SYMPOSIUM REPORT
Illustration and Folklore in South Asia symposium
Interview with the organiser Rohama Malik
cover artwork: Anushka Rustomji
cover artwork: Anushka Rustomji
Earlier this spring, Habib University in Karachi hosted Illustration and Folklore in South Asia Symposium. This event examined the relationship between illustration and broader visual arts heritage in South Asia with regard to the transference and preservation of folklore and myths. The symposium organiser, Rohama Malik, Assistant Professor at Habib University, looks back at the event presentations and reflects on the core themes discussed.
The symposium proposed that ‘contemporary illustrators revisit mythic and folkloric sources to reimagine how older narrative worlds can speak to present concerns like ecological precarity, minority rights, and diasporic identity’.
Could you introduce some successful examples from the symposium – or contemporary illustration practitioners in South Asia more broadly?
One of our symposium speakers, Areesha Khuwaja, spoke about landscapes on opposite ends of the country in her talk, Shapeshifting Landscapes: Visual Ethnography in Nagarparkar and Swat. By highlighting the land formations of these two areas, and how they inform the stories and traditions there, she was able to elucidate the connections between topography, folklore, and visual storytelling. Her illustrative practice then becomes a way of recording these traditions, with writing covering a wide array of topics like agricultural practices, food preparation, and Buddhist/Hindu stories and artefacts. These initial findings are collected in a collaborative zine with the work of other researchers and supported by the British Council. I say initial here because these areas have so much history and storytelling practices embedded in them that I’m sure more trips and engagement with the people who live there will unearth new ways of connecting to the land. I know Areesha wishes to continue working on these themes and I look forward to seeing the forms her practice expands into.
Rajaa Moini’s talk, Monstrous Anatomy: Visualising the Abnormal “Other”, showed how the idea of the monstrous, i.e. something at its base level defying easy categorisation, can be used to target marginalised and already vulnerable sections of society. She touched on the concept of nationhood within the context of Pakistan and who may be intentionally left out of the body politics and why. Her talk also analysed how horror tropes can ask the audience to look upon ‘the other’ with suspicion, but may also provide some empowerment to them by imbuing the other with supernatural powers and the ability to have agency in certain kinds of narratives. Whether the ‘villain’ is someone the audience can eventually root for is then rooted in the audience’s own subjectivity and position.
Rajaa Moini’s talk, Monstrous Anatomy: Visualising the Abnormal “Other”, showed how the idea of the monstrous, i.e. something at its base level defying easy categorisation, can be used to target marginalised and already vulnerable sections of society. She touched on the concept of nationhood within the context of Pakistan and who may be intentionally left out of the body politics and why. Her talk also analysed how horror tropes can ask the audience to look upon ‘the other’ with suspicion, but may also provide some empowerment to them by imbuing the other with supernatural powers and the ability to have agency in certain kinds of narratives. Whether the ‘villain’ is someone the audience can eventually root for is then rooted in the audience’s own subjectivity and position.
In Avoiding the self-orientalisation trap Mariam Tafsiri identified important ways contemporary illustrators can attempt to be culturally cognisant in their practice, while trying to avoid exoticizing the self for a non-native audience. She spoke about being part of the Iranian diaspora and how that affected her references and composition choices. This was also especially relevant to our audience of Pakistani academics and creatives. Given the dominant narrative surrounding Pakistan – a landmass associated with terrorism, poor women’s rights, and, inexplicably, mangoes – Mariam’s talk was a nuanced take on how one can include cultural symbols by deeply familiarising themselves with their cultural context and then deploying them with care. Her talk thus emphasised a research oriented look at illustration practice which I really appreciated. Contemporary Pakistani illustrators need to be careful of how to incorporate cultural symbols in their work while not flattening them into a simplistic version of themselves and while also recognising that these visuals are not exclusive to the modern-day landmass called Pakistan.
An artist who I really admire and was on my symposium wishlist is Osheen Siva. Their practice involves using their Tamil and Dalit heritage and incorporating traditionally marginalised perspectives into Hindu myths and stories. Their work utilises surrealist art practices as well as decolonial and speculative fiction lenses to center queer and feminine voices by retelling myths and Hindu religious stories from a Dalit perspective. Coupled with their incredibly vibrant illustrations, their body of work is an important reframing of stories that highlights those traditionally marginalised.
