White Cement and Marble Dust by Huma Mulji | Courtesy Dua Abbas Rizvi
Art has always been a reliable means of archiving change. Consciously or inadvertently, artists document sociocultural changes, not only through the work itself, but also by absorbing into their artistic vocabularies the new visual materials that accompany any major shift from one way of living to another. This is mainly because the process of artistic creation is invariably organic. It is affected by the environment, the sights, the smells and the sounds that surround an artist.
Even if an artist’s work is deeply embedded in fantasies and dreamscapes, fragments from their contemporaneous, real life will find their way into their work, just as they will into their fantasies and dreams. I am reminded of the image of the portentous train in so many of Italian artist Giorgio de Chirico’s paintings. Moving slowly and emitting a single, robust plume of smoke, his black train serves as an eerie backdrop for empty arcades and other disparate objects that seem to come together in his work largely through dream logic. No matter how far the artist strays into a surreal world of statues and late-afternoon shadows, an engine and a few compartments pursue him as a reminder of the real world marked by technology.
The works of Lahore-based artist R M Naeem have a similar air about them: ubiquitous road and traffic signs in many of his paintings seem to convey how the ordinariness of the physical world governs the lives and decisions of his sleepwalking characters.
A changing reality, thus, cannot be wished away or fought off. Even when it is not visible in the artwork itself, it impacts it in discreet ways. Take the case of the Industrial Revolution, for instance. It changed the human and artistic experience and understanding of space and movement once and for all. In his seminal book, The Shock of the New, Australian-born writer Robert Hughes explained the change: “The view from the train was not the view from the horse. It compressed more motifs into the same time. Conversely, it left less time in which to dwell on any one thing.”
Urbanisation reinvents our relationship with space and landscape in a similar way. Cities, especially in Pakistan, have evolved in a manner that does not encourage walking, radically changing how we interact with the physical environment around us. Our interactions with the cities we inhabit are now mediated by the bodies of our automobiles or the screens of our phones, laptops and televisions. A certain sense of tactile, physical familiarity with our surroundings has been lost in the process.
American writer Rebecca Solnit has written about this phenomenon in her book Wanderlust: A History of Walking. “Walking is about being outside, in public space, and public space is also being abandoned and eroded in older cities, eclipsed by technologies and services that don’t require leaving home, and shadowed by fear in many places (and strange places are always more frightening than known ones, so the less one wanders the city the more alarming it seems, while the fewer the wanderers the more lonely and dangerous it really becomes),” she wrote. In many cities, she noted, public spaces are no longer a part of urban plans. “What was once public space is designed to accommodate the privacy of automobiles; malls replace main streets; streets have no sidewalks; buildings are entered through their garages; city halls have no plazas; and everything has walls, bars, gates.”
Distance has come to exist between a modern city and its inhabitants.
An association of concerned citizens, fittingly called Nigraan-e-Lahore (Guardians of Lahore), has made it its mission to minimise this distance. The group promotes public dialogue on the changing look and dynamic of the city and encourages people to imagine how these changes inform their individual and collective roles as citizens. It seeks to promote, through exhibitions, competitions and workshops, a more interactive relationship between the city and its residents. One of its initiatives, Shehr Saazi Aur Soch Vichaar, invited school and college students in 2015 to examine through poetry, prose and visual art how a changing Lahore was shaping and transforming their aspirations.
The international art world has been witnessing a surge of interest in politically, socially and environmentally aware art and design for quite some time. It is moving away from autobiographical, personal and aesthetic concerns and their expressions. Since our domestic art scene reflects global trends, themes related to urbanisation and modern city life have begun to dominate art production in Pakistan as well, just as they have in the rest of the world.
The display and discourse of art, too, is no longer restricted to galleries, as was the case in the past. Communal and socially informed approaches to art-making and alternative methods and spaces for display – installations, site-specific interventions, collective rather than individual projects and research carried out over long periods of time instead of stand-alone works with easily quantifiable values – have become common.
An increasing number of visual art residencies and curatorial ventures worldwide also stimulates artistic enquiries into urbanisation, attempting to document its impacts on individuals, communities and societies. These enquiries are all the more relevant in countries like ours that are still at a lower stage of development and urbanisation, and where some of the worst impacts of concrete-based urban sprawl may still be averted or at least minimised by timely interventions.