Long Live The Lady In Red
The human need.
When this post goes live I’ll be hiking somewhere outside of London, touching some grass. Granted, there will absolutely be a few type errors here and there. I learn a lot from my paintings, and what you’re about to read is some of the process behind figuring some things out.
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I’ve been gone away for a while. I recall writing “I think I forgot how to do this.” As I drew together a string of photos after a self portrait only showing half my face hidden behind a phone. There are elements of me I fear I had hidden from myself, conveniently shifting as I try to make my way through this forest. The forest is both what I call my mind as well as my paintings, and there’s more than just one forest I wonder in. It would take me unknowingly 27 months to reach a clear unknown path. If there was ever a moment to believe in God and his divine timing, it would be today.
I have tried and failed multiple times to write about the red paintings from the series ‘Various Small Fires’. I’ve not named a body of work in some time but this title which has played on my tongue for over a year knew what it was meant for. Ironically these works, which I’ll speak about soon enough about their presence, are absent from any visual diary. There are two things about my practice I know to be true. The real gritty stuff never gets its process recorded. The conversation is far more private, especially as the end form reveals herself. The second would be that I had always said my paintings were a reflection of myself. I did not bargain for these works to be an extreme intense force, telling me to claim some unyielding demanding energy and throw it into the ground and heavens repeatedly. These works were no longer a speculation, but a full on other human, a human who’s taken harsher, assertive, fearless parts of me and in turn builds a web with all other women across this realm. I’m trying to not confuse her with a statement, rather she is a force. She is my Mars and Saturn rolled into one. She is my inner fire which has refuses to sit back for a second too long. At some point, the paintings which I’m about to speak about, I allowed to take the lead and for me to follow.
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A prose written 30th May 2024:
For artists feeling the strain of the world
This is our vocation, the calling and the communication. We make things, we tell the story, not always our own but what our souls witness. Remember to bare witness. We share the moment, share the bread. Never forget, we record the unseen, the most felt, the unspoken hymns between other's eyes and lingering on foreign lips. We take the photograph, we make the quiet parts heard, spoken, out loud, all of it. Every ounce of joy to every bit of grief, from the shallowest ponds to the deepest seas. This is the time when we get to work. Put action behind the story, go outside, witness everything, bare witness, walk alongside others, tell the stories, get angry, let this change you, let it push you and alchemise this moment into something new.
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The last 12 months or so would see me having a conversation with myself around how the female identity, just as it is, carries a lot of power. These paintings have seen me cut 8 inches off my hair, move heavier things, devour every meal like its meant to be enjoyed, row for longer periods of time, take more photos of myself because it’s important, speaking without ever any hesitation, shifting into ho I really am, enjoying myself, celebrating the parts I find scary, celebrating. Yes, celebrating, no matter what. Almost like I became a 2.0 version of previous self. That, or a woman. Yes, my beautiful green and blue paintings of ethereal atmospheric heavily gardens supported me in a very similar way, however with those works, there’s something comforting and cooling about them. These red paintings have been more assertive to the point where I feel I’ve had to look away a few times because they’re so intense. It’s been both a pleasure and a challenge into knowing who I am a little more thorough these works, almost as though a knife is put to my chest and I’ve finally surrendering to what’s to come next. This an ongoing journey, I find myself at an unknown arrival point. This does not mean to say I’ll never paint another blue or green painting again, rather for now, these red works seem to have urgency for attention, that this is where the work is and it must be attended to.
There is so much modern pop-spirituality which divides different branches of feminine character, marketed to be applied into obtaining something outside of yourself. However can that femininity in whatever form it takes truly exist if it is being nurtured for something other than the self. Say we make it for another, that mirror reflection will be someone you slowly have to persuade you enjoy, persuading yourself you’re content with where you’re at and for who? What happens when the dynamic with the other you’ve worked so hard to be a certain version of yourself shifts? Therefore, I feel the only way to be is within your own heart, however you appear, embrace her. The native feminine energy is anything but one tone like how it has been marketed to us. Instead time and time again we have been presented this fuller energy as something disruptive, menacing, unintelligent and sometimes disgusting. And even then, I’ve learnt over these many months all these qualities which sometimes are ‘negative’ are necessary to function and understand the positives. It would be foolish to say only one gender should work on these traits, everyone has work to do in accepting the shadow. The many waves of feminism throughout different cultural and religious histories, born time and time again, shifting as we grow and repeatedly meet our needs. The west will say the movement started with the suffragettes, and the east will say with the birth of Islam 1400+years ago were to set things in motion.