An artist who I really admire and was on my symposium wishlist is Osheen Siva. Their practice involves using their Tamil and Dalit heritage and incorporating traditionally marginalised perspectives into Hindu myths and stories. Their work utilises surrealist art practices as well as decolonial and speculative fiction lenses to center queer and feminine voices by retelling myths and Hindu religious stories from a Dalit perspective. Coupled with their incredibly vibrant illustrations, their body of work is an important reframing of stories that highlights those traditionally marginalised.
When we think about folklore, the initial response may be to look into the vernacular of the past. However, contemporary folklore – within the digital realm, for example – may take shapes that would not be readily associated with this conventional reading of ‘folklore’. How do you think contemporary illustrators embrace that?
There are some illustrators who are using technology like AR to help revive folklore and folk traditions. Areesha Khuwaja, who I mentioned above, used this technology on posters she illustrated where the posters became animated and showed folk musicians playing music. I think, given how social media (awful though it can be) is still a main way of disseminating information, illustrators can embrace more video formats in order to help highlight different kinds of folklore.
I think we’re already seeing some interesting forms of contemporary folklore and internet language shared amongst generations - although the changes in language are happening at a rate where certain groups are aging out of their usage at a more rapid pace than previously seen. In some cases, internet language transcends established languages and their rules and the visuals that accompany this language really help in its rapid dissemination and absorption amongst some groups on the internet.
I think we’re already seeing some interesting forms of contemporary folklore and internet language shared amongst generations - although the changes in language are happening at a rate where certain groups are aging out of their usage at a more rapid pace than previously seen. In some cases, internet language transcends established languages and their rules and the visuals that accompany this language really help in its rapid dissemination and absorption amongst some groups on the internet.
I think Reddit and 4Chan are excellent examples of sources of contemporary folklore and this type of language development in the early days of the internet, and its legacy still lives today seen in how certain stories escaped the confines of a Reddit thread to become part of other parts of internet discourse and also non-digital life. In particular I think of creepypastas, as well as the ‘glitch in the matrix’ phenomena. I will say I’m not very well-versed in them and am not a big horror fan to begin with. Despite that, I remember Slenderman (first appearance in 2009 as an image, with the backstory being developed by users after) while growing up, as well as the “red lamp” story (first appearance in 2012) where a man realises that his entire life is false based on an ‘unusually flat’ lamp in his living room that he didn’t notice before. These two have been immortalised through the work of artists and animators and in their movement through the meme machine to become a new kind of shorthand internet users of a particular age can refer to.
The most recent example of enduring internet folklore is that of the Backrooms. Initially a viral post on 4chan in 2019, the backrooms was a short text post on how one could “noclip” (i.e. fall or emerge) into the 'backrooms' if they weren’t careful, doomed to wander aimlesslessly while avoiding ‘something’ that is there already. The backrooms consisted of a lurid “mono-yellow” wallpaper - and here I wonder if the original poster was making a reference to Perkins-Gillman’s short story The Yellow Wallpaper – and interconnected, seemingly endless rooms filled with the overwhelming scent of moist carpet. My research has shown me that the backrooms now have their own mythos and different “denominations” as their wiki put it, with different users adding on to the world and establishing a full-fledged set of stories and theories as to what exists in the backrooms, with each denomination having their own cutoff point as to what can be included in the mythos and what should be excluded.
The backrooms have not just been the subject of collaborative world building exercises but have also been turned into a web series and now a film starring Chiwetel Ejiofor, both directed by Kane Parsons, who uses the same image posted by the original user in 2019 to inform his set design of the backrooms. This is an excellent example of internet folklore making its way into the mainstream where fans of the horror genre can go and enjoy his film in the cinemas, regardless of how well-versed they are in this backstory.
