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  • Thesis Research

    Mohrelle hassan

    Artist Statement

    Medium: Interdisciplinary

    My work looks at wheat as a site of history, labour, and connection to land. It centres on Sona Moti (Golden Pearl), also known as Paighambari wheat, an indigenous variety traced back to the Indus Valley Civilisation over 2,000 years ago. Through research into how multinational agribusiness corporations have reshaped agriculture through hybridised, genetically engineered, and biofortified seeds, the work reflects on changing systems of food production and the forms of dependency they create. Using wheat both materially and metaphorically, it poetically explores relationships between people, land, seeds, and knowledge, considering inheritance, agricultural systems, and shifting forms of control.

    Abstract

    This thesis examines seed security through the seed as both a source of life and a site of political, ecological, and social significance. Taking wheat in Punjab as a point of focus, it considers how questions of access, seed saving, dependency, and survival are shaped within a region strongly associated with agricultural production. The project reflects on a central tension, that a land tied to cultivation and abundance can remain entangled with forms of external reliance and control. In this context, the seed is approached not only as biological matter, but as something connected with ownership, renewal, vulnerability, and future life.

    Informed by wider discussions around seed sovereignty, the research asks how the seed can be understood beyond its agricultural function, as a material that carries broader ethical and political meanings. It is concerned with the conditions through which life is sustained, circulated, and renewed, and with the ways these conditions are tied to larger systems of power. By thinking through the seed in relation to food, survival, and continuity, the thesis explores how a small and familiar forms can open up larger questions about security, control, and collective futures within the present moment of ecological and economic uncertainty.

    Introduction

    My artistic practice has long been concerned with the mundane, with everyday objects, familar gestures, and small experiences that often pass unnoticed. I am interested in how these seemingly insignificant things can carry meanings that are social, emotional, and political. By recontextualizing, or repositioning them, I try to draw out the narratives and structures hidden within daily life. Over time, this interest in the ordinary has moved beyond the personal and toward broader questions of society, power, and collective experience.

    I have always been interested in the idea of control and how it operates, and this has appeared in my work through different subjects over the years. During my second and third year, I often found myself returning to questions around seeds and seed purity. Even when I was working on other ideas, this subject kept coming back. During my thesis, it resurfaced once again and became the starting point of the project.

    For my thesis, this line of inquiry has developed into a focus on seed security and seed control in Punjab, the region where I live and study. Punjab is one of the major agricultural regions of Pakistan and is strongly associated with wheat production. Wheat is not only a crop but an everyday staple, something deeply connected to survival, labour, culture, domestic life and the socio political. What interests me is the contradiction that exists here, a place so closely connected to agriculture can still remain dependent on imported seeds and food systems. This led to questions around seed saving, community led seed vaults, awareness of seed access and the extent to which seeds remain fundamental to everyday life while also being shaped by wider political and economic systems.

    This project sits at the intersection of personal practice, regional context, and wider ecological and political concerns. This extends my interest in the overlooked everyday life into a more focused engagement with food sovereignty, dependency, and collective futures.

    Literature Review

    In a YouTube conversation with Elaine McFadden, Vandana Shiva quotes Henry Kissinger:

    “When you control arms, you control armies; when you control food, you control societies; but when you control seed, you control life on Earth, the renewable potential of life on Earth.”

    My research has been shaped in part by the work of Vandana Shiva, especially her writing on seed sovereignty, biodiversity, and the dangers of corporate control over agricultural systems. Her ideas have helped me think through the political dimensions of seeds, not simply as biological material, but as sites of ownership, power, access, and survival. In the context of increasing economic instability, environmental crisis, and geopolitical uncertainty, seed security begins to appear not only as an agricultural concern, but as a wider social and ethical one.

    Vandana Shiva says,

    “Industrial farming is the single biggest destructive force on the planet today “.

    Although many people have opposed Vandana Shiva’s ideas and repeatedly questioned her integrity, she has remained firm in her beliefs and continued working towards her goals of protecting biodiversity and food sovereignty, while empowering farmers through ecologically sustainable agriculture..

    There are many arguments and counterarguments surrounding the use of seeds and contemporary agricultural systems. Over time, it has become increasingly difficult to distinguish between genuine solutions and narratives presented by those who position themselves as the saviors of global food security. Despite decades of scientific intervention, technological innovation, and policy reforms, billions of people around the world continue to experience hunger and malnutrition.

    This raises important questions about the systems that shape agriculture today. If solutions are primarily driven by statistics, short-term targets, and technological fixes, can they truly address the deeper structural causes of food insecurity?

    Research shows that although global food systems have increased food availability and reduced hunger in many parts of the world, this does not necessarily mean that they are healthy or sustainable. Many foods now pass through extensive industrial processes and contain additives whose long-term effects remain a concern. The consequences may not be immediately visible but can emerge later in life through increasing rates of chronic illnesses such as diabetes, kidney disease, and cancer.

    At the same time, many argue that the world already produces enough food to feed everyone. From this perspective, hunger is not simply a problem of production but of waste, access, and unequal distribution. If this is the case, then it is worth asking whether the continued reliance on chemical interventions is the only path forward, or whether existing agricultural knowledge and safer alternatives deserve greater attention.

    Bertolt Brecht, in “A Short Organum for the Theatre” from Brecht on Theatre: The Development of an Aesthetic, offers an important way of thinking about how art can make the ordinary available for critical reflection. He suggests that the familiar should not be presented as fixed or self-evident, but in a way that allows it to be seen afresh and questioned. This is relevant to my practice, which often works with everyday objects and overlooked materials. In this project, wheat is not treated as a staple of daily life, but as a material connected with labour, dependency, control, and survival. By recontextualizing it, I aim to shift it from habitual consumption to critical anaylais. In this sense, Brecht provides a useful framework for understanding how the mundane can reveal wider social and political structures

    .

    I also came across a book called Seed by Gita Wold, illustrated by Tushar Vayeda and Mayur Veda The book is about seeds, with a focus on the Warli community. I found it really interesting because the Warli have their own rituals and traditions around preserving seeds. One of the most interesting practices is that the women of the community perform the sacred task of embedding seeds into mud walls, which are later planted. In the past, they also dug deep pits to store seeds, and the act of digging had its own name: whirl.



    As part of the research, a small experiment was also carried out by sprouting moong daal. This allowed a direct engagement with the process of germination and growth through a very ordinary, familiar material.

    Research Methodology

    Since childhood, I have been going to my family’s farm in Thetar village. During my research, I started spending more time there. I would sit in the fields, talk to the farmers, spend time with the local children, and just be there. Spending time on the farm naturally became part of the way I developed the work.

    Gradually, I began to develop a stronger connection to the farm, its landscape,, and everyday activities. As I spent more time there, thoughts and questions started to emerge on their own, and the direction of the project slowly began to take shape.

    For this project, I began by researching wheat and the different systems through which it is cultivated today. The research combines conversations with farmers, personal observation, policy research, and discussions with individuals engaged in agriculture, including Samiya Mumtaz, who has been working with indigenous wheat varieties.

    One of the main distinctions that emerged through this research was the difference between indigenous, hybrid, biofortified seeds and genetically engineered seeds. These categories are often confused with one another despite functioning very differently. Hybrid seeds are produced through crossbreeding between plant varieties, whereas genetically engineered seeds involve direct genetic modification to introduce specific traits such as drought tolerance or herbicide resistance.

    My research focuses particularly on seed certification and commercially controlled seed systems. Most of these seeds are dependent on external agricultural inputs, including pesticides, fertilisers, specialised irrigation systems, and chemical weed control. In many cases, seeds saved from these crops weaken after one or two growing cycles, producing lower yields or becoming more vulnerable to disease. This creates a cycle of dependency in which farmers must continue purchasing seeds each season, along with the additional resources required to sustain them.

