Summer Project: #HIStory
Tag: Mohammad Uzair Akram
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there comes a time, usually after a storm like a hurricane, when you look around you and realize that there exists damage around you… objects lost, people hurt, emotionally stirred, mentally scarred… and its not a nice feeling to realize that you are the storm… the whirlwind of bipolar maniac emotions that not just once but took a toll on peoples lives twice in two months gone by. “its like you get possessed” commented one… “you’re pure evil energy…” shrouded another… “you’re the anti-thesis of a best friend…” yet another… some people laughed it off, some cried, most remained silent; listening intently as I attempted to gather the fragments of my lost mind and continuously try to make sense of the madness better known to the world as Mohammad Uzair Akram and tHIS condition…
In yet another attempt to reconcile forgotten fragments and salvage torn letters with scotch tape; I gave an old wizard a hug; apologized to a mentor and friend; called my brother and told him I actually loved him and looked forward to his return and lastly met up with a close friend for coffee who I had publicly annihilated from my reality scape for the past few months…
Ladies and gentlemen; my name is Mohammad Uzair Akram. And I AM invisibly ill. I have a condition known as being bipolar with six monthly cyclical episodes of Mania… Its not easy being Me; but its tougher to be my family and friends… I salute each and every last one of you for putting up with the madness and sadness and being in a place where the men have not stopped praying; the women haven’t stopped believing and children still wait for tomorrow…
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… in l[1/0]vIng memory of Mohammad Uzair Akram …
August 29, 1979 [22:45 GMT +5] ~ April 08, 2013 [02:59:59:33 GMT +5] -
[score: Alone in Kyoto [4:48]~ air vs. Mohammad Uzair Akram’s Spoken Word [4:38]]Somewhere in the midst of the first day of darkness, the source of all energy had a great idea; and it was in this darkness that had been consuming the withins and withouts of universal consciousness since infinium that the first pitch black sphere on the quantum foam of the universe or lack thereof in a moment of self actualization illuminated. It then, with unparalleled optimism began to pass on Its light to any form of creation or lack thereof that it came into contact with, passing on the light of the source throughout this “Omniverse” beyond the frontiers of its own infinite imagination; tHIS is possibly the greatest Love Story Ever Told.December 8th, 2001, I opened my single person walk through exhibition to the public in the form of my Communication Design Thesis Project at the Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture, here in Karachi Pakistan, titled “Stop the Screaming… Stop the Pain…” I, with unparalleled optimism appealed not only to the compassionate hearts but also the logical minds of humanity to once and for all eternities put an end to Human Rights Violations on Earth.April 5th, 2013, in this very moment, right here, right now…In this infinitely dark moment on the timeline of universal consciousness or lack thereof, I appeal once again to the hearts and minds of human consciousness to “Spread the Word and Share the Love”. Love that is the most powerful force in this “Omniverse” that exists not just inside my mind, or on the walls of my art studio, framed as the only piece from my past that I actually never sold as an artist, but the “Omniverse” that is the Only piece of Art by The Only Artist; “The Source”.[score: “Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime” ~ Beck vs. Jon Brion [4:36]”
“The Greatest Love Story Never Told…” ~ Aletter to a friend.Assalaamo Alaikum Aunty,
I’d like to share a short story based onrandom events from my life with reference to the painting I sold to you lastmonth; the vibrant, multicolored Kalma [First Kalma: ‘There is none worthy ofworship except Allah. Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.’]
In the year 2002, one year after I graduatedfrom Indus Valley School of Art & Architecture, I started experimentingwith alcohol and non-chemical drugs(dope), a combination of substance abusethat chemically didn’t suit the chemistry and biology of my brain and I startedmy unaware journey down the road of what the doctors later diagnosed as ‘druginduced schizophrenia’.
Sensitive and highly emotionally expressivesince early childhood, the bi-polar mood swings and the extreme highs and lowsof energy were waves I enjoyed riding on as both the extremes of happiness vs.sadness would fuel my creativity that I started expressing through art.
It was in the midst of this madness, on the eveof Christmas (2005) and on the brink of a mental breakdown; I wrote down the’Kalma’ on that piece that you have. With my deteriorating mental conditionthat was the result of my continued indulgence in substance abuse over thethree years prior, I, in a moment that can best be described as ‘heighteneddementia’ spent five minutes to typographically execute the Arabic andsplattered some paint around it and used markers to encircle the Kalma, placedin the center of the page, in a continuous anti-clockwise stroke of 7 orangecircles. As the paint on the piece was drying, I remember dancing around theroom with excitement engaging in spoken conversations with voices no one couldhear but me; my audience in the room, I realize in hindsight, were merefigments of my own imagination and symptoms of severe psychosis.
