"We excreted autumn and winter colours, but running invisibly through our veins, the very stuff that kept us alive, was the crimson of a mad artist -- a red as brilliant as fresh paint." -- (Oracle Night) Paul Auster.

A character in Mushtaq Ahmed Yusufi’s book Zarguzasht while mentioning a river calls it the river of water. He explains that the specification is important after the immense popularity of Qurat-ul-Ain Hyder’s novel Aag Ka Dariya (the river of fire).

Language, the greatest invention and the smartest tool in the hands of humans, makes it possible to conjure up probable scenarios. Terms like ‘river of smoke’ and ‘flood of fire’ (both titles of Amitav Ghosh’s novels) are only possible in the realm of fiction and fantasy, manifested in the works of visual arts too.

The three works from the current solo exhibition of Adeela Suleman (Dreams of Carnage on display from December 8-24, 2015 at Canvas Gallery Karachi) invoke the phrase: river of blood. These pieces, a combination of several plates, depict layers of red painted in a different manner. A fully red stream emerges from a typically touristic and beautiful hilly landscape or two rivers of red take over the blue or scarlet sky at dusk.

In many ways these visuals, which appear to be an invention of the artist, can be traced in historic references and myths. One recalls reading about the expeditions of Tartaric tribes in which rivers of their conquered territories turned red as they slaughtered enemies and innocent people. In Islamic history, too, the story of Euphrates becoming red with the blood of Imam Hussain and his family is a recurring subject, especially in marsiyas.

History repeats itself, and often in more cruel and severe situations. In our context, only till recently, the scale of bomb blasts and suicide attacks was not much different than what happened with any barbarian invasion during the middle ages. This situation saddens creative people and artists as much as others. However, they search for an idiom that has the potential to survive as an aesthetic entity. Therefore, Suleman reverts to narratives of carnage from history and literature in order to denote the present situation. The image of a river turned red and moving (or displayed) in such a scheme that bloody streams cover everything in the end, is a symbol of our milieu’s fate and fascination with violence.

These three works, titled Dreams of Carnage (with separate numbers) signify a turning point in the history of Adeela Suleman’s art. In the past, she had used repousse method to create large scale screens composed of dead sparrows, or coffin like structures built with the same technique and material (metal), but the new work indicates a different direction in her aesthetics and at the same time connects it to her earlier pieces.

The fascination of employing a language that is as comprehensible as our spoken diction (Urdu) in art finds the solution in popular urban transport art. Many believe that the vocabulary of high art is exclusive, whereas the diction of popular art is more accessible. In reality, it is a big assumption because till the popular art was discovered by high artists, it was never considered as art. For several years Pakistani art (a troublesome term!) was entangled in the illusion of extending the notion of art by incorporating examples of transport art in high art, without considering the diverse tastes of different classes. Paintings on the back of a truck may attract an artist but not a young salaried professional who would view them as specimens of visuals made by untrained hands.

Yet, for a number of years, artists were deeply inspired by popular art but as an exotic entity. In Adeela Suleman’s works created on plate, a viewer becomes aware of how an artist bridges his gap with the unknown territory and encompasses elements which exist in his familiar world.

The plates in these three works (Dreams of Carnage) are usual, ordinary and common. Suleman has transformed them through a remarkable scheme of painting in a convincing manner into a work that alludes to the current conditions of our globe. On another level, her decision to choose domestic pottery links her recent works to her previous pieces (especially Salma, Sitara and Sisters Motorcycle Workshop 2002) with household metal utensils composed as objects to protect female pillion riders.

The great craftsmanship visible in these works is also evident in other works from the same exhibition, which include circular surfaces with intricate imagery. Assembling visuals from miniature and historic paintings, Adeela Suleman introduces certain painful elements in these works made on ceramic plates (some of which are inside elaborate wooden frames).

On the surface, these look like simple plates with traditional motifs but, on a second glance, one becomes aware of drops of blood sprouting out of beheaded torsos and from the arms of conventionally-clad women and a trail of blood underneath a tree. They all remind how blood is represented in our literary diction (and in our popular pictorial vocabulary also) where it was always the literal representation that was preferred to a visual.

This aspect of literal violence reminds of Quentin Tarantino’s treatment of same subject, in which bloodshed is portrayed in such a manner that it conveys a sense of abandon. Especially in his film Kill Bill I, streaks of blood flowing from the freshly sliced shoulders of a Japanese character should appear gruesome but due to it exaggerated narration seems just fictitious.

Suleman’s new work can be categorised in the same league, except that it survives between the real and the readable. Because despite streams of blood sprinkling from parts of body, the choice of her surfaces endow a sense of believability in her imagery. The presence of ordinary household plates to denote these dreams or documents of carnage is enough to convince one of the veracity of her content, no matter if it is as removed from reality as the river of blood.

Borges quotes Oscar Wilde ‘Life imitates art’, and elaborates further: "An example that Wilde gives is of a lady who refused to go out on a balcony to see the sunset because the sunset was there in a Turner painting. He added, ‘One of Turner’s worst sunsets’, because nature had not imitated Turner that well."