    Indigenous seed systems function differently. Seeds are saved, exchanged, and regrown over long periods of time, they are naturally resistant to harmful organisms and don’t require much resources like water, allowing cultivation to remain within local knowledge and farming practices rather than external ownership structures. This is also something I have experienced directly through my family’s farm, where desi wheat seeds continue to be saved and replanted every year. The cycle remains continuous and self-sustaining without the constant need for replacement.

    Through this research, the seed began to emerge not only as an agricultural object, but also as a site of dependence, ownership, and control. What appears as technological advancement in the present also raises questions about who owns the seed, who controls cultivation, and who ultimately controls food production itself.

    The people in positions of power within these systems are not only individuals, but larger institutional, governmental, scientific, and corporate structures that regulate ownership, access, and distribution of seeds. This includes multinational agribusiness corporations such as Bayer, Corteva Agriscience, Syngenta, BASF, and Limagrain, which collectively dominate a large percentage of the global commercial seed market who have planted their roots in local and micro level markets as well. Their influence extends beyond seeds into patents, licensing systems, pesticides, fertilisers, and agricultural policy, influencing what is cultivated and how cultivation takes place.

    In Lahore, many wheat varieties are named after the cities or institutions where they were developed. Faisalabad-08, for example, takes its name from Faisalabad, where it was developed at the Wheat Research Institute. Other varieties carry names such as Sahar, Inqilab or Champion 23. Over time, these names begin to function almost like brands, giving each variety a distinct identity and reputation.

    State institutions and policymakers have also contributed to these structures through seed laws and agricultural regulations. In Pakistan, the Seed Act of 1976 regulates how seeds are produced, registered, exchanged, and circulated. It establishes institutions such as the National Seed Council and the Federal Seed Certification Department, giving the state authority over the approval, testing, and distribution of seeds. Under this framework, farmers are restricted from selling or sharing unregistered seeds, which strengthens reliance on certified commercial varieties and gradually weakens traditional practices of seed saving and exchange. The 2015 amendment extends this regulatory system by introducing the registration of genetically modified plant varieties and further expanding the role of private seed businesses within the agricultural sector.

    The research does not position technology itself as inherently negative. Genetically engineered wheat varieties such as HB4 also known as eco wheat, first commercially cultivated in Argentina and later approved in countries including Brazil and Paraguay, are often presented as solutions to drought and climate instability. Supporters argue that these technologies may increase resilience and productivity under difficult environmental conditions.

    However, the project questions the larger systems of control that emerge alongside these technologies. In Pakistan seed systems remain tied to patented ownership structures, herbicide dependence, monoculture farming, and repeated seasonal purchasing. Over time, this can reduce farmers’ autonomy and weaken local systems of cultivation and exchange. The issue therefore extends beyond productivity alone and toward questions of ownership, dependency, and long-term ecological and social impact.

    Another important aspect of the research involved observing how wheat exists relationally within indigenous farming systems. Wheat itself grows collectively and densely, functioning as part of a larger ecological network rather than as an isolated unit. Wheat is often grown alongside crops such as sarson, where different plants support one another ecologically and create natural barriers against unwanted organisms. These systems create balance within the soil and reduce vulnerability through diversity and interdependence.

    In contrast, industrial agricultural systems often rely on monoculture, the cultivation of genetically similar crops across large areas of land. While these systems may increase uniformity and short-term efficiency, they can also reduce biodiversity and increase long-term vulnerability to disease, soil depletion, and ecological imbalance.

    There are alternative agricultural models and ways of self sufficiently growing around the world. Recent research identified Guyana as one of the few countries capable of producing enough food across major food groups to sustain its own population. Part of this is linked to diverse agricultural systems, intercropping methods, and reduced dependence on monoculture farming. These examples suggest other possibilities for cultivation that are rooted in ecological balance and diversity rather than singular systems of production.

    Within this project, wheat functions both as material and metaphor. As a staple crop within Punjab, it represents sustenance, labour, continuity, and survival. Through wheat, the work examines how systems of control can become embedded within everyday acts such as growing, saving, exchanging, and consuming food.

    Wanting to learn more about wheat beyond my own experience, I visited Samia Mumtaz, who grows her own wheat and has a background in agriculture. It was there that I I was introduced to Sona Moti, an indigenous wheat variety dating back more than 2,000 years to the Indus Valley civilisation. Until then, I had never heard of it. As I learned about its history and qualities, I became interested not only in the disappearance of a single wheat variety but also in what its gradual disappearance reveals about our changing relationship with land, agriculture, and knowledge. What fascinates me is that Sona Moti has become rare, and almost disappeared from public memory.

    link: Please click on ‘’watch Video’’

    Sona Moti

    Talking to the farmers about the differences in Hybrid varieties, genetically engineered, bio fortified and Desi seeds.

    Hybrid vs Desi Wheat Seeds, Reuse, Water usage, Pesticides, identification, Yield & Cost

    Impact of tractors on the land

    Sona Moti, meaning “Golden Pearl,” is named for its small, rounded grains.

    To understand wheat production on an industrial and commercial scale, I went to Data Flour Mill in Lahore. I visited the Quality Control Laboratory, where wheat is tested for its quality, strength, and baking performance, before moving through the Milling and Packaging Sections. Seeing the process firsthand gave me an understanding of how wheat is handled before it reaches the market.

    Me standing between two machines.

    This is a machine that separates metal particles from the wheat.

    In an interview with agronomist Niaz Khan, I asked about seed certification, indigenous wheat varieties, chemical agriculture, and contemporary farming practices in Pakistan.

    When discussing seed certification, Khan argued that certified and hybrid seeds are typically dependent on external agricultural inputs, including pesticides, fertilisers, specialised irrigation systems, and chemical weed control. He stated that seeds saved from these crops often lose vigour after one or two growing seasons, producing lower yields or becoming more susceptible to disease. In his view, this creates a cycle of dependency in which farmers must continue purchasing new seed and the associated agricultural inputs every season.

    Khan questioned the assumption that certified seeds inherently outperform indigenous varieties. He argued that many agricultural soils have become depleted of carbon and biological activity, preventing crops from expressing their full potential. To illustrate this, he suggested that the same seed grown in a healthy ecosystem, such as the Amazon rainforest, would perform very differently from one grown in degraded soil. He maintained that the issue is not simply the genetics of the seed but the condition of the soil itself. He also emphasised that agricultural yield should not be understood solely as the quantity of grain produced but should also include the ecological functions of crops, including their contribution to oxygen production, carbon sequestration, and the overall health of the farming ecosystem.

    Discussing the history of wheat cultivation, Khan explained that many indigenous wheat varieties, including Sona Moti, gradually disappeared following the Green Revolution of the 1960s and 1970s. He noted that higher-yielding varieties were promoted through agricultural universities, research institutions, and government programmes with the aim of increasing food production. While he acknowledged that these varieties increased yields, he believed that this transition also contributed to the disappearance of many local wheat and rice varieties. He recalled that several indigenous varieties once existed, including a traditional pink rice, although many have since disappeared from cultivation.

    When asked how new wheat varieties are developed, Khan described conventional cross-pollination as a natural breeding process in which plants with desirable characteristics are selected and crossed over successive generations. He contrasted this with genetically modified crops, which involve altering the plant’s DNA. He added that farmers who adopt hybrid varieties generally need to purchase new seed each season because the desired characteristics are not reliably maintained in saved seed.