Putting aside the historical moments and have beens which show progress into how and when women have been able to grow and allowed carry out a range of tasks both personal and for others; I’m more so fascinated by the native energy within us all which sees our own hand as the one which feeds. This in itself is maybe the most powerful. In a way, by painting these red works, I’m offering a statement of who women are without that vail we never asked for. It’s looking into the female gaze, how we move, what we build and create; from birthing a human, to the continual breath of emotion and intuition we contain.
The eventual growth of these paintings, while watching and internally decolonizing at rapid speed for external collaborative change, would lead to me question my own standards I had set for myself by choice or a conditioning set by others - my family and the wider communities I’ve held hands with. How I look, behave, what I desire for myself and the question of how is any of what I want in accordance to the deen (faith). Studying the different levels of the nafs and figuring out how to utilise your native desires. Understand that power does not have to be destructive nor animalistic, but rather has it’s place and time as long as the intention is set and you feel with the heart.
At first when working through these self imposed standards, there’s this resistance as you tell yourself your fine, content even with this path you’ve chosen, so the majority of the work made, i.e. paintings, you see correlations between all other things which affect you, which have mattered and therefore gained your sympathies. There’s so much going on in the world today, unequivocally we are in the middle of a World War as well as, many spiritual practitioners and observers will note that we are in the Grand Awakening.
Everything we witness on the outside will make us think and feel on the inside. In these past 10 months, these works with the tone of blood, are made while we witness in real time death, a lot of death. Blood is the life source which is given from our mothers over a course of 39 weeks, and she looks after herself as best as she can as she grows her child. So when blood pours out and the rain can no longer wash away the stain, is it not the most harrowing of thoughts, to think a mother's blood may not flow through the child, and into the next generation. In the wise words of Amir Sulaiman, ‘maybe seeing dead babies shouldn’t phase me. But it does, it does it does.’ Gaza, Sudan and Congo live in my mind rent free these days. It’s easy to get carried away in the cause, especially if it’s a good and you’re natural at giving yourself away for good. Alas, least we use this space as a means to run away from the internal work.
And then, when you’ve run out of causes you genuinely care for, when there’s nowhere else to run other than internally, that’s when I found myself a little floored. I’d face these paintings, feel a little nauseous. I can’t recall the times I’ve cried while looking at them as they speak to me to continue showing up more and more as I truly am, whatever that means. There is a fear if we stray from a familiar path, we’ll be consumed by something unknown and possibly dangerous. Yet, this is how we grow and make way for the exciting stuff. This is a celebratory moment. And for the first time in 27 months, I can say this in the landing point I’d been searching for, a clear summit. All of a sudden, I’m seeing these red paintings as something else. I learnt somewhere, that everyday, I am going to have to repeat to myself I’m okay with not knowing the outcome, I can’t plan my way through everything. You don’t need to keep filling the path with things you’ve known before - and that part was incredibly important to me. These paintings, my god these paintings lead themselves. Maybe that’s what frightens me. That my inner most depths have come out in the form of these works and everyone can see how it feels.
These paragraphs seem to be long winded because for the life of me I can’t seem to condense down the feelings or the subject matter. When I first started these body of work 12 months ago, I thought it would be easy. A series of paintings about being a woman. However, you start the work, you question your motives and own fears, desires, what matters, all of it, and all of a sudden, you’ve learnt more about yourself in 12 months than the previous 33 years. The wonder of it all is though, the acceptance of the less desirable parts - to yourself that is, and really owning how you felt about yourself. It’s no lie, I wanted to originally rush through these paintings, almost to say, ‘hey I’ve done the work’ but the work in any capacity will take as long as it is deemed to take. Could I have understood these paintings 12 months ago? Truly, no. I wasn’t ready. I was too in the fucking weeds of running around in circles like ants who’ve lost their way home.
There’s a really important part why I keep referring back to Greek mythology and in particular goddesses other than your general Aphrodite and Ares. Originally I’d also take inspiration from female Shinigami (Gods of Death from the Shinto practice) as alternative inspirations of womanhood and expression. There’s still verses I pick out of the Quran which fit into this universe because to myself and all other muslims, islam has been ever present even before the beginning of time. I wanted to go into other attributes of other goddesses, with little to no guard on how the rebellious, strong, lustful, mischievous, wilful other ways in how humans can create manifest. Yes, in this series, there’s more references to hotter, more active movement in nature such as fire, laver flowing from volcanoes, bodies frozen in time, red flowers, red leather, the sacral, war, blood, watching life which isn’t ours pass by, lust, autumn leaves in a river, closed doors, the sound of lungs releasing oxygen, summer fruit, blood. All which then echo through human behaviour in a very circular way. The brushstrokes, and layers of oil and pigment in these paintings are essentially me channeling into each painting like some intense meditation, painting without expectation, and trusting ym body to communicate this internal dialogue. To repeat, we take on our environments be it physical or the mental ones we keep ourselves in. Further, there’s two things here, the first being the journey of feeling through the heart had been a gradual one, as mentioned before a 27 month journey. To trust your intentions and what pulls at the heart is where God and good intentions lie, and subsequently your path. The second is, you can not live life only through verbalising and theory. دوق (dwahq) you have to taste life and only then through a series of experiences you will eventually build your home.