What followed was a series of events in adownward spiral of energy accompanied by personal misbehavior and a continuousperiod of twenty-four hours that mark the darkest day and night that my familyand friends live to be witnesses of. This psychotic episode ended the nextmorning when I had to be constrained, sedated through needles and was admittedto the psychiatric ward at AKUH, Karachi, where I spent the next month and ahalf.
I dont think I need to explain to you the extentof emotional turbulence this caused in the lives of my family and friends whowere all forced to deal with the magnitude of this episode without anyprior knowledge regarding mental health or lack thereof.
I do, however, need to share a glimpse of whatmy mother went through. She went into my bedroom, sat on the bed where Ihad sat the night before painting the Kalma piece i just told you about, andwept to the fading sound of the ambulance that was carrying heryoungest baby’s sedated body tied in ropes to the hospital. It was inthis moment of absolute helplessness and prayers that she glanced at thepainting and read the Kalma. She then picked up a pen that was lying next tothe sketchbook and did what only a mother can; she corrected the typos in theArabic, adding in non-typographic, thin strokes, missing alphabets and ‘zair,zabbar, pesh, etc.’ as can be seen upon a closer examination of the piece…
A decade after this episode; I’m now a husbandto a beautiful, brave woman who has been a pillar of strength from the verybeginning of all this, a true reflection of the virtues that my motherpossesses. My dysfunctional professional career is a testament to the scarsthat took forever to heal through a complex combination of medication andpsychotherapy accompanied by the undying love and support of friends, familyand personal struggle to redeem myself in my own eyes.
In this battle to keep my ship from sinking, Ihave done whatever I could to make ends meet financially. My steady income fromlandscaping in the family business is limited and partially supports ourfinancial requirements; a situation that evolved me from being an ‘artist’ whoobsessed over his own art, who vowed never to sell anything, to a man who hassold every single piece (barring one) he’s ever made in an effort to move upfrom our hand to mouth status in life.
It was the same financial desperation, a fewmonths ago, that obliged me to sell the Kalma piece to you. A combination offinancial desperation and a lack of knowledge about the actual events that makethis the piece that it is today. Knowledge of these events I gained insight toduring my last show that you came to when my mother suggested that I put theKalma piece on display for viewing as she began to tell me the story i justshared with you.
I lied to her when I said that the Kalma piecedidn’t gel in thematically with the rest of the work on display. I couldn’tbring myself to reveal to her that I had in fact sold it just recently(something she didn’t know about).
Aunty, this email, is a humble request toconsider the possibility of returning the piece in your possession which I hadrandomly named ‘The Greatest Love Story Never Told…’ Your gesture of kindnesswill not only add to the historic relevance of this piece in being anexpression of your love for my art and me, but also, will stand as a testamentto my belief that all love stories do in fact have happy endings.
As far as the empty space on your wall isconcerned, it can be filled by not just the abundance of love in your heart,but also by another calligraphic piece that I would like to make just for you.
Much love in advance, MohammadUzair Akram
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~ Two Hours after reading this ‘Letter’ Nilofer Saeed returned the painting which now hangs in Mohammad Uzair Akram’s personal gallery in Karachi, Pakistan -
UECHO proudly presents “The Greatest Love Story Never Told…”
“tHIS is a love story of universal magnitude that redefines global ideas of ‘real’ world(s). Intricately woven into a complex non-linear design across the 27 dimensions that span the thresholds of not just human minds but also explores the frontiers of universal consciousness that bear witness to the greatest force of all; ‘The Power of Love…’ tHIS is a personal narrative that with unparalleled hopeless optimism seeks to inspire mankind throughout time and space from this day forth…”
~ Mohammad Uzair Akram in a description of his painting titled: ‘The Greatest Love Story Never Told…’ Wednesday, April 03, 2013 [19:42:32]
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The title piece of the show; ‘The Only way Up is Down’. Contrary to popular belief, this image has NOT been Photoshopped. Sure, the text on the wall [which reads ‘the only way up is down’]has been digitally added, and artistic liberty has been used to create the dramatic mood of the photograph, but this speaker lying in the middle of these two gateways with up and down arrows engraved on them was a sight I came across whilst randomly pitstopping in the middle of a desert on my way to Gawadar, Pakistan.
The two identical gateways are symbolic of not only the bipolar extremes of the universe we inhabit but also of choices that the human consciousness has been encountering before the marked beginning of time and infinium…All you could hear was the blowing of the dry desert winds, the microscopic shifting of the sands of time beneath your feet and the silent story that this solitary speaker was playing …
It’s a digital print, printed on pure cotton canvas using archival inks that give it a lifetime of approximately a hundred years. Limited edition of 5 prints available at PKRS 25,000 each.
For further information about the show please visit the event page on facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/events/170188416465604/To stalk the artist virtually, please visit:
http://www.facebook.com/uechoFor further information regarding the exhibition venue; The Warehouse Gallery, Karachi, Pakistan, please visit:
http://www.facebook.com/Warehousespace
UECHO 