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Karachi bleeds in my thoughts, my thoughts bleed in my art

The moment I walked in that room I had entered an untapped area of my own self. A low false ceiling, cold grey plastered floor and piles of incomplete canvases welcomed me to a world of thoughts and creativity. Who knew what I would find inside me!
I had taken up a Visual Arts course as I joined an International Baccalaureate (IB) school. Art? Me? Seriously? I thought to myself. But I clearly informed my instructor about my background skills and was told in return that the course requires creativity and concept. Skills can be worked on!

From here I had to start training my mind to think. Not the way we usually do but develop concepts from thoughts. I was expecting to come up with bright coloured paintings and beautifully sculpted fairies. To my surprise I could churn none whatsoever like these. Instead of rosy reds, there was blood, a lot of greys, blues and basically gory images.

Years of dirt and impurities had caked up on me I guess. And what seemed to be my creativity and thoughts were actually harmful fumes rising from this dirt. I called them dirt, impure but then they’re natural. What seems you to you could just be an illusion of a happy, comfortable person. But within us lies so much discomfort. A blast here, a couple of people killed there. The neighbours get robbed today, someone snatches a relative’s cars. We hear these frequently. Yes, we hear, discuss and move on. No, only seemingly. For those who have grown up listening to these, including me. We don’t move on. It stays, somewhere, somehow in the back of the mind and hijacks our thoughts.

But the misery isn’t in the fact that we literally consume these atrocities. It is in the fact that we don’t have outlets to release the pain. It may seem like an oversensitive person’s attribute but then humanity is to feel for what’s happening around you and people do. It is a different thing that over years it takes a toll on their thoughts.
For me this outlet became art. I was already into writing but then writing is more controlled for me and I am used to writing for an audience than for me. But art literally becomes a piece of your inner self visible to the world.

It will become too lengthy to express my whole journey of discovering myself through art in one post  but this is the launch of a series of pieces in which a young Karachiites plight of growing up will be presented through art.