Exhibition of Paintings and Calligraphy by Sadequain

An exhibition of paintings, calligraphy and sketches by the celebrated Pakistani artist, Sadequain, was held in the Embassy of Pakistan from 10 to 12 August 2007. The exhibition was part of the series of events organized by the Embassy to commemorate the 60 th anniversary of the independence of Pakistan .

The exhibition of Sadequain works attracted a large number of people, from all walks of life including senior officials, members of the think tank community, media and representatives of art organizations and art departments of the local universities.

The inauguration of the exhibition on 10 August included a comprehensive power point presentation on the life and achievements of Sadequain by Dr. Salman Ahmad, a nephew of Sadequain and President of Sadequain Foundation (website: www.sadequain.net).

The Washington Diplomat

By Gail Scott

August 14, 2007

Pakistan’s Sadequain: Reminiscent of Picasso

In celebration of Pakistan’s 60th anniversary of independence, Ambassador Mahmud Ali Durrani and his wife Fatima hosted an exhibit of paintings and calligraphy by their country’s most famous artist, Syed Sadequain Ahmed Naqvi (1930-87). Popularly known as “Sadequain,” he is regarded as one of the finest painters and calligraphers that Pakistan has ever produced.

The exhibit was mounted by his eldest nephew, Salman Ahmad, who fondly remembers painting as a young boy with his uncle and has now left a successful business in information technology to create a foundation to honor his uncle’s work.

From left, Mr. and Mrs Salman Ahmad, and Mrs. and Ambassador of Pakistan Mahmud Ali Durrani stand in front of Pakistani artist Syed Sadequain Ahmed Naqvi’s most famous designs, which has been made into a rug.

“Le Monde called his work reminiscent of [Pablo] Picasso,” Ahmed told the crowd gathered at the Pakistani Embassy. “And the New York Times said that he was a new personality in the art world. But Sadequain has no gallery, no museum, and I want to make sure he and his work are not forgotten.”

Sadequain is thought to have finished thousands of canvases, numerous poems and poetry books, and reams of sketches. Ahmad hopes to create a living memorial to his uncle, who was known for giving his work away. “The family has some of it, but we want to raise funds to be able to one day gather his work together in a permanent exhibit,” Ahmad noted.

Sadequain is especially remembered for his huge, historic murals and avant-garde sketches of men and women with modern, more Western themes. Although born in India, Sadequain moved to Karachi in the early 1950s. Soon, civic activism was the hallmark of his art. During his early work, he painted nationalistic, anti-British slogans on the eve of the partition. Later, his politically charged canvases became popular among the intelligentsia of the 1960s, both in Pakistan and abroad.

Sadequain, an award-winning artist, was uninhibited in his use of subjects and media. Lately, even his sketches have sold for over $100,000 in Europe and the U.S.A., according to his nephew.

“He could have lived anywhere in the world,” concluded his proud relative. “And I want to make sure everyone knows about his vast talents and huge body of work. I hope through my foundation’s website to hear from people who appreciate his work and want to be part of making his work better known.”

For more information, visit www.sadequainfoundation.com, or to contact Salman Ahmad, call (858) 538-1574 or e-mail sadequanfoundation@gmail.com.

LAHORE: Chief Minister Pervaiz Elahi on Wednesday approved a supplementary grant of Rs 1.5 million for the restoration of Sadequain’s mural as part of the upgrading of the Lahore Museum. From the paintings in the museum, is an exquisite large masterpiece, attributed to Sadequain. The painting is fixed at the ceiling of the museum’s entrance hall, spanning almost its entire length. The painting, known as Sadequain’s mural, has deteriorated over the years and is in immediate need of restoration and preservation. Sadequain was born in Amroha in 1930 and died in Karachi in 1987. He designed the painting while working for the Lahore Museum on August 3, 1973. The painting covers 44 panels assembled together to form one giant canvas (29 x 7.8 meters). Each panel is oil on canvas, stretched on wooden frames, which in turn, are screwed onto a wooden framework fixed to the ceiling.