The most recent example of enduring internet folklore is that of the Backrooms. Initially a viral post on 4chan in 2019, the backrooms was a short text post on how one could “noclip” (i.e. fall or emerge) into the 'backrooms' if they weren’t careful, doomed to wander aimlesslessly while avoiding ‘something’ that is there already. The backrooms consisted of a lurid “mono-yellow” wallpaper - and here I wonder if the original poster was making a reference to Perkins-Gillman’s short story The Yellow Wallpaper – and interconnected, seemingly endless rooms filled with the overwhelming scent of moist carpet. My research has shown me that the backrooms now have their own mythos and different “denominations” as their wiki put it, with different users adding on to the world and establishing a full-fledged set of stories and theories as to what exists in the backrooms, with each denomination having their own cutoff point as to what can be included in the mythos and what should be excluded.
The backrooms have not just been the subject of collaborative world building exercises but have also been turned into a web series and now a film starring Chiwetel Ejiofor, both directed by Kane Parsons, who uses the same image posted by the original user in 2019 to inform his set design of the backrooms. This is an excellent example of internet folklore making its way into the mainstream where fans of the horror genre can go and enjoy his film in the cinemas, regardless of how well-versed they are in this backstory.
I believe such stories, internet urban legends, and digital folklore can be excellent references for illustrators to pull from. Often folklore is categorised as oral in nature and thus at times difficult to transcribe or to agree on one version. The Reddit threads show that even if these stories existed in a textual form to begin with, there is enough permissibility in the form for other users to respond and add on to the original, or to reply with things similar to what was originally being reported, creating rich worlds of storytelling for people the world over.
In terms of oral contemporary folklore, oral forms like TikTok have the ability to let users stitch video responses to the original post, adding on to what came before. Depending on the virality of the audio, illustrators can then illustrate and animate using that sound as dialogues, putting those words in the mouths of original characters, celebrities, or even characters from existing media properties, thereby putting their own spin on the words that were used in different contexts by someone else. The internet thus allows for the illustrator to engage in interesting exercises of picking and choosing, much like creating collages out of old magazines except the shelf life of that audio, and thus their spin on it, is perhaps much shorter now. Depending on what internet ecosystem one belongs to or frequents, we all could ostensibly end up with reference points and stories that we only share with a handful of other people in different parts of the world.
Visuals are very easy for us to grasp and immediately understand and in terms of contemporary folklore I think there is a lot of potential to create shared experiences. I imagine an illustration of an otherwise happy or ordinary looking living room but with a red lamp drawn unusually would have immediate connotations for those familiar with the red lamp story and perhaps they would search the image for other clues of things being not as they seem.
I also think of the geometric 'S' that apparently many millennials drew in their notebooks growing up. At one point I saw so many memes about it that I became semi-convinced that I too had drawn that same ’S’ in my notebooks. While I don’t necessarily think of the S as a form of folklore, I do think it’s interesting to see how the abundance of a singular image, repeated across platforms, has the power of making people believe certain things about their own life. Or, at the very least, makes one wish to draw the same image now even if they didn’t do so earlier in life. Linked to this is also the way our algorithms are structured, with most of my contemporaries getting the same reels and content to engage with. This creates echo chambers and smaller pockets of references for one to pull from and is almost entirely linked to what the latest English speaking (often American) imagery or language change is in trend now. I wonder what meme culture in China or Slavic cultures looks like, what the visuals they use are, how much I would be able to understand them at a first glance,, and how the illustrators and creatives in these places respond to them. For that matter, meme culture in regional languages in Pakistan is also something I am largely unfamiliar with. It’s fascinating to think how many stories, worlds, and new and old mythologies would be being shared on those channels.
In terms of oral contemporary folklore, oral forms like TikTok have the ability to let users stitch video responses to the original post, adding on to what came before. Depending on the virality of the audio, illustrators can then illustrate and animate using that sound as dialogues, putting those words in the mouths of original characters, celebrities, or even characters from existing media properties, thereby putting their own spin on the words that were used in different contexts by someone else. The internet thus allows for the illustrator to engage in interesting exercises of picking and choosing, much like creating collages out of old magazines except the shelf life of that audio, and thus their spin on it, is perhaps much shorter now. Depending on what internet ecosystem one belongs to or frequents, we all could ostensibly end up with reference points and stories that we only share with a handful of other people in different parts of the world.
