Art historian and critic Nageen Jawaid Shaikh and academic, researcher, and actor Tazeen Hussain interview art interventionist, author, and CEO Karachi Biennale: Niilofur Farrukh. The conversation is a part of the public initiative “Writers and Readers Cafe” (#78), at the Arts Council of Pakistan- Karachi, held on June 27, 2024. The discussion highlights aspects of contemporary artmaking, publishing industry, and the role of Farrukh’s books within the Pakistani academia.

Dialogues have been condensed and edited for clarity.

Writers and Readers Cafe is a place for writers and readers of literature and humanities. Members can recommend potential contributors to the cause of spreading knowledge through the Cafe’s weekly meetings. The sessions are organized by Dr Tanveer Anjum, Professor at the Department of English, Iqra University, Karachi, and an English and Urdu poet. She holds a Ph.D from the University of Texas. Dr. Anjum is a recipient of the Aizaz-e-Fazeelat award.

NS: First, my gratitude to Dr Tanveer Anjum for organizing this panel as a part of an engaging initiative bringing readers and writers together.

Our guest is Niilofur Farrukh, Pakistan’s most eminent art interventionist and critic. Farrukh’s art and culture initiatives have expanded the space for art publication, curation, and public art in Pakistan. She is the author of three books: Pioneering Perspectives (Ferozsons, 1998), A Beautiful Despair: The Art and Life of Meher Afroze (edited, Le Topical, 2020), and Pakistan’s Radioactive Decade – An Informal Cultural History of the 1970s (co-edited with John McCarry and Amin Gulgee, Oxford University Press, 2019), amongst innumerable other essays, reviews, book chapters, and columns published in international and local forums.  As a curator, her practice underlines an inclusive social dialogue through art in public spaces. Farrukh is the CEO of the Karachi Biennale and has spearheaded three biennial editions in 2017, 2019 and 2022.

My co-host, Tazeen Hussain, is an Associate Professor of Practice – Communication and Design at Habib University, an actor, and researcher. She has published and presented her work nationally, and internationally, and serves on Boards of Studies of multiple institutions. Her recent projects include ‘Critical Design and Education and Practice,’ funded by the US State Department and ‘Archiving Women Editors from Pakistan,’ funded by Teesside University – UK in collaboration with Aleph Review and Karachi Biennale Trust.

NS: Niilofur, I would like to begin this conversation with your first book, Pioneering Perspectives, for which you began research in the 80s. Here, you write that Meher Afroz, Nahid Raza, and Sheherezade Alam are the “emblems of the new consciousness in the Pakistani society”. Afroz is a printmaker, Raza a painter, and Alam: a potter. Why did you choose these artists at the time for your book?

NF: The 1980’s, witnessed the military regime under General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq. The “Hudood Ordinance” had come into effect where its consequences were oppressive for many women. At the time, I was writing for a magazine and thinking about how to expand the space for women, and highlight their contributions which was under threat of oblivion. This is when I started to research Pakistani modern artists whose work in the local context would be inspiring. Meher taught and made art distinctively on subjects that had not been explored earlier. Nahid was painting “a woman’s narrative”; it was personalized through the experience of being a single mother. And Sheherezade, also a mother, was connecting 4,000-year-old South Asian crafts, ceramics, and the traditions of the land. She was also merging them with Japanese techniques, which is different from the role of a traditional potter. I found tremendous possibilities in the practice of all these three artists.

NS: Sheherezade is the first female studio potter in Pakistan, but she has passed away and her methods are lost. Her case is like other influential Pakistani studio sculptors like Salahuddin Mian and Shahid Sajjad. How important do you think it is to sit with the artists, observe them, and document their studio methods and processes?

NF: It is very important because the process informs the artworks. Every artist has a way, a thought process. Meher never works with easel, but on the floor, no matter the size of the work. The result, with respect to surface treatments and detailing, comes out to be different if you work on the floor vs standing. Sheherezade used to collect metal and ceramic vessels, take photographs during her travels in the 60s and 70s, and this interest was also mentored by her instructor, the acclaimed modern artist Shakir Ali.

TH: In Pioneering Perspectives, it seems that we experience the three artists, as “feminists”.

NF: They are not feminists, not at least in the strict sense. They are women and they work in very women-centric ways.

TH: How does this contribute to the larger feminist movement and thought in Pakistan? Does this lens support the book?