The old heritage building boasts old-school architecture and is in its original condition. The department of museum and art gallery, set up barely a year ago, has taken the charge of the renovation that is currently in progress. “The major work includes the erection of panels and galleries on the ground floor and also the renovation of the mezzanine floor,” disclosed the Director of the department, Asma Ibrahim.

According to department officials, the building will be preserved as it is without any change in the facade while the interior will be renovated. This will be completed by the end of this year. Ibrahim, who’s an architect herself and has been associated with the archaeological department for several years, says that the external walls of the structure are in original condition and therefore “the exterior doesn’t require much effort except a thorough wash and that too with plain water.”

However, she added that some areas are in need of a chemical wash, but she is of the view that chemicals can damage the structure, which is made of sandstone.

Unlike other museums in the city, Ibrahim says this one to be more interactive. To keep the museum interesting, she said that temporary exhibitions would be held on the main floor.

Citizens will be able to participate and display their collections in the museum as well. As an added benefit, an allocated space will serve as children’s activity room while an art gallery will be developed on the mezzanine floor, displaying artworks by Sadequain.

The State Bank annexe was built at the end of the First World War, when the Bombay (now Mumbai) government started laying emphasis on Karachi’s development.

Along with the opening up of new areas and planning schemes, several new buildings were designed for Karachi by the consulting architect’s office in Bombay. The Bank of India building was among those important structures that rose during the 1920s in the heart of Karachi’s mercantile centre.

The annexe was established in 1923 as the Bank of India and during different times, it has served different purposes. It was used as the State Bank library at one time and also served as the foreign exchange department office for several years.

Khalid Hasan

Sadequain in Amroha, India

It is 20 years this year since Sadequain’s death.

He would have been 77. When he died at the age of 57 (of

what can only be called too much living), it was not his

death that was surprising but how he had lived so long,

given the white-hot intensity with which he lived and

painted, wrote and loved. He burned his candle at both

ends, and had there been a third end, he would have burned

it from that end too.

I saw a good deal of him when he moved to Lahore –

a city he really loved and preferred over all others,

except that city of cities, Paris – to paint the

murals that keep reminding us of him and his generous

and fitful spirit. He often signed his letters and dedications

with the prefix ‘Faqir,’ which by temperament

he truly was. He earned millions and gave it all away.

Most of his work was gifted to his friends and, sometimes,

even strangers. I recall his first exhibition in Lahore,

when a bunch of rich women – part of Lahore’s

then small millionaires’ club – showed interest

in buying more than a few. Sadequain was amused. He told

them that to begin with, the paintings were not for sale

and were he to put them on sale, they would not be able

to afford the price. I am sure, had they asked Sadequain

if they could have some or even all, he might have said,

“Take them. They are yours.”

Hundreds of people can claim that they were friends of

Sadequain because he was so accessible. Wherever he was,

whether in his studio, his hotel room, someone’s

home or in a museum painting a mural, the door that led

to that place was always open. You did not need anyone’s

permission to walk in. How much attention you received

depended on his mood and the time he had. Work came first.

Every single day that he was alive, he worked. If he was

not painting, he was writing his quatrains, of which he

produced thousands. He was humble, and yet if a rich man

or a high official tried to throw around his weight or

pull rank, Sadequain made it a point to put him in his

place. Noorul Hassan Jaffrey, a senior Civil Service of

Pakistan (CSP) officer, who later, along with his wife,

the poet Ada Jaffrey, became close friends of Sadequain,

once went on an official visit to Mangla, where Sadequain

was painting his giant powerhouse mural. Jaffrey was one

of the big tops in the Water and Power Development Authority

(WAPDA). Sadequain was told to be ready for Jaffrey’s

arrival. When Jaffrey arrived, Sadequain was nowhere to

be found. He had simply vanished. He reappeared after

Jaffrey was safely gone. That was Sadequain’s ego,

but it only came into play when someone tried to gain

his attention because of rank or money. One of Sadequain’s

closest and most affectionate friends was Mohammad Ishaq

(Issac to his pals). His home in Muhammad Ali Society,

Karachi, was a virtual Sadequain museum. Most of those

paintings, including a superb portrait of Ishaq, are now

in the extensive private collection of Hamid Haroon in

Karachi.