Visuals are very easy for us to grasp and immediately understand and in terms of contemporary folklore I think there is a lot of potential to create shared experiences. I imagine an illustration of an otherwise happy or ordinary looking living room but with a red lamp drawn unusually would have immediate connotations for those familiar with the red lamp story and perhaps they would search the image for other clues of things being not as they seem.
I also think of the geometric 'S' that apparently many millennials drew in their notebooks growing up. At one point I saw so many memes about it that I became semi-convinced that I too had drawn that same ’S’ in my notebooks. While I don’t necessarily think of the S as a form of folklore, I do think it’s interesting to see how the abundance of a singular image, repeated across platforms, has the power of making people believe certain things about their own life. Or, at the very least, makes one wish to draw the same image now even if they didn’t do so earlier in life. Linked to this is also the way our algorithms are structured, with most of my contemporaries getting the same reels and content to engage with. This creates echo chambers and smaller pockets of references for one to pull from and is almost entirely linked to what the latest English speaking (often American) imagery or language change is in trend now. I wonder what meme culture in China or Slavic cultures looks like, what the visuals they use are, how much I would be able to understand them at a first glance,, and how the illustrators and creatives in these places respond to them. For that matter, meme culture in regional languages in Pakistan is also something I am largely unfamiliar with. It’s fascinating to think how many stories, worlds, and new and old mythologies would be being shared on those channels.
Cultural theorist Svetlana Boym distinguishes between ‘restorative nostalgia’, which solidifies the past in a romanticised idea of ‘tradition’, and ‘reflective nostalgia’, which critically examines the ideas about the past, often approaching it with both longing and irony. Do you think these categories are in some way applicable to the works you’ve seen or discussed in the symposium?
Anushka Rustomji (2022) Sea, sermon, story (1, 2, 3). Acrylic, ink and gouache on paper
I was unfamiliar with Boym’s work before this, so thank you for introducing me to her through this question! Having read her chapters on ‘restorative’ and ‘reflective’ nostalgia, I was reminded of Taymiya Zaman's talk, Symbols as Remedy. Taymiya reflected on her over two-decades-long practice as a historian, as well as her recent BA in Fine and Studio Arts, and how the two disciplines affected her view on nostalgia as a concept. She outlined how when she was a PhD student in Mughal history when 9/11 took place, she found comfort in revisiting the past and living in old maps and stories that could distract her from the unsettling things happening around her. This fuelled romanticised notions of the past and a desire to go back to the way things were. She now posits this kind of nostalgia as ultimately dangerous, linking it to the rise of religious extremism and fascism in countries both near and far from home. This is precisely what Boym terms as “restorative nostalgia” and she highlights similar uses of it to justify nationalistic and jingoistic fervour. Taymiya, for her part, also termed this type of nostalgia a “creative wasteland” and “imaginary limbo”.
Taymiya’s response to this type of nostalgia and her training as a historian was to use her new art practice as a way of embodying a different kind of nostalgia. This was based in practice and visuals and less so in textual language. By relating the copying of symbols from the past and their inclusion in her visual practice, she highlighted how the illustrator engages with the past in a different way than the historian and posited that art could be used “as a remedy for nostalgia”. She stated that art making and the reproduction of symbols and narratives connects one to the past in a way that cannot be erased, that cultures and communities will still exist as long as someone reproduces the visuals associated with them.
Taymiya’s response to this type of nostalgia and her training as a historian was to use her new art practice as a way of embodying a different kind of nostalgia. This was based in practice and visuals and less so in textual language. By relating the copying of symbols from the past and their inclusion in her visual practice, she highlighted how the illustrator engages with the past in a different way than the historian and posited that art could be used “as a remedy for nostalgia”. She stated that art making and the reproduction of symbols and narratives connects one to the past in a way that cannot be erased, that cultures and communities will still exist as long as someone reproduces the visuals associated with them.
