Written by: Khadijah Rehman
Posted on: October 16, 2018 | 
| 中文
Untitled by Qutub Rind
Of all the subjects the contemporary artist seeks to broach, violence is perhaps one of the most controversial, for the act of being able to find beauty in something terrible has been an endless debate in the world of literature and art. In meandering after gentler themes of melancholy, loss and ambiguity, sharper and more pressing realities such as violence disappear into the background. The truth, however, is that the tendency for violence is as primal as any human emotion and instinct, and has existed within humankind since the prehistoric era. Looking to explore visuals of inherent violence and altering their meaning into something innocuous and exquisite through the frailty of his medium was Qutub Rind, a fine artist who graduated from the National College of Arts (NCA) and lost his life to a brutal murder this July. O Art Space displayed his final body of works in the show Art for Artist - Qutub Rind and Contemporaries, to celebrate his immense skill, and to give a multitude of artists the chance to bid him farewell by contributing their own paintings to the show, the proceeds of which will go to Rind’s family.
Displayed on multiple floors, close to a hundred paintings adorn the walls. It is here, among paintings by the likes of R. M. Naeem, Ali Kazim, Irfan Gul Dahri, Abdul Jabbar Gull, Ghulam Hussain, Komail Aijazuddin and Zahid Mayo, to name a few, that Rind’s work is interspersed. Gentle paintings on wasli, the strokes placed lovingly like embroidered stitches, depict motifs such as hand grenades and guns, all rendered harmless and almost playful through dots in vivid colors or in monotone. From a distance, the images are strokes and points of varying intensities, childlike in their exuberance. Up close, forms become visible within the patterns; a clock with a rifle acting as its hand, a man kneeling in prayer with a gun on his shoulder, and in what takes shape as a painting of a grainy old photograph in black and white: two giggling children, arms slung around one another, standing behind an ominous line of barbed wire.
Rind’s techniques of pointillism and his enthusiastic use of raw color, creates a jarring contrast with the morbidity of his subject matter, and yet it is this very combination that astounds the viewer. Small single coloured dots dance on paper and wasli, assuaging the human need for beautiful visuals, only to slowly reveal images that would be dangerous in another life, in another place. The artist also uses Chamak Patti (shiny tape) as a medium, which is utilised in truck art and local handicrafts, to create glittering floral motifs. Cut into dots and forming distorted pictures of violence or threat, the Chamak Patti glimmers brightly, as if oblivious of the haunting image it has helped create. Rind’s entire mark making is misleading, and therefore intensely skilful, intended to trick the eye into believing it is witnessing only lines and dots. It is only when the mind and the eye align that images begin to come through, creating a stunning metaphor for the way acts of violence seep into lives, slowly taking over. Women in Sindhi garb sit by stoves, their smiles benign, while distorted men in Sindhi headwear pose with weapons, scrambled yet discernable. These paintings run as a unifying thread through the rooms, punctuating and bringing together narratives by other artists, who had the pleasure of knowing, studying with, or teaching Rind.
In the face of violence, what role does the artist play, if any? In Rind’s work, one can observe the lingering question that plagues every thinker and maker, about what it means to create in a violent and destructive world, while surrounded by the everlasting stain that violence leaves on whatever it touches. His work holds endless layers, communicating not directly but through playful imagery, distorted visuals, and splotches of colour offering false security, only to take it away. Though his life ended in an appalling tragedy, Rind’s extraordinary vision and remarkable talent lives on.
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