These paintings have been met with their fair share of criticism or weariness which I don’t think is over. It’s worth remembering All art is political. Especially the work which isn’t political. All work is done at a certain time in history, within a certain socioeconomic context, within a certain peer group and those conversations which go with it. A woman making red paintings points to the obvious statement of ‘anger’. That or sensuality. This society we dwell in - dwell is the correct term here, far too many of us are comfortable with not having to deal with any challenger even if it’s detrimental to us in the long run - has often taught us, emotional women are a bad thing. That emotion is weakness, because it’s seen as a weakness by an imperial patriarchal standard. I don’t want to get into the usual arguments around women and emotions, because then it’s again falling back into where or how women are suggested to be and by repeating such words we run the risk of forgetting what our personal work actually is.
What I will lean into is that it’s definitely not bad to be called strong or resilient. In fact it’s often the very thing society will try to take away from a woman, hence the sentiment of a non-typical or pre-approved, familiar ‘strong’ women is met with some adversity and discomfort. We have to remember, showing emotion is showing strength and resilience. It’s showing processing. Anger is neither a bad thing too. It’s a valid reaction and feeling telling us there’s something wrong here, we have been made upset. Register it, and let it propel you. Utilise it. Maybe the question should be why are people so scared of it? Maybe because everyone knows exactly what women, or any person when they’re in touch with their heart-space become unstoppable and therefore are capable of things we do not know the limits to. When an old contractor (for my day job in UX/UI) saw these large red paintings in the studio, he called them ‘big red angry paintings’ and made a little joke about them. I them asked him to name one woman he knew who was delicate. He couldn’t think of any.
Green is the environment I know exists, or rather if you think of the paintings/series as different realms and branches to each core realm, and rather than than situating each realm as a total separate dimension from the other, each painting sits within the world of another series. The environment I know exists in my brain, there I sit as another painting which is a realm within itself. Green is the environment in my heart, and red is my soul running around. This is further echoed out through two very poignant verses in the Quran (23:14, 14:23) scribbled on the studio wall and how for me they interact with one another. The first being how the rivers flow in the gardens (of heaven). And the later about life being formed from a blood clot, a very internal, solitary process. This is no longer a see-saw, a side to side if you will. It’s now a folding in and out, expanding into spaces to make them grow and contract. This may quite possibly be why the red paintings feel so ‘hot’, as though they are the earth’s centre, like my soul is making everything move. It is the free will within this life which breathes with assertion. There is purpose, even if it is to just be on fire for an extended period of unknown non-linear ‘time’.
I think I will leave it at this. For now. Here’s a few poems from the backs of these canvases. Salaam.
VARIOUS SMALL FIRES : ONE
Give me your mouth. Hold the waist and bite the thigh. I want to taste bitter fruit on your tongue.
THE THREE SISTERS
Did I say too much. Please did I say too much because I felt like I said enough, just to tip my needs into the reservoir so I could breathe. Release breath easy, surely this is breathing. I wish this moment to pass. I wish to not cause any ever lasting stain. I wish for the moment to not part. And yet the salt piles high and wide. And yet the dawn comes faster than my lungs contract. Yet please I wish to speak to the Queen, the reckoner and the witch. Yet please, I come baring gifts. This is the scent of musk. This is the scent of my soul who seeks the other side. This is the red forest, the token apple, and apple of my eye and salt in the flesh. My dear did I say too much.
VARIOUS SMALL FIRES : TWO
The wildest fruit is the most fulfilling fruit to be plucked, sucked and bitten.
The mouth struggles to devour and contain each last drop.
0.4%
We’ll sit at the same tables
Maybe you’ll say something
Tell me about a time years ago
When this same moment
Felt cleaner
Before the water got some flavour
Now we can’t stop
Pouring the salt
Into the lake
A LAND
I find my heart being held
By the palm of my hand
My heart keeps beating
At a rapid rate
So fast
My breath fails to move
At a regular pace
And the heart beats
So loud
My ribcage bruises
From all sides
And yet
Nothing can calm
Nothing can yield
The heart
August, 2024. Self.