When most of people in Pakistan respond to my art with sarcasm, I laugh. Many people think that it’s a child’s work. I don’t take it as a negative remark as for me it is an honor to be called a doodler of child’s imagination. Picasso once said that he had spent his life learning how to paint like a child. Nothing can be more creative in art than a child’s work. It’s original and robust. It’s beyond borders. It’s unrestricted. Now you see why I feel honored when my art is called child’s work?
From 1987 till 2004, I forced myself to paint what people liked. I sold all my work based on that notion that if they like, I sell. This brought me to the cliff of frustration. I stood on the edge and let myself fall. I fell deep and I crashed myself. I led each and every splint of that creativity which arose dominated my people ground. I cried, I hurt, I crumbled within me. When it all turned into a pile of mud, in 2012, I rose from the stinging splinters to soar freely in my world, free from all economic constraints. I allowed my feelings to spread on the vacant surface of canvas and crawl out of colors. I spoke what I never disclosed to others. It was soothing; it was fun; it was life.
After all these years of dead composure, I finally LIVE.
Therefore, people can mind their own business and stay indulge in traditional Pakistani art. I am least bothered. I not painting to sell specifically.
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