Celebrating 40 years of Chawkandi Art Gallery is a curatorial endeavor by art critic and curator Amra Ali, spanning two shows linked through a thematic of deep complexity. It opens up a comparative study between visual art, poetic texts, and vocal expression, as well as between time and space, keeping Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh as a central point of reference. The resulting works are deeply introspective, contemplative, and nuanced, weaving narratives that are spiritual, moral, political, and personal, yet find their true strength in their capacity to be reinterpreted through a curatorial lens.

Shahnameh, or the Book of Kings, penned by the Persian poet Abu’l-Qâsem Ferdowsi Tusi, stands as the longest epic poem ever composed by a single poet, with over 50,000 rhyming couplets, making it a truly tremendous feat. Written between c. 977 and 1010 CE, it weaves hundreds of tales of ancient Iranian kings and heroes with fantastical mythological elements, all presented through beautiful, dramatic, and rhythmically flowing prose.

Shahnameh has become a cornerstone of Iranian national identity, widely revered for its preservation of Iranian culture and oral traditions as well as the Persian language— widely performed in a dramatic and theatrical manner that bring its epic tales to life through rhythmic musicality.

Through tragedy, romance, war and conflict, Shahnameh explores subtextual themes such as moral and ethical virtues, power, corruption, conflict, injustice, tyranny, resilience, good versus evil, loyalty and betrayal, familial bonds, the futility of life and inevitability of death, and the human condition. For this reason, its appeal is universal and timeless, with spiritual and intellectual readers alike finding political and philosophical parallels with its stories in the modern world, making it an endless spring of knowledge and inspiration, and the perfect setting for a reading and re-reading of the works in response to its thematic richness.

According to Ali, the idea for this thematic germinated with the recital of the Shahnameh (Shahnamah-khani) by Fazil Mousavi in a very traditional manner derived from the distinctive Hazara melody he grew up with through his late father, which is “so deeply embedded in my subconscious that even today their sounds and tunes echo in my mind.”¹ The recital is the main work for Mousavi, while the paintings and texts emerge from and around it. In his recital performed at the opening, as well as for an audio accompanying the show, Mousavi chose the story of Kaveh, the blacksmith who revolts against the tyrannical rule of Zahak by raising his blacksmith’s apron as a flag, turning it into a revolutionary symbol.

This is interpreted visually in the painting Derafsh (Pennant), where the artist combines subdued yet dramatic hues, abstract forms, and aggressive mark-making to construct his depiction of the blacksmith’s apron. Like many who read the Shahnameh in the modern age, Mousavi uses this story to relate the socio-political realities of his lived experiences as part of the Hazara community. Thus, his portrayals of the Shahnameh are not illustrations of beauty, but subtle and oblique representations of the underlying themes and essence it carries, giving voice to the marginalized and oppressed. “Such tales stay alive in every era with fresh meaning and interpretation, and highlight the social and political panorama of the time,” he says. ²

The show takes its title from the work Hamzaad (companion) which connotes a subconscious shadow that we all carry within us, perhaps an evil alter-ego or an inner demon. The artist forces us to confront this internal evil through the image of the white giant from the Shahnameh, who is an adversary to the hero Rustam and “a symbol of cruelty, treachery and darkness…an endless enemy of human intentions and enlightenment.” ³ Confronting and overcoming this inner demon might thus be the path to illumination. The battles and human experiences that are narrated through the epic mythological and historical tales of kings and heroes are perhaps distilled into a personal narrative here, depicting inner turmoil between the forces of good and evil inherent in one’s own psyche, and the battles with one’s own demons and inner darkness in order to set free the founts of inspiration.

Perhaps it is this demon that the artist alludes to when discussing the pessimism that hinders his artistic inspiration in the text accompanying the work Dareechon se Hawa Tak Nahin Aati (Even the wind does not enter from the windows).This and the work Aatish-e-Gul (Flames of Rose) are born as a response to this lack of inspiration, coerced out of the deep recesses of the subconscious mind and painted without premeditated thought, committing to paper compositions as they emerged in the moment. Thus, the works have a far more abstract and minimalist appeal, with a sense of spontaneity. The quiet lament of the former combined with the fiery passion of the latter seem to speak of personal and collective loss, grief, resilience and regrowth, an intrinsic part of the artist’s experience, informed by cultural, geographical and historical context so that it also speaks to a collective consciousness.