Stories, images, and symbols that contemporary practitioners pull from have much more disparate roots than what the architects of the modern nation state would have us believe
I find this delineation of nostalgia and illustration as a remedy for it to be fascinating. This is especially so in the case of Pakistan, where many people are beginning to take notice of, and are attempting to revive, cultural crafts and forms of making in an effort to keep them alive and to get a new generation interested in them. I think what we also need to understand in this form of image making/craft making as a way of combatting nostalgia – especially ‘restorative nostalgia’ – is to recognise that most of these stories, images, and symbols that contemporary practitioners pull from have much more disparate roots than what the architects of the modern nation state would have us believe. I attended a talk on Balochi embroidery traditions two years ago where the researcher highlighted how the same patterns found in Balochi embroidery could also be seen on pottery from Persia and in Palestinian embroideries as well. Phulkari embroidery traditions and patterned ajrak cloth exist on both sides on the India/Pakistan border, with people engaging in methods of making that long predate the 1947 borders. Similarly, our ‘traditional’ pottery has symbols from both China and Iran, depending on whether the craftsmen are from Punjab or Sindh, and what ancient trading route artisans took centuries ago.
And so again I echo Taymiya’s point that the act of making must be recognised as one that ties one to the past, but a past that is more expansive than we might first consider. By engaging in perpetuating these symbols, we have an opportunity to allow for a more humanistic and holistic/pluralistic form of nostalgia to develop, once we recognise and understand where exactly our references are coming from.
And so again I echo Taymiya’s point that the act of making must be recognised as one that ties one to the past, but a past that is more expansive than we might first consider. By engaging in perpetuating these symbols, we have an opportunity to allow for a more humanistic and holistic/pluralistic form of nostalgia to develop, once we recognise and understand where exactly our references are coming from.
The symposium outline mentions influences of ‘imported aesthetic and ideological frameworks like that of Gulf-influenced Islamization and the soft power of East Asian visual culture’ that affect contemporary illustration in South East Asia.
On top of these, there are pressures coming from confronting the Western European gaze: Mariam Tafsiri, for example, addressed the problem of self-orientalisation in her presentation. What research strategies and theoretical frameworks do you think illustrators may use to navigate these pressures and not collapse under their weight?
I feel this is the big question illustration academia needs to take the forefront on. Illustration in Pakistan has seen a recent surge in popularity, both in terms of commercial assignments as well as students taking an interest in learning how to illustrate. I am entering my fifth year of full-time teaching and have seen many students go through the motions of trying to find their own style or a way to express themselves. I try my best to ensure that in all my courses, they tell stories that are unique to Pakistan and their own lived experience.
I am often faced with some resistance when I announce this rule in my elective Creating Comics class. Students come in wanting to craft dystopias in Gotham City-esque worlds or slice-of-life high school romance stories with their characters often having white/Japanese names in their initial drafts while their art styles are directly influenced by Korean artists and manga. Nothing is inherently wrong with any of this, but it is not a direct translation of their lived experiences and given the lack of Pakistani comics and visual speculative work in large quantities, I find myself wanting them to push themselves beyond visual low hanging fruit. Of course, there is a delicate balance to maintain because these are art styles that are so dominant and so it becomes difficult to divorce one’s own work from prevailing illustrative trends.
In light of this, I would like illustrators to constantly question themselves and their instincts whenever starting a new project. Tied to this is to have a neverending sense of curiosity about one’s own motivations. This semester, I asked my Creating Comics students to verbally describe a teenager in a school uniform. Everyone who answered mentioned skirts and sailor scout shirts, and perhaps a stripe or two on the garment. When I pointed out that no Pakistani student wore uniforms like that in their teen years, we were all struck by how easily these descriptions came to them, and how little it had to do with their own lives and what they saw their younger siblings wear. Young Pakistani girls wear skirts as part of their school uniforms in some schools, and that too only till class 6 or so. After that everyone switches to shalwar kameez with sashes in their school’s colour. If they are to create a slice-of-life narrative of young people in Pakistan, it should feel true to what they’ve been exposed to their whole lives.
In other cases, they draw in manga style because they feel it comes ‘easier’ to them, having grown up on anime and with bookshops stocking more manga now than they did when I was growing up. Here too I would like them to question their adoption of a style and visual culture that is not homegrown. I do not wish to police anyone’s choice of style, nor would I in the classroom. But I would like to encourage new methods of making that could allow them to branch out and be more exploratory in their approach. Unfortunately given the time constraint of a 2.5 hour studio class and the fact that a lot of the students do not spend time outside of the classroom drawing for pleasure, being constrained by assignments and having other things to do, what they are most comfortable with becomes their default in the classroom.
