This week, artist Mona Naqsh paints her story in words in a conversation with You!...
interview
Some artists are shaped by schools; others by life itself. For Mona Naqsh, it was both - but mostly, it was home. Born and raised in Karachi, Mona received her early education there, but her true artistic foundation was laid in her father’s studio. She is the daughter of late Jamil Naqsh - Pakistan’s iconic modern painter - and was trained under his watchful eye from a young age. “Even as a child, I could sense that our home was unlike any other,” she recalls. With a house full of books, canvases, music, and constant artistic dialogue, Mona was immersed in what she calls a gharana of art. Over the decades, she has built a voice of her own - most recognisably through her floral compositions that are as meditative as they are expressive. “Art,” she says, “has always been ibadat for me.” This week, artist Mona Naqsh paints her story in words in a conversation with You!...
Growing up surrounded by writers, poets, and painters must have been magical. How did that shape you?
The 1980s were Pakistan’s golden era in terms of creativity, and we were fortunate to be in the company of artists like Zahoor ul Akhlaq and Sheherzade, Shahid Sajjad, Kohari, Mansur Aye, Bashir Mirza, and art connoisseur Ali Imam. At home, there were frequent intellectual debates, poetic recitations, and musical evenings. Plants, birds, and pets were also a constant presence. My father often said, “Art is not a profession, it is a way of life.” That philosophy became our code. This environment trained me not just as a painter but as a disciplined, observant human being. It shaped my sensibilities and quietly nurtured my character.
Did your father ever critique your work?
He was a tapestry of wisdom. His critiques often came in the form of questions - deep, layered, and thought-provoking. They trained my eyes and mind.
Once, in frustration, I destroyed one of my own paintings. On which he said, “Mark my words, and never destroy your work. If you struggle with something, set it aside. One day you’ll return and find your way through it - and amaze yourself.” And he was right.
Was it difficult to carve out your own voice while carrying such a powerful legacy?
Absolutely. I’ve always felt the weight of expectation - people judged me by a raised bar. While I inherited the legacy, I worked incredibly hard to build my own path. If your profession feels like a burden, if you’re always checking the clock, maybe it’s not your calling.
You’ve devoted over three decades to painting florals, yet each one feels distinct. What keeps drawing you back?
Painting is an ongoing thought process - a series of experiments. The more you suffer, the more you dare.
It’s about the relationship between colours - one colour invites another, one composition grows into the next.
Flowers have an integrity of their own. Through years of evolving attitudes, I’ve developed new approaches. It’s not about the subject - it’s about how you treat the subject.
Is there a particular flower you feel especially drawn to?
Lilies. Their quiet grace and timeless symbolism of purity resonate deeply with me - artistically and personally.
How do you balance technical accuracy with expressive freedom?
Art isn’t about perfection. It’s about exploring the unknown. I often try to break that accuracy and invite ambiguity. And I place great emphasis on drawing - it sharpens hand-eye coordination and builds visual memory.
How do you begin a painting - instinctively, or do you visualise the whole composition first?
It can happen both ways. Sometimes, a single line can resolve an entire composition. Creation isn’t formulaic; it’s sparked by a feeling.
If you’re observant, you’ll notice how the ordinary transforms. For instance, a subtle shift in the colour of a dying flower once inspired an entire painting. A seed of the next work always exists in the present one.
Do you see painting as a form of healing - for yourself or others?
Absolutely. It heals my soul. Every challenge and beautiful mistake leads to self-discovery. When a painting captivates a viewer and draws them into a meditative trance - that is a true achievement. Sometimes, during the process, a divine moment arises - one that you realise wasn’t yours alone.
You’ve exhibited in cities like Karachi, Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and New York. Does geography change how your work is received?
I believe that art speaks for itself. Its impact transcends geography.
How did your book MONA come to be? What was it like archiving your work?
The book is incredibly close to my heart. It took months of dedication and many sleepless nights - working with printers, approaching collectors, photographing pieces. Senior art critics contributed essays, enriching its depth. The book holds my soul; it’s a true reflection of my journey.
Your other book Meditative Trance says a lot about stillness, silence, and solitude. How does that reflect in your life?
Stillness, silence, and solitude are essential. Silence is a great teacher - it has its own language. If you learn to converse with it, it will reveal truth. My paintings reflect this. The white spaces you see represent stillness. It’s not just about seeing - it’s about listening too.
What has been the most intimate or vulnerable piece you’ve painted?
In 2022, I held a tribute show for my father at Koel Gallery. I merged my floral subjects with his pigeons, even using pointillism and other techniques he was known for. It was an emotionally overwhelming experience - conceptualising it was a painful but necessary journey.
If your paintings had a floral scent, what would they smell like?
Jasmine.
What is your favourite time of the day to paint?
Early mornings and late nights are my most precious hours.
The silence allows me to disconnect from the surroundings. During the day, I have to adjust myself - there are responsibilities one cannot avoid. Otherwise, that inner restlessness seeps in, and it reflects in the work.
If you had to paint something other than flowers, what would it be?
Pigeons and calligraphy. Especially calligraphy with modern expressions.
What is something people often misunderstand about floral art?
I’m often asked: how do I relate my work to the present time? I simply respond - we’ve already brought enough destruction to our society. I don’t want people to hang despair on their walls. I want my paintings to bring joy, and offer a reason to smile when they sit before them.
Do you ever look at your older works and feel differently about them?
They seem innocent to me. The approach was different then - more focused on lines, detail, and the fundamental elements of art. Now, I can see beyond the subject.
How do you think your viewers feel when they stand before your work?
Art is a profound form of communication. Through the restorative and therapeutic power of flowers, I hope my viewers feel joy. I want them to smile and immerse themselves in the stillness.
What is a lesson or philosophy from your father that continues to guide you - on and off the canvas?
Beyond technique and skill, he taught me the elusive dignity of this profession - and the boundaries of acceptance and rejection. He once said something to me, which remains etched in my memory, “I have no story to tell, no symphony to play, no poem to recite - no climax, no anti-climax. The uninitiated audience expects all these things of a painter. And if a painter begins supplying all these elements through his work, he is not only deceiving the viewer, but also fooling himself.”
What’s next for you?
I am working on a new series I’ve titled ‘Camouflage’.