    Khan attributed the increasing dependence on chemical fertilisers and pesticides to the degradation of soil ecosystems through intensive tillage. He explained that healthy soils contain diverse microorganisms, fungi, and bacteria that exist in symbiotic relationships with plants, helping them obtain nutrients and maintain natural resilience. He specifically referred to Bacillus thuringiensis (Bt) bacteria as one component of the soil’s natural defence system, explaining that these bacteria produce proteins that are harmful to certain insect pests. He argued that excessive tillage disrupts these microbial communities, raises soil temperatures, damages soil structure, and reduces the soil’s natural biological defences. As a result, farmers become increasingly reliant on synthetic pesticides, herbicides, fungicides, and fertilisers.

    Khan described pest resistance as a layered ecological process. He argued that healthy plants first emit natural chemical signals that discourage insect attack. If insects still feed on the crop, he suggested that naturally occurring Bt bacteria in healthy soils provide a second line of defence by affecting the insects. Even when some insect feeding occurs, he believed that plants are often capable of compensatory growth by producing additional branches. Finally, he explained that healthy ecosystems support birds and other natural predators that help regulate pest populations. In his view, these interconnected ecological relationships reduce the need for chemical pest control when soil ecosystems remain intact.

    Rather than calling for a complete return to historical farming practices, Khan proposed that agriculture should imitate the functioning of natural ecosystems. He referred to this approach as Paidaar Qudrati Nizaam-e-Kashtkari (PQNK), describing it as a farming system that seeks to replicate the ecological balance of environments such as the Amazon rainforest. He suggested that restoring healthy soil ecosystems would reduce soil degradation, improve natural pest regulation, and lessen dependence on chemical inputs. He also noted that this approach is not currently supported at the government level in Pakistan, although some individual farmers have begun adopting similar practices independently.

    When discussing regulation, Khan stated that agricultural chemicals are not adequately regulated in Pakistan. Referring to companies such as Bayer, Monsanto, and Syngenta, he described them as agricultural input suppliers and argued that their business models contribute to farmers’ long-term dependence on commercial seeds and chemical inputs. He further expressed the view that while these products may provide short-term increases in productivity, they also contribute to soil degradation and have broader consequences for food quality and human health.

    Project Precedents/ Inspirations

    The precedents for this project come from artists and filmmakers who use simple gestures, immersive environments, and performative situations to produce complex social and emotional meanings. What connects them for me is how they work through space, movement, image, participation, and atmosphere.

    The beauty of Tania Bruguera’s works is the simplicity of her work that comes out of complex ideas that makes her really important for me as an artist . In works such as Tatlin’s Whisper #5 (2008), she uses a very simple act to produce a powerful awareness of control, fear, and the politics of the body. The work involved mounted police using crowd control techniques inside the museum, so that visitors encountered authority as a live and physical presence, often before realizing that they themselves were part of the performance. What interests me in Bruguera’s practice is the way she does not overcomplicate the form. The work is simple in form, but is [politically charged. This has influenced how I think about using performance, participation, and space to produce unease, awareness, and attention.

    ‘Tatlin’s Whisper #5 (2008)’

    Pipilotti Rist is important for this project for the way she builds immersive environments through video, sound, colour, and installation. Her work shows how moving image can expand beyond the screen and become spatial and bodily. In Ever Is Over All (1997), for example, a woman moves through the street smashing car windows with a flower, in a work that combines disruption, playfulness, and visual seduction. What inspires me are her installations that create an atmosphere that are sensorial, disorienting, and emotionally charged at the same time. This has informed my interest in building environments that viewers enter physically rather than simply observe from a distance.

    ‘Ever Is Over All’

    Joan Jonas has been especially influential in the way I think about the relationship between performance, video, gestural acts, and space. Her installations and performances do not separate body and image. Instead, they allow them to intersect into one another. Works such as Reanimation (2014) and Moving Off the Land II (2019) are especially important to me because they show how video can operate with performance and blur the boundaries between the two. This connects closely to my own interest in installation art, gestural based immersive performances combined with projection, and the relation between live presence and mediated image.

    ‘Reanimation’

    ‘Moving Off the Land II 2019’

    ‘Moving Off the Land II 2019’

    Ideation/ Design process/ Experiments with light.

    In the making of this work, weather and light became a major part of the process. Filming was repeatedly affected by rain, delays in the camera setup, and changing conditions in the field and because of this, each visit produced a different result. The first five images focus on these changes in light. Each time I visited, the same site looked different depending on the weather, time of day, and sun light. Since the final work brings together footage from different shoots, these chnages in lighting became important in deciding how the videos could be joined and how the final piece would bring the visual together.

    The next four images focus on the changing colour of the wheat. In the earlier images, the wheat is still green. In the later ones, its colour begins to change as a result of rain, and sun. The chnaging colour of the wheat, and the lighting, have greatly influenced how I thought about the final form of the video and how the work would be edited and presented.

    .

    .The outcome went through a lot of trial and error, and many works that I initially developed did not become part of the final exhibition. As I continued making and reflecting, I realised that the work was becoming less about individual pieces and more about a journey that moves from one stage to the next.

    The first two works introduce the research. The first room is based on the Punjabi line “کال تھال نیں توے دے تارے “

    (“Time has laid out a starred black iron griddle.”). The viewer remains outside the room and looks through its windows, where a storm of wheat hay can be seen moving inside. The room cannot be entered, creating the feeling of witnessing something from a distance.

    The second work is a bharola, a traditional wheat storage silo. Inside it is a moving machine, creating a contrast between a domestic object associated with preserving wheat and the industrial systems that have taken over our food. It reflects on how industry has entered something that was once deeply connected to everyday life.

    From the third work onwards, the installation follows the journey of a girl who goes back in time and reconnects with a relationship that may have once existed between people and the ancient wheat variety, Sona Moti. In the first phase, she walks through barren fields and plants a single seed. In the second phase, the seeds begin to fall. In the final phase, set within a golden wheat field at the time of harvest, she gradually becomes one with the wheat, almost as if she has transformed into its spirit. Together, these stages explore the relationship between the body, the land, and the seed.

    The final installation is very different from where I started. During the process, I explored many different directions. At one point, I made works based on girls playing around the silos. At another stage, I experimented with sculptural forms that looked like barriers. Although these works did not become part of the exhibition, they were an important part of the process because they helped me understand what the work was really trying to become. Every stage of making, testing, and removing something brought me closer to the final outcome.

    .

    Behind the scenes from one of my video works, where I was performing in a golden wheat field.

    One of the many process experiments where I was trying to create the storm effect.

    Behind the scenes of my installation space being constructed.

    Previous works

    speculative project

    This speculative proposal was one of the ideas that brought me back to thinking about seeds. Developed for a theory course, it imagines a community-led seed vault on the Potohar Plateau, inspired by Vandana Shiva’s Navdanya initiative. Many of the questions it raised continued into my thesis research.

    This was my proposal for a theory course and one of the ideas that brought me back to thinking about seeds. It envisioned a speculative community-led seed vault on the Potohar Plateau, inspired by Vandana Shiva’s Navdanya.

    Feedback and Reflection

    The jurors spoke about how my practice could continue to develop in different directions. They suggested that I continue developing the research alongside its more poetic and material expression, allowing both to evolve together within my practice. They encouraged me to keep exploring the relationship between these two aspects of the work.

    We also discussed the curation of the installation. The jurors asked whether I had experimented with different ways of displaying the work and, after I shared some of my research with them, suggested that I could include literature in the exhibition. They felt this would bring the research into the exhibition while preserving the poetic nature of the work. One of the jurors also described the work as having innocence and sophistication.

