Among the starlight and starbright’s of my city, one can’t help but feel an internal divide striking through the motions of everyday. Where are the grand historic narratives I spent time contemplating in my formative years?
I look at the wide spectrum of art work thrown around by the monopolized galleria of the Pakistani online art scene. The definitions I learnt of student, aspiring, emerging, established, senior artists are now a mess with the evident skewed hierarchy in place. I write synopsis after synopsis, carefully gallery centric- a preordained selection of artists informs maybe a quarter of my understanding of this mythical yet heavily present center. A melting pot of opportunistic self promoted circles, blurred and bought into the light by specific marketed publications. Maybe I am not a fit. Nor do I wish to play the tapestry of glitter and fairy dust, nor do I demand to be heard over hatchets of egos. I am void of intimacy for my medium. Where are the acts of musing and the trenches of deep watery pools of complexity? Indugent dark nights prolonged, infusing emotions and mysterious of the self rubbed raw. Kant wouldn’t be happy with my hyper-social extravaganza. He would sit in the corner of this establishment and point a nagging finger at my new found networking mojo.
I am a pool of information relaying everything reflecting nothing. I am a drone of splattering art data. One sentence here another there and suppose to feel all giddy with art encyclopedic syndrome.
Mechanical and dehumanized, this might be the height of my internal conflict. I preferred ephemeral realities crossing over fumes of checks and balances of everyday life. I am here. Here to part with my blurred parameters I once laid down placing myself a float. I am a dissipating periphery merging with the so called center. Where galleries aren’t people waiting to have you make change. I am a brand, a glorified faceless member of a self sustainable entity.
"I am absent in order to make you believe we are all one giant community."
