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media exhibition Material
concerns He touched
popular chords Surgeon
and model
Here we go again Challenged by multiple crises, the government is pressing the panic button in an effort to regulate the media. But in doing so, it should ask itself whether it is opening another battle front By Zohra Yusuf Once again, the media is feeling betrayed.
Coincidentally, it was almost exactly two years ago when a military dictator,
following the proclamation of emergency, had placed curbs on the media. The
sense of betrayal came from the belief held by many and claimed (arrogantly
and incorrectly) by General Musharraf that freedom of the media was a gift he
had bestowed on the Pakistani nation. The journalists' struggle against amendments made to PEMRA and directives issued to the print media, found strong support from almost all political parties then out of power. Hence the feeling of a bigger betrayal when democratically elected parliamentarians, led by the ruling Pakistan People's Party, acted in unison to place restrictions on the private television channels. According to reports, on Oct 29, 2009, the National Assembly's Standing Committee on Information and Broadcasting decided to incorporate into the PEMRA Act of 2008 all the restrictive laws enforced by General Musharraf's regime. The in-camera meeting of the NA Committee was reportedly attended by all major political parties, including the two opposition parties -- PML-N and PML-Q. While the thrust of the proposed amendments is on the coverage of extremists and acts of terrorism, the changes being suggested for Clause 6 is more insidious. Amendments to this clause instruct television hosts and anchorpersons not to "propagate anything in any manner prejudicial to the ideology of Pakistan or sovereignty or security of the state." We have seen from previous experience of press censorship that there is no consensus on what constitutes the "ideology of Pakistan." It has been used by successive regulators of the media to crack down on dissenting points of view. Similarly, opinion on what is deemed as posing a threat to the state's sovereignty or security will remain divided. One can see the inherent danger when these concepts are left to the interpretation of those obsessed with narrow visions of security and ideology. The same concerns apply to another amendment that seeks to prohibit the broadcast of any programme that "defames or bring into ridicule the head of state, armed forces or the executive or the legislative or the judicial organs of the state." Here, too, the judgment on what constitutes "ridicule" can be highly subjective. It could be a light-hearted comment or serious criticism. Political satire is clearly out as the number of holy cows proliferates. The political conditions under which these regulations are being imposed are also reminiscent of the tail-end of the Musharraf days. Totally baffled by the repercussions of his own actions, starting from the dismissal of the chief justice of the Supreme Court in March 2007, the Musharraf government resorted to placing curbs on the media in a bid to check the coverage of the lawyers' movement and the widespread popular support it was gaining. Today, challenged by multiple crises -- ranging from insurgencies in the rugged mountains of FATA to daily bomb blasts in the country's metropolitan areas -- the government is once again pressing the panic button in an effort to regulate the media. But in doing so, it should ask itself whether it is opening another battle front. The placement of restrictions on the media is usually a sign of a weak government. In Pakistan, we have seen governments being more liberal towards the press in the early period of being in power. However, as soon as they are confronted with problems they are unable to tackle, the press becomes the favourite scapegoat. The 2007 laws enforced by Pervez Musharraf's government, if reintroduced, will encompass a wide spectrum of perceived violations by the media. However, there is one part of the proposed restrictions that is likely to win public support. This is the one relating to curbs on coverage of bomb attacks and projection of terrorists. There has been widespread popular criticism of the channels for showing lack of sensitivity in broadcasting gory images and in creating an aura of panic following terrorist attacks. Competition-driven journalism, which places immense pressure on channels to be the first with "breaking news," has often resulted in 'facts' being broadcast without being checked. For example, following the suicide bomb attack on the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad last year, a TV channel reported a threat to the Islamabad Hotel. Apparently, the basis for the story was the barring of the channel's reporter from entering the hotel premises. This story was soon picked up by other channels without verification. The media itself must share the blame both for public perceptions and, to an extent, the government's attempts to regulate reporting on terrorism-related incidents. According to reports, the Ministry of Information has served a total of 64 legal notices on 18 private television channels, over a period of two years, for violating the code of conduct they had agreed to at the time the licences were issued to them. Almost all the notices, it is believed, relate to coverage of terrorism in some form or the other. While any form of restriction cannot be condoned as it ultimately violates the freedom of the media, such a situation may not have arisen if action had been taken by media organisations to practice some form of code of ethics. There has been much and frequent talk of a code of ethics which the media would itself impose and