A drop of sweat rolled down her neck and soon more followed— they touched and roamed around her skin as if they had trickled down the same path every day. Her shirt clung to her, asking for protection under this heat. Again, Ammi had been working rigorously in an unventilated kitchen to serve at the most sacred yet underutilised part of our house, the drawing room. A “withdrawal” space for women, built on patriarchal values. Through my research I learned that historically, the dead used to be displayed in the drawing room but now it is the living who are on display here. Through experimental short films, I investigate this space as a facade underneath which many issues lie in this room. Although it is within the comfort of my house, sheltered by four walls yet it exposes me to a very public space that is disconnected from the feeling of a home.

Rooted in the ever-shifting landscapes of my home, where constant cycles of creation and decay shape the space around me, I find solace and purpose in the act of making. My sculptural paintings, crafted from cement and construction materials, are born from the energies absorbed through lived spaces—physical embodiments of the city’s pulse. Karachi, a city of concrete and texture, offers a paradox: a chaotic, overwhelming presence that its citizens somehow find beauty within. It is this tension between chaos and beauty, between structure and disarray, that fuels my work. I draw inspiration from Gaston Bachelard’s Poetics of Space, where the intimacy of our surroundings holds memories, dreams, and imaginings. Through the repetitive, meditative act of layering cement, my work reflects the labor inherent in both construction and creative process. Subtle imprints made by discarded industrial glass and the quiet, forgotten dust resting in crevices invite the viewer to engage intimately with the surface. These sculptural pieces serve as windows, portals, thresholds—offering a passage between the inner world and the external cityscape.

Home is often defined as where the heart is, a place of comfort and permanence. For me, however, the idea of home has been fluid and elusive, shifting with each move across the city of Karachi. Over the past few years, I’ve transitioned through multiple homes, and with each change, the meaning of ‘home’ has evolved. It is no longer a fixed place but an abstract concept, constantly transforming and redefining itself. This shifting sense of home is central to my artistic journey. My work begins by mapping out the locations of my past homes, calculating the distances between them. These distances (measured in kilometers and feet) become more than just numbers; they are the blueprint for my creative process. I convert them into hex codes for colors and proportional guides, transforming the measurements into a visual language of space and time.

There is a Neem tree that was planted almost three decades ago in an ancestral home and a sliver of it could be seen from the houses surrounding it. When the matriarch who planted the Neem tree passed away, it seemed like the tree died with her. It fell into a barren state and has been in that state for decades. When a loved one passes away, it feels as if the people who are left behind die too, the only difference is that they still exist in this world, much like the Neem tree. Death brings many changes with it – but the one least noticed is the change it brings to a space; a home. My work is about my connection to the tree and the house it exists in. Once a vibrant and alive space, it has now turned into a graveyard of past memories. Through the mediums of etching, drawing, carbon transfer, digital collaging and archival photographs I attempt to remember and put together my idea of home in its present and original state before it all turns to dust.

My work focuses on the discomfort of compromised privacy and the tension between visibility and seclusion in an overcrowded city. I grew up in a house built in the 1970s in Gulshan-e-Iqbal. At that time, Gulshan was sparsely populated, with houses built at a considerable distance from one another and when my house was constructed, it was built with an abundance of windows to allow light and ventilation to come through. However, as the city grew congested with houses being constructed in close proximity to each other, these windows had now become a symbol of an outsider that could peer into my private spaces.

My paintings depict acts of intrusion and access; some paintings show clear scenes of intrusion through windows and openings into interior spaces, while others present more ambiguous views that blur the boundaries of what is seen and what is hidden. This interplay between clarity and uncertainty explores the balance between the desire for privacy and the persistent intrusion of the outside world. What started as a recognisable home gradually transforms into something more unfamiliar and uncomfortable. This shift reflects my understanding of privacy, emphasising how personal spaces can feel vulnerable and compromised when exposed.