| Name. Place. Animal. Thing | Rabeya Jalil | Koel Gallery | Karachi | February 12 – February 23

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up." - Pablo Picasso

It is very rare to walk into a gallery space and immediately engage with the work on display. Lahore-born Rabeya Jalil's latest exposition at Koel did just that — struck with awe, one was instantly drawn into the crude language meaningfully adopted to express something so relatable and pertinent to our society in these times. The oeuvre inadvertently left visitors inquisitive as to what the process was like for the artist, and how one could possibly draw in a childish fashion after having undergone extensive learning and conditioning.

Whimsically titled Name. Place. Animal. Thing, Jalil's body of work is a social commentary on becoming the perfect being in a society which holds stringent expectations in almost every aspect of one's lifestyle, and how the unabated attempts at becoming the ideal pleaser mutates one from their original self. This performance clones itself in every relationship, be it with one's parents, employers, neighbours or God himself. The toxic desire to fit in with the norm and lay down on expectations seeps in – like a virus – where one becomes heavily reliant on nugatory affairs, ultimately forgetting the bigger picture. Jalil admits the presence of religious undercurrents are the product of an observation of how people manipulate religious values for their own benefit. Her critical inspection of her own culture came forth while studying abroad for a graduate degree, where she became representative of an identity she realised she was disassociated from. Upon her return, Jalil began to view her culture as an outsider and highlighted the flawed dynamics she had become accustomed to.

Interestingly, Jalil's journey to her developed language further aids her concept, as she also questions the aesthetics viewers became familiarised with. In contrast to the anticipated competence and beauteous nature in several artists' works, Jalil's work is inspired by language which is unconditioned, and fresh. The fearless marks are an unabashed stance where the work stands out of the ordinary and unlike individuals in our society, does not try to 'fit in' to the seemingly quaint practices.

Explaining the approach, Jalil mentions how she appropriates children's drawings and then struggles to think like a child herself in her illustrations to bring out the inherently unaltered style young ones are gifted with. She operates in layers, constantly erasing and adding gestural marks. However the erasing itself leaves an imprint and adds another layer. The vigorous mark-making and the use of raw, vibrant colours one would ordinarily be sceptical to use adds further nuances, and the conversation becomes more engrossing for viewers. Her skill is commendable as it becomes challenging to decipher which are her own creations and which have been appropriated.

However, despite the work being very evidently driven from children's fearless drawings, to say Jalil's work is "child-like" would be unfair. Her meticulous approach stands in stark contrast to the spontaneity displayed in children's drawings. She admits, it takes her hours to make a decision — the process becoming seemingly pedantic. Her assiduous technique to capture the blithe apparent in children's works creates a fascinating paradox in itself. Furthermore, in Pablo Picasso's words, it took him four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child; as Jalil rightfully defends, no matter how much she tries, she cannot think and execute like a child. Her mind has surpassed that level of processing and her work has now transcended into something mature. An ardent admirer of works by maestros Robert Rauschenberg and Cy Twombly amongst others, Jalil's adept study of light and form with reference to the abstract expressionism of the early 20th century is something one would not witness in children's observational drawings.

For instance, in a diptych titled To each his own, Jalil's application of bold colours is cleverly used to execute the form of her subjects, as well as establish a direction of light. While the work may seem playful and impetuous at first glance, one soon distinguishes the morbid visual before them. A cow is held by various hands while beside it is a complementing visual of its head post-decapitation in the company of a human head. The work seemingly portrays the mindless ritualistic norm a religious sacrifice has become, where the ostentatious display of bought cattle has turned a beautiful personal act into a broadcast affair, reminiscent of a public execution where the voyeur in us is numbed to macabre incidents.

Similarly, In the Name of... shows a bearded man shaving his facial hair with one hand – mutilating himself in the process – while reading the prayer bead with another; his prayer cap evolves into a baseball cap on the shaven side. As mentioned, the work reflects on how the zealous focus on otherwise trivial matters — such as the length of the beard, ultimately leading to an overdriven desire to fit in; the eventual dichotomy of the psychological mind can lead to self-mutation.

Not the Ghar-e-Hira spider is a comment on the glorification of the role of spiders in our society after a single incident where a spider was responsible for shielding the Prophet. Over time the role of that particular spider has elevated the status of the arachnid in general, disseminating the belief that the religion prohibits any form of harm to the creature. "

Parhay Likhay reflects the mechanical mode of teaching, where the instructors dictate the direction their students follow than to let them explore their endless creative horizons. Shown as the taming of animals, Jalil expresses her dismay over the unwarranted charge taken on children's learning curve, something which she vocally condemns. In Pursuit of Happiness very accurately displays the sedulous nature one has been fed, where the individual is driven by mundane desires to mark a standing in their society — the brand of car, the size of their residence; all mistakenly considered pivotal.

Her other pieces observe societal obligations and the hegemony one may easily overlook, despite being somehow involved in it. Compulsive Celebrations depicts an apathetic family in a juxtaposing spirited language and setting — possibly expected to overlook their personal grievances and struggles to participate in the festivity with fervour. Nurturing to Kill is a condign vignette into social hierarchy and the cycle of life. The bitter reality of the dog-eat-dog world, where all of us are stationed in some form of social ladder within its class division. The cat that never cries is a sad reminder of victimisation and resilience, more relatable to the ongoing brutality and constant marginalisation of minorities in current times.

Far from ephemeral, Jalil's work portrays inherited omnipresence, and is virtually embedded in our society. The visuals speak of the prosaic and venerable, and cannot be more localised than it already is. While the idea behind her work is relatable for its quotidian aspect, it is the virtuoso's distinctive language which really grasps the viewers' attention. Mistaken as lack of expert skill by dilettantes, one doesn't realise that the unlearning in itself is a learning, the wrongful label of deskilling is actually an acquisition of a whole new skill. It really is not as facile as it may seem. As Jalil would say, it takes a long time to become young.