Exploring an Artist’s Studio

Linking Art Created to the Architecture it is Created Within

With a baked brick exterior and a black wrought-iron gate, the home that houses five individual artist studios stands out in its neighborhood with a Shakir Ali-esqueness that hints on the interior. The short heighted gate is an old school detail that takes care to not let the eye deviate from its keep. All guests pass through a stained-glass and brick shade that supports a generous bougainvillea, protecting anyone who walks under it from the stark Lahori sun.

A metal staircase miters into the bare balcony, where my host stands in a refreshingly orange kameez. She is one of the artists working in the building, and while she is unaware of the architect behind its design, she reassures me she tidied up her things in anticipation of my visit. I smile, following her through the open door.

The mustard-brown stucco feature wall in the foyer complements my host’s dress; the uneven uniformity of the surface broken by a painting of a Multani plant pot. The French-panel bifold doors restrict what could have been a more complete sense of continuity, securing the private spaces inside from abrupt and unwelcome intruders. The mid-century modern aesthetic flows into the living room, which is the only jointly owned area on the first floor, and into one of the artists’ studios.

“She couldn’t come to clean up her mess”, my host apologizes, “But I’m sure the artsy bits only add to the ambience of the place anyway!”

She’s right – the island in the middle of the room turns into a character of its own, the unfinished pieces of art beckoning one to examine how things come together. One can tell what styles the owner of the studio leans towards with furniture that speaks art deco meets contemporary, not shying from the more traditional cane either.

A marble table top lightly reflects the sunlight pouring in through full height windows. The rest of the room is lightly illuminated through the transparent whites that fall to the floor, maintaining a neutrality that helps the mustard-brown stucco merge into the red-brown tile pasted on the entirety of the main wall.

The ceiling holds an octagonal wooden beam structure that accentuates the mid-century modern sense of the architecture that makes up the existing building. The white base paint and the height of the ceiling ally themselves with the light pouring in from the window to form a very spacious interior – both physically and mentally. One could say that the activity in the room combined with the architectural elements turns the studio into an entity of its own, an almost ethereal atmosphere that helps one create on a more transcendental plane.

Walking through the French panels that separate this studio from my host’s, I sense a change of personality. This is a more contemporary room. The plain white table placed against the bare wall speaks volumes but quietens the onlooker.

The red-brown tiles continue on the same wall. A slit window holds sand-blasted glass tiles, filtering in the light so as to not deprive the room of any outside sun. The furniture is an assortment of hand-crafted pieces, with wooden planks pried away from old family crates and bricks unabashedly lying bare-faced in a corner – one can almost hear Luigi calling out, “… say look at me, here I am, love me.”

The flooring that continues throughout this floor is a beige tile, the corners of which are saved from a nasty grout-ey ordeal with the insertion of small diamond elements that fit snugly in between the squares. On some doorways, the transition is marked by a colourful mosaic strip.

My host leads me through the living room to the stairs. A narrow affair and carpeted in green, the staircase is illuminated by another slit window at the top, giving off a certain colonial air to this side of the building. The window, though not glazed itself, is covered with a half opaque sticker meant to represent tinted glass tiles. Mimicking the joinery outside, the staircase blends into the landing at a complete ninety degrees.

The last studio that I am allowed to visit and photograph is in an attic. Although one side of the room holds a sliding glass door that allows inmates of the room to venture outside, it is now too hot to do so. A painting in progress stands in one corner. White-washed walls make up the fabric that coats the surrounds of the interior, seamlessly continuing on from the stairway. The character of the area is entirely different – the mustard-brown stucco is no more.

The flooring is also different, with a laminate sheet put in place roughly to hide the terrazzo that is fighting to make a comeback into Pakistani architecture. While the sheets are an eyesore and have been placed on too many surfaces in the small attic, I do not find myself blaming the owner of the studio for trying to hide the bare floor underneath. If anything, the entire attic reminds me of Edwardian houses where secret stairways and minimal rooms are constructed for the servants of the house to conduct their business in an out-of-the-way manner.

Another tiled glazing slit adorns the wall. The single flush door painted a simple white emphasizes the sentiment of my previous statement, but it does not seem like the artist in question has all of this on her mind. Having worked in the same space for years, her works lie scattered all around. Each individual piece speaks out for itself. If anything, the barrenness of the interior aesthetic helps the art itself be louder, communicating as living pieces with those who step into the room.

My host leads me downstairs. She offers me a Milo, which I gratefully accept. Apologizing to each other for the heat that the month of May has descended upon us, we promise each other a dinner together when the weather is better. I walk down the same stairs and pass by the baked brick exterior. As I open the black gate, I glance back once to see my orange host waving at me. I wave back.