In an interview, Javed Siddique, of Hurmat, asked Sadequain

after his return from India – where he painted several

murals and where Indira Gandhi received him – if

he had unfulfilled ambitions. After reciting from his

favorite poet, Ghalib, Sadequain said, “There is

no desire or aspiration of mine that has not been fulfilled,

one reason being that I have never desired anything that

lay outside my reach. There were also many things that

I thought were outside my reach, but fate placed them

in my hands. I have no complaint about lack of appreciation.

It is my belief that when nature confers a certain gift

on a human being, it also provides outlets for that gift

to become manifest and known. That is the essence of my

life’s experience . . . I chose to create art and

put all the talent I had in the service of that art. My

calligraphic work runs into miles, and my paintings into

square acres. It is my faith that talent is God’s

gift and it is the duty of the person on whom that gift

is conferred to put it in the service of others. This

is the highest form of worship. To fail to do that amounts

to betraying the trust that the deity above has placed

in you.”

On August 10, the Sadequain Foundation which his nephew

Salman Ahmad, son of his beloved brother Syed Kazeman

Ahmad Naqvi, Theo to Sadequain’s Vincent, set up

in San Diego, California, organized an exhibition of the

painter’s work, including several original calligraphies

and many paintings and drawings, at the Embassy of Pakistan

here in Washington. In addition, there were digitally

enhanced hand painted reproductions on display. Salman

said the Foundation is dedicated to the discovery, preservation

and promotion of Sadequain’s work. Well, good luck

to him, but it was sad to learn from him that Galerie

Sadequain at Frere Hall, Karachi, which was the painter’s

gift to the city and the people of Karachi, has closed

down. This is a subject for ‘Mr. Justice,’

Ardeshir Cowasjee, to write on.

Sadequain, once asked if he should be called an “Islamic

painter” because of his calligraphy, replied, “I

do not agree with that. My real art is to paint pictures,

my calligraphy is marginal to that.” When asked

why despite being a great calligraphist, he did not lead

his life according to the “teachings of Islam,”

Sadequain replied, “If to live like a gentleman

is Islam, then there can be no greater Muslim than me.

If those who are locked up in their backrooms from whose

privacy they judge others, then there is nothing I can

do. I am beyond that sort of thing.”

When Sadequain went to India, the Indian government arranged

for him to be taken to Amroha, his birthplace and hometown.

The whole city had turned out to receive him. He was taken

out in a procession, riding an elephant. Then the keys

to his house of birth were handed to him as a gift, on

the orders of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. Sadequain,

much moved, returned the keys, saying, “I live in

Pakistan, where I am honored in every way. In any case,

a house is for the mistress of that house. I have none,

so I present this house to the people of Amroha, and I

hope they will set up a library here.”

There are hundreds of Sadequain stories, but the one

recounted by journalist Nasrullah Khan Aziz is characteristic.

One day in Karachi, a man came up to Sadequain and said

that he had a family to feed but nothing to feed it with.

The only thing he knew was how to drive a rickshaw. Sadequain

gave him 15 thousand rupees to buy a rickshaw, as long

as he agreed to take him wherever he wanted to go. That

arrangement lasted for some time, but one day, Sadequain

said to him, “You are free. You don’t have

to drive me around anymore.”