I often say that I do not care about the quality of their illustrations, and that they could exclusively use stick figures in their work as long as they tell a successful narrative.
I suppose in order to address all this, one thing I would like young illustrators to do is to look outside for references. By this, I mean literally looking out their windows to begin recording their neighbourhoods, the people they live with, or the shops they frequent. By building a visual library that is unique to them and not informed by Pinterest moodboards, they could begin understanding that their own lives are worth making art on.
I am often faced with some resistance when I announce this rule in my elective Creating Comics class. Students come in wanting to craft dystopias in Gotham City-esque worlds or slice-of-life high school romance stories with their characters often having white/Japanese names in their initial drafts while their art styles are directly influenced by Korean artists and manga. Nothing is inherently wrong with any of this, but it is not a direct translation of their lived experiences and given the lack of Pakistani comics and visual speculative work in large quantities, I find myself wanting them to push themselves beyond visual low hanging fruit. Of course, there is a delicate balance to maintain because these are art styles that are so dominant and so it becomes difficult to divorce one’s own work from prevailing illustrative trends.
In light of this, I would like illustrators to constantly question themselves and their instincts whenever starting a new project. Tied to this is to have a neverending sense of curiosity about one’s own motivations. This semester, I asked my Creating Comics students to verbally describe a teenager in a school uniform. Everyone who answered mentioned skirts and sailor scout shirts, and perhaps a stripe or two on the garment. When I pointed out that no Pakistani student wore uniforms like that in their teen years, we were all struck by how easily these descriptions came to them, and how little it had to do with their own lives and what they saw their younger siblings wear. Young Pakistani girls wear skirts as part of their school uniforms in some schools, and that too only till class 6 or so. After that everyone switches to shalwar kameez with sashes in their school’s colour. If they are to create a slice-of-life narrative of young people in Pakistan, it should feel true to what they’ve been exposed to their whole lives.
In other cases, they draw in manga style because they feel it comes ‘easier’ to them, having grown up on anime and with bookshops stocking more manga now than they did when I was growing up. Here too I would like them to question their adoption of a style and visual culture that is not homegrown. I do not wish to police anyone’s choice of style, nor would I in the classroom. But I would like to encourage new methods of making that could allow them to branch out and be more exploratory in their approach. Unfortunately given the time constraint of a 2.5 hour studio class and the fact that a lot of the students do not spend time outside of the classroom drawing for pleasure, being constrained by assignments and having other things to do, what they are most comfortable with becomes their default in the classroom.
I often say that I do not care about the quality of their illustrations, and that they could exclusively use stick figures in their work as long as they tell a successful narrative.
I suppose in order to address all this, one thing I would like young illustrators to do is to look outside for references. By this, I mean literally looking out their windows to begin recording their neighbourhoods, the people they live with, or the shops they frequent. By building a visual library that is unique to them and not informed by Pinterest moodboards, they could begin understanding that their own lives are worth making art on.
Anushka Rustomji,
Was Waq Dragon Tree (2022)
Mudra Sarv (2022)
Banyan Fish Tree (2022)
Fishtail Fruit-tree (2022)
Was Waq Dragon Tree (2022)
Mudra Sarv (2022)
Banyan Fish Tree (2022)
Fishtail Fruit-tree (2022)
Part of the questioning I advocate also has to do with questioning what their algorithm shows them. I see young Pakistani illustrators draw tomatoes on vines and screaming possums, and I myself was tempted to draw a sardine can pattern after seeing many illustrators try their hand at it on Instagram. Vine tomatoes are found exclusively in grocery stores and not on the vegetable stalls where our families mostly shop from, possums are not an animal many of us have seen in real life, and I have never eaten a sardine. This is not to say that we cannot draw these things or engage in illustration trends as they appear on our feed but we should be mindful of what we illustrate and why. Sometimes the answer can be to have fun!
