The recent paintings of Komail Aijazuddin, on view at the Canvas Gallery, Karachi, seem to assert many truths, and perhaps some half-truths. The artist’s veneration for the gilded and its central place in his compositions suggests a strong, almost exclusivist, approach. Opulence is an issue, for it overwhelms and overbears, but could it be read in any other way?
The abundance of gold as well as silver in Aijazuddin’s work is such that it seems to flow out of the picture frame. But what happens when the artist drags the monochromatic and discreet minimalist imagery of an established artist, such as New York-based Zarina Hashmi’s prints into his own gaudy frame? In her artistic journey since the ’60s, Hashmi embraced Western modernity, but on her own terms. Stories of recollect, her artworks are full of innuendos from Urdu poetry, and the porous handmade paper has been more than just a surface to work on. Her retrospective at the Guggenheim, not too long ago, was titled, ‘Paper, Like Skin.’
In comparison to the fragility of her measured line, Aijazuddin’s loud canvases are encased in gaudy double frames, and if anything, this flamboyance seems to be the antithesis of the one he emulates. What do his works, “Greek Line 1 and 2’ have anything to do with the senior artists’ work, except standing under its shadow? It is almost as if her work is drenched in the blue that Komail references in this series. But then what?
Does borrowing the imagery of one artist raise the aesthetics of another artist?
If he is referring to Hashmi’s ‘Blinding Light’ (2010), in which a 22-karat gold leaf on Japanese paper hangs from a bar, then he seems to disregard the full extent of the sublimity of her work. Aijazuddin, no doubt, finds in Hashmi a resonance of the spiritual that is reassuring and inspiring to him, but there is a danger of reducing the meaning of her work to a singular reading.
In 2015, he recreated the famous bird and cage painting of Shakir Ali, and titled it, ‘After Shakir Ali … .’ In much the same way, his figurative imagery floats against a flat background, which was the signature approach of Colin David, and is named ‘After Colin David … .’ The luminous gold of Aijazuddin holds the senior artists’ imagery in a strange combination. Respectful, disrespectful, or in awe, this is the story of post-modernistic rehashing of history and context, although he writes that he wanted to “assert their place in our history.”
Many artists “adopt” Maulana Rumi in much the same way. Similarly, art fairs, which were historically meant to increase trade for the West, have stripped art of its original meaning and purpose, distorted or trivialised it. There may be superstars in art, but are there any humble artists or original thin.
The room with landscapes in the show seems to be the core that holds his aesthetics with finesse. The treatment of the trees and their connection to mosaics is juxtaposed with a flat silver or gold, and the tones of sweet mauves and aquas of the seasons. There is a compelling reminscence here. These landscapes convey a sense of bewilderment, and a longing for the beautiful stories of the past that can be re-told.
The silver/gold ganga-jumni also evokes a sense of embellishment, of seeking perfection, such as in the religious art of traditional manuscripts and court art of the East and the West. One feels like holding to these moments in the work, but with a feeling that the real artist is unapproachable. That is the dichotomy that much art around us elicits
Komail Aijzuddin’s solo show ‘Out of the Blue’ was held at the Canvas Gallery, Karachi,
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