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INTERVIEW

Hidden in Plain Sight

Ali Monis Naqvi

Writer

Zahra Amiruddin

I’ve often wondered how one can touch a feeling - hold it gently as it disperses into a mirage, leaving a visual memory. The image feels soft, barely visible but still there, taking shape as a distant evocation.

I’ve often wondered how one can touch a feeling - hold it gently as it disperses into a mirage, leaving a visual memory. The image feels soft, barely visible but still there, taking shape as a distant evocation.

I’ve often wondered how one can touch a feeling - hold it gently as it disperses into a mirage, leaving a visual memory. The image feels soft, barely visible but still there, taking shape as a distant evocation.

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© Ali Monis Naqvi

ZA :

Ali, I find that I am personally drawn to imagery that has the strength to weave a residual feeling even after it is consumed. Similarly, I’m left with a lingering nostalgia for nothing and everything when I look at your work. Could you talk about your journey into photography and what prompted this gentle gaze?

AN :

Growing up in a tight-Muslim community in Chamanganj, Kanpur I was introduced to nature, wildlife, and gardening by my ammi (grandmother) whose interest in ecology piqued my own. I spent a lot of time on the rooftop with ammi photographing my surroundings on an old Nokia phone, and as a child I would even use my grandfather’s compact camera without any film and pretend like I was taking pictures. I never really thought I would become a photographer, and in fact pursued computer applications. Since I was an avid follower of National Geographic and documentaries on wildlife, my ideas on photography ended there. It was only after giving up on programming, taking up commercial photography gigs, and then being introduced to artists in Mumbai and at The Delhi Photo Festival did I realise that personal work was considered as ‘work’ too. That was just the beginning.

ZA :

It’s intriguing that the photographic industry, especially in South Asia, has seen quite a distinctive blurring of lines between commercial and personal work in the recent past. There is an encouraging acceptance of documentary styles being presented in campaigns and fashion for instance. I have seen this in your fashion work as well. Could you talk about your experience with this style of working?

AN :

It's interesting that I get the opportunities to experiment with this kind of approach because I see my images as diary entries. What might merely look like a photograph of a glass, is a memory for me. I will recall where I was sitting, what the time was, who I was with, what the moment felt like, almost like a magician’s cipher that only I can read. I’m an extremely private person, and in fact don’t literally write in a diary for this very reason. There is always a fear of someone uncovering my secrets. When I am approached to shoot for fashion campaigns, I just shoot by instinct and I’m not someone who bothers about the wrinkle on the dress. The landscape is changing drastically, and I can see that quintessential “fashion,” photographers are now being given briefs to shoot documentary style. It’s also hard because how does one switch so easily? I think in India, it was possibly Prabuddha Dasgupta who began merging the styles of fashion and documentary- but to me, I don't understand fashion – whether it’s good or bad, I’m just here to make images.

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© Ali Monis Naqvi

ZA :

Your imagery breathes in a certain patterned rhythm. It dances between forms, starting sentences in one frame, and continuing them in the next. Would you say this style of building narratives is deliberate or subconscious?

AN :

I’m not too sure since I probably don’t see it that way. But what I do know is that I shoot every single day. And in my images, I tend to hide elements and not give the whole frame away. I’ll probably show only 2% of what I’m actually seeing. It’s not something that is conscious, but automatically happens because I shoot things closely, and in portraits I don’t like to reveal the entire face. I realise we put a lot of face value to things, and it almost feels materialistic. In my practice I want to try and remove the materialistic or preconceived aspects of our realities; and I find that it helps if I go close.

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© Ali Monis Naqvi

ZA :

As artists, I guess we are fortunate to be stimulated by both internal, as well as external experiences which we can either choose to respond to or let go off. I notice that there is an overarching political layering within your work which isn’t overtly obvious, but still extremely prevalent. How important do you think it is to negotiate these political and personal spaces within one’s art, and are you burdened by a sense of obligation to respond to the growing intolerance we are experiencing?

AN :

In a case like this, I don’t think I’m solely speaking as a photographer but as a human being with feelings of empathy and care. I find that as photographers or artists, there is sometimes an urgency to create an issue into a body of work or a collection of images for the sake of creation. I have a real problem with that. For me, I don’t know how to separate my work about my community and my own personal work into two categories because at the end of the day, I am the one who is photographing. I don’t want to be labelled or tagged as someone who makes ‘political work,’ or as a ‘Muslim photographer,’ and especially when there is an expectation for me to respond through my art. For example, my project, Jahan , which is currently being showcased as part of the exhibition Growing Like a Tree: Sent a Letter at Sunaparanta, Goa is as much about my grandmother as it is about the rapidly changing politics in my neighbourhood in Kanpur. When there is a massive issue that takes place, I see that we are quick to either make illustrations of a particular scene or show it graphically – and for me that is normalising a visual. I don’t like imagery that is made to shock you because you are leaving no space for feeling. News cycles die in a day, and when people look back in history, the graphic images might just be images to them, but the ideologies that hold subtle undercurrents? Those don’t die.

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© Ali Monis Naqvi

ZA :

It's interesting because one never knows when work transforms depending on circumstances. For example, who knew that your collection of images of evening namaaz (prayers) at Jama Masjid, New Delhi years ago would suddenly be a statement in response to the recent news that in Kanpur, FIRs have been lodged against 1700 Muslims in three police stations for offering Eid namaz on the road in April 2023…

AN :

Right. And my thought is that as minorities, why is it our duty to protest against the oppressors. We have so much more at stake! Shouldn’t there be a majority protesting on behalf of a minority too? So, I feel like if you really care about something you don’t have to necessarily bring your artistic side to it, because caring as a human being is enough. Of course as artists we can amplify these voices, but we should always approach this as people first. There are too many agendas going around, and the work then becomes more about the individual and less about the work…

ZA :

I also notice the simplicity of presentation in your powerful image of Shaheen Baugh, one of the most revolutionary spaces of dissent against the unlawful Citizenship (Amendment) Act 2019 that threatens to demolish the secular fabric of the Indian Constitution. As part of the Turbine Bagh project initiated by Sofia Karim, it’s fascinating that these images, including yours, about protest sites, political prisoners, and fascist regimes are printed on something as universal in Southeast Asia as a samosa packet. Here, a protest becomes an everyday occurrence…

AN :

Exactly, it’s such a smart idea. A person on the road could buy a samosa as a snack and suddenly find the news of an unlawful arrest. They might not want to consume the news and are still consuming it. These are the projects that I’m happy to be a part of since they allow you to connect with similar causes and communities globally. It brings a sense of solidarity.

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© Ali Monis Naqvi

ZA :

Do you have an opinion about the new age of photography as it transforms from physical ownership to digital ownership in the form of NFTs?

AN :

Honestly, I don’t have any idea on the world of NFTs. It does remind me about something I read about a man who buys ideas...maybe he was way ahead of his time?