    This discussion gave me new ways of thinking about the future of the work. It encouraged me to continue developing both the research and its poetic material expression while considering how these two can remain in dialogue as the practice evolves.

    كال تھال نے توے دے تارے

    Installation with wheat straw and LED lights

    Untitled

    Video Installation with Bharola and Ladder


    Untitled

    Four-Channel Video installation

    Duration: 4:32


    Untitled


    Video Installation with Soil


    Untitled

    Single-Channel Video installation

    Duration: 3:51

    Bibliography

    Brecht, Bertolt. Brecht on Theatre: The Development of an Aesthetic. Edited and translated by John Willett. London: Methuen, 1964.

    https://sabraojournal.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/SABRAO-J-Breed-Genet-55-2-298-308-MS22-76.pdf

    https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC4908315 .

    https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7611098

    https://www.shadabagri.com/blog/wheat-8/wheat-varieties-wheat-production-plan-in-pakistan-15

    https://agripunjab.gov.pk/aari-inst-Wheat



  • Apprenticeship

    About the Instructor

    Huma Safdar is a theatre practitioner , artist, and Punjabi language activist. She studied fine arts at the National College of Arts (NCA) in Lahore, and has been working in theatre for over 30 years. A lot of her work focuses on Punjabi folklore, feminist storytelling, and community-based performance.

    She has been part of the feminist theatre group Sangat and is known for staging Punjabi plays in schools, public spaces, and shrines. Her performances often revolve around characters from Punjabi classics like Heer, Sassi, and Sohni.

    She also taught at Lahore Grammar School for many years, where she introduced generations of students to Punjabi language and performance.

    Note: Each day from Day One to Day Seven is organized as a playlist. Every playlist contains different kinds of videos documenting the exercises we did. These were intensive four-hour workshops, with each day focusing on a unique set of activities.

    Day 1 – Movement & Balance

    The first day of the theatre workshop at The Kinnaird College was centered around movement. It was more of an introductory session where we were encouraged to explore our bodies in space and understand movement through a series of guided exercises. The focus wasn’t on performance but on becoming aware of ourselves, of others in the room, and of the energy we create together.

    We did partner based exercises that revolved around the idea of balance, not just physically, but also in terms of presence, support, and responsiveness. Some of these movements were improvisational and demanded active listening to your partner’s body language.

    It felt like the day was more about, settling into the space, letting go of hesitation, and starting to connect with movement as a tool of communication. The interactive nature of the exercises helped set a tone of openness and exchange for what’s to come.

    Day 2

    This day was focused on sound. We experimented with how sounds are made, how they function in performance, and how they interact with movement. We tried out short sound-based scenes, worked with rhythm, and explored how beat and action can come together. It wasn’t just about making noise, but understanding how sound shapes energy, mood, and communication on stage.

    There was a focus on using the voice in different ways. Theatre demands a particular kind of projection, and not everyone is used to that. Some people were more comfortable than others, and you could see how different our limitations were when it came to multitasking sound with action. At times team work really mattered, because everything needed to stay in sync.

    Day 3

    We focused on movement again, but with a new set of exercises. The emphasis was on responding quickly, not in a fully improvised way where you make something up entirely, but by listening closely and reacting almost instantly, within about 10 seconds. The aim was to sharpen our ability to notice, process, and act in the moment. One example involved creating a short, spontaneous “story” through movement in response to what we heard or observed.

    Day 4

    Before this, we worked on exercises that explored trust and letting go of control. One of the most challenging was standing on a stool placed on stage, then falling backwards in a way trusting that the people around us would catch us. It was a strange mix of fear and faith; falling without seeing who would support me forced me to rely completely on others. I tried, and while it wasn’t entirely successful, it became an important starting point.

    From there, we gradually moved into other exercises such as first exploring movement, then collaboration, and then the relationship between movement and sound. Each activity built on the last, sharpening our ability to listen, respond, and remain aware of the group.

    Towards the end, we began working with Giddha, a traditional Punjabi folk dance performed primarily by women. Rich in song, rhythm, and storytelling, Giddha is often performed during festivals and harvests as a celebration of community. In this context, it became more than just a cultural form; it was a way to bring together all that we had been exploring, trust, movement, rhythm, and shared expression, into one collective experience.

    Alfo Perni Di Waar

    play work in progress

    Videos are yet to be uploaded

    Please note the play is scheduled for next year 2026, Nov

    It’s a 6 hour long play and rehearsals will continue for 1 year

    20th Aug Onwards

    Alfo Perni Di Waar, written by Najm Husain Syed and directed by Huma Safdar, isn’t just a play – it’s a confrontation with history, power, and patriarchy. At its core, it’s about bravery, but not the kind we hear in tales of kings and warriors. It’s bravery from a woman’s perspective, told by women, performed by women, and staged at Kinnaird College, an all-girls space that makes this retelling even more powerful. It was last performed at Kinnaird in 2005 and is a 6 hour long play.

    Alfo Perni Di waar Day 1

    Note: Each day from Day is organized as a playlist. Every playlist contains different kinds of videos documenting the rehearsals for Alfo Perni Di Waar. These are two and sometimes three hour long rehearsals.

    Alfo Perni Di Waar Day 2

    Alfo Perni Di Waar Day 3

    Alfo Perni Di Waar Day 4

    The play reimagines Dastan-e-Amir Hamza, originally penned by Maulvi Ghulam Rasool, through a feminist lens. It questions who gets to define courage, who holds power, and how exploitation and wealth concentrate in the hands of a few. It is both a critique and a reclamation, turning a grand narrative on its head.

    One of the most striking figures is Mai Bhagi – a business woman selling wine turned singer and dancer who dared to defy the Maharaja when everyone else was afraid. Instead of performing for him, she narrates her own story, exposing the injustices she has faced. In that refusal, she claims her voice, her livelihood, and her agency as a woman and as an artist.

    Alfo Perni Di Waar Day 5

    Alfo Perni Di Waar Day 6

    Alfo Perni Di Waar Day 7

    Alfo Perni Di Waar Day 8

    The play draws from themes already present in Dastan-e-Amir Hamza – adventure, war, love, religion, the eternal battle of good and evil but it pushes us to think deeper. What is right and what is wrong? What is just but not “politically correct”? Sometimes, it suggests, real bravery is standing against the structures that silence others, even if it comes at a cost.

    Day 9

    Day 10

    Links that Ms Huma shared with us

    https://share.google/images/ocE4zcFG5iNYmlce9

    Dastan-e-Amir Hamza Collection / داستان امیر حمزہ سیریز

    https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18070204-dastan-e-amir-hamza

    داستانِ امیر حمزہز [Dastane-e Amir Hamza]

    https://ir.iba.edu.pk/sslace/250/

    Good and Evil in Dastan-e-Amir Hamza

    Analysis of Sarah Imran’s study.

    As I’ve been working on Alfo Perni Di Waar, I was introduced to a study by Sarah Imran that looks at how Dastan-e-Amir Hamza understands good and evil. Reading it helped me see the backdrop against which Alfo Perni speaks, because the play is, in many ways, a response to that older text.

    The analysis shows that Amir Hamza isn’t simple, it doesn’t divide the world into heroes and villains. It brings in layers of religion, morality, and power. The “true faith” is one of the strongest ideas running through it. Morality is often defined by belief, by standing with or against a particular vision of religion. Goodness and evil are tied to faith itself.

    Then there is ayyari – the art of trickery. This is not just lying or deception, but a whole world of cunning, disguise, and performance. What struck me is that trickery is not always condemned. Sometimes it saves lives, sometimes it moves the story forward. It complicates what we think of as moral, showing that even in tales of good and evil, the line is never so clear.