As we move beyond these works, the artist extracts the essence of the Shahnameh and uses it to interpret similar themes in the Urdu and Persian poetry by Allama Iqbal, Hafiz Shirazi, Beydil Dehalvi, Jalaludin Rumi, and Mirza Ghalib. Translated visually, this emerges as subtle and nuanced abstract shapes with hints of discernable forms held together by amorphous clouds of muted, somber tones. Emotive scribbling, and sharp gestural lines create areas of intensity. Repeated patterns and illegible Urdu script serve as texture that peaks through dramatic bursts of dark sepia. Coexisting warm and cool tones emanate a sense of conflict amid cyclical forms that provide a sensation of grounding amid the muffled chaos. The compositions are suspended on paper with indefinite edges, like a fragment of a whole, a transient cognitive imprint. This circularity, movement, repetition and conflict is a recurring visual element throughout the two shows, and in a way reflects the rhythmic musicality of the Shahnameh, and its recitation, created through repetition.

Many of the themes critique prescriptive religious practice in favor of a more spiritual approach. This is apparent in the work Gohar-e-Nayab (Precious Pearl) where he quotes Hafiz Shirazi’s metaphysical pearl as a metaphor for an inward journey beyond the constraints of the physical world, akin to Sidharta’s experience of Nirvana. In the work Dalq-e-Hazif Ba Che Arzad Ba Mayash Rangeenkun (Of what value is the piety of Hafiz, color it with wine), he talks about the hypocrisy of worldly piety for personal gain, and the futility of prayer and worship that is bereft of love and passion. Che Rung Ast Sanam further advises us, through the verses of Beydil, to look for God inside ourselves rather than in the physical world.

These ideas are almost identical to the views that Meher Afroz expresses, which form the basis of her practice. Quoting Bullay Shah, she says, “‘Ilmoun bas kari o yaar Eko Alif terey darker” (Enough of learning, my friend! An alphabet should do for you). All this worship and devotion is pointless without a real connection. Fill your heart with it, annihilate your ego and then connect with it. If it is not in your soul then it is all pointless.” ⁴

This makes her work a smooth segue into the second leg of this journey, and a fitting entry point to the group show of six artists, Kehkashaan-e-Neesti (Galaxy of Non-existence) which also borrows its title from her work. The title is in turn adopted from a book by Syed Mohammad Hadi Espahani on the life of Sayyid Ali Qazi Tabatabai, an Iranian mystic who devoted his life to the pursuit of forming a deeper connection with the Holy Prophet Muhammad (SAW). “Tabatabai spent his whole life searching and researching, he gave his whole life. He realized he has to kill his ego, his self and dissolve all his desires in order to connect with them,” says Afroz. ⁵

The curator, Amra Ali, approached Afroz for this show due to her Dastaveez series, which was her connection to marsiya-khwani. While the Marsiyas of Mir Babar Ali Anees and Mirza Salamat Ali Dabir had always been an anchor for Afroz, for this show she spoke about Kehkashaan-e-Neesti, creating a shift in focus for Ali; transforming the exhibition into a comparative study of literary works through visual forms derived from a subtextual reading that translates their essential messages, themes, and ideas, with the artworks serving as the references through which the two texts are linked, their similarities and contrasts revealed.

In the Bisaat (Chequerboard) series, works IV through VIII of the Kehkashaan-e-Neesti, Afroz employs the chessboard as a visual metaphor for life’s mundane distractions from divine purpose, presenting a series of objects crafted in her signature style of layered pattern with paint, silver leaf, and stitching, accompanied by Urdu text and politically charged symbols like the sword, Bishop and Knight chess pieces, bow and arrow, and the Shia Alam, all housed in cardboard cases resembling takhtis for examination, mimicking manuscript storage and viewing. “This subtly links to the Shahnameh, a manuscript meant to be read. A question arises, for instance, whether one is reading the text, or ‘reading’ the work or a painting,” Ali inquires, with the answer being all of the above: we are reading a manuscript across time by reading the artwork in this specific space, where text becomes painting, and through contextualization, painting becomes manuscript.

