hat could be a better excuse to leave one’s house on a Sunday than to go to an art exhibition. Organised by The Roadside, works of 22 artists were displayed from October 28 to 30 at an old and disbanded building right in the heart – rather the horseshoe – of Lahore’s Liberty Market.

Once you negotiated through vendors offering various valuable stuff, and stacks of printed fabric piled on both sides of the staircase, and climbed up to the structure that presumably was constructed in 1977 (as recorded near the entrance), you were in awe of the beauty of the building, especially, the interiors. Large halls, small rooms, corridors, mostly uneven or torn floors, bare walls, remains of old furniture, stains, spots, scratches, offered a satiating experience. In comparison to – and against the bustle of the busiest market of Lahore, sounds of sellers, noise of the traffic, hordes of customers, shops littered with goods, invading neon signs, and excessive electronic lights – the empty, quite, unkempt and worn out space of 21 Commercial Zone had the power to provide an aesthetic pleasure.

Artists, at least most of them, prefer surfaces that are neglected, rough and run-down. Machines are able to produce pristine products (such as the camera), but it is only an artist who is capable of creating works with human imperfections – hence the excitement. In contrast to a mechanically manufactured painted sheet, artists make canvases with varying textures and densities. The tactile quality stimulates a viewer. So being at a venue, with walls of grey, peeling, pale plaster and accumulated layers of grime on cement surfaces, is satisfying to a visual artist, because all these remind them either of the studio, or work in progress. It is an archive of human intervention.

In a way, these sites, with potential for uncanny (and unforeseen) attractions pose a comparison, if not competition, with the art works installed there. Usually, artists respond to these locations, thus the works become – not a subservient or an alien addition, but an integral part of the place. Some of the artworks could be (or were) displayed and experienced at other establishments, but their imagery, material and even technique appear more appropriate at an uncommon venue.

There is also another feature; the marketing. Though displayed at the centre of Liberty Market, none of the works was intended or put up for sale, hence no price tags (no detailed captions either). Therefore, a visitor assumed that the work – at least if not site-specific, was site-justified. The relevance came not by cutting lines into walls, or making the mould of a lattice, but by interacting with the history, function, context as well as the political, social and urban aspects. In that sense, one realised that Risham Syed’s installation Text and Context series: Raag Sughrai, evoked the period the building represented. With its political overtone, the work – comprising a still projection of her maternal grandparents’ house from 1981, a video with the images of war planes and the footage of the military dictator, Gen Zia-ul Haq (who assumed power in 1977), next to the recording of the artist learning the raga from her teacher, the great maestro, Chhotay Ghulam Ali Khan. The work chronicles how a person’s private engagement could elevate into a political gesture.

During Zia’s puritan regime, classical music was not greatly appreciated. Dance was not encouraged by the state institutions, so an artist performing in the backdrop of the images of power inside a private home, could be seen as an act of defiance and resilience.

Artists, at least most of them, prefer surfaces, which are neglected, rough and run-down. Machines are able to produce pristine products (such as the camera), but it is only an artist who is capable of creating works with human imperfections – hence excitement.

To some extent, the custom (or pattern) of showcasing art at rundown places could also become a form of resistance; against the structure of the state, patronage, the commodification of art and about communication with the public. It was ironic that the entire show, with some of the most respected and significant artists of Pakistan, like Anwar Saeed, was installed at a venue frequented by a large number of citizens but probably not many stepped into the exhibition. In that way, an alternative space ended up as an exclusive venture, by the artists, of the artists and for the artists.

However, some works, like Qalander Bux Memon’s excursions into representation provided a critique. A few of his pieces were placed on the walls, others left on the floor, some folded and curled; so a work placed in a space soon to be demolished or refurbished, were the most important inclusion because it suggested the inherent removal and impending destruction.

Temporariness in the character of the location actually contributed to the reading of the artworks, especially the Speaking in Tongues, the video projection of Madyha J Leghari (previously shown at the last Karachi Biennale). Leghari had weaved several voices, narratives and visuals to create a piece of fiction that survives between reality and the dream world. It was executed in such a perfect and poetic manner that after watching it for a while you tended to forget what was the actual and what imaginary. The boundaries of the two realms were blurred, as happens in our everyday life since our dreams are part of our reality, even though it is the other side of the coin.

A print on paper, of a dark and dense square, with bleeding marks of the same black (titled Here by Fatima Haider) also seemed to be part of the physical – as well as psychological existence. The layers of dense pigment introduced a depth in something as simple, basic and elementary as a square. If on the one hand it impressed a viewer with its sensitive and intriguing surface, at the same instance it evoked references to the ground plan of the holiest structure of Islam (or to Anish Kapoor’s signatory black). Black in our art world has become a prevalent chromatic preference. Artists from Lala Rukh to Mohammad Ali Talpur, and their numerous followers, have explored the possibility of this hue ad infinitum.

Perhaps the most relevant, revelatory and revolutionary inclusion, among the work created by artists from diverse backdrops, positions and practices, was Rabbya Naseer’s projection on the wall. Her Untitled Gesture presented a letter to the curators and visitors of this pop-up show, informing that in the current political and global situation, with the war in Gaza, and killing of innocent civilians including children, women and elderly people; Naseer was unable “to make, exhibit, or even think about art.” Written in plain and perfect Urdu and English, the text served as a comment on the separation of art and life. Or a critique, particularly when seen in connection to the exhibition, which was at a public venue, a locality that is frequented by thousands of people from all walks of life.

Yet a viewer had to reach the first floor to see the show. This act and effort could be read as a metaphor and symbol of elevating an art activity: above the level of regular shoppers at the Liberty Market, and away from the peaceful civilians being targeted by the Israeli forces, since October 8.

The writer is an art critic based in Lahore