monitor. These noble intentions, regrettably, have not been followed by action. Late last year, following a consultation, the Pakistan Federal Union of Journalists (PFUJ) had released a proposed voluntary code of ethics for the media in Pakistan. A media complaints commission was also planned. PFUJ's initiative was partly in response to the growing public opinion against gruesome images of terrorist attacks shown on prime time television (it should be noted that the Minister of Information has made this as one of the grounds for the proposed restrictions). To quote from PFUJ's code: "A journalist shall not glorify the perpetrators of illegitimate acts of violence committed under any garb or cause, including honour and religion." (Point 14) The PFUJ document went on to assure that the media complaints commission would see "That there is credible and effective peer accountability through self-regulation by journalists and media professionals that will promote editorial independence and high standards of accuracy, reliability, and quality in media." The media, particularly the private television channels, should follow a two-pronged strategy -- that of reformation and resistance. Media organisations need to arrive at a consensus on ethical issues of coverage so that the government is not provided an opportunity to attack their independence. At the same time, they must unite on strategies for resistance as the battle may be long and sustained. exhibition On urban lines Sophiya Khwaja's mixed-medium works depict scarred structures By Aasim Akhtar Sophiya Khwaja's images
utilise architectonic forms and design aesthetics to create works that
straddle the fault line between representation and abstraction. Trained as a
painter and a printmaker, the Islamabad-based artist creates a playful, even
whimsical, vision of what could be a post-apocalyptic future. Khwaja possesses considerable visual prowess, and her obsessively crafted mixed-media works on paper make for compelling viewing. The artist is clearly familiar with the ever-changing fashions of printed concert flyers -- from acid-drenched psychedelia to Xeroxed No Wave grit to fluorescent, ecstasy-laced rave exuberance -- and evinces aesthetic that whirls a mischievous surrealist bent, pop referentiality, and hypnotic op affectation into carefully synthesised eye candy. Khwaja's hip pedigree as part of the energetic art scene that emerged in Providence, Rhode Island School of Design, in 2007 (while she was majoring in printmaking there) is hardly irrelevant in a recent show entitled 'Grid locked' at Nomad Gallery, Islamabad. The mixed-media drawings make a vast array of references, from surrealism and cubism to pop and comic book art. The flat, graphic fields of colour and careful line work at first seem to be computer-aided designs. However, each work is skilfully constructed by the artist's hand. She builds up the drawings' layers with great care and exacting detail to create images that look both spontaneous and masterfully planned. Her structures appear to float effortlessly in a murky, tumultuous netherworld set amid swirling bands of colour. Throughout the show, Khwaja juxtaposes organic and synthetic motifs and inserts glimpses of the human body -- hair, limbs, skin, eyes, etc -- to suggest a fragmentation of human subjectivity common to psychotropic experience. Khwaja demurs on the radical, transformative political potential in favour of delirious optical disorientation. The way in which the white space between bleeding forms provides the connecting tissue and trumps perspectival space is reminiscent of proto-abstractions. Khwaja's pictorial shorthand and openness to spontaneity and chance show the vitality of formalism at its best. There is no direct representation of political issues in her art; however, many works convey a wistfulness that suggests far more than simple pleasure in her ambiguous vignettes. The most impressive (and largest) works in the show depict a futuristic architectural structure that hovers above ground, pierced by colourful lines that also seem to act as support beams. The land beneath the structure looks fractured, even tenuous, and the surrounding space is a sweeping, twisted, labyrinthine conglomeration of geometric forms. Despite the exaggerated perspective and chaotic 'cityscapes', the drawings' formal exuberance elevates them beyond a mere critique of technological progress and the violence of over-development. They function more as metaphysical explorations of city life than as politicised critiques. Sophiya Khwaja's touch is heavy. Her build-ups are sludgy, pasty, and crusty. Characters' irises bleed into their sclerae, and papers are flecked with sloppy stains of wayward drips. Her drawings communicate an overall feeling of laboriousness -- of Faulknerian weight and burden. Her figuration is cartoonish, a loose take on the illustrative style, although her characters could not be more different from lightweight windbags. Khwaja's protagonists feel alternately melancholy, harried by inexplicable urban surrealism, or palpably threatened by their bleak surroundings. For this exhibition, Sophiya Khwaja has produced mixed-medium works on paper depicting structures and cityscapes scarred by rampant technological growth, lack of maintenance and random industrial disaster. In the drawing 'Immigration in an Envelope', topsy-turvy lines and colour coalesce into a disorienting, circular narrative of unstable steel structures verging on disintegration. As such, it is reminiscent of Robert Smithson's imaginary industrial ruins and his other explorations of technological and industrial entropy. In 'Dreaming about Electricity', Khwaja uses her pictorial vocabulary to tell another tale of unregulated industry and technological sprawl. This drawing's post-industrial, high-tech cityscape consists of swirling plumes, twisted pylons and steel scaffolding, bits and pieces of anachronistic industrial architecture. These elements, ordered by a spiralling, baroque perspective, are rendered in a style that combines Thomas Hart-like mannerism. Using analogous imagery and stylistic diversity, Khwaja creates a doughnut-like composition consisting of arabesques of snaking cables. Given Sophiya Khwaja's involvement in mediums with long histories (drawing and printmaking), one can't help wondering if her musings on technology's relentless drive toward a dystopic future isn't also a self-conscious, melancholy commentary on the fate of art in such a world. The occurrence of incidents and the stress that has encircled the society has had a tremendous effect on economic, administrative and social systems. The information that flows through media creates worries among people who have to witness conflict and segregation in novel ways. The impact of these burgeoning times on people's feelings becomes the inspiration for this body of work that questions: what happens to our lives and the society? People caught up in violent situations; finding ways to create their own comfort zones, living inside a bubble, tugging and pulling at each other. The answers are symbolised and presented through works that reveal the dim ambience and alienation. Khwaja leaves key areas (figural, especially) evocatively unfinished or simply blank, and sometimes renders characters with missing limbs or faces caught in a vortex. These faces can also tend to be androgynous -- inanimate masks more than a living set of features. She crowds into her ample drawings small groups of adolescent figures, mainly girls. Here they are cast into mysterious circumstances that they seem to find burdensome or distressing. With their dream-like and somber mood, the girls and the allegorical scenes they inhabit possess a sense of lost innocence and unease. The pointedly titled collage 'Clinging to Hope' prominently features four teenage females clad in skimpy white tops and denim jeans, in the midst of its dense pileups of black and white checkerboard patterns, rainbow stripes, illustrations of flowing hair, and fragments of paper that appear to have been attacked with a dry pen. Khwaja's visual collages are unavoidable analogues; they deploy, and then disrupt, structural patterns with psychotropic precision. The central character of 'Vacuum Away the Dirt' sports an arm that abruptly ends at the vacuum cleaner -- bland architecture boxed in the character, whose face is locked in a frozen mask of a smile. The unsparingly hard light, bleak infrastructure and social incongruity of pieces like this most effectively communicate something like the plight of the urban dweller on the low rung of the socioeconomic ladder. The heaviness of Khwaja's execution gives these people a melancholy gravitas whether dealing with a twenty-something or an anonymous tenement dweller, her portraits place them on the same level: frail and human.
The lust for things is conveyed through a simple device in Humaira Abid's new sculptures By Quddus Mirza From its primitive beginning, human creativity has been
all about altering the actual substance in a way that it either serves an
existing idea or generates a new one. In fact, early history is defined on
the basis of man's ability to make his tools in a specific material, such as
Stone Age, Bronze Age and Iron Age etc. Material is important in the realm of
visual arts, too, where a particular substance is transformed into another
entity that represents an image or an idea. This is also true for Humaira Abid, the sculptor, but reality in the hand of Humaira is hard, humane and humorous. Clothing items, neck-ties, shaving blades and razors, utensils, sewing-machines, pillows, wash basins, drains, baby bottles and pacifiers, food containers, pieces of luggage, laptop and tables are all re-constructed in her recent work on display at Rohtas 2, Lahore, from Nov 6-14, 2009. Human beings often establish a link with objects that is sensitive, complex and often long-lasting. This infatuation with 'things' has a long history, but, in the 20th century and after, the fascination with objects has risen to unprecedented levels. Interestingly, most of the items we own today are not durable or dependable. In a couple of years, one has to change them, either because of a new model in the market or due to operating problems in the existing ones. The cycle of buying new gadgets and discarding previous ones has altered our behaviours towards objects. Much of our discussion -- and dreams -- revolve around acquiring new products. A desire that has gained pace with the hype created by the image industry: advertisement. Thus pictures of new products displayed on billboards, printed in newspapers and appearing on television screens lure us and capture our imagination. In fact these are the only visuals many of us know in an atmosphere where there is no tradition of watching in museums and galleries. The love or lust for things is conveyed through a simple device in Abid's new sculptures -- by turning each item into a stiff stuff. In most cases, wood has substituted the soft and tactile cushions, shiny surfaces of wash basin, and fabric of ties and shirts. Even water is created in wood, as a teddy bear is immersed in water inside a bowl, and a tap with drop of water hanging from it is stuck on the screen of a laptop. In most of the works, the artist has preferred the original colour and texture of wood, as well as the shade of metal (in the pair of hands cast in metal and placed inside the drawers of a table). The decision may appear arbitrary at first but has a deeper