The art was hidden by the crowds that walked through Mangal Bazaar that day in Islamabad, June 1997. Then I saw it. One particular painting drew me in. Maybe it was the camels. Or the street scene reminiscent of Karachi. In the mix of muted and bright, the blue dome of the mosque caught my eye.
The artist was one of the numerous Afghan refugees on the street, with odds and ends to sell. His paintings filled varying sizes and scraps of canvas. Carefully arranged on a mat for passersby to see. His talent shone.
How much? I asked. My friend interpreted.
Then they spoke rapidly in Dari.
He was telling his story. Passionately. To someone who could understand his heart language.
It’s a painting of a Kabul street scene, he explained.
He’d been at the University of Kabul. A professor in the art department. But the Taliban came and he had to leave. The Taliban? They weren’t tolerant of artists or the figures depicted in their art.
There’s a note in my journal dated September 27, 1996: “Kabul fell early this morning to the Taliban.” Now before me stood a professor from that city. Living hand to mouth with other refugees who fled across the border during the Taliban’s march to conquer their country.
He continued to paint, he said. With whatever materials he could find. Beauty poured from his paintbrushes in the midst of exile and loss.
I looked at the family of nomads on the canvas. And bought the painting.
Hidden from the enemy
We were living in the United States when the Taliban were expelled from Kabul. Late 2001. In the months following, I read several interesting articles out of Afghanistan. About Dr. Asefi, a medical doctor and prominent artist. A member of the board at the National Art Gallery in Kabul.
The Taliban dynamited the Buddhist statues of Bamiyan in March 2001, then moved to destroy sculptures at the Kabul Museum. Dr. Asefi feared the National Art Gallery was their next target. He took action to protect as many historic works as possible.
How? He gathered all the oil paintings he could. Using his own special technique, he painted a veneer of watercolors over any figures depicted in them.
He managed to save 80 pieces in the art gallery. Around 400 works of art were eventually destroyed.
After the Taliban were expelled, the threat was lifted, and Dr. Asefi shared with others what he had done.
He gently removed the layers of paint with sponges and water. In one picture I saw, Dr. Asefi wiped away the mask to disclose a scene of people walking down what had appeared to be an empty road.
Hidden art revealed.
Hidden people
The news came by word of mouth. Passed quietly from one to another till it reached our ears. A believer in the city where we lived had paid the ultimate price when he was challenged to denounce Christ.
He acknowledged his faith to the accusers who infiltrated a handful of believers meeting together. The rest of them ran away, terrified.
These accusers hung our brother’s body out in the street as a warning to any who might choose to follow his Christ.
We did not even know his name.
Sometimes I think about the hidden works of the Master. Like this courageous brother. Followers of Christ quietly living by faith behind walls and borders. In crowded marketplaces, obscure villages and even the upper echelons of societies.
Suffering anonymously. Struggling to stand firm in the face of fierce and deadly opposition.
He sees the hidden
But the Lord sees the hidden. These nameless and unsung by the world are intimately known and loved by the Father. He never leaves or forsakes them. Ever.
And a day is coming when the hidden works of the Master will be revealed. Illuminated for His glory.
We long for that Day.
Glory to God
“You are being guarded by God’s power through faith for a salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. You rejoice in this, even though now for a short time, if necessary, you suffer grief in various trials so that the proven character of your faith–more valuable than gold which, though perishable, is refined by fire–may result in praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:5-7).
“After this, I looked, and there was a vast multitude from every nation, tribe, people and language, which no one could number, standing before the throne and before the Lamb…” (Revelation 7:9).
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2 replies on “Hidden art”
Thank you Susan. I had not heard the story of the artist. I love it. And thanks for reminding us of the hidden, nameless, and unsung works from the canvas of this complicated world who, awaiting that day, will shine for His glory. I am remembering a chorus we sang long ago: “When the roll is called up yonder, we’ll be filled with joy and wonder when we see that blood-bought number; some from every tribe and nation will be there.”
Yes and amen!