Echoing Mousavi’s musings, Meher says about this series, “These objects that I have made are inspired from a chessboard, like a chessboard of life where so many of our desires distract us and misguide us. We have to overcome these material wishes of the world.”  The title itself means ‘Galaxy of Non-existence’, speaking of the annihilation of the self. While using Kehkashan e Neesti as an anchor point, she draws similar ideas from it, but the two approaches diverge in how the politics of life is viewed— as a distraction by Afroz and accepted as a reality by Mousavi, who stresses the need for revolt against injustice. Comparing the works is exciting due to the manifestation of similar ideas in distinct visual forms.

The marsiya becomes another form of poetry that is exalted through recitation and, in her three “manuscripts” as Ali calls them, Kehkashaan-e-Neesti I, II and III are also visually interpreted, mirroring the experience of the Shahnameh. Afroz’s work also incorporates text and audio, and the themes of morality, justice and resilience are discussed, albeit through very different styles and narratives. This thematic then ties the rest of the works together with the anchoring texts and the literary references. The rounded shapes, weaved text and paint, deep blues and silvers in this work emanate a spiritual aura that is accentuated by the choice of display in a glass case with dim lights.

Using this as a starting point, as we then proceed through the remaining works— which are overtly visually referencing the Shahnameh—  we effectively re-contextualize and re-interpret them through this alternative curatorial perspective of Kehkashaan-e-Neesti. “Kehkashan-e-Neesti looks through Mousavi’s context and the Shahnameh itself as a book, but is looking more at the image, the page, the recitation and then reading the image, what is the connection of that image to the text, the script, the poetry, the content?” says Amra Ali. ⁶ Personally, it makes for exciting new ways of seeing and reading these works, bringing a fresh perspective. “For me its magical that Kehkashan-e-Neesti finds this massive space and anchor in this show, which has to do with reading and research and a very deep personal connection with an artist, and yet it is here, engaging with the rest of the work for this moment. Thus, the tone is set by Kehkashan-e-Neesti,” says Ali. ⁷

Ali Gillani borrows characters and visuals from the Shahnameh to construct his personal, spiritual and political narratives situated in current times. The Holy Throne, inspired by the tale of Prophet Solomon, depicts a central figure elevated on a throne by angelic beings, having vanquished inner demons shown as horned creatures at the base of the image. This concept mirrors Mousavi’s shadow companion, except here it is externalized as worldly hardships that must be overcome on the path to enlightenment, much like Meher Afroz’s Bisaat where she discusses overcoming worldly distractions.

In fact, Gilliani sees these demons as sacred, pushing man towards morality in the process of conquering them, a thought which can also help interpret Mousavi’s concept of the inner demon in a positive light; here too an internal conflict is reflected through the division of the pictorial place into panels of contrasting warm and dull hues, though Gillani’s approach to this concept of good and bad, hardships and rewards comes off as a bit more visually direct and reductive, presented in restrictive absolutes.

On the other hand, Gillani’s second work That’s The Pattern, Isn’t It?  is a political commentary, the title referring to the repeated abuse of power, injustice, and oppressive structures in society that prey on the weak. The imagery as well as the narrative here is a bit more layered and complex, built through stamp making to repeat Urdu phrases such as “benaam maut”, “kalaa mustaqbil” and “siasat ka circus”. They raise certain political questions, but throughout the composition they overlap and repeat to the extent of becoming incomprehensible noise. Once again, borrowed imagery from the Shahnameh allows us to draw parallels with its political themes about corrupt power, injustice, resilience, and the duality in color scheme gives light to contradictions and conflict.

While Gillani uses imagery from the Shahnameh to talk about modern concepts, Fatima Zehra Hassan takes a different path and applies an ancient mythical story to modern imagery. Her visual is a melding of styles and mediums, presented as a two-page manuscript inside a glass case, similar to Afroz’s work.

Hassan reinterprets the story of Alexander the Great from the Shahnameh, where he arrives at the edge of the world and encounters the Shajr-e-Waq Waq or the Talking Tree. The intertwining trunks of the Waq Waq Tree, one crowned with a male head and the other female, whisper prophecies of death and warnings against greed. Hassan’s interpretation of this ancient myth features dozens of heads of controversial modern figures, equally male and female, whose moral ambiguity render the piece politically charged. One is compelled to question: Are they the Alexanders of our age, reminded of the inevitable, or are they the ones sealing the fates of those who come to them for guidance?

