I rode the escalator to the second level of the Art Gallery of New South Wales, preparing to interview Nusra Latif Qureshi, a Melbourne-based artist born in Pakistan. She was hosting her first major solo exhibition here. Titled "Birds of the Distant Pavilions," the exhibition spans thirty years of her work, from her early pieces created during her painting training in Lahore to her latest installation, "The Museum of Amnesia" (2024).
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02-04, 2025While waiting for Qureshi, I browsed the exhibition, and a small painting titled "Sacred Boundaries" (1995) caught my attention. Initially, I didn't notice it: a woman fleeing at the edge of the frame. When I did see her, I was struck by the tension created by this partial concealment, a familiar push and pull between revealing and hiding.
I realized I was about to meet someone who understood the instinct to hide. When Qureshi arrived, I recognized her immediately. She closely resembled the dual figures in one of her paintings I had just examined, "Beside Me" (1997). Qureshi felt warm and composed, confident but unpretentious, much like the women in her paintings, who possess a quiet self-assurance.
I was a bit nervous, after all, I am an artist, not a journalist. I began the interview, asking a standard question about the exhibition's chronology. She smiled, her voice calm: "We didn't focus on chronology. Instead, we wanted a loose thematic flow. Matt (curator Cox) and I looked at how images repeat, how themes simmer beneath the surface."
I inquired about the fleeing woman in "Sacred Boundaries," and Qureshi told me that this figure is an anchor for the exhibition's energy. I wondered if the women in her paintings represented herself. "They are not autobiographical," she said, "They fight for me, but they are not me." Qureshi's female figures challenge tradition. She refuses to depict women statically as symbols of beauty or divinity.
Her fractured figures and recurring motifs—hands, fabrics, pistols, birds, lines—oscillate between presence and absence. They draw the viewer in, asking them to complete the narrative. "Women have always been symbols in art history, but never themselves," she said. "I want to reclaim that space on their terms, not as an object of someone else's gaze."
"She is in motion. She has agency" At first glance, Qureshi's work feels serene—red partitions, blue skies—but the more you look, the less tranquil they seem. Qureshi says the figures in her work represent a woman "who is not static or passive." "She is in motion. She has agency. That’s important to me—that she’s not trapped."
This sense of movement extends to the conceptual framework of her art. Historically, frames were intended to illuminate and embellish, as seen in the 16th-century Mughal paintings displayed alongside her work. Qureshi incorporates these past traditions into her own pieces, then subtly breaks them down. "I wanted to see what happens when you move beyond those boundaries," she said. "Can you respect tradition while challenging the frame?"
Qureshi studied at the National College of Arts in Lahore, where she received her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. In 2001, she moved to Australia for postgraduate studies, completing her Master of Fine Arts at the Victorian College of the Arts (VCA) in Melbourne, where she has since lived and worked. The exhibition wall text notes her training in the traditional art of Mughal miniature painting (musaviri). I asked Qureshi what musaviri meant, and she explained that it simply means “painting.”
Her art is often described as “miniature painting” in the Western art world, but she refuses to accept the term as a colonial label. “’Miniature’ is something imposed by colonial art historians,” she explained. “It reduces a vast practice into something quaint. Musaviri is not miniature—it is expansive.”
We walked into a section dedicated to her student work, though the word "student" felt absurd. Its precision, conceptual layers, and political undertones already suggested a mature voice. From 1994 to 1995, Qureshi delved into the traditions of manuscript painting and the late 19th-century Urdu storytelling practices. The five student paintings in the exhibition reflect Pakistan's political history from 1947 to 1995.
"I divided it into five decades," she explained. "The first focuses on the founders of the nation. The second focuses on the first martial law, the first military dictator, and the influence of American aid. Then there is Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto—his rise and his removal. The fourth covers the long rule of the second military dictator, and the fifth witnesses the emergence of Benazir Bhutto and the shifting political tides." Her rigorous intellectual approach meets a masterful painting technique, influencing each other. The result is a dynamic interplay between beauty and critique.
Later paintings, such as "Dripping" (1996-1999) and "The Clouds That Depart" (1999), go further. "At that time, I was playing with spontaneity and deliberation. Our training was very precise—plan out every stroke. But I wanted to see what would happen if I relinquished control." "Why are historical paintings so beautiful? What if I completely abandon beauty?" The resulting drips, fractured forms, and unfinished edges invite the viewer to question assumptions about aesthetics and tradition.
"I was testing extremes: meticulous planning versus complete abandonment," Qureshi said. As we moved into the larger space of the gallery, her comments broadened. Works such as "Boat People" (2007) and "The Sun Never Sets" (2008) highlight national paradoxes. "They are about (Tampa)," she explained. "People are proud of European maritime history but are afraid of other 'boat people'. On one hand, we celebrate lifesavers. On the other, we criminalize those seeking safety. It’s a selective narrative."
She clarified that it is not a critique of lifesavers, but a critique of social and political double standards: "We save some lives, but we abandon others." "Not Interested in Self-Alienation" Walking through "Birds of the Distant Pavilions" feels like stepping into the middle of a conversation. Stories hang in the air, waiting to be pieced together. A woman flees the frame, a delicate hand appears with pin-like precision, and the viewer lingers in uncertainty.
This conversation is also about Qureshi herself. She acknowledges her multiple identities but refuses to be categorized. "I’m not interested in self-alienation," she said. "I was born in Pakistan, but I work primarily in Australia. My heritage informs my work, but it doesn't define it entirely." Qureshi's practice challenges neat classifications. She respects traditions—Mughal painting, manuscript illustration, floral Urdu storytelling—while reshaping them.
Frames are expanded, narratives are broken, and her female subjects refuse to be confined. The works invite viewers to think about what lies beyond the edges of the frame, the histories that exist beneath gilded surfaces, and how meaning arises when we step outside comfortable boundaries. Qureshi’s art, like the fleeing figure in "Sacred Boundaries," is constantly moving—beyond frames, beyond boundaries, beyond expectations. "Birds of the Distant Pavilions" is on display at the Art Gallery of New South Wales until June 15, 2025.