    Gender is another thing, especially masculinity. Bravery and valor are almost always framed in male terms. To be “good” or “heroic” is tied to ideals of manhood, while women are pushed to the margins of the story. That imbalance is precisely what Alfo Perni Di Waar takes up and turns inside out.

    So while Amir Hamza dazzles with its adventures, wars, and moral battles, it also carries within it the structures that silence women. And this is why Alfo Perni Di Waar feels so powerful – it doesn’t just critique from outside, it enters the same conversation and reclaims bravery, faith, and storytelling for women’s voices.

    What Sarah Imran shows in her study of Dastan-e-Amir Hamza– that good and evil are never straightforward. In one scene, Alfo enters the masjid with the child of a pig. By religious logic, this act is unthinkable, yet the Maulana sahib chooses compassion: he brings milk for the piglet and lets Alfo stay the night. The next morning, when he is condemned, he accepts the criticism but still defends his decision. That one moment shows how morality can shift when it is grounded in care rather than rules.

    The same happens when Mai Bhagi confronts the dying Maharaja. She refuses to dance for him, instead forcing him to listen to her own story. Her bravery is not about war or conquest, but about refusing to be silenced. And in the scene with the Pandit and his workers, even food becomes a stage for power where separate meals for the privileged, langar for the rest.

    These scenes echo what Sarah describes in Amir Hamza: faith, trickery, hierarchy, and morality are always in negotiation. But in Alfo Perni Di Waar, the negotiation shifts to the voices of women, workers, and the marginalized – those who rarely get to define what bravery or goodness means.

    Composite armor in the Hamzanama, commissioned by mughal emperor Akbar 1557-1577,India.

    https://share.google/w5UVsXa5v11EauaFX

    Hamzanama #2 is a painting by Akbar which was uploaded on October 21st, 2020.

    https://share.google/Vlbf3d3ZSBavfqyBi

    https://share.google/RrxLb2EZsOll0wKlK

    Please note that while this blog is for official purposes, I will continue updating it over the course of the year, as rehearsals are long and ongoing. For now, I’d like to pause here with a reflection on the stories that inspire our work.

    Alfo is a gypsy girl, tomboyish and brave, who risks her life to save a tiny piglet. This small act of empathy moves Moulvi Ghulam Rasul as she enters the mosque where he is translating Dastan Amir Hamza from Persian into Punjabi – a story of a warrior king, chivalry, and the right to kill in the name of justice. Alfo Paini Di Var tells us how the Dastan was written, rewritten, and translated over centuries – from Mehmud Ghaznavi’s Persian version, to Akbar’s illustrated text, to the British Urdu edition, and finally to Ghulam Rasul’s Punjabi translation. While the epic tells the story of kings and power, Alfo’s story shows ‘Ghareeb Hamza’ – a hero of the people resisting injustice from as far back as the 5th century.

    Histories are written to give a perspective on the past, shaping how we understand ourselves and our actions. But then the question arises: who is telling the story, and who is it being told to? Alfo Paini Di Var challenges the histories written by rulers, bringing forward the unwritten stories of resistance and offering a feminine perspective.

    In this way, history is never one-sided. It is lived, retold, and reinterpreted, just as the stories we are bringing to life on stage today.

    Instagram page for the play

    https://www.instagram.com/alfo_kinnaird?igsh=MTRqZDJzMnUyOHBqaQ%3D%3D&utm_source=qr

  • Observations & Reflections

    Hello, my name is Mohrelle Hassan. I’m a visual arts student working across installation, video, performance art, and image making. My practice explores the space between fiction and reality, often through a combination of research, sound, video, performance, physical materials, and occasionally AI-generated imagery. I’m interested in perceptual phenomena, underlying structures, and how working across disciplines can shift the way we experience the familiar. I aim to create work that feels constructed but intuitive.


    Movies/ Documentaries

    The White Balloon (1995) is an Iranian film directed by Jafar Panahi and co-written by Abbas Kiarostami


    Jafar Panahi’s The White Balloon (1995) is a film that focuses on the emotional world of a child. Set on the eve of Nowruz in Tehran, it follows a young girl named Razieh who becomes completely fixated on buying a fat, beautiful goldfish from a nearby shop. The fish at her home are too skinny, she says, and she wants one that feels right for the new year.

    Her mother refuses, telling her they already have fish and that there’s no reason to spend more money. But Razieh is determined. She convinces her older brother to help her get the money and begins her journey. What follows is a simple story, but one filled with small tensions and obstacles.


    Razieh drops the money. A snake charmer distracts her. She gets help but then faces new problems. She reaches the shop but cannot enter without an adult. Later, she gets locked out of her house. At every step, adults either dismiss her, speak over her, or don’t fully engage with what she’s trying to do.


    What I found especially important was the way the film shows how quickly a child’s needs are ignored or seen as unnecessary. There is also a subtle difference in how the mother speaks to Razieh versus how she speaks to her brother. When the brother tries to speak, she says something like “Don’t be a pain like your sister” or “I haven’t got anything left.” These moments show how easy it is for a child, especially a girl, to be labeled as annoying or unreasonable.



    What I found especially important was the way the film shows how quickly a child’s needs are ignored or seen as unnecessary. There is also a subtle difference in how the mother speaks to Razieh versus how she speaks to her brother. When the brother tries to speak, she says something like “Don’t be a pain like your sister” or “I haven’t got anything left.” These moments show how easy it is for a child, especially a girl, to be labeled as annoying or unreasonable.

    The pacing of the film is slow, but it gives space to Razieh who moves through. One does notice how isolated she feels even when surrounded by people.

    The ending does not resolve things in the way one might expect, and that makes it feel even more unforeseeable.The White Balloon captures the inner urgency of childhood in a way that feels deeply familiar.

    Flooded Tombs of the Nile


    National Geographic’s Flooded Tombs of the Nile looks at a Kushite tomb site in Sudan that is completely submerged under water. The documentary follows archaeologists and divers who are trying to study the tomb of King Nastasen, located at the Nuri necropolis. Instead of removing the water or draining the site, they work with it, diving into the tomb repeatedly to examine its structure and uncover what has been left behind.

    The documentary focuses on both the technical side of underwater excavation and the historical context of the Kushite kingdom. It’s interesting to see how they use basic tools like air hoses and lights, but also digital mapping and careful documentation to figure out how the tomb was built and what it once contained. Small details like the presence of gold fragments help them piece together a larger story.

    Watching this reminded me of Mohenjo-Daro, a site in Pakistan that also holds historical importance but is facing damage instead of preservation. Unlike the tombs in Sudan, which were protected to some extent because they were underwater, Mohenjo-Daro suffers from flooding, groundwater issues, and general neglect. Seasonal rains often worsen the situation, and the brick structures have been eroding for years.

    Both are examples of how water interacts with archaeological sites, but the outcomes are completely different. In one case, water preserved. In the other, it continues to destroy. This contrast also reflects how different regions approach preservation and care.

    Movie: Flow

    On my flight to London, I watched the award winner animated film ‘Flow’. It follows a black cat whose life changes when a great flood comes. The cat escapes onto a boat and slowly meets other animals along the way, a dog, a lemur, a capybara, and a bird. Together they drift through a drowned world, trying to survive.

    For me, the black cat also carried meaning beyond the story. In many cultures, black cats are tied to superstition and seen as unlucky. But here, the cat is simply surviving like any of us would: cautious, vulnerable, but determined.

    The flooded setting felt very close to real life. It reminded me of the recent floods in Pakistan, where so many families lost their homes,  and where animals had nowhere to go. While some people tried to help, many creatures were left stranded. Watching Flow through this lens made it feel deeply relatable.