Alongside this work, also presented in a museum-like glass case is another faux manuscript by Amaan Khalid Aslam, which looks at the physicality of the manuscript, specifically the Hashia (decorative border), removing the narrative element completely and decontextualizing the page from temporal baggage. Instead, the background rocks, foliage, flora and fauna are brought out of the image and into the margins, creating an ecological commentary emerging from his background in geography and cartography and focus on Islamic Gardens and the Charbagh. The border is a layering of various sources such as the Mughal Hashia, illuminated Quranic borders and the blue border from the Wazir Khan Mosque, linking fragments of geography, culture and religion to create an imagined manuscript.

The two sides of the manuscript, presented through the two paintings, are disjointed, a deliberate choice alluding to the Western colonizers’ ‘othering’ of the Orient; they plundered and destroyed these cultural treasures, separating the pages and selling them as decorative objects devoid of their original narrative or context, often later pasting them alongside completely irrelevant imagery. This adds another layer of commentary. Consequently, replacing the central image with gold leaf enhances the work, rendering it timeless and universal, enabling the viewer to project their own narrative and context, mirroring the nature of the Shahnameh itself. The chosen display method thus becomes even more fitting.

The dualities and contradictions present throughout the works— in the thematic, narratives, color palette, and presentation—  also extend to curatorial choices. Lighting and display in both the shows deliberately sets a contrasting mood, altering the reading of the art. Mousavi’s work is brightly lit, representing illumination and a new dawn, but it also sits well with the idea of presenting his works almost as a process—  straight out of a studio, raw and authentic. Handwritten text lifted directly from his notebooks accompany the works, placed on shelves, along with audios, recordings, and a largescale work titled Biyaz (notebook) which recreates a page directly from his sketchbook to illuminate the creative process. Even the individual paintings emit an aura of a work in progress—   gestural and spontaneous and not obsessively ‘finished’.

In contrast, Kehkashan-e-Neesti makes beautiful and profound use of dim ambient lighting to create pockets of warm glow amid the darkened gallery, setting a spiritual mood. Ali refers to both shows as “night and day”. The spotlights bring the works into focus and force the viewer to move around the works for a better view. Yet, the decision to display the works of Afroz, Hassan, and Aslam in museum-like glass cases, presenting them as historical manuscripts, creates a stark contrast with the Hamzaad display.

There is a feeling of pricelessness, the preciousness of preserving something of great historical value, much like the Shahnameh did for the oral traditions, the Persian language and Iranian culture. We have audios and notes describing the works, but Ali chose to omit walls of background research, allowing the work to speak for itself. In that sense, the work stands complete, situated in this moment and this context, unlike Mousavi’s raw and transient process.

Ali insists, these works exist independently outside of this curatorial context. ⁸ The display allows for us to view them from a unique perspective and garner new meanings from them. It iterates the fact that there is no one absolute way of seeing any artwork, and highlights the weight of contextual viewing while simultaneously freeing it from contextual burden. Just because a work is created in a certain context does not mean it can only be viewed in that specific framework forevermore. This is why Afroz’s work, as displayed in the show, can be interpreted as a manuscript, but might be read differently if presented alone in a solo exhibition, echoing the Shahnameh’s universal and timeless resonance despite its specific origins.

In that way, Ali as a curator uses the show almost as a macro art piece, the individual works serve as her medium, specifically chosen and placed strategically to construct her perspective on the Shahnameh. The audio of the Shahnameh-khani exists alongside the artist reading out loud his own writings about his artworks, drawing comparisons between the two. Amra paints with ideas, presenting them with different strokes, to allow for multiple readings, opening up the dialog for us and posing pertinent inquiries into this reading. So, the artist might be speaking to something else through the essence of the Shahnameh, but Amra is speaking about the Shahnameh through the narrative of the work. She is subtly and covertly nudging the viewer towards a certain narrative that she has built.

The exhibitions ‘Hamzaad’, a solo presentation by Fazil Mousavi, and ‘Kehkashan e Neesti’, a collective showcase featuring six artists, were on view at Chawkandi Art Gallery from January 14th to January 24th, 2025, and January 28th to February 10th, 2025, respectively.

Title image: Fazil Mousavi ‘s ‘Hamzaad’, installation view, Chawkandi Art Gallery.