Sadequain 20 years later

Khalid Hasan

Sadequain in Amroha, India

It is 20 years this year since Sadequain’s death. He would have been 77. When he died at the age of 57 (of what can only be called too much living), it was not his death that was surprising but how he had lived so long, given the white-hot intensity with which he lived and painted, wrote and loved. He burned his candle at both ends, and had there been a third end, he would have burned it from that end too. I saw a good deal of him when he moved to Lahore – a city he really loved and preferred over all others, except that city of cities, Paris – to paint the murals that keep reminding us of him and his generous and fitful spirit. He often signed his letters and dedications with the prefix ‘Faqir,’ which by temperament he truly was. He earned millions and gave it all away. Most of his work was gifted to his friends and, sometimes, even strangers. I recall his first exhibition in Lahore, when a bunch of rich women – part of Lahore’s then small millionaires’ club – showed interest in buying more than a few. Sadequain was amused. He told them that to begin with, the paintings were not for sale and were he to put them on sale, they would not be able to afford the price. I am sure, had they asked Sadequain if they could have some or even all, he might have said, “Take them. They are yours.” Hundreds of people can claim that they were friends of Sadequain because he was so accessible. Wherever he was, whether in his studio, his hotel room, someone’s home or in a museum painting a mural, the door that led to that place was always open. You did not need anyone’s permission to walk in. How much attention you received depended on his mood and the time he had. Work came first. Every single day that he was alive, he worked. If he was not painting, he was writing his quatrains, of which he produced thousands. He was humble, and yet if a rich man or a high official tried to throw around his weight or pull rank, Sadequain made it a point to put him in his place. Noorul Hassan Jaffrey, a senior Civil Service of Pakistan (CSP) officer, who later, along with his wife, the poet Ada Jaffrey, became close friends of Sadequain, once went on an official visit to Mangla, where Sadequain was painting his giant powerhouse mural. Jaffrey was one of the big tops in the Water and Power Development Authority (WAPDA). Sadequain was told to be ready for Jaffrey’s arrival. When Jaffrey arrived, Sadequain was nowhere to be found. He had simply vanished. He reappeared after Jaffrey was safely gone. That was Sadequain’s ego, but it only came into play when someone tried to gain his attention because of rank or money. One of Sadequain’s closest and most affectionate friends was Mohammad Ishaq (Issac to his pals). His home in Muhammad Ali Society, Karachi, was a virtual Sadequain museum. Most of those paintings, including a superb portrait of Ishaq, are now in the extensive private collection of Hamid Haroon in Karachi. In an interview, Javed Siddique, of Hurmat, asked Sadequain after his return from India – where he painted several murals and where Indira Gandhi received him – if he had unfulfilled ambitions. After reciting from his favorite poet, Ghalib, Sadequain said, “There is no desire or aspiration of mine that has not been fulfilled, one reason being that I have never desired anything that lay outside my reach. There were also many things that I thought were outside my reach, but fate placed them in my hands. I have no complaint about lack of appreciation. It is my belief that when nature confers a certain gift on a human being, it also provides outlets for that gift to become manifest and known. That is the essence of my life’s experience . . . I chose to create art and put all the talent I had in the service of that art. My calligraphic work runs into miles, and my paintings into square acres. It is my faith that talent is God’s gift and it is the duty of the person on whom that gift is conferred to put it in the service of others. This is the highest form of worship. To fail to do that amounts to betraying the trust that the deity above has placed in you.” On August 10, the Sadequain Foundation which his nephew Salman Ahmad, son of his beloved brother Syed Kazeman Ahmad Naqvi, Theo to Sadequain’s Vincent, set up in San Diego, California, organized an exhibition of the painter’s work, including several original calligraphies and many paintings and drawings, at the Embassy of Pakistan here in Washington. In addition, there were digitally enhanced hand painted reproductions on display. Salman said the Foundation is dedicated to the discovery, preservation and promotion of Sadequain’s work. Well, good luck to him, but it was sad to learn from him that Galerie Sadequain at Frere Hall, Karachi, which was the painter’s gift to the city and the people of Karachi, has closed down. This is a subject for ‘Mr. Justice,’ Ardeshir Cowasjee, to write on. Sadequain, once asked if he should be called an “Islamic painter” because of his calligraphy, replied, “I do not agree with that. My real art is to paint pictures, my calligraphy is marginal to that.” When asked why despite being a great calligraphist, he did not lead his life according to the “teachings of Islam,” Sadequain replied, “If to live like a gentleman is Islam, then there can be no greater Muslim than me. If those who are locked up in their backrooms from whose privacy they judge others, then there is nothing I can do. I am beyond that sort of thing.” When Sadequain went to India, the Indian government arranged for him to be taken to Amroha, his birthplace and hometown. The whole city had turned out to receive him. He was taken out in a procession, riding an elephant. Then the keys to his house of birth were handed to him as a gift, on the orders of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. Sadequain, much moved, returned the keys, saying, “I live in Pakistan, where I am honored in every way. In any case, a house is for the mistress of that house. I have none, so I present this house to the people of Amroha, and I hope they will set up a library here.” There are hundreds of Sadequain stories, but the one recounted by journalist Nasrullah Khan Aziz is characteristic. One day in Karachi, a man came up to Sadequain and said that he had a family to feed but nothing to feed it with. The only thing he knew was how to drive a rickshaw. Sadequain gave him 15 thousand rupees to buy a rickshaw, as long as he agreed to take him wherever he wanted to go. That arrangement lasted for some time, but one day, Sadequain said to him, “You are free. You don’t have to drive me around anymore.”