    One moment that really touched me was when the cat, hungry and struggling, caught fish from the sea. But when it noticed the dog watching with hunger, the cat gave the fish away instead of keeping it for itself. Then looking at the hen the cat picked up another fish and put it in front of the hen only to face its anger. When more animals were rescued and everyone began eating, the cat stepped back quietly. It didn’t push or compete, because it understood they were hungry. That made me think of how often humans do the opposite, wanting everything for ourselves and then still reaching for what belongs to others. The cat’s act of giving was a sharp contrast to our own greed.

    What makes the film stand out is how it looks and feels. It has a painterly quality. The skies, the water, the ruined landscapes all feel like brushstrokes, with colors shifting to match the emotions of each scene. The style is quiet and dreamlike, with no dialogues.


    Dahomey





    I recently watched a film called Dahomey (2024), directed by French-Senegalese filmmaker Mati Diop. What drew me in was not only the subject matter – repatriation of looted cultural objects – but also the way the film was made. Rather than being a straightforward documentary, it gave voice to the very objects that had been stolen, placed in European museums, and stripped of their cultural and spiritual meaning.


    The film follows the return of 26 royal treasures of the Kingdom of Dahomey (present-day Benin), taken by French colonizers in the 19th century and kept in Paris for more than 130 years before finally being sent back in 2021. Among them is Object 26, a human-sized wooden statue of King Ghezo. In the film, this statue is given a literal voice. Through its narration, we hear the journey of an object that was once alive in ritual, in worship, in cultural continuity – but was reduced to a lifeless exhibit behind glass.

    Through the voice of King Ghézo’s statue, the audience hears lines like: “I journeyed so long… it was so dark in this foreign dream.” These words capture the object’s exile – cut from its land of birth, treated as dead, and displayed only as a token of colonial power. The “foreign dream” resonates not only with migration and displacement but also with the colonizer’s fantasy of owning another culture’s heritage.

    Crates, storage boxes, and shipping containers are shown in long, patient shots, their repetition recalling rows of coffins. This makes the viewer think of how artifacts, like human bodies, are trapped, preserved, and yet deprived of life. The boxes reminded me of Squid Game a show, where each eliminated body (dead body) is sealed in a coffin-like container here, each artefact is sealed in wood and glass, removed from ritual use and taken away from its homeland.


    Some shots stay so long on a single angle of a carving or a scar in the wood that the viewer is made to stop and look. These become metaphors for violence: cuts, removals, plunder. The close-ups are like forensic examinations of wounds, while the longer, centered framings elevate the statue to a kind of living presence.

    When the crates finally arrive in Benin, the tone shifts. Warm light, handheld camerawork, and the sounds of drums and crowds replace the cold, fluorescent-lit storage rooms. The artifacts are not behind glass; they are received in public, and returned to the homeland. This contrast makes a powerful argument: objects belong not in sterile silence but in living cultural space.

    Dahomey ultimately argues that repatriation is not just about logistics or “guardianship” – it is about restoring dignity, memory, and access. The film ends not with the museum’s authority but with the community’s embrace. By giving the statue of King Ghézo a literal voice, Diop makes us rethink how heritage speaks, and for whom.

    The film’s reception confirms its urgency. Premiering at the 2024 Berlinale, Dahomey won the Golden Bear for Best Film, making Diop the first Black woman director to receive the festival’s top prize. Its acclaim comes not only from its politics but from its form – part documentary, part essay film, part imagined testimony.



    visual Observations

    So I’ve started a series of videos that I call The Act of Performing in the Everyday. I’ve been documenting and recording small, everyday moments, just things I come across, people, movements, gestures, these subtle performative acts that are happening all around us but often go unnoticed.
    Some are short video clips, a few of which are also uploaded to YouTube and instagram. I’ve linked those where relevant. These observations come from moments I felt drawn to. They weren’t pre-planned or overthought just instinctive captures of what caught my eye. I hope you enjoy going through them.

    This specific video talks about this kind of human presence that exists on the planet, and this sense of individuality that even something like plastic wrappers or dry leaves seems to carry. Each wrapper feels like it represents a person, someone arriving, someone leaving, someone trying to stay. There’s this feeling of urgency, like something is resisting or holding on.

    These aren’t staged performances but rather moments that happen naturally. I’m more interested in observing them and maybe even silently critiquing them or at least reflecting on why we don’t usually pay attention to them.

    7 Day Workshop Reflection: Working with Children at Mecha Robotics

    I’ve been interning at Mecha robotics, which is an education center in Lahore. They have different branches, and I’ve been working at the one in Johar Town, helping out children with the basics of robotics.

    We use Scratch, which is a beginner level visual programming language designed for children so they can learn how to code in a simple and engaging way. I usually help them understand how it works and guide them through the steps. After that, we move on to basic things like lighting a bulb or connecting a simple circuit.

    In the beginning, the sessions were for children aged 4 to 7, but now I’m also working with older kids aged 10-12 years. The older kids use pictoblox. Pictoblox works a lot like scratch using drag and drop blocks to create instructions but it’s allows users to control physical hardware like Arduino boards, sensors, motors, LED’s and even robots. It supports block based programming for beginners and also has an option to switch to python. It’s mostly used for educational purposes and prototyping rather than professional use. It’s interesting to see how differently they respond and how their understanding develops once they start experimenting. It’s been a consistent, hands-on learning process for them  and for me too.

    A Playlist of the documentation

    One of the most interesting activities we did with the senior students involved building a model of an automatic barrier gate, like the kind you see at toll booths or motorway entrances. The students used popsicle sticks, servo motors, and a PIR (motion) sensor to construct their models. Through PictoBlox, they gave visual commands to the Arduino UNO, which controlled how the components reacted.

    Basically, when the motion sensor detected someone nearby, the servo motor would turn to 90° lifting the barrier. They also programmed a digital pin to briefly turn on and off, possibly to simulate a light or signal. Once there was no more movement, the barrier would lower again by turning the servo back to 0°. The commands they used included blocks like “when Arduino UNO starts up,” “read digital sensor,” “set servo on pin 3 to 90°,”and “set digital pin output to HIGH/LOW.”

    Below is the documentation and visual representation of the commands.

    Artists

    Pipilotti Rist

    I have always been fascinated by Pipilotti Rist’s work because of the way she creates experiences, how she combines different mediums, and how carefully she puts everything together. I’m also interested in a multidisciplinary approach that includes performance, video, and installation art. In her work, simple gestures or everyday movements often become the starting point. She builds around these small actions to create more complex narratives. The complexity isn’t in the gesture itself, but in how it’s edited, framed, and interpreted. That approach is something I find important.



    Pipilotti Rist was born in 1962 in Grabs, Switzerland. Her real name is Elisabeth Charlotte Rist. She started calling herself “Pipilotti” as a mix of Pippi Longstocking and her own name. She studied graphic design in Vienna and later audiovisual communication in Basel.

    Rist is known for her video art and immersive installations. Her work often focuses on the female body, color, nature, and emotion. She uses video in experimental ways, projected on ceilings, curtains, glass, or objects, creating spaces where viewers don’t just watch, but move through the work.

    In the Brilliant Ideas documentary, Rist says that vulnerability is a form of strength. She also says that reality is as colorful as her work and the when we’re depressed we see less color. She started using primary colors in editing, more when a teacher told her not to.


    One of her early pieces, Pickelporno (1992), responds to mainstream pornography. It shows close-ups of skin, hair, plants, and movement. The camera moves slowly and intimately, but without violence. It’s not made to arouse it’s made to question how bodies are shown and consumed and objectified especially from female perspective.

