Bloodlines and brushtrokes: Exploring a family through art

Most joint exhibitions feel like a polite conversation between strangers, a curatorial attempt to force a dialogue where none exists. But when the artists sharing the wall are father and daughter, the conversation changes. It ceases to be about two distinct portfolios and becomes a study in lineage, a cross-section of a shared life viewed from two vastly different vantage points. 

'Brush Strokes Across Generation: A Father-Daughter Exhibition', currently on display at Shala Neighbourhood Art Space, Aloki from 9th January to 11th January, is not merely a showcase of skill; rather is like a mapping both the physical world they have traversed and the internal emotional spaces they inhabit.

The duality of the show establishes itself the moment you step into the gallery hallway. The curation creates a physical split that mirrors the psychological divide between the two artists. 

To the left, the walls open up into vast, detailed horizons—the work of the father, Noman Anwar. To the right, the aperture narrows into the intimate, often abstract portraiture of the daughter, Izma Anwar. It is a striking juxtaposition: one artist looks aggressively outward, cataloging the earth, while the other looks quietly inward, cataloging the soul.

Noman Anwar, about their work said, "Yet somewhere in these differences there is a harmony, a meeting point where one's story collapses with another's, that is where it represents two generations and two perspectives, but a shared emotion and love for art".  The self-taught painter approaches the canvas with the patience of an archivist and the eye of a seasoned traveler. 

His section of the gallery feels like a vivid travelogue, capturing the kinetic energy of human habitats. There is a distinct lack of haste in his work. We are told that a single piece can take an average of six months to complete, and standing before his acrylic and oil landscapes, one understands why. These are not impressionistic blurs; they are architectural feats of patience, layered with the complex textures of urban rhythms.

What strikes the viewer first regarding Noman's work is his fearlessness with colour. In lesser hands, such high-contrast vibrancy could easily veer into the chaotic or the gaudy, yet Noman wields saturation with precision. 

He uses colour not just to decorate, but to define the atmospheric "temperature" of a place. His depiction of Jodhpur does not just use blue; it breathes the specific, dusty coolness of the Blue City, capturing the way light hits those iconic walls. 

Conversely, his rendering of the Larung Valley in Tibet is dominated by a heavy, spiritual red, grounding the viewer in the specific gravity of that location. Having previously exhibited in Mumbai in 2024, Noman's work possesses a maturity that suggests he is painting not just what he sees, but how a place feels to a memory that has let the irrelevant details fade, leaving only the essence.

If the father's work is a celebration of "being there," the daughter's work is a meditation on "being here"—specifically, being present in the ache of memory. Izma Anwar, an illustrator and designer splitting her time between Dhaka and New York, brings a trained academic eye from her time at the Savannah College of Art & Design (SCAD), yet her work feels raw and unpolished in the most deliberate, emotional sense.

Izma's collection stands in soft, melancholic contrast to the structural rigidity of her father's landscapes. She explores the abstract corridors of time, grief, and the quiet longing for spaces we can no longer return to. 

Her portraits are not seeking photorealism; they are seeking emotional resonance. She paints the ghosts of the living and the departed, wrapping them in a "soft aching" that is palpable.

There is a powerful universality in her specificity. When Izma paints her "Dadu," she includes the tactile detail of a newspaper in hand—a visual shorthand for a generation of grandfathers that resonates instantly with any Bangladeshi viewer. 

Perhaps the most poignant piece is her portrayal of her "Boro Nanu." She paints a tin box—the kind that once held Danish butter cookies but now invariably holds needles, threads, and buttons—alongside delicate hands preparing pitha. 

It is a masterclass in visual storytelling; she bypasses the need for a face and instead paints a feeling. Similarly, her tribute to "Ekram Sir", a music teacher depicted with the ubiquitous tabla and a cup of tea, serves as a portal. It pulls the viewer out of the gallery and into their own memories of childhood lessons, the smell of damp wood, and the sound of rain.

While Izma has applied her talents commercially for clients like UNDP Bangladesh and Maritimus Magazine in the USA, this debut exhibition reveals a personal depth that commercial work rarely allows. Her use of vibrant tones is deceptive; she uses bright colours not to depict joy, but to highlight the intensity of loss and the sharpness of remembrance.

The triumph of 'Brush Strokes Across Generation' lies in the dialogue between these two walls. Noman seeks the "outworld"—the adventure, the grand vistas, the external beauty of a sprawling world. Izma seeks the "inworld"—the bedroom of her childhood, the hands of her grandmother, the internal landscape of grief and growth.

Ultimately, the exhibition suggests that these two perspectives are not contradictory, but complementary. You cannot fully appreciate the vastness of the mountains in Tibet without understanding the warmth of the tea served by a teacher back home. The father builds the house; the daughter fills it with memory. Together, they offer a complete picture of what it means to live, to travel, and to remember.