In Illustration Research Methods, Rachel Gannon and Mireille Fauchon write about how illustrators cannot control where their illustrations end up or how they may be received. This is a particular point of concern for illustrators who may wish to engage with more serious political or rights based issues in their work. The beauty of an illustrative work is that an audience can often immediately apprehend what is happening in the image. However, as the two above expanded in their work, cultural contexts and signifiers may end up becoming lost the more an illustration travels. I’m unsure how one can fully account for this to be honest. A detailed artist description/caption may be helpful but it may also strip pleasure the viewer may get from trying to understand the artist’s point of view. I suppose all one can do is try their best to honour their intended target audience and be prepared to parry any ungenerous interpretations of their work.
Finally, I would advise reading widely to find new sources of inspiration. I teach a course that analyses speculative fiction from South Asia and has students create illustrations in response. It’s a course I’m still tinkering with as I get ready to teach it for the third time, as friends send me articles and books that could be relevant and I find more and more stories from South Asia and Pakistan that I want to include. A lot of these stories are still oral and so here the act of ‘reading’ expands into ‘asking and listening’. I would like illustrators in Pakistan to again, be more curious about their surroundings and to document all the little stories and family legends or funny anecdotes that come their way. I believe an illustrator must also partly be an archivist themselves, not just illustrating stories that already exist in printed work or engaging in commercial work, but to also think about this easy apprehension of a visual that all humans share, and then to think critically about how their practice and body of work can help enrich existing pools of information. This enrichment could be through academia, class assignments, self-published work, formal archives and collaborations with grant issuing agencies, or even just one’s own Instagram. I think the answer really lies in having a multiplicity of voices and images all providing different angles of lived experience so there are many voices representing a people and not just a select few.
In Illustration Research Methods, Rachel Gannon and Mireille Fauchon write about how illustrators cannot control where their illustrations end up or how they may be received. This is a particular point of concern for illustrators who may wish to engage with more serious political or rights based issues in their work. The beauty of an illustrative work is that an audience can often immediately apprehend what is happening in the image. However, as the two above expanded in their work, cultural contexts and signifiers may end up becoming lost the more an illustration travels. I’m unsure how one can fully account for this to be honest. A detailed artist description/caption may be helpful but it may also strip pleasure the viewer may get from trying to understand the artist’s point of view. I suppose all one can do is try their best to honour their intended target audience and be prepared to parry any ungenerous interpretations of their work.
Finally, I would advise reading widely to find new sources of inspiration. I teach a course that analyses speculative fiction from South Asia and has students create illustrations in response. It’s a course I’m still tinkering with as I get ready to teach it for the third time, as friends send me articles and books that could be relevant and I find more and more stories from South Asia and Pakistan that I want to include. A lot of these stories are still oral and so here the act of ‘reading’ expands into ‘asking and listening’. I would like illustrators in Pakistan to again, be more curious about their surroundings and to document all the little stories and family legends or funny anecdotes that come their way. I believe an illustrator must also partly be an archivist themselves, not just illustrating stories that already exist in printed work or engaging in commercial work, but to also think about this easy apprehension of a visual that all humans share, and then to think critically about how their practice and body of work can help enrich existing pools of information. This enrichment could be through academia, class assignments, self-published work, formal archives and collaborations with grant issuing agencies, or even just one’s own Instagram. I think the answer really lies in having a multiplicity of voices and images all providing different angles of lived experience so there are many voices representing a people and not just a select few.
Anushka Rustomji (2023) Waq waq Tree. Charcoal and pencil on paper, 30x22.5
What were the ideas expressed during the symposium that were the most insightful for you personally as an illustrator and academic?
The speakers were all invited to speak at the symposium and I curated the list knowing that each of them had something unique to contribute. Here my own interest in pedagogy, research, and context dictated the invites and how the schedule was put together so each pair of speakers were loosely in conversation with each other. There were so many interesting ideas presented, it’s honestly difficult to answer this question!
I really appreciated Siddhi Gupta, whose talk was titled Folk Art as Knowledge: Rethinking Preservation, Pedagogy, and Practice, taking us through her lesson plans and showing how she helped younger children become interested in folk art.
Priyanka Kumar’s talk, Continuous Narrative through the Indian Subcontinent, showed many examples of text and image based narratives through several centuries that can be pulled from as inspiration for illustration projects. I always admire Priyanka’s breadth of knowledge regarding these topics and I now have a plethora of books and references I want to look up and engage with, not only in my classes, but also in my practice.