    In Ever Is Over All (1997), a woman walks down the street smashing car windows with a large metal flower. She smiles. People walk by and don’t stop her. Even a policewoman smiles and nods. The whole video plays in slow motion. It looks soft and light, but also strange because it’s something one would normally be terrified to do but it’s being done and everyone’s okay with it including the policewoman.

    Another work, Selfless in the Bath of Lava (1994), is an audio-video installation. A small screen shows a naked figure submerged in fire or lava, shouting:

    “I am a worm and you are a flower. You would not eat a flower.”

    The image is tiny and easy to miss, but the voice is loud. It’s placed in the floor or in a wall. People sometimes walk past it without noticing. The screaming continues. It feels like a punishment, or like someone trapped. She never says the word “hell,” but you think it.

    In Sea Lily White Days (2001), the body is shown underwater, floating and slow. Everything is soft and dream-like. Light moves gently. There’s no beginning or end

    Over time, Rist moved from short videos to full-room installations. Pixel Forest (2016) is one of them. It has hundreds of hanging LED lights that change color and respond to video. People walk through it. It feels soft, and digital, and real at the same time.

    Electric Idyll

    Rose B. Simpson

    https://art21.org/watch/extended-play/rose-b-simpson-dream-house/

    I came across Rose B. Simpson, and since then I’ve been thinking about her practice. She works in ceramics, metal, painting, sculpture, fashion, music, performance, and video. She studied at the Institute of American Indian Arts and did her MFA at the Rhode Island School of Design.

    What’s interesting is how she uses all these different mediums to process personal and historical experiences. Her work looks at the emotional and cultural effects of colonialism, modern technology, and the systems that distance us from ourselves. Especially the kind of experiences where you’re made to feel disconnected or reduced to a stereotype. A lot of what she does feels like an attempt to reconnect with parts of the self that have been pushed aside or ignored.

    The work that fascinated me the most was Dream House from 2022. It’s an installation made up of four rooms. In one of them, when you walk in, your shadow is cast across the wall. The shadow work really made me think how something so simple can become so powerful. I often times go to the park at night and love observing shadows being casted but I never really thought of it being used as “Art” especially interactive art and the audience becoming part of it.. You’re not just looking at the work you’re part of it.

    The shadow brought up a lot for me. It reminded me of the idea of the shadow self the parts of us we don’t show or admit. In Jungian psychology, the shadow represents what we’ve pushed down or don’t want to face. Seeing that idea play out visually, without being forced or overly explained, made me reflect on how we carry those parts of ourselves into every space we enter.

    Dream House (2022)


    Dream House (2022)

    The installation uses painting, sculpture, and video, all together. Nothing feels separate or out of place. The video blends into the room. It isn’t just there to be watched, it helps create the atmosphere.

    Phenomenons

    https://www.nationalgeographic.com/adventure/article/140716-door-to-hell-darvaza-crater-george-kourounis-expedition

    Phenomenons

    There’s something about phenomenon’s that really fascinates and intrigues me. Maybe it’s the way they aren’t fully clear or easy to understand and how no one has the power to control them. Some of them feel like they hold a kind of presence, like something bigger and beyond our human imagination. Not just nature doing its thing, but something else, something we can’t quite explain In the middle of the Karakum Desert in Turkmenistan, there’s a massive burning crater called the Darvaza Gas Crater, also known as the Door to Hell. It was formed in the 1970s when Soviet geologists hit a pocket of natural gas while drilling. To stop the methane from spreading, they set it on fire, thinking it would burn out in a few days. But it didn’t. It’s still burning.

    It’s strange how a fire like that can keep going for decades. The name Door to Hell doesn’t feel exaggerated. It really does look like a kind of portal. In Islamic belief, Dozakh is the word for hell, and seeing this huge pit of fire makes me think of it.

    Exhibitions

    Mona Hatoum

    Mona Hatoum
    Encounters: Giacometti


    Mona Hatoum

    Mona Hatoum is a Palestinian-Lebanese artist whose work explores displacement, conflict, and the body. She uses everyday materials in surprising ways to create installations and sculptures that make familiar spaces feel strange, reflecting on fragility, memory, and the impact of global events.

    Remains of the Day, 2016–18

    Wire mesh and wood

    This installation looks like the ruins of a home that has been suddenly destroyed. The wooden furniture is burned and fragile, barely held together with wire mesh, as if it could fall apart at any moment. The scene feels like walking into the remains of a bombing – tables, chairs, and toys left behind in pieces.

    The work was first made for Hatoum’s exhibition after receiving the Hiroshima Art Prize, and it recalls the devastation caused by the atom bomb. But Hatoum also describes it as a reminder of the aftermath of war, violence, or even environmental disasters happening across the world today. For me, standing in front of it, the connection to Gaza felt immediate – homes reduced to rubble.

    Mona Hatoum

    Terracotta Tile, 2003

    Terracotta

    This single terracotta tile sits on the floor, imprinted with a dog’s paw prints. It’s simple, yet it leaves a strong impression, though the dog is not there, but its presence through the traces is left behind. Like Giacometti’s. The Cat, which holds the essence of an animal in a minimal, almost ghostly way, Hatoum’s tile evokes life through absence, of what once was and is no longer there.

    Giacometti’s The Cat

    Image taken from: https://www.sothebys.com/en/articles/the-cat-that-captivated-giacometti-sells-for-12-6-million

    Mona Hatoum

    Mirror, 2025 Steel reinforcement bars

    Untitled (grey hair grid with knots), 2001 Human hair, hairspray and cardboard

    Untitled (hair grid with knots), 2001 Human hair, hairspray and tracing paper


    All three works deal with the grid, but they approach it in very different ways. Mirror is made of rigid steel bars and looks more like a cage than a mirror. Instead of reflecting the viewer, it blocks you, making you think about barriers and limitations. The hair grids are much more fragile and personal. Each strand of hair has been knotted and woven together, which immediately brings in the presence of the body. Hair is intimate, living material, and by turning it into a grid, Hatoum changes something usually impersonal into something organic and human.

    Mona Hatoum

    Beirut (major), 2022

    Tracing paper

    This hand-drawn map of Beirut on translucent tracing paper shows burnt-out rectangles marking the destruction caused by the 2020 port explosion. The fragility of the paper and the delicate, lace-like patterns highlight both loss and violence. While the map depicts Beirut, it also evokes larger ideas about war and destruction happening across the world today. When I look at it, I think about Palestine and Gaza, where genocide and constant bombing are normalised and constantly being justified. The map’s absences reflect not only physical destruction but also the ways governments and systems erase or hide violence, leaving people to suffer silently. Hatoum’s work reminds us that these are not natural disasters or accidents – they are caused by humans, and the indifference or silence of the world amplifies the injustice. Through its delicate surface, Beirut (major) speaks about fragility, loss, and the impossibility of ignoring the pain and destruction that continue across the globe.


    Do Ho Suh: Walk the House

    Tate Modern, 2025

    Do Ho Suh is a Korean-born artist known for exploring home, memory, and identity. His work often reflects on the emotional and cultural significance of domestic spaces, questioning ideas of belonging and displacement. Using meticulous craftsmanship, Suh creates life-sized replicas of his past residences in translucent fabrics, inviting viewers to step into his personal history while thinking about their own connections to place.

    The exhibition I visited at Tate Modern in 2025 presents a survey of Suh’s work across three cities: Seoul, New York, and London –places he has lived and traveled between. The installations include large-scale houses made from colorful threads, alongside drawings, videos, and animations. What struck me most was the precision and care in these works: they are perfect, yet feel unreal, almost animated, with a childlike, playful quality. Even the sculptures, while tangible, seem to exist in another world.


