hen it comes to studying the origins of creativity as an art practitioner, having to start with the people living in caves seems like an idea embedded in banality. However, that’s the first place we visit in our lectures as young art students. The question arises whether the artistic ingenuity of early humans was somehow attached to a certain space.

In his philosophical masterpiece, Plato put forth The Allegory of the Cave which serves as a powerful symbolic representation of human conditioning and our perception of reality as a result of it. It contrasts the reality of the external world with our subjective interpretation of it, shedding light on the dichotomy between truth and illusion. The allegory delineates two distinct worlds, one is the realm within the confines of the cave where individuals perceive only shadows, and the other being the outside world characterised by genuine forms and enlightened understanding. This stark disparity invites contemplation on the nature of knowledge, perception and the pursuit of truth. As artists, however, we do need to visit the cave from time to time to merge the external realities with our perception of truth.

A modern-day example of this fable was recently on display at Articulate Studios, Lahore, titled 4byfour. Curated by Quddus Mirza, the exhibition showcased the work of four seasoned artists who were working within set limitations and responding to a certain space allotted to each of them. The artworks thus produced within the rooms of the haveli-turned-gallery transcended all the imaginary borders in regard to the context of space, its perception, and reality.

The artworks thus produced within the rooms of the haveli-turned-gallery transcended all the imaginary borders in regard to the context of space, its perception and reality.

Ahmed Ali Manganhar developed site-specific work in consideration of the Shalimar Gardens and the tomb of poet Madhu Lal Hussain. Both these locations were in close proximity to the studio. Instead of painting a realistic picture of these historical monuments, Manganhar worked as a mathematician: he brought the geometrical problems containing patterns and grids on which the garden and the tomb have been laid, only to be solved within the space of the studio in an abstract manner. His non-representational forms of intricate patterns resembled many things. The most underscored feature alluded to the whitewashed walls of the studio and the historical sites.

Further, the smudginess of gel prints echoed the vandalised dreary nooks of historical sites marked with initials of the couples who hadn’t ended up getting together, enclosed within the heart symbol. The heaviness of conte crayon and its amalgamation with the acrylic pigment imply the idiom of water and oil but not in the sense of materiality but rather the burden of the restoration of these pillaged historical sites. What once stood as a testament to the magnificence of the Great Mughal Empire has now been reduced to just another post-colonial monument.

Where Manganhar was responding to a certain place and time, Faheem Abbas’s sculptures and drawings were in reference to human interaction with nature and inanimate objects. Mundane items may seem dead but they are made in the reflection of various species roaming the earth. One might observe that a teapot resembles the trunk of an elephant, both in form and function; or, that a cup bears the liquid in the same way a flower opens its petals and fills itself when the rain pours.

The furniture, as Abbas would depict it in contours of quadruped creatures, serves a variety of purposes for mankind’s comfort, mostly at the latter’s expense.

Amna Ilyas’s installation illustrated the temporality of damage and repair within the context of Gaza, in her designated room in the studio. The pallidity of the space and the deadness of plaster weaved a lamentation for the lives, objects and memories buried under the rubble. The half-visible items of children’s clothing and furniture might suggest the process of repair, both in her work and in the city, but the damage is overwhelming.

Drawing upon similar themes, Mehboob Jokhio used the metaphor of the legend of Sassi and Punno derived from the poetry of the Sindhi Sufi mystic, Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai. One couldn’t help feel guilty of finding immense beauty within the ‘landscapes’ of Jokhio as he painted a realistic version of the bombardment of Gaza. It seemed as if the rest of his (or the actual city’s) infrastructure and residential blocks had held their breath and then exhaled all the smoke, fire and ashes rising simultaneously from the very core of the painting/ city.

However, the barrage depicted in the visuals might just not mean the actual onslaught but rather the spark of liberation that had stirred from within these attacks. As the poet assures Sassi, she may not have to look for Punno in her surroundings but within herself, Jokhio asserted through his visuals that the Palestinian liberation would be found within the nucleus of the genocide.

Additionally, Jokhio’s images attempted to reverse the Allegory of the Cave with regard to the ongoing situation in Gaza and the live streaming of the genocide on social media. As we watch each day, the massacre unfolding before our eyes, somehow we only see its virtual representation which can be associated with the shadows in the caves. Whereas the people we think of as prisoners have had their eyes blinded by the light of the truth.

Sousan Qadeer is an interdisciplinary artist and educator based in Lahore