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The painted veils may seem unorthodox,

but they are unwaveringly paintings

because they have the logic, intention,

and concerns of a painter. I employ

digital printing. In my “reverse” screen

paintings, I don’t use a brush either. Yet

there is so much hand in those paintings.

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eveninG

The trees are dark ruins of temples,

seeking excuses to crumble

since who knows when—

their roofs are cracked,

their doors lost to ancient winds.

And the sky is a priest,

saffron marks on his forehead,

ashes smeared on his body.

He sits by the temples, worn to a shadow, not looking up.

Some terrible magician, hidden behind curtains,

has hypnotized Time

so this evening is a net

in which the twilight is caught.

Now darkness will never come—

and there will never be morning.

The sky waits for this spell to be broken,

for History to tear itself from this net,

for Silence to break its chains

so that a symphony of conch shells

may wake up the statues

and a beautiful, dark goddess,

her anklets echoing, may unveil herself.

Poem by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Version by Agha Shahid Ali

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I wander among cultures. The chasm

between abstraction, representation

and manifestation is embodied in my

story. Characters develop in the tension

between the material and the image.

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