    Overall, the exhibition was mesmerizing. Suh’s ability to combine imagination, technical skill, and a sense of memory makes his work feel alive and transportive, creating a unique experience of space, identity, and home.

    Giuseppe Penone: Thoughts in the Roots

    Kensington GardensSerpentine South Gallery3 April – 7 September 2025

    Giuseppe Penone is an Italian artist whose work spans sculpture, installation, and site-specific projects. He is known for exploring the relationship between nature and human perception, often using organic materials like wood, leaves, and stone. His practice combines meticulous craftsmanship with a sensitivity to natural processes, creating works that feel both alive and carefully constructed.

    When I was going to Giuseppe Penone’s exhibition at the Serpentine on Sunday, I actually took a wrong turn and ended up on a longer route. It was a nice sunny day, so it turned out to be a really pleasant walk. I went through Hyde Park and loved the scenery along the way – swans gliding on the pond, baby swans, and all the different types of pigeons. It was a simple, peaceful moment before finally reaching the exhibition.

    As I entered the exhibition, the first thing I noticed was a half-cut cedar trunk, and the fragrance of the wood was immediately noticeable. Moving into the next room, there were twelve pieces of bark, cut and arranged together on a wooden structure. Each piece was beautifully carved, and the walls around them were covered with leaves, stacked inside metal mesh shells with holes. The combination of texture, smell, and scale made it feel spectacular.

    For one night, going to see all these exhibitions was an adventure in itself. I got on a wrong train, which ended up in the complete opposite direction ,  Southampton. Once there, we encountered a British train staff member who deliberately mislead us. He told us the bus to London was at platform 3, then when we went there another staff member said it was at platform 1 where I was already standing. By the time I got back, the train was about to leave. As I pressed the button to board, he yelled at me from afar. It felt like he was deliberately making it difficult, maybe even being rude or discriminatory. I had to wait another 30 minutes for the next train and finally reached London around 3:30, after leaving Oxford at 11. I only had an hour or two to see the show that day.

    I went straight to see Do Ho Suh’s exhibition, which was incredible. The next day, I stayed in London just to see Mona Hatoum and Giuseppe Penone, because it was too late the previous day. It was worth every bit of trouble – seeing these international artists in person is completely different from viewing them online. In Lahore, we rarely get such opportunities, and being able to experience the scale, detail, and presence of these works firsthand made the whole journey unforgettable.

    Singing lessons with Ms Aliya Rasheed

    Alia Rashid is a music teacher and educator based in Lahore. She teaches at Sanjan Nagar Public Education Trust School and also offers workshops online and in person. Despite being visually impaired, she has studied extensively under the Gundecha Brothers in India, who themselves were trained in the Dagarvani tradition of Dhrupad. Her teaching blends deep musical knowledge with a sensitivity to individual learning, and learning from her has been an inspiring experience. Unfortunately, not all of my classes have been documented, but some sessions have been recorded.

    It’s been almost a year now that I’ve been taking classes with Alia Rashid. I also did a research project on her and her musical lineage, exploring the history of Dagarvani and the evolution of Dhrupad. Dhrupad is a more intense and traditional form of music, originally associated with Hindu rituals, and was considered a male-dominated style. Over time, especially during the Mughal period, Khyal gained popularity, offering a different approach. Alia studied Dhrupad in depth and spent four years in India, learning from the Gundecha Brothers Umakant Gundecha and Ramakant Gundecha, who are part of the Dagarvani tradition.

    The documentary I made on Ms Aliya Rasheed is available on my YouTube channel if anybody want to see it.

    Ashmoliun Museam (Western Art Section)

    From the Western Art Collection, I saw some amazing works, from Michele Giovanni Boni to Fra Filippo Lippi. What interested me most was how these paintings were made. Until now, I had only seen them on Google, so seeing them in person was completely different – the textures, the brushwork, the scale – everything felt more alive. It’s a privilege to experience them like this, and yet, because there is so much work on display, it also feels a bit overwhelming.

    I spent a couple of days exploring both the Western and Eastern Art Collections, focusing on the works that struck me most visually. I didn’t analyze every painting, but selected the ones that caught my attention because of their imagery, colors, and textures. The landscape paintings, in particular, connected with me – the shades, the way the colors were used, and the mood they created.

    Some of the artists I noticed include Frédéric Leighton (1830–1896), Giovanni Costa (1826–1903), and various French artists from the 1840s. It was incredible to see works by these artists in person, especially because so many of them are usually seen online. The museum is free, which makes it possible to revisit and really spend time with the collection, and I appreciated that opportunity immensely.

    What interested me the most about this collection is that the collector who donated it did so on one condition: that the room displaying the works would be designed exactly according to his specifications. Normally, museums have their own rules, layouts, and ways of arranging works, so it’s fascinating that the museum had to follow the collector’s vision. Every detail – from the layout to the green color and the placement of each piece – was determined by him before the collection was handed over.

    Eastern Art Section

    The Walking on a Thousand Flowers carpet, or Mille Fleurs, is a Mughal carpet from Lahore, known for its profusion of tiny flower clusters. What makes it fascinating is that it’s light and delicate, made from pashmina – the fine undercoat of Himalayan goats – so soft and light that it almost feels like a shawl rather than a heavy carpet. It’s displayed flat in a glass case because hanging it could damage it over time.

    It’s especially meaningful to me because it comes from Lahore, my home region. It was once stolen and later recovered by a professor from Oxford University.


    One critique I have is how the museum labels it. Everywhere it refers to “India,” without acknowledging the subcontinent, which feels misleading historically and politically. Even when Lahore is mentioned in trade-route explanations, it’s conflated with Kashmir, which should not be the case. Later, when I asked another staff member about its origin, I mentioned Lahore, and she said “Lahore or Agra.” Agra is not listed anywhere in the official description. This creates a third possible origin and raises questions: either the description was not researched properly, has not been updated or there is a deliberate choice in how the carpet’s provenance is represented.

    In the coins section at the Ashmolean Museum, I was drawn to the history of money and how it reflects power. It was fascinating to see how things that were important in daily life became forms of money from cowrie shells and metal copies of spades and knives in China between 1500 and 300 BC, to bronze and brass coins around 600 BC. After 225 BC, Chinese coins were round with a square hole in the center, symbolizing kingship: the round shape for the sky, the square for the emperor’s authority.

    Other examples from around the world were equally interesting: cowrie shells in Papua New Guinea, and brass objects called manilas in Nigeria. Back then, money was literally tied to what people valued and used most in life. Today, currency has evolved into a system where we buy more and more, sometimes of the same things, and money drives people to fight, creates poverty, and defines survival. Rent keeps rising, and people’s value is measured by wealth – very different from when money represented essential things.


    I’ve also been collecting coins since I was a child, so this section felt personal. Today I opened my coin box and found a five-rupee coin I don’t see anymore – coins in Pakistan have lost most of their value because of the economy. Seeing all of this together, from shells and spades to modern coins, really made me think about how money has evolved and the role it plays in shaping our world.

    History Of Science Museum- Oxford

    Handwritten board by Einstein

    Natural History Museam – Oxford

    As I entered the Natural History Museum in Oxford, it was spectacular to see the dinosaurs. Most of them were old molds, probably made to preserve the shapes of species from T. rex to ostriches and others. The actual dinosaur fossils were kept safely in glass. While walking through the exhibits, I noticed people touching some of the rocks and fossils, and at first, I thought you weren’t supposed to. But then I saw it was allowed to touch them gently. I went back and touched each one, just to feel them – to imagine holding something so ancient, from millions or even billions of years ago, here in 2025.