NF: An oppressive environment for any human is toxic. And then being a woman doubles that burden. Meher had an all-encompassing approach and she addressed human concerns and not just those of woman. She is not a feminist, yet she empowers women with her practice. This is somewhat of a grey area but it’s very powerful – you can’t separate the woman from the artist. There are elements of empathy and spirituality in her work. I consciously tried to keep away from the western tradition. In my first book, I looked up to a powerful, female driven literary tradition coming from women like Gulbadan Bano Begum, sister to the Mughal emperor Humayun. She wrote the Humayunnama. I also read poets like Zaitoon Bano, Fehmida Riaz, Ishrat Naheed, and Qurat-ul-ain Hyder. These women contextualize our environments and our feminisms come from them. Artists like Meher and Nahid come from this legacy. Strictly urban or Western feminism does not fully resonate with our realities.

NS: I believe Nahid was ahead of her times, as she channeled her challenging experiences of motherhood in her art. Western feminism brings motherhood rather late into the picture.

NF: Oh, yes. Sheherezade had three little children, and she used to say that these clay pots are like the bellies of pregnant women. I find that one cannot isolate your lived female experience of childbirth and raising children from the artwork. Meher made etchings of women. She grew up in Lucknow where the family had aged female caretakers – she remembered them as being emancipated. In her etchings Mehr connected these women to displacement following the partition, when families migrated and caretakers like them were left behind in the empty family homes. Women’s connections with displacement, nostalgia, and these memories continue to emerge as characters in their oeuvres.

NS: Your second book, titled Pakistan’ Radioactive Decade: An Informal Cultural History of the 1970s is co-edited with Amin Gulgee and John McCarry, and is different in format than Perspectives. It also accompanies an art exhibition of the same name. The focus is not only the visual arts but areas like television, print culture, theater and even nightlife in the 70s.

TH: I would like to expand here: There are two parts in this book – the exhibition and the writings. Which format came first and how?

NF: Amin Gulgee suggested curating an exhibition that prompted contemporary Pakistani artists to respond to the exciting culture and the political events of the 1970s. We developed the concept. Generational nostalgia was essential here. The political events of the 70s, including the war with East Pakistan and the death of Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto has been harrowing for the people living in the 70s. This trauma has been passed generationally and has concealed the events of the time in the subsequent decades. We asked artists and writers to respond to this history with their memories. We exhibited works by Pakistani masters like Sadequain and Bashir Mirza and several contemporary artists. In the 70s, printing and advertising were developing. There were some exciting films being made at that time and the Modern art movement was getting strong. The book appealed to us as an educational resource.

TH: The book captures lots of ideas that are very difficult to get a hold of in literature. The interviews on advertising with Anwar Rammal and Javed Jabbar were fantastic. What intrigues me the most is the art and reality of “resistance”. Aquila Ismail writes about resistance poetry. We thus get to rub shoulders with so many creative fields, in conjunction with visual arts, in the title.

NF:  I believe this was a conscious attempt because there was a vast cross pollination of ideas in these fields during the 70s. There was a resurgence of creativity. We tried to evoke the spirit of that time.

TH: You also write about this in the book’s preface with Amin, that the reality of the nation that was trying to rediscover itself was different than this “collective” imagination or creativity. Isn’t this a bit of a conflict?

NF: I would not say that. See, at present, we are living in a time when we are immediately connected to people. It was not like this in the 70s. The Managing Director of PTV was instructed not to air the war realities such as the surrender of Dhaka in the news on television, which he did. He was reprimanded, of course, but this tells us how much information was withheld from the public. We weren’t fully aware of all the atrocities and political deals that took place. And yet many of us continued to live in the “feel good” 70s. At that time, I had just left art school; we were young, and it was a wonderful time for all of us. People were not “consciously” choosing to live in a bubble – they were just not informed about the darker side of reality, which now feels contradictory because so much literature and research has come out.

NS: There is a strong tendency to write “truthfully” in your books. How do you navigate social, gender, political or cultural sensitivities of our times? Were you ever concerned about redaction imposed by the state?

TH: And self-censorship.

NF: Writing in English provides a certain cushion of privacy. Dr Akbar Naqvi wrote boldly about culture and art and rather got away with it. I feel there is not that much of a scrutiny. Previously, people had a lot of tolerance.

NS: Is it still the same?

NF: (laughs). Oh, you would know. The environment has changed drastically now. We are an angry group of people. But I have always written what I firmly believed in, even if is a critique of government institutions. Yes, you need courage to write. However, I feel very strongly about not making a personal attack at any one in my writing. As for the state, well, it was not really bothered about art writing.

NS: Your third book titled A Beautiful Despair: The Art and Life of Meher Afroze is an anthology. Many of Meher’s works learn from Urdu literature and poetry, in fact, poetic texts are embedded in her works. Urdu language also informs your essay on Meher, which is written in English. Has this switch from Urdu literature to writing in English ever been challenging?

