One option is to go to the Indus Valley Gallery where the Citizens Archive of Pakistan (CAP) has set up a black, red and white stall as part of its ‘This is my story’ exhibition that opened on Monday. Here you can write about your personal experience with violence.
Shortly after the exhibition started, some people had written about the bomb blasts in Muharram, others on target killings. One person decided to use a black marker to draw a hand grenade. The possibilities are endless, as are the stories for the people of Karachi. For better or worse, this exhibition is an attempt by CAP to create a space in which different voices, aside from the rat-a-tat of an automatic weapon, can be heard.
The other side of the story booth has been devoted to children from Shah Faisal and Qasba colonies, who were visited by the CAP team on different occasions as a part of their anti-violence campaign that was launched in June. The children, like the visitors, were asked to express what they saw around them. What emerged were simple stick figures, drawn with colour pencils. But the scenes were horrific.
“When we looked at these drawings we broke out into a cold sweat,” said a 21-year-old university student who came to the exhibition. “God knows what sort of life they lead.” Perhaps for CAP, the ability to get a resident of Karachi to think differently, even for a second, about someone else’s life, made the effort worthwhile.
Violence is a tricky topic, especially in a city suffering from visual and aural fatigue on the topic. And indeed, CAP is likely to face criticism for taking it up, by simple virtue of the fact that we are uneasy with taking up positions to discuss other people’s pain.
For whatever it is worth, ‘This is my story’ focuses on how the individual perceives a suicide bomb blast, robbery or cold-blooded murder. “The images are raw and painful enough to burst the bubble we live in,” mused one young woman. “It’s like they want to test our limits. They want to see how much we can feel or not feel.”
Beyond the story stall, the walls were lined by visual portfolios by young photographers: ‘Sidewalks’ by Sadia Khatri, ‘Scars and Souvenirs’ by Sitwat Rizvi, Akifa Mian’s documentary on a woman who cradles her child and is afraid of losing her. But the real show stealer was Asad Faruqi’s wall-sized Lyari gang warfare photograph. Eyes squeezed tight, two men embraced and cried as their world fell apart behind them.
A signature CAP historic element was placed in the middle of the room: a four-sided ‘installation’ of blown-up front pages from Jang, The Pakistan Times and Dawn. “Everything here is reminding us of what had been lost and could help rebuild the future,” said a visitor gazing at it.
“As a former CAP member, I must say I am impressed and feel a connection with the project,” said 20-year-old Zainab Abbas. “These children in the documentaries and photographs do not know who the Taliban are or what terrorism is.” She felt that this was what the “burger - hipster” generation of today needed to know. “They live in a bubble and this exhibition will burst it,” she said.
Not everyone agreed with this format. As one young man in short said: “I don’t really see the point - is this just about terrorism? It looks like they just asked a couple of people to take photos of buildings that were blown up.”
Perhaps it was that simple... or not. A look around the room did reveal one point; violence has subsumed us at some level. Young photographers in Karachi generally start out by lurking around bazaars and eateries to capture what they perceive as daily life - which they then project as art. Now the trend has changed. They feel compelled to capture pain and suffering. The line is being blurred between violence and art.
Published in The Express Tribune, September 13th, 2011.
COMMENTS
Comments are moderated and generally will be posted if they are on-topic and not abusive.
For more information, please see our Comments FAQ