significance. Probably the sculptor's choice of this material -- and its evidence on the surface of her pieces -- is a sign of how objects can outlive their consumers. We tend to change certain goods of necessities, like mobiles and computers; we discard things, which have been used up such as shaving blades and safety razors, but there are certain items we keep for a longer period and these are utilised by more than one generation in a house. The presence of a domestic item influences the behaviour of a person; to that extent that we either leave our mark on things or they alter our behaviour. These changes in human behaviour can be traced in formal interaction and in the most intimate relations. So in Humaira Abid's work, references are made to the bond between mother and child (by naming the exhibition "Lullaby"). The experience of bringing up a baby can also be detected in her sculptures, especially the teddy bear in bath, milk bottles and pacifiers. In addition, sewing machine (to stitch new clothes for the baby) and pillow are related to activities associated with the newborn. However, transformation of all these into wood may be read in an ironic sense. Concerns like these appear in the art of Abid through fixed forms of fluid entities. Hence the tension in relationships, tendency to depend upon things for one's physical, emotional and societal needs and consequently the rise in the importance, power and grip of things, initially created by humans, are a few ideas evident and implicit in her new sculptures. These works reflect the artist's attitude towards art as well as life. In fact, the work of Abid is an attempt to negotiate between art and life. Ordinary household items, once developed into art, seem eternal, lifeless and heavy. In a way the work inspired from mundane objects transforms these into ideas: Concepts, which due to the sophistication of her touch, careful rendering of details and retaining the sensitive surface and texture of wood, can be recognised, reclaimed and retained by many individuals, including married ones! --- He touched popular chords The 25th barsi of Khurshid Anwar sadly went unnoticed By Sarwat Ali Khurshid Anwar's formal education in philosophy and
traditional tutoring in music can be considered solid credentials for being a
musicologist. Being one of the leading composers of film music, he was also
fully aware of the significance of preserving our musical heritage. He
designed a series of music recordings in the 1970s called 'Ahang e Khusrawi',
where its two segments 'Gharanoan ki Gaiki' and 'Raag Mala' were meant to
record the niceties of our music for posterity. Lack of patronage and changing musical trends posed a great threat to the rich heritage of our classical forms. In Pakistan this threat appeared more palpable and despite all odds, the Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA) under Faiz Ahmed Faiz pushed this project through. The threat and its palpability were probably the most important factors that forced the completion, for such work had not been done in India either. Then, the Indians must have felt secure in the continuity of the living form. In Pakistan, it was more an act of preservation than revival. The music of the Indian subcontinent, especially its northern part, had undergone significant changes due to the constant interaction with Persia and Central Asia for almost a millennium and it was being distinguished as a separate system from Carnatic System of Music. The Muslim musicians had made great contribution in evolving this confluence but the musicologists, particularly in India, had started to label this change as corruption of some divinely inspired system. It had become important to set the record straight and the task was a befitting one for Khurshid Anwar. These recordings and accompanying commentary on the raags and thaats were also part of the same mission. He was always writing a book but his fastidious nature made him revise endlessly and it could not be published. Born after the first decade of the 20th century, he went through the formal school and college education with great distinction. His father was a connoisseur of music and a patron. His house was famous for holding and organising music programmes where the leading ustads of the time performed. One of the ustads was Tawakal Hussain Khan and Khurshid Anwar became his shagird and at some later date started to sing in such mehfils -- one or two recordings of Khurshid Anwar's kheyals that have survived indicated his technical sensitivity rather than flare for performance. But music was not the only passion of Khurshid Anwar. The other was politics, and as a young revolutionary freedom fighter, he played an active role during the 1930s. He also opted to take up music as his profession because his interest and involvement in politics had debarred him from taking more conventional government jobs. He joined the All India Radio and became a composer working with such younger talents like Sajjad Hussain, Roshan and singer/music director G.M. Durrani, who also assisted him in his maiden film Kurmai. He was lucky that about the same time, in the 1930s, composition was becoming a specialised section of music. Singing and composing music were separated as two sections, first by popular theatre, then by the recording companies and lastly by the films. Khurshid Anwar opted to become a composer and brought his great understanding of music as practice and music as a subject within the larger discourse of the human expression. Khurshid Anwar was attracted to films and was invited to compose music for Kardar's Kurmai. The film was released in 1941 and it was apparent that a new musical mind had arrived on the scene in the ever-expanding films world of India. Before