[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” background_color=”RGBA(255,255,255,0)” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content” custom_padding=”||27px|||”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n
\u2018In the history of art late works are the catastrophes.\u2019<\/p>\n
-T W Adorno, \u201cLate Style in Beethoven\u201d, <\/span>Essays on Music<\/u><\/em><\/a><\/span>, (2002) p. 567<\/u><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u06c1\u0645\u06cc\u0634\u06c1\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u0631\u00a0\u06a9\u0631\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u062a\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u06ba\u00a0\u0645\u06cc\u06ba\u00a0\u06c1\u0631\u00a0\u06a9\u0627\u0645\u00a0\u06a9\u0631\u0646\u06d2\u00a0\u0645\u06cc\u06ba <\/p>\n Hamesha der kar det\u0101 hu\u00f1 mai\u00f1<\/em> -Munir Niazi, <\/span>Hamesha der kar det\u0101 hu\u00f1 main<\/em>, Rekhta.org<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”||0px|||” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_heading title=”I.” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_heading][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” custom_margin=”||64px|||” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n It\u2019s not like ripe fruit\u2014succulent and full of promise\u2014but how Adorno opens his description of Beethoven\u2019s later works could pass for rotting states. Bitter<\/em>. Furrowed<\/em>. Spiny<\/em>. Wrung out of form by time, showing \u201cmore traces of history than of growth\u201d (Adorno: 2002, 564). It is remarkable that Adorno begins this discussion on musical form and transformations in style with a visual, even tactile, analogy of entropy, as if imploring the reader to understand that there is a different frame of sensing at work here, a frame that is as natural as the state of a fruit that lingers beyond the hour of being devoured. Some trick has been played, and marks of time\u2019s passage and pastness, the congealment of folds and crookedness of contours, overpower the sense of its interim state of vitality. The fruit is now adrift, not beholden to any teleology of function or pleasure. It is simply too late to take a bite.<\/p>\n But a bite is taken when Edward Said considers what emerges in the event of lateness. For Said<\/u><\/a><\/span>, late style, read here like Adorno through the lens of biography as works made towards the end of a creative life, is still a fertile ground for a renegotiation of artistic truth. Works made in the late period, skirted by many minor endings, and the growing certainty of demise, inaugurate new relationships with artistic form and purpose. Lateness, for Said, provides the artist with the opportunity to cede attempts at \u2018ongoingness\u2019\u2014the crafting of a signature scheme, the cogency of a compositional system, the sustenance of a continuity. All of the makings of a recognisable style\u2014repetition, recurrence, resonance, reflection\u2014can now, in confronting the period mark of mortality, be abandoned. Adorno considers this as a freedom from subjectivity, begetting an art that is not addressed to the world but produced from a place of \u201csplintering\u201d and fragmentation, and the loss of totality \u2013 or the project of keeping things whole. For Said, this is akin to a form of self-imposed exile\u2014from previous aims and pursuits, from participation in the world in direct ways. Late <\/em>works for Adorno and Said, are ruled by the negative\u2014they are unresolved and partial, haunted by silences and absences, dissonance and disarray, fissures and intransigence (Said: 2006, 16). These works are punctured by an unruly tension which exerts a pressure on its form; consider the strain of the final word of Adorno\u2019s essay\u2014catastrophe. <\/em>Picking up this thread, Said argues that lateness can be detached from the aspect of aging and be understood through the various shapes of exile, the experience of which marks a break in the flow of time from the point of separation, and contains within a single word the glare of disruption, departure, dislocation, disjointedness, detour, divergence, distance, despair, estrangement, alienation, doubling, contradiction, renewal and return. To Said, lateness can be read as a rupture in the fabric of time, an exit from its ordinary proceedings. Said conceptualises lateness as a method that entails a refusal of synthesis, and I extend this to include the deferring of conclusions, the subversion of stylistic apotheosis, and the defiance within the work of any attempts to systematise its elements.<\/p>\n Lateness marks a fundamental separation from timeliness. Yet, reading Adorno and Said\u2019s essays on lateness, I can\u2019t help but detect a splitting<\/em>\u00a0of the word\u2019s meaning in its transfer from one theorist to another. In these essays, \u2018late\u2019 reads alternatively as a view from the state of entropy and the arrhythmic clock of exile. Late is implied both as the generative disorder of a life closer to its end and the indefinite interregnum, the temporal \u201crip\u201d of displacement\u2014both the final hours and the frozen hours.