The recent Koel exhibition in Karachi, ‘Vus’at-e-bahr-o-bar’ by Aqeel Solangi emits layered readings of a deep communion with nature where riddles of experience and memory synchronise with the rhythms of time. His academic art education—masters in visual art from the NCA, Lahore—is complemented with traditional learning with conventional ustads. Currently teaching at the NCA Rawalpindi campus, he answers questions about his career as an artist and educator.

Your art has the precision of miniature painting and conceptual underpinnings of postmodern thought. What is the role of traditional art and contemporary practice in your art expression especially with reference to your composition construction, personal vocabulary of symbols, specific colour palette and recurring use of mixed media and elliptical light?

I owe the precision of miniature painting in my work to my ‘origin’ from the subcontinent, where all the arts carry similar sensibilities, whether its miniature painting, fresco (naqqashi), woodcarving, music, dance or any other classical art form. All of them are linked with ‘ustadi-shagiridi’ mode of education, where ustads not only teach particular art forms but also instill in the students a whole way of life which continues from generation to generation.

Regarding my work process, I take traditional arts as point of departure (not restricting myself to the dialogue of ‘art and craft’), by borrowing elements and assimilating them into my personal vocabulary of symbols, as I believe all the classical arts contain a huge reservoir of features from which one can build personal expressions. While conceiving an idea, I make preliminary drawings—in all the classical arts ustads make initial sketch (cartoon) or ‘khaka’ before final execution.

Then I search for suitable media/mixed media. Often, unexpected colours and marks surface and in an adventurous spirit I explore the unseen.

The recurring motif of elliptical light is used as metaphor of time; it’s like a spotlight seen from a distance. Flowers in that light are periwinkles—‘sadabahar ‘in Urdu—and, as their name shows ‘spring forever’ can be associated directly with time in a literal sense. I developed this motif from classical fresco imagery (naqqashi) while apprenticed to Ustad Saif-ur-Rehman at Lahore Fort during my MA (Hons.) in visual arts at the NCA. The other reason I paint flowers is because I celebrate the moment I spent somewhere.

From parched earth and thorny cacti to the rhythmic motion of ‘lahar’ and burst of cloud, your art odyssey is a constant communion with nature. Can you specify your sources of inspiration, the origin of the ‘lahriya’ expression in particular and other motifs in general?

The symbols in my work denote a constant dialogue with nature; I take its elements and create my own order. I believe every object in nature has its own emotional/ historical/ cultural relevance, whether it’s lotus flower, cactus, clouds, trees trunks, stones, seeds, leaves, periwinkles, birds, desert dunes, kashkol (beggar’s bowl) or cowrie shells.

In the current work at Koel, I have introduced the lahriya pattern. It is associated with the devastating 2010 floods. The ‘water’ element of nature was a starting point—my concerns were not with the flood per se since I paint gentle waves as opposed to tidal flows—I researched the lahriya pattern of depicting water in the classical languages like fresco painting, woodcarving, stone inlay, pottery, textile etc. Its use is common in Mughal art also and can be seen on the water falls—one noticeable example is its usage on the pillars of Jahangir’s tomb in Lahore.

A 1450 BC tomb in Egypt has lahriya design on a wall painting and metaphysical artist Giorgio De Chirico has also used this in his works, ‘The mysterious baths’ I and II. What I want to emphasise is that I have modified and restructured the lahriya references to create an individual expression.

Relation between water and clouds is concomitant. I have a romance with clouds, I observe them in mornings, evenings and especially in moonlight as they roll slowly past like the passage of time. In Sindh clouds are symbols of blessings. For Kalidas (Gupta period) and Amrita Pritam, clouds are messengers—before birds were used for sending messages. Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai has written a whole chapter (Sur sarang) in his book (Shah-jo-risalo) using clouds, rain and rainy season as metaphor.

The seed symbol as source of life is a new development in my work. I associate them with my childhood memories in interior Sindh—my father is a farmer and he always discusses everything with me before sowing and harvesting the new seasonal crops. Leaf imagery, ‘Pahari patey’, is from fresco painting and stucco on Mughul constructions. I blend human made objects, like pipes, drapery, layers of peeling paint from walls, houses and cubes with natural settings in the work. Pipes are half filled and unfilled symbolising ‘thirst’ and as conduits of water link directly with the work.

In my paintings I create locations which might not relate to the physical world, but I take elements from actual location/ physical world and transform them in an ‘other’ location. In this way each work opens new pictorial episodes in my portfolio.

You have imbibed art education as a shagird of traditional ustads as well as a degree student at the NCA. How has conventional education and academic instruction strengthened your art practice. Has it brought you closer to your roots?

Before joining the NCA I began my career as a sign and cinema board painter (1996-1999) under the apprenticeship of Ustad Mehboob at Khairpur (Mir’s) Sindh, without realising that I would take it further through higher studies. During that time I joined Mussarat Mirza’s studio in Sukkur in 1999 where I was introduced to the academic way of education.

In 2000 I enrolled in the NCA to pursue a BFA and for the first time encountered different types of projects/assignments to formulate ideas. Obviously that practice helped later to contextualise the work and interpret the art works in a different way, but let me confess here that I learnt discipline of making art from ustads. Both disciplines (conventional education and academic instructions) gave me an understanding of making and articulating my expression.

After completing the BFA I enrolled for MA (Hons.) visual arts, where I really think I found my place. The seminars on South Asian arts and a placement of six weeks with an ustad were parts of the programme besides western art history and a third space seminar where all these serious debates of ‘art and craft’ were discussed. This was the time when I shifted my art practice to the classical arts in order to understand their essence. I chose Ustad Saif-ur-Rehman for classical fresco painting and Ustad Khurshid Alam Gohar Qalam for calligraphy (khataati).

Both placements with the ustads and critical seminars on the work generated fruitful dialogue, where I understood that these classical arts are not rigid (as believed and misunderstood). There is immense room to take them forward for further development. Now I understand the worth of classical arts and I practice them, take elements from them and connect my practice with them at one point but open my work for further dialogue beyond ‘art and craft’ at other points. On completion of my masters I was awarded the CW-Pak Art bursary to spend a term at the Prince’s School of Traditional Arts, London, where I learnt egg tempera painting, gilding, pigment making and geometry.

That entire journey made me realise that there is much more to discover and trace in order to leave marks that can be called as our own.

The contemporary miniature is the only indigenous art model we have so far. In view of your considerable education under various ustads, can you identify other native art forms that can be reinvented?

Before identifying and vitalising other classical art forms we should consider ‘why’ and ‘how’ these can be revived. Miniature art flourished under Mughal patronage and today its reinvention is also within the institutions. The NCA has initiated steps for reviving few other art forms, for example offering diplomas in calligraphy and fresco painting and a bachelors degree in musicology.

I think there is a need to accept classical art training as a separate mode of education and establish institutions like Prince’s School of Traditional Arts in the UK, or at least establish departments within institutions. It is time to realise the worth of classical art forms in order to keep them alive with the seriousness they deserve. It’s time to revive the whole culture of ustadi-shagirdi. Discussions should be started regarding contemporary issues and debates around ‘art and craft’ to locate the classical arts in contemporary context, rather than misunderstanding them as devalued ‘craft’.

Some classical arts which need immediate attention and serious support are fresco painting, blue tile making, woodcarving, pottery making, calligraphy, stone inlay, cinema and sign board, truck and rickshaw painting, etc. Ustads or practitioners of these art forms are dwindling.