NF: Not really. This came naturally to me. I have studied a lot of Urdu poetry, and I love mushairas. I have always been bilingual. All my writings are in English, so it came naturally to critically examine how Urdu is used in Meher work to ground it in the cultural and epistemic space of Pakistan.

TH: Ayesha Gazdar, who is a filmmaker, writes about Meher’s work. I find it interesting that you invited non-artists to respond here. Did you think about including a poet—

NF: Fahmida Riaz aapa has written.

TH: Oh, yes. Would you like to talk a little bit about that?

NF: Fahmida aapa’s observations were multi-disciplinary. They traversed literature, theater, politics, etc. Ayesha Gazdar has made powerful films on gender violence and social issues. I felt they would bring a new perspective to Meher’s work which concerns city violence and empathy.

NS: All three of your books are very informed with aspects of “decolonization”.

NF: Decolonization is the DNA of post-colonial societies, even though it is now often misused as a fancy buzz word. Our independence movement was focused on pushing the British colonizers out of India. We wanted to carve an identity for ourselves and gain back what we had lost in the colonial processes. Early on, I did not see the decolonial aspect being covered in our academia. But artists have always alluded to it in some form. I am a part of the Association for International Arts Critics (AICA) where I conceptualized seminars focused on issues of decolonization faced both by scholarship in countries that were colonized and countries that were the colonizers. It’s problematic for both. Decolonization has been a constant concern in my writing, yes.

NS: I am thinking about the three iterations of Karachi Biennale (KB) under your leadership. The first iteration focused on witnessing social and political changes and events. The second KB centered on ecological concerns whereas the third edition underscored technology, digital arts and decolonization in the arts, post pandemic. What kind of themes are evolving as a result that writers must address with urgency?

NF: All these themes are all around us. The problem is, we begin to focus on issues that are more West-centric and may not be relevant to us.

TH: Ideas that are more appealing to the art market, perhaps.

NF: Yes, which is why I feel we must reexamine our contextualized realities. Our institutions are not teaching this enough in their educational models or periodicals, which concerns me deeply.

TH: We talk about bringing art into public space and KB is one such colossal initiative in Pakistan. However, the state is concerned about “critical works”. Should we bring such works to the public space, or do we continue to secure our spaces from controversies?

NF: KB is intervention in the public space. In 2016, Karachi was going through political and ethnic tension and the founders of KB came together to find ways to do something about it through art. We thought about creating bridges in this very culturally diverse city. We developed thematic, invited local and international practitioners, and invested heavily in ideas that will bring people together. Public audiences may not respond to art the way writers or artists do, but they still do, intuitively. We must not forget that we come from the Indus Valley traditions and creativity is in our DNA. This makes it very important for us to bring artistic and social dialogues into public spaces.

TH: Which brings me to ask: Why are there so few books on art in Pakistan?

NF: I believe we must inculcate a vision and mindset for reading and writing. Libraries are important, so are dialogues like these weekly ones that Dr. Anjum organizes here at the Arts Council. It’s a problem that our academia is still focused on the Eurocentric approach and has not adequately incorporated local research and knowledge in its print and spoken forums. Many seminars that I have attended in art schools and other places highlight foreign issues and movements rather than local concerns. I may be cynical here but that is how it is happening. We must find our own narrative and build around them.

NS: Could funding be another reason for the lack of published books?

NF: Funding may not be a dominant factor. The projects I published were executed with right-minded people, which is more important.

NS: You must have tried translating your works for an Urdu readership?

NF: It can be very cumbersome to find the right people to translate from English to Urdu who are aware of the lexicon when it comes to art writing. Urdu may not have the appropriate terminologies to write about certain theories. We can think of inventing analogies and vocabularies in Urdu that can interpret art ideas from English to Urdu. Additionally, completing a book can be very demanding because editorial support is not easily accessible. We need publishers that offer translation services as this will be a great help and encourage translations of art books in the future.

NS: Finally, we would love to know: what writers have inspired you through the years?

NF: Let’s begin with artists. Sadequain has had an incredible impact on me and many writers. From his Cactus series to his murals, his scope is expansive. His ability to weld forms together is “magical,” and I say that responsibly. Another artist is Zahoor-ul-Akhlaque; we used to call him a “cerebral artist”. He moved art into a conceptual space. He studied Indian miniature painting extensively and pushed for movement with colour. Writers like Edward Said, Gayatri Spivak, Qurat-ul-Ain Haider, among so many others, have inspired me over the years.

NS: Niilofur, Tazeen and I thank you for this wonderful conversation about the creation and role of your books. We look forward to many more in the future!

NF: You are all very welcome!

Video to direct transcript: Armeen Hedayat

Writing and editing for The Karachi Collective: Nageen Shaikh