<\/p>\n To exist at a slant in relation to time, to bear the pricks of delayed missives and unfinished stories, to feel the weight of the political press upon the intimate\u2014is conveyed with a poignant clarity, a clear view into bleakness in the series Letters from Home<\/em>\u00a0(2008) by Zarina. Unlike her other works which confront the public visualities of the Partition directly, Letters from Home<\/em>\u00a0adopts an oblique approach. In the series, Zarina excerpts lines from her correspondence with Rani, her sister who was then based in Pakistan. The excerpted text carries the voice of Rani, often interrupted with lines that chart the maps of cities, the blueprints of homes, or lines that simply redact entire sentences. The texts allude to loss, transformation, separation as experiences that Rani has undergone, which includes the absence of Zarina. Vast tracts of their lives are compressed into a finite number of prints that tilt towards illegibility. Incomplete and fragmented, these letters become echoes on paper\u2014trailing faintly under the armatures of borders, fragile belongings and impossible crossings. Our access to the letters is partial and mediated, we can only be imperfect witnesses to this impassable distance between the sisters and our shared histories. A late hour has descended.<\/p>\n \n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”95%” max_width=”1600px” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/arushi-Figure-1.-Zarina_Letter-from-home-II.jpg” title_text=”arushi-Figure-1. Zarina_Letter from home (II)” show_in_lightbox=”on” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”0a6c4baa-304e-458e-9003-bb7edad6cc4b” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Zarina Hashmi, Letters from home (II)<\/em> (2004), Portfolio of Woodcut chine colle and metalcut chine colle on paper. [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”95%” max_width=”1600px” custom_padding=”91px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/arushi-Figure-2.-Zarina-_Letter-from-home-VII.jpg” title_text=”arushi-Figure-2. Zarina _Letter from home (VII)” show_in_lightbox=”on” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”0a6c4baa-304e-458e-9003-bb7edad6cc4b” custom_margin=”||57px|||” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Zarina Hashmi, Letters from home (VII)<\/em> (2004), Portfolio of Woodcut chine colle and metalcut chine colle on paper. [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”95%” max_width=”1600px” custom_margin=”|auto|70px|auto||” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/arushi-Figure-3.-Zarina_Letter-from-home-VIII.jpg” title_text=”arushi-Figure-3. Zarina_Letter from home (VIII)” show_in_lightbox=”on” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”0a6c4baa-304e-458e-9003-bb7edad6cc4b” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Zarina Hashmi, Letters from home (VIII)<\/em> (2004), Portfolio of Woodcut chine colle and metalcut chine colle on paper. [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”||0px|||” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_heading title=”II.” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_heading][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Though tinged with the quality of lateness, it is neither early nor late\u2014but rests somewhere in the middle. Seher Shah\u2019s Ruined Score<\/em>\u00a0(2020) sits uneasily with other works in the corpus. The etchings sustain the monochromatic intensity of her practice, where the solidity of ink is girded to the appearance of lines, and there is a commitment to discovering the dialectics of printmaking as medium, matter and process. But beyond this, it is an itinerant work, orbiting alongside \u2013 but distinct from \u2013 the other works Shah has developed that are overt explorations of modernist legacies and socio-political anxieties in South Asia.<\/p>\n Ruined Score<\/em>\u00a0is not a straightforward work, in fact its beginnings lie in negation. At first the etchings appear to resemble the form of staves, but there are no notations and the sections are irregular and far too many. While recalling the structure of sheet music which hosts notes and time signatures, the forms in Ruined Score <\/em>signify other terrains. Perhaps these are traces of concrete palimpsests, outlines of the dense urban environments of Karachi and Delhi, two cities that exert themselves upon Shah\u2019s enquiries, appearing with an underlying unease as home, subject, interlocutor, and foil. Conventional notations rarely appear, and if they do, are driven by errancy and overpowered by a Dickensenian carnival of marks, arrows, vertical punctuations, scratches, slanted hyphens, and the smudgy traces of the printmaking process, as hazy remnants of contact and imprint. The title suggests a preceding moment of deformity\u2014the score is ruined<\/em>; it is difficult to extricate from this devolved state what may once have been perfectly ripened sound. We are not witness to the process of ruination but we inherit its aftermath.