t was year 1988. I had gone through a vigorous training of fundamentals of arts and had decided to choose sculpture as my major subject. The training and exercises we went through in the previous year had already boosted a sense of pride in knowledge of form and technique. I thought I could look into form and the way it is made, with utmost knowledge and professionalism.

During that period, I came across a local artisan who made small clay toys, popularly known as ghuggu ghoray. My companion, knowing about my passion of becoming a sculptor, asked if I could make such toys. Very confidently I said yes, took a lump of clay and attempted to make it with a technique called modelling, wherein you add bits and pieces of clay to build a form.

The whole first year at college was about mastering that technique, and I so solemnly followed the rules. Because of the technique being drilled in me I totally forgot that clay is malleable and can be formed by any which way my hands direct.

After many attempts, I failed to produce like the master craftsmen. The failure was not because of my ability to craft it but inability to approach it through another technique, because as an arts student, I had already separated myself from local techniques and sensibility.

That experience led to many questions regarding form, material, technique and what is actually required of me as an artist and, later, as an art educator.

The portrait in question I am sure was not about visual beauty but of the thought and vision of Allama Iqbal, through an untamed, naïve, honest and innocent gesture.

Through my attempt to explore different ways - in this case, the pinch method - I was able to produce a relatively successful piece, “Gestures,” for my degree show. And later, when I started teaching at my alma mater, I thought of changing the course outline - incorporating various materials and techniques to express oneself and the immense possibility of approaching the same problem in different ways and outcomes.

The struggle to break the preconceived notion of what is art and what are the methods of doing art has a long history.

The recent upheaval about the sculpture at Gulshan-i-Iqbal Park has again put me in the same quandary about what is expected of the artist and who is an artist in any case.

For me, there are levels of work that can change its status during the course of time. What was originally made as a devotional image is being celebrated as the most profound example of art. Today what we consider art may not be considered art in hundred years’ time. This particular sculpture in Lahore resembles the Priest King from the Indus Valley Civilisation. So do the current versions of ghuggu ghoray to the examples of toys from Moenjo-Daro and Harappa.

That beautiful visual sensibility that we proudly display in our museums is still prevalent in our society and we as a nation instead of embracing it like many other valuables, have rejected it and are blindly following the imposed criteria of proportion and beauty. I fail to understand why it is important that the hand should make a logical connection with the body in a sculpture piece which is just an expression. That expression is an epitome of poetry and philosophy. The portrait in question I am sure was not about visual beauty but of the thought and vision of Allama Iqbal, through an untamed, naïve, honest and innocent gesture.