehman

Published by

Sami ur Rehman, 2008

Pages: 187

Price: Rs.2000

Till the age of 37, Sami ur Rahman was oblivious of his talent for photography and what a pity because once he found out, the following two decades and a bit have been stacked with a large number of exceptional photographs and several prizes and awards.

Although the photographer in him took some time to come out, once it did, it hardly took time to mature. In the latest book Beyond Light and Shade he has given a brief biographical sketch showing us glimpses of his journey as a photographer through at least two decades of this ceaseless love affair with the lens. It was probably his love for the films, music and other manner of escapes from the tedium of the days and nights of his youth that he took to photography. Like all artists, it was a latent desire to remake and refashion the world according to the heart's desire. One way out was photography. Since then he has been on the course to refashion and remake the world through the eyes of the camera -- the added benefit being that he has also given the opportunity to others to share in this effort.

It was the close association with the famous photographer Mian Majeed when he was working for Mian Ijaz ul Hasan's Paintings in Pakistan that the hidden and latent interest was discovered and he rushed to buy his own camera in 1985 -- a canon AE 1. Mian Majeed was a teacher of the old school who taught by example allowing the student to derive whatever he could from his own understanding. But when he befriended Mushtaq Cheema, it happened to be a more transparent equation in the teacher-student relationship. For five years he learnt from him the importance of lighting, design, composition and could always discover some virtue in mediocre pictures. He also taught him to see and remember what he saw

Going through this volume makes it clear he did not limit himself to any one form, theme or any distinct style of photography. His range is vast and his interest wide. He has the instinct of a photographer to look for aspect that interests him. It needn't be bound by any subject, object or a genre. The virtue surely lying in the eye of the photographer. One is surprised to see some aspect, some nook which had gone unobserved to the ordinary eye, despite seeing it time and again.

This he has called his photographic odyssey -- through the photographs he has recounted the days and hours of his life; the photographs possess a story-telling quality, the titles at best being only arbitrary. The selection which is always difficult by the creator has been regulated by what is called art photography and he realised that calling it by any other name like landscape, pictorial, portraits , table top, nature ,still life and travel would be simplistic. The photographs helped him recount what was significant for him, taking him back in time, experiencing the same thrill and excitement that he did when he first took the photograph. This also bolstered the effort to preserve the images against the ravages of time. The tools of modern technology have been used to restore and save several images which could have been lost for good.

He can look back with satisfaction at the recognition and awards that have come his way. In 1993 he was Artist FIAF and Excellence FIAF in 1997 declared by Federation of Art Photography Belgium, Fellow of Pakistan Salon Group 1994, Rawalpindi, Exposant Distingue 1998 and Exposant Honourable 1999 by Image Sans Frontier, France. Kodak Phototime. He is also the Associate of Photographic Society of America 1999 and Associate of Indian International Photographic Council 2005.

He has won about 130 awards and has been rated amongst the top twenty five exhibitors of the world by Photographic Society of America. He has been given the Diamond Certificate by the Indian International Photographic Council. He has also won the Lifetime Achievement Award in 2005 by the Academy of Visual Media, New Delhi.

Sami has been the President of Photographic Art Society of Pakistan, Judge of International Competitions. He was also awarded the President's Medal for the Pride of Performance in 2003. He has held group exhibitions and innumerable Solo Exhibitions and has also participated in Art for Peace and Joint India Pak Exhibitions.

His photographs have been printed extensively in books like Lahore, Pakistan, Lahore Fort, Lahore Gymkhana and Defence Club.

Sami ur Rahman is not content to work on one book at a time. These days he is simultaneously involved with at least two other books -- one on Lahore which is a part of the research done by Yasmin Lari on one of the older cities of the world and the other on the Governor's House, Lahore. In both the books, the text is made much more concrete with the inclusion of photographs. Writing about streets, buildings and gardens and people is one thing, to see them is another. The closest that one can get to the experience of being there, or of seeing something in person, is to see the photographs. It is not said for nothing that a photograph is worth a thousand words.

By late October every year, the poppy appears in Britain, in its hundreds and thousands. The little paper version of the red flower is everywhere: pinned on to the lapels of TV presenters, politicians, schoolchildren, commuters, it is attached to hats and coats and bags, it is visible next to the logos of national newspaper, attached to the front of cars.

This poppy appears two weeks before Armistice Day which is 11th November. This was the date that the First World War officially ended -- in 1918, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, at the eleventh hour. And that was the war in which, over a period of four years, eight hundred and fifty million soldiers from all over the world died. Britain lost over nine hundred thousand soldiers in this brutal war. Many of these soldiers were mere teenagers. The poppy is used as a symbol to commemorate the event because many of Britain's dead were felled in the poppy covered fields of Flanders, an image made memorable in John Mcrae's poem In Flanders Field. The colour of the flower also seemed appropriate as a symbol for the blood that was shed in battle.

The poppy wearing commemoration culminates in the ceremonies of Remembrance Sunday (the Sunday nearest November 11th), and Armistice Day. Both ceremonies are extremely moving. This year marked 80 years since the actual day. Three veterans of World War One were there at the ceremony to place wreaths at the war memorial in London. They were all over a hundred years old and in wheelchairs, but to see them at the event and to read the sorrow and pride in their faces was educational.

These events are a chance to pay tribute to the war heroes the State once used to refer to as the 'glorious dead'. But now the events and the poppy campaign are not just about people who fought in the First World War, but about soldiers in all recent wars, about war veterans and their families.

The sale of the simple pin-on poppies is part of a campaign run by the Royal British Legion. The funds they raise help to support and rehabilitate veterans and their families. So wearing a shiny red poppy in the dark of the British autumn is actually acknowledging the plight of both those who have fought, and those who are still fighting, for their country.

The remembrance ceremonies are a tribute to those who have laid down their lives in active service, and the widely worn poppy is the way in which people from all walks of life are able to somehow join in their appreciation of servicemen and women.

The First World War was a brutal, apocalyptic conflict. A tale of chemical warfare, gasmasks, muddy trenches and bayonets. It was horrific, but even now, war is still war and soldiers are still dying. In fact, now the war has leaked into civilian life: I often grieve for those guards and policemen in Pakistan who are killed in suicide bomb attacks, many of them as they attempt to stop or challenge the bomber. Every so often their deaths will get a few news column inches or a TV news report or we will see somebody giving their bereaved family a cheque and patting them on the head, but do we ever stop to remember them and the futility of the conflicts which claimed their lives?

Remembrance Sunday is now an opportunity to pay tribute to those killed in all conflicts. But we need to remember to remember them.

Best Wishes

Umber Khairi