<\/p>\n \n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”95%” max_width=”1600px” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Ruined-Score-2.jpg” title_text=”Ruined Score 2″ show_in_lightbox=”on” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”0a6c4baa-304e-458e-9003-bb7edad6cc4b” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Seher Shah, Ruined Score (2)<\/em> (2020), Etching on Velin Arches paper. Printed at the Glasgow Print Studio. [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n But what marks this ruining within the score? Is it the defiant staves, arbitrarily transecting each other to produce the visual experience of loudness, of sonic blur, of cacophony? Drawing from Shah\u2019s architectural eye, these prints suggest the incoherence of our packed, built worlds, one dense mass of buildings pressing into another. Amidst the suffocating lack of space, precarious proximities, and archipelagos of capital, a fragile commons is lit ablaze by the high octave pitch of ethnonationalist loudspeakers. The work doesn\u2019t attempt to rehabilitate any of these interpretive possibilities, and if anything, suggests the fundamental discordance at the heart of the modernist imaginary; rupturing its false claims to universality by taking the scaffolding of a language and distorting it into incoherence. Its most potent gesture is to absent all the notational symbols, vacating the prints of the very hinges which hold the language of music\u2014the staves, lacking any notes, are both empty and transformed, closer to resembling tangled electrical wires, erratic blueprints, rough outlines of an urban horizon. <\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”95%” max_width=”1600px” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Ruined-Score-6.jpg” title_text=”Ruined Score 6″ show_in_lightbox=”on” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”0a6c4baa-304e-458e-9003-bb7edad6cc4b” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Seher Shah, Ruined Score (6)<\/em> (2020), Etching on Velin Arches paper. Printed at the Glasgow Print Studio. [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Ruined Score <\/em>holds all this and more\u2014and offers no synthesis, asking us to dwell in the tensions of this multiplicity, to follow its warbled cartographies. It is asking us to proceed without a compass.<\/p>\n \n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”95%” max_width=”1600px” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Ruined-Score-12.jpg” title_text=”Ruined Score 12″ show_in_lightbox=”on” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”0a6c4baa-304e-458e-9003-bb7edad6cc4b” custom_margin=”||74px|||” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Seher Shah, Ruined Score (12)<\/em> (2020), Etching on Velin Arches paper. Printed at the Glasgow Print Studio. [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” min_height=”53px” custom_padding=”||0px|||” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_heading title=”III.” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_heading][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content” custom_margin=”|auto|42px|auto||”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” max_width=”700px” module_alignment=”center” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]<\/p>\n Despite being a prolific public figure, Lala Rukh is a difficult artist to approximate. This is due to the fact that the documentation, archiving and display, of chapters from her remarkable life and its artistic and textual corpus have only begun to be taken seriously in the recent decade, appearing irregularly as exhibitions and surveys. And in the coda of her works, an even more difficult series to approximate is the drawings that form Hieroglyphics<\/em>, in which calligraphy transforms letters and words into symbols and imagistic forms. The drawings in Hieroglyphics <\/em>prise open the vicissitudes of language and image\u2014 the lexicon of text, often citational, merges into the economy of calligraphic mark-making, carefully measured by Lala Rukh in qat<\/em>\u2014the flat part of the pen\u2019s nib that transfers the ink to the page and serves as a unit of proportioning the length and width of letters (Lala<\/u><\/a><\/span>\u00a0Rukh and Lookman: 2003<\/u><\/a><\/span>). One drawing in particular from the series, speaks to lateness through the dim possibility of return and reunion. Hieroglyphics I: Koi ashiq kisi mehbooba <\/em>is a deceptively simple ink drawing\u2014just one line, unfolding right to left, and speaking to Faiz Ahmad Faiz\u2019s haunting poem. The poem imagines a moment in the future\u2014both possible and not-yet, where estranged lovers may cross paths. Faiz\u2019s nazm is a tender petition to the once-lover: to stop and share a moment. As you would sit with a stranger,<\/em>\u00a0he writes. Faiz is requesting his past lover to adjust the aperture of memory\u2014to both remember and forget; to suspend the grasp of grievances just enough to linger; to not taint the moment of reunion with complaint. The pain of loss will be felt afterwards, sharper in the shadow of the second parting. This nazm complicates the moment of reunion or return, just as exile brackets the idea of home. Lateness disturbs the fixed coordinates of time, and the instance of the meeting of estranged lovers is always, already too late.<\/p>\n I have often wondered why Lala Rukh inked only the title of the nazm, which proposes an act of addressal\u2014a lover to his beloved\u2014but chose to leave out the substance of this plea. Perhaps because the nazm also acknowledges that in the event of this meeting, much will remain unspoken between the lovers, each act of speech is besieged by that which cannot be said. Further, Faiz lists the things that must not be uttered, for they compress too great an intensity\u2014no past declarations of love and no recriminations must be brought to the fore. In fact, much of the nazm forecloses the possibility of any speech\u2014Faiz is certain there will be eyes brimming with tears or reproach, but speech remains conditional; the lover may choose to acknowledge these gestures, and may choose to speak or not. And so, all of this, every line of the nazm, sits on Lala Rukh\u2019s drawing as the negative space, in the form of the silence that surrounds the letters; just as it is silence that trails the meeting of past lovers.