From HIMALMAG, OCT. 2007

One of Pakistan’s unique artistic masterpieces is in dire need of some help. And if it must come from across the Wagah border, so be it.

By: Rinku Dutta

The roof of the Lahore Museum’s central hall

When you walk into the enormous central hall of the Lahore Museum, your eye is quickly drawn to the two rows of miniature paintings displayed along the walls on either side. Women on horseback playing polo; Radha and Krishna consorting under a mango tree. You approach the glass cases to observe the minute details of individual strands of hair, of eyelashes, of fingernails. Perchance, you look up.
And you are transposed. Telescoped from the micro to the macro! There, 11 meters in the air are the sparkling stars, the whirling planets, and the spiraling galaxies, all-beaming directly at you. A viewer may not be able to immediately recognize the intricate Kufic calligraphy, the use of the letter noon as a design element, but the dynamism of the geometric shapes, the bold and energetic lines, the feverish cross-hatching, will intrigue and engage any imagination. This is a mammoth, 29×7.8-metre oil painting by the famed Pakistani artist Sadequain, rendered in a genre called ‘calligraphic cubism’, spanning the entire ceiling of the entrance hall. If your vision is sharp and you know Urdu, you will read the line of a poem by Mohammad Iqbal painted on one panel: Sitaaro’n ke aage jaha’n aur bhi hai – Beyond the stars there are still other worlds.

Standing there, humbled by the celestial orbs, another poet’s lines echo through this writer’s mind: Aur bhi dukh hai’n zamaane me’n mohabbat ke sivaa/ raahate’n aur bhi hai’n vasl ki raahat ke sivaa. These are Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s immortal words: There are sorrows in this world other than those of love/ joys, other than those of union with one’s beloved.

In resonance with the memory of the famous communist litterateur, I discover, at the far ends of the painting, the human collective. Metamorphosed into cactus forms, their fingers grope for light, for knowledge, for tools – the sickle and the hammer, held against the rising sun. The whole motif is a visual pun on the Urdu lettering aaj, Today. And in the middle of the huge rectangle, in the centre of the starry heavens, is the traditional image of procreation, a man and a woman. The powerful draftsmanship of the figures recalls Michelangelo and his “Creation”, on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
As my eyes rove over the brilliant bursts of orange, blue and grey, I spot other symbols of human design: a quill, an hourglass, a compass, a clock, a globe held in cactus-like hands. Strangely, the globe represents the undivided continent – the American plate snuggling against the African plate, with the Eurasian plate hugging them from above. Here is a united world, Pangaea. Here is also a masterly vision of man’s place, both on earth and in the mysterious universe – a challenge to the common myopic outlook.

