Written by: Nimra Khan
Posted on: May 12, 2025 | 
| 中文
Rustaam-e-Jahan Shavi
A recent solo show at Chawkandi Art Gallery by artist Ramzan Jafri combines his training in traditional miniature painting with contemporary themes and visual language to comment on the dualities of pain, loss, beauty and endurance. Through his work, Jafri attempts to honor his heritage as a member of the Hazara community, while giving voice to the violence and oppression suffered by him and his loved ones, and the resilience that keeps them going.
Jafri’s impeccable skill is displayed in a series of works which recreate a number of Mughal miniature portraits from the Shah Jahan and Minto Albums featuring Jahangir, Shah Jahan, Akbar and members of their court. The intricate details of the original hashiyas are replaced with deep blue splashed with gold, and the paintings are paired as diptychs, to perhaps converse through narrative and across time. With only subtle background changes made from the original works, this series becomes more of a recontextualization, touching upon elements of self-aggrandization, greed, betrayal and manipulation of truth by those in power.
Emperor Jahangir on a Globe, Shooting an Arrow at the Severed Head of Malik Amber (detail)
While the details in these works are pristinely handled, it is his mixed media pieces and book covers which spark more interest, exploring themes of pain and loss through an engagement with materiality and process. Fabric, clothing and gauze are used to represent the dualities of presence and memory, hurt and healing, oppression and resilience. The process of layering on wasli, and the subsequent tearing and gouging become contradictory acts of comfort and discomfort.
The Ritual of Red
In “The Beauty within Pain (Triptych)” strips of gauze are layered across sheets of wasli and shaped into clothing, almost like a protective layer concealing vestige of lost lives. The delicate muslin weave pattern becomes symbolic of the fragility of human life, and the muted tones register as a dull ache, interrupted by violent gestures which are then painted into brightly colored garments. These act as mementos to the departed, making their ghostly presence palpable and creating a tension between the visible and the hidden, the present and the absent. The beauty gives meaning to pain, becoming a transformative act that allows both to coexist and gives way to strength, hope, resilience and endurance.
Beyond this work, the fabric is further painted over with the Qab Tumar pattern – a traditional Hazara motif found in clothing, caps and home textiles that tethers this narrative to the history and experiences of this marginalized community. It becomes a unifying thread throughout the show as a marker of personal and collective identity, grounding the existence of an entire people and their heritage. Seen in the large-scale work “Torn to Speak”, rendered in violent shades of red, it holds the weight of collective memory, tragedy and loss.
Torn to Speak
The book cover series builds additional layers of commentary by superimposing representational imagery to the pattern. The visual device of the book cover itself becomes a symbol for archiving and the preservation of heritage, as well as creating a cultural legacy through elements of storytelling, knowledge building and memorializing. Here the artist displays his skills in book binding techniques, adorning the spine with the art of illumination, which to him acts as a bridge between the traditional and contemporary worlds. Displayed laid flat like upturned books in glass cases, the viewer experiences these works as miniature manuscripts in a museum, further creating a sense of bearing witness to history.
In the “Rustaam-e-Jahan Shavi” series, the image of the warrior Rustam in traditional miniature style stands resolute against fields of the Hazaragi pattern, a symbol of strength and dignity, linking the narrative of war and terror across time. He is the quintessential hero figure, giving hope to the people, alluding to the enduring need for a savior. Yet, in a contemporary context, one may interpret this as perhaps not a lone warrior, but the resilient spirit of a people, standing in the face of adversity to safeguard their rights and futures.
The Spine of Memory
In “The Spine of Memory” the Qab Tumar pattern appears in solemn browns and sepia tones, like vestiges of fading memory. Here even the spine of the book is plain and worn out, much like the patterned covers, as if decaying over years of wear and tear. It appears as a relic of a forgotten past, with wounds that never healed, laying bare as testaments to their tragic history.
Ghuncha Haye Husn-e-Yousaf (detail)
In the work “Ghuncha Haye Husn-e-Yousaf”, however, these traumatic histories are memorialized instead, as the spine unfolds the symbolic central imagery of a garden where the flower Husn-e-Yousaf blooms. It is a fragile yet resilient metaphor for lost souls, confined within a boundary of bricks. This serene landscape is in stark contrast with the anguish of the torn blood-red Qab Tumar pattern that flanks it on either side, transforming pain into eternal beauty through the power of memory and remembrance.
Thus, a layered narrative is pieced together operating in binaries of pain and beauty, death and endurance, past and present, preservation and loss. Histories are explored through the lens of the present, and new histories are formed through collective memory, bound together by the act of physical, emotional and intellectual healing. Thus, the works leave us with glimmers of hope, not in spite of the trauma, but through an active engagement with it. By creating and holding space for loss, grief is processed and paves the road to recovery.
You may also like:
