he out of sight, out of mind observation is particularly apt in describing Pakistan’s art scene. All that is visible is viable, verifiable and valuable. Artists living far from the centres of local art and not exhibiting work in Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad, or abroad, risk fading away, even if some of their work is part of a museum’s collection or they once taught at a prestigious art institute. Being alone, producing art works in a solitary studio, not seeing curators and art critics, not even visiting art fairs or biennales eventually removes an artist from the current art discourse.

Even more than the quality of their work, this presence is a requisite for validity in/ by art circles. All art needs to get shown at important venues; to be written about; and picked by patrons to enter the art history books. If a creative person is reluctant to do this duty, they are nowhere to be found. There are no discussions on their work, no publications mention them and they are not part of any group shows, let alone solo exhibitions.

Muhammad Ali Afzal is one of the rare artists who, after having lived in Lahore for several years, chose to live and work at his hometown, Bahawalpur. Afzal had studied fine arts at the National College of Arts, before acquiring an MFA from the Pratt Institute of Art, New York in 1977. He had also taught at the NCA (briefly) and between 1980 and 2003 had solo as well as group shows in Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad. But since moving back to Bahawalpur, he has not been showing much of his work. Sadly, since 2003, his art presence was limited to his hometown.

The painter, now 76 years of age, is still at work. Last year, on November 13, he had a one-person exhibition, The Strategy of Being, at the Pelican Art Gallery in Bahawalpur. For most art enthusiasts in Pakistan and abroad, the name of Muhammad Ali Afzal is as unfamiliar as that of the gallery. This is despite the fact that one can still view Afzal’s painting, Composition, a mixed media on canvas (1978), at the Alhamra Art Museum (near Gaddafi Stadium, Lahore). I recall being impressed by this marvellous canvas displayed in a group show during my student days at the NCA. Primarily rendered in tones of grey and black, the image stayed in my memory due to its unusual nature, until I again came across it in Alhamra Art Museum’s permanent collection.

Its uncommon composition, inclusion of collage and dominating figure in blackish silhouette, next to other dark areas, along with a hint of black flower, a horse, some vague construction in the background of a light streak and a few patches of blue had set it apart from other pieces in the exhibition forty years ago. The clarity in the arrangement of pictorial components; the boldness of mark making – linking it to the sensibility of abstract art; as well as its lack of an easily collectable, controllable and comfortable subject matter added a sense of attraction and intrigue.

The work was not about a recognisable body, neither a relatable rural view, nor a political commentary. It was something highly personal, rather lyrical. The sensitive handling of the material and the preference for a selected, subtle and sober chromatic order distinguished the canvas of a relatively young, unknown artist. That was how it ended up in the collection of a public art museum in Lahore.

Muhammad Ali Afzal is an artist of unmatched aesthetics and untiring dedication. Still, I can’t recall the last time I heard him mentioned in a lecture on art, by a curator, in a gallery space or in a book on Pakistani art. The sole link to him is his painting in Lahore’s permanent collection.

The exhibition last year featured an assemblage of works from various epochs of the artist’s career – dating from 1970 to 2023. One realised that the change of location, thinning of admirers, disappearance of collectors and the indifference of the broader art world had hardly dented the strong vision and distinct vocabulary of the painter residing in Bahawalpur. This exhibition also included some of his earlier work, including the picture of a faceless female sitting next to a dish of purple fruit and terracotta pottery in colourful patterns (1977); a girl draped in green leaning against a wall near two clay planters (1976); and a desolate human-less exterior painted in 1977.

Apart from these realistic canvases and some stylised ones (for instance the painting of two figures executed in 1979), most of the art pieces in the show were variations of abstract imagery. Withdrawal from the mainstream art world/ fashion, seems to have been a factor in the evolution of his exceptional and arresting visuals. These paintings, collages, watercolours and pencil-on-paper and mixed-media pieces reveal the search and research of a solitary painter discovering/ developing his unique language. This is a process every creative person is familiar with; but in Muhammad Ali Afzal’s case, it has another edge, as this passage was not blocked by gallery pressure or interrupted by external interference. It is as if Afzal, like a lone man in a desert, feels that the entire world belongs to him.

Fortunately, the world is limited. It consists of lines, shapes, forms, edges, surfaces, textures, space and strokes. The body of work shows him translating/ describing everything through pictorial elements, like a writer expressing the infinite universe using just 26 letters, or a musician creating diverse melodies with a limited range of notes. In Muhammad Ali Afzal’s work, the act of transcribing takes over so that one can trace the movement, gesture, temperament in producing his impulsive, yet premeditated, paintings. The unexpected coexistence of certain colours, reminds one of the palette of another artist from Bahawalpur, the late Shahbaz Malik, who had also spent some years in Lahore after his BFA from the NCA before returning to his hometown. Malik, too, had developed a vocabulary so uncanny that it has not been imitated to this day.

Afzal’s sensitivity is similar. So is his passion and persistence. However, if being away from the major centres of art has helped him find his distinct voice, it has also made resulted in that voice going unheard. This is particularly remarkable in an age in which artists are quick to post their activities – and not only art-making – on social media sites even if some of the stories have a life of no more than 24 hours.

Muhammad Ali Afzal is an artist of unmatched aesthetics and untiring dedication. Still, I can’t recall the last time I heard him mentioned in a lecture on art, by a curator, in a gallery space or in a book on Pakistani art. The sole link to him is his painting in Lahore’s permanent collection. One feels that his work is worthy of much more recognition, respect, and response; even if he is not following other artists with behaviours, described by Margaret Atwood as: “they’re in touch, they’re touching, they’re only a touch away.”

Muhammad Ali Afzal is not living, partying and lobbying in Lahore, Karachi or Islamabad; but the history of our visual arts should not be the story of easily visible artists alone.

The author is an art critic based in Lahore