<\/p>\n To read the nazm with Lala Rukh\u2019s drawing then, is to understand that the title is the only verbal proposition in the nazm, whereas the remainder of the nazm is devoted to understanding what, if anything, can be said in the afterness of separation, when no word is innocent, and every breath bristles with memories. Perhaps all Faiz is suggesting is the sharing of a moment, and the blankness of Lala Rukh\u2019s drawing presents such a clearing\u2014offering a space for the lovers to pause.<\/p>\n To read the nazm as it is distilled in Lala Rukh\u2019s drawing, to its barest essence, is to understand the impossibilities birthed in lateness, for if a once-lover meets his once-beloved\u2014<\/p>\n \n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”95%” max_width=”1600px” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/Hieroglyphics-1-1.jpg” title_text=”Hieroglyphics 1 #1″ show_in_lightbox=”on” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.5″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.5″ _module_preset=”0a6c4baa-304e-458e-9003-bb7edad6cc4b” custom_margin=”||28px|||” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]Lala Rukh, <\/span>Hieroglyphics I: Koi ashiq kisi mehbooba se (1)<\/span><\/i>, 1995, Ink on paper, 20 x 15 cm.\u00a0 Image courtesy of the Estate of Lala Rukh and Grey Noise, Dubai.<\/span>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u2018In the history of art late works are the catastrophes.\u2019 -T W Adorno, \u201cLate Style in Beethoven\u201d, Essays on Music, (2002) p. 567 \u06c1\u0645\u06cc\u0634\u06c1\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u0631\u00a0\u06a9\u0631\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u062a\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u06ba\u00a0\u0645\u06cc\u06ba\u00a0\u06c1\u0631\u00a0\u06a9\u0627\u0645\u00a0\u06a9\u0631\u0646\u06d2\u00a0\u0645\u06cc\u06ba\u0636\u0631\u0648\u0631\u06cc\u00a0\u0628\u0627\u062a\u00a0\u06a9\u06c1\u0646\u06cc\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u00a0\u06a9\u0648\u0626\u06cc\u00a0\u0648\u0639\u062f\u06c1\u00a0\u0646\u0628\u06be\u0627\u0646\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u0627\u0633\u06d2\u00a0\u0622\u0648\u0627\u0632\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u0646\u06cc\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u00a0\u0627\u0633\u06d2\u00a0\u0648\u0627\u067e\u0633\u00a0\u0628\u0644\u0627\u0646\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u06c1\u0645\u06cc\u0634\u06c1\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u0631\u00a0\u06a9\u0631\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u062a\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u06ba\u00a0\u0645\u06cc\u06ba Hamesha der kar det\u0101 hu\u00f1 mai\u00f1zar\u016br\u012b baat kahn\u012b ho\u00a0ko\u012b vaada nibh\u0101n\u0101 house \u0101v\u0101z den\u012b ho\u00a0use v\u0101pas bul\u0101n\u0101 hohamesha der kar det\u0101 hun main -Munir Niazi, Hamesha der kar det\u0101 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":20,"featured_media":557,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_caption":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_nocaption":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_hide":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[3],"class_list":["post-559","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-articles","tag-current-edition"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/559","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/20"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=559"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/559\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1031,"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/559\/revisions\/1031"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/557"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=559"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=559"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/galleryespace.com\/artespace\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=559"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\u0636\u0631\u0648\u0631\u06cc\u00a0\u0628\u0627\u062a\u00a0\u06a9\u06c1\u0646\u06cc\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u00a0\u06a9\u0648\u0626\u06cc\u00a0\u0648\u0639\u062f\u06c1\u00a0\u0646\u0628\u06be\u0627\u0646\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648
\u0627\u0633\u06d2\u00a0\u0622\u0648\u0627\u0632\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u0646\u06cc\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u00a0\u0627\u0633\u06d2\u00a0\u0648\u0627\u067e\u0633\u00a0\u0628\u0644\u0627\u0646\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648
\u06c1\u0645\u06cc\u0634\u06c1\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u0631\u00a0\u06a9\u0631\u00a0\u062f\u06cc\u062a\u0627\u00a0\u06c1\u0648\u06ba\u00a0\u0645\u06cc\u06ba<\/p>\n
zar\u016br\u012b baat kahn\u012b ho<\/em>\u00a0ko\u012b vaada nibh\u0101n\u0101 ho<\/em>
use \u0101v\u0101z den\u012b ho<\/em>\u00a0use v\u0101pas bul\u0101n\u0101 ho<\/em>
hamesha der kar det\u0101 hun main<\/em><\/p>\n
Image courtesy of Gallery Espace.<\/p>\n
Image courtesy of Gallery Espace.<\/p>\n
Image courtesy of\u00a0 Gallery Espace.<\/p>\n
Image courtesy of the artist and Green Art Gallery.<\/p>\n
Image courtesy of the artist and Green Art Gallery.<\/p>\n
Image courtesy of the artist and Green Art Gallery.<\/p>\n