partition he had composed music for Ishara, Parakh, Yateem, Aaj aur Kal, Pagdandi, Parwana (the last film of K.L Saigal), Singhar, Nishana and Nilam Pari. In the dilemma of partition, Khurshid Anwar opted to come to Pakistan but it was not unusual for people to be working on both sides of the border. Khurshid Anwar spent half his time in Bombay finishing the assignments that he had in hand or working on new assignments. Pakistan film industry meanwhile was in the process of getting its act together and for Khurshid Anwar it was a long wait because the first Pakistani film with his score Intezar was released in 1956, almost nine years after partition. The moment it was released the number of songs from the film became immensely popular. This was followed by other films. Some of which he co-produced, scripted and directed like Mirza Sabibaan, Zehre Ishq, Jhoomer, Koel, Ayyaz, Ghunghat, Haveli, Chingari, Sarhad, Hamraz, Guddo and Heer Ranjha, his last blockbuster release. In Pakistan, from among the new generation of composers Khalil Ahmad and Wazir Afzal assisted him. Despite good scores in later films he was never able to touch the popular chords the way he did in the 15-year span, though these received great critical acclaim. In film composition Khurshid Anwar's contribution perhaps lay in composing songs in raags, which are generally not seen to be amenable to popular renditions like kaunsi kangra, dev gandhaar and bilaskhawani tori and many raags of Carnatic music. The other peculiarity that stood out in the compositions was the use of the microtone. Usually these microtones, which carry within them the real aesthetic appeal of our music, in the song format are expressed through the meends. In his composition, the meends had been used with creative effect. These meends distinguished his music composition from the music composition of contemporary composers. After his death in 1984, Khurshid Anwar Foundation was formed to take further the creative and critical efforts of Khurshid Anwar. Little has been heard of that foundation except the holding of a one off seminar and publication in print of the commentary of Ahang e Khusrawi. It has been heard that his films and music has been converted to the digital format thus ensuring durability. If the manuscript of the book can be discovered and published it would be quite useful. It is hoped that the foundation becomes active to play its due role under circumstances that have become even more difficult these days.
Dear All, Our friend Dr Muhammad Ali Jawad has been much in the
news here in UK recently. He has been interviewed all over the media for a
pioneering plastic surgery procedure that he used on the victim of a vicious
acid attack. The victim was, surprisingly, not a desi but a young London model called Katie Piper who was attacked at the behest of a violent former boyfriend. He arranged for an attacker to throw sulphuric acid directly on her face as she left her flat one morning. She was blinded in one eye and her face and throat horribly burnt. Leading the team of surgeons who operated on Katie at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital was Dr Jawad who decided to use a material called MatriDerm (a combination of collagen and elastin) under the actual skin graft. This material was used regularly to treat existing scars but this was the first time it was used under the skin graft. Skin was taken from Katie's back and then grafted on to her face, and a year and a half later the results are promising -- the skin seems to have more flexibility and expressive capacity than seen in previous skin grafts. Katie's story and Dr Jawad's role in her recovery were in
the limelight recently in a film shown here in Channel 4's Cutting Edge
series. The film was called My Beautiful Face and was the story of what
happened to Katie and what Katie did next in the sense of trying to carry on
with life -- and remain optimistic. Apart from having the help of a very
dedicated and caring family, Katie was wonderfully supported by the police
and the doctors. The police worked painstakingly on the case, the attacker
and the ex-boyfriend were prosecuted, and both got ten-year sentences. The
doctors at Chelsea and Westminster had to do several more operations and are
still working with Katie. At the private screening of the film Katie's father spoke to me about Dr Jawad with obvious affection and appreciation "Muhammad is so compassionate," he said "The way he's been there throughout has been amazing, always telling us to be optimistic." I obviously felt quite proud when he said this. Muhammad Ali is a fellow Karachiite and a graduate of Dow Medical College. Our families were neighbours in Nazimabad, and he and his wife Ruhi (a forensic gynaecologist at King's) are close friends. But like most friends or relatives you tend to view them in a personal and social context and not really appreciate the amazing work they do. There are some professions in which you truly can change people's lives in a humane, direct way. And that usually happens when you view individuals as human beings rather than cases. Acid attacks by vindictive men to 'teach women a lesson' are not unusual in Pakistan and Dr Jawad is convinced that they need to be dealt with severely as the crime is particularly vicious in its nature. He points out that Bangladesh has led the way with tough legislation but that Pakistan still has a long way to go. The story of My Beautiful Face is an inspiring one: it documents hope and courage, compassion and consideration. More than anything else it highlights the fact that one must have the strength to carry on despite all odds and try very hard to make things better. Best Wishes Umber Khairi
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