What Do You See First When You Look at a Painting: A Conversation on Memory, Repair & Paiband

Most people begin with colour. Some notice the subject.

Others immediately start searching for meaning.

But what if an artwork asks us to stay with our first impression a little longer?

During Artlune's Curatorial Walkthrough of Paiband, curator Shalu Yadav sat down with Vikas Garg to unpack the thinking behind the exhibition. Rather than explaining the artworks, the conversation explored something more fundamental: how memory shapes artistic practice, why imperfection carries meaning, and how everyday acts of repair can become powerful metaphors for identity.

Below is the conversation that happened during the session.

Vikas: Before we talk about Paiband, I'd like to begin with a simple question. What do you see first when you look at a painting?

Shalu:

For me, the very first experience isn't the story. It's the impression.

When I stand before a painting, I notice how it makes me feel before I begin thinking about what it means. I notice the colours, the visual rhythm, the forms, the atmosphere it creates.

Only after spending time with the work do I begin asking questions about the artist's intention, the narrative, or the experiences behind it.

That was exactly how I encountered Rafique Shah's work.

The first thing I noticed was the incredible use of colour. The paintings are filled with vibrant blocks of colour, arranged through geometric forms rather than smooth gradients. There was something immediately striking about those visual interruptions.

Later, when I learned more about Rafique's childhood, his family, and his artistic journey, those same paintings began speaking very differently.

The colours remained the same. But the meaning deepened.

Vikas Garg: Paiband is a very metaphorical word. What made you choose it as the title of the exhibition?

Shalu:

Interestingly, it wasn't a word I knew before working on this exhibition.

During one of our discussions, the word Paiband came up. Once I understood its meaning, it immediately felt inseparable from Rafique's practice.

Literally, Paiband means patchwork.

Across his paintings, you constantly encounter geometric interruptions and layered colour blocks that resemble stitched patches.

But what fascinated me wasn't only the visual similarity.

Rafique shared that growing up, his mother and grandmother would repair torn clothes by stitching patches over them instead of throwing them away. Repair wasn't simply about fixing damage; it was about extending life, preserving memory, and caring for something enough to continue living with it.

That childhood experience quietly stayed with him.

Today, those same patches have become part of his visual language. So Paiband became much more than the exhibition's title. It became a metaphor for memory itself.

We don't discard our memories simply because time has passed. We carry them with us. They become part of who we are.

Vikas Garg: At first glance, Rafique's work appears to be purely geometric abstraction. What visual elements should visitors pay attention to while experiencing the exhibition?

Shalu :

Everyone experiences art differently, so I don't think there's a single correct way of looking.

Initially, most viewers notice the bright colours and geometric forms. Rafique often speaks about discovering colours as a child—as if they suddenly allowed him to create anything he could imagine. That joy still lives inside his paintings.

As you spend more time with the works, you begin noticing the layering.

Those layers aren't simply physical layers of paint. They remind me of how memories themselves accumulate over time. Our experiences don't replace one another; they settle upon each other, creating depth.

The white spaces are equally important.

Rather than feeling empty, they create moments of pause. They allow viewers to enter the work with their own memories and emotions.

Even the artwork titles: Memory of a Distant Sky, Whispers Beneath the Surface, Fragments of Memory, don't explain the paintings. Instead, they gently open another doorway into them.

I think that's where the exhibition becomes personal. Every viewer brings something different.

Vikas Garg: You mentioned white spaces, grids, and layering. How do these visual elements contribute to the exhibition's larger themes?

Shalu:

These are probably the most visible elements in Rafique's work, but they are also the most symbolic.

The grids, the interruptions, the white spaces, and the layers all suggest that nothing exists in isolation. Nothing is ever just one thing.

Our lives are layered. Our identities are layered. Our memories are layered. The paintings reflect that complexity.

The geometric interruptions almost resemble moments in life where things shift. They remind us that life isn't linear. There are pauses, breaks, unexpected turns, and experiences that slowly build over one another.

The white spaces are equally significant.

Many people see them as empty spaces, but I don't think they're empty at all. They're spaces where viewers can pause and bring their own interpretations. As Rafique himself says, once an artwork leaves the studio, it no longer belongs only to the artist. Every viewer communicates with it differently.

So those white spaces become invitations rather than absences. They allow people to enter the work with their own memories. The layering is also important.

It isn't about concealing something underneath. Instead, it shows how experiences accumulate. Every layer adds another dimension without erasing what came before.

When I first encountered these paintings, they also reminded me of textile traditions from South Asia, particularly Kantha embroidery. It wasn't a direct reference, but that visual connection immediately stayed with me because those traditions are also built around repair, stitching, and continuation.

Vikas Garg: You mentioned Kantha earlier. I don't think everyone in our audience knows about it. Could you explain a little more about that tradition?

Shalu:

Of course.

Kantha is a traditional textile practice where old fabrics are layered together and stitched into quilts, blankets, or everyday household textiles.

The intention isn't simply decorative. It's about extending the life of something that already exists.

Growing up, I witnessed similar practices in my own home, although we didn't necessarily call them Kantha.

When clothes became too old to wear, they weren't thrown away immediately. My grandmother and mother would cut them into pieces, layer them together, stitch them, and create thick quilts or floor coverings that could continue being used for years.

Even today, some of those pieces are still in our house.

Whenever the outer fabric became worn, another layer was stitched over it instead of replacing the entire object.

Looking back now, I realise those weren't just acts of practicality. They were acts of care.

That's one of the reasons Paiband resonated with me so strongly. The patch wasn't hiding damage.

It was acknowledging that something had lived a life and deserved another one. Once you begin noticing these traditions, you realise they're everywhere across South Asia. Different regions may have different names or techniques, but the philosophy remains remarkably similar.

Repair isn't treated as failure. It's treated as continuity.

Closing Note

The memories we inherit, the marks we acquire, the repairs we make, and the stories we choose not to discard all become part of who we are.

Perhaps that is what makes Rafique Shah's paintings so quietly powerful. They don't ask us to search for perfection. They ask us to recognise beauty in continuation.

Paiband is on view at Artlune until 12 July. We invite you to spend time with the works, revisit your own memories, and discover how the smallest patches can often hold the deepest stories.

Explore the exhibition here.