Falling stars
I was not expecting this expansive vision of the skies at the Lahore Museum. People had recommended that I see the “Fasting Buddha”, part of the splendid Gandhara collection, the Chughtai watercolours. But none of my friends had mentioned Sadequain’s massive mural. Strictly speaking, it is not a mural, as the painting is not an integral part of the ceiling. It is a composite collage of 44 separate canvases, executed in oil and mounted on a hanging frame. It is indisputably a masterpiece. There is no other painting of such scale and subject matter on any ceiling of any other building in Pakistan.
In his article “On My Work as a Painter in Pakistan”, Sadequain wrote that the title of this overwhelming painting was “Man and the Mysterious Space”. He completed it in August 1973, while living inside the museum’s premises, and dedicated it to the poets, the mazdoors and the wheat-complexioned common women of Lahore. Sadequain, who died in 1987, claimed: “My primary concern is humanity, its tragedies and its struggles to rise above the privations of physical existence.” His cactus-like human forms are integral to the expression of this idea. “Cactus grows in the most hostile of climates – sand, heat, salt, no rain,” he wrote. “Yet it grows majestically, as if its thorny branches are trying to catch the clouds.
To me, it symbolises the triumph of life over the environment … symbols of simplicity, of dignity and of majesty, innocence and struggle – the values towards which all life strives to reach.” To the artist, the cacti were symbolic of the fact that, though life can be complex and arduous, it can also be resilient and creative. As cacti shoots break through the parched earth’s crust to emerge into light, so too can human beings rise above the bleakest of circumstances, to make their place among the glittering stars.

Years of neglect: termite nests
hang from the canvases

But the inheritors of the artist’s majestic work have not been protective of Sadequain’s exceptional legacy. Rainwater seepage, heat and humidity are rapidly destroying the mural. Termite colonies have infested the wooden frames and canvases. A close inspection reveals that the edges of the paintings, which are folded over the wooden frames, have been most directly affected. Termites have eaten away at the canvases, leaving the paint layer hanging almost without support, and liable to break away at any moment. Large tears are also noticeable in many places.
Fortunately, help appears to have arrived in the nick of time, in the form of Naheed Rizvi, appointed director of the museum in 2005. A true lover of the arts, Rizvi quickly recognized the urgency required to restore the Sadequain mural. The hitch is, there are no professional oil-painting restorers in Pakistan. So, last year, Rizvi contacted two renowned conservationists from India, Maninder Singh Gill and Sreekumar Menon. The duo flew from Delhi to Lahore in late 2006, inspected the ceiling painting, and gave the museum a two-year project proposal to conserve the 44 canvases. Understandably, however, things get complicated when dealing with matters of ‘national interest’, and the government in Islamabad has yet to give the go-ahead to the restorers from across the border. Meanwhile, on the ceiling of the Lahore Museum’s central hall, “Man and the Mysterious Space” continues to be sacrificed to moisture and termites.

Speaking of time, astronomy and perspective, a young colleague from Pakistan recently sent me a photograph and an excerpt from Carl Sagan’s book Pale Blue Dot, which offers a bit of understanding from the point of view of the stars – looking down, if you will. In the passage, Sagan talks about the enormity of the experience of first seeing a photograph of Earth taken from deep space. “We succeeded in taking that picture, and, if you look at it, you see a dot,” he writes.

That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives … Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot … To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.
Complementing Sagan’s photograph of Earth in deep space, Sadequain’s ceiling mural is a heroic visualization of our shared human condition on a Pangaeaic planet, a minor orb among the myriad celestial objects in the mysterious void. Given the tumultuous 60-year history of Indo-Pakistani relations, should Maninder Singh Gill and Sreekumar Menon get the opportunity to help Naheed Rizvi and her museum team conserve the Sadequain mural, much more than just art could be restored.

As this article went to print, we learned that the Pakistan government has allotted funding for the preservation of the Sadequain mural. Maninder Singh Gill and Sreekumar Menon, the Indian oil-painting restorers, are expected in Lahore in November, to commence work on a two-year-long restoration project.