I also appreciated the work of Anushka Rustomji and our keynote speaker, Bibi Hajra. Anushka’s work in Tree as Deific Truth-Teller was breathtaking to look at but also opened fascinating avenues of exploration for me as she referenced stories like the Waq-Waq tree that I, and other illustrators, have made our own versions of as well. The Waq-Waq tree is part of my ongoing research interest in the ajaib tradition and often consists of a tree where women grow from the branches, dropping to the ground when they are ripe enough, emitting a sound that sounds like “waq”. Other visuals of this tree show animal heads growing alongside the women. Anushka’s talk showed another version still from the Shahnameh and other epic tales where the heads of men and women grow from a tree to provide the hero with aid on their journey. Her work in response to these themes and referencing the importance of nature and its connection to art making was fascinating to witness.
Similarly, Bibi Hajra’s evocative paintings of the shrine Bibi Pak Daman in Lahore in her keynote, My Saint, A Courtyard, show her spiritual connection to the site and how the paintings act as a site of preservation, such as when she documented an ancient tree on the premises that was later cut down. Her paintings, often surreal and dramatic in their sweeping visuals and tiny human figures, help the viewers see our own insignificance in the face of these larger spiritual and natural landscapes.
As I said earlier, it’s difficult for me to pinpoint just a few as I was deeply interested in what all the invitees had to say and I was sure that each would contribute to my, as well as the audience’s knowledge, in a significant way. This kind of illustration based symposium had not happened in Pakistan yet and so I was so happy to see how engaged the audience was and impressed by the breadth of ideas presented at the symposium. I’m excited to continue working with each of the speakers as well as with other practitioners, academics, and researchers who work on the themes outlined in the symposium abstract, and am making plans to announce a new way to collaborate soon.
I really appreciated Siddhi Gupta, whose talk was titled Folk Art as Knowledge: Rethinking Preservation, Pedagogy, and Practice, taking us through her lesson plans and showing how she helped younger children become interested in folk art.
Priyanka Kumar’s talk, Continuous Narrative through the Indian Subcontinent, showed many examples of text and image based narratives through several centuries that can be pulled from as inspiration for illustration projects. I always admire Priyanka’s breadth of knowledge regarding these topics and I now have a plethora of books and references I want to look up and engage with, not only in my classes, but also in my practice.
I also appreciated the work of Anushka Rustomji and our keynote speaker, Bibi Hajra. Anushka’s work in Tree as Deific Truth-Teller was breathtaking to look at but also opened fascinating avenues of exploration for me as she referenced stories like the Waq-Waq tree that I, and other illustrators, have made our own versions of as well. The Waq-Waq tree is part of my ongoing research interest in the ajaib tradition and often consists of a tree where women grow from the branches, dropping to the ground when they are ripe enough, emitting a sound that sounds like “waq”. Other visuals of this tree show animal heads growing alongside the women. Anushka’s talk showed another version still from the Shahnameh and other epic tales where the heads of men and women grow from a tree to provide the hero with aid on their journey. Her work in response to these themes and referencing the importance of nature and its connection to art making was fascinating to witness.
Similarly, Bibi Hajra’s evocative paintings of the shrine Bibi Pak Daman in Lahore in her keynote, My Saint, A Courtyard, show her spiritual connection to the site and how the paintings act as a site of preservation, such as when she documented an ancient tree on the premises that was later cut down. Her paintings, often surreal and dramatic in their sweeping visuals and tiny human figures, help the viewers see our own insignificance in the face of these larger spiritual and natural landscapes.
As I said earlier, it’s difficult for me to pinpoint just a few as I was deeply interested in what all the invitees had to say and I was sure that each would contribute to my, as well as the audience’s knowledge, in a significant way. This kind of illustration based symposium had not happened in Pakistan yet and so I was so happy to see how engaged the audience was and impressed by the breadth of ideas presented at the symposium. I’m excited to continue working with each of the speakers as well as with other practitioners, academics, and researchers who work on the themes outlined in the symposium abstract, and am making plans to announce a new way to collaborate soon.