The director observes this reality from the nonobvious perspective of focusing on documenting nature and human labour. In a series of scenes, we watch the work-worn, discoloured hands of a man who dyes textiles for a living, seamstresses embroidering beautiful floral patterns, small wagons pulled by donkeys and omnipresent motorcycles traversing dusty roads. A Song of Humble Beauty is devoid of voiceover commentary, and the film’s protagonists don’t tell us their stories. It is rather the image that speaks in their name through a series of shots that, just like those in Paul Reggio’s masterpiece trilogy Quatsi, astonish the viewer with their artistic beauty while at the same time inspiring bitter reflection on climactic and geopolitical changes.
Brave old world
The idea for a cinematic journey to Pakistan was born in the autumn of 2023. It was then that Waheeda Baloch, the curator of Karachi Biennale, Pakistan’s largest international art exhibition, invited Anna Konik to deliver some guest lectures. The Polish artist visited the largest Pakistani metropolis in February 2024. She recollects:
That was the first time I had the opportunity to touch Pakistani space, experience a different culture, see time differently, see colours differently, sense a completely new kind of energy[…]. All that I saw in Karachi seemed to me to have been a negation of the homogeneity to which we’re accustomed by European culture.
The visit became an entry point into her new cinematic project. A few months later, Konik returned to Pakistan to shoot an essay devoted to local culture, especially the people and their labour. The production of the film took off in July 2024, and the editing was finalised in October. ‘It was a chance to take a good look at Pakistani society and to abandon the Eurocentric perspective that we usually employ when we talk about the region’, she says.
Together with the director of photography Józefina Gocman Dicks, she went to Pakistan to observe local culture and the social rules it gave rise to.
Karachi, inhabited by over 25 million people, is where one of the world’s largest slums, Orangi Town, is located. It’s a space of constant movement, which – unlike in Europe – doesn’t have one particular direction. For a European, it seems chaotic, but at the same time it buzzes with seductive energy. The pace of movement and the sense of time are different here, and so is the significance of religion, social divisions and gender roles.
After all, gender might seem to have been one of the most fundamental problems standing in the way of Polish women artists behind A Song of Humble Beauty. In the strongly patriarchal Muslim society, a film crew composed of European women must have drawn the attention of the locals. The filmmaker claims:
Our gender didn’t pose a problem. The Sindh region is a very hospitable place, where people have a kind attitude towards visitors. Not even for a moment did we feel as if some fragment of reality was inaccessible to us because we were women. When I had previously visited Allahyar, I covered my hair, wore a shawl and a long-sleeved shirt, not because someone enforced it, but because it was a sign of respect for the local culture and traditions. Thanks to this I had an easier time talking to people or participating in their daily activities.
The artist’s visit to Pakistan – essentially a police state – was taking place with the knowledge and approval of the local authorities. To be able to travel to Hala, Bhit Shah and Mīrpur Khās, the director had to apply for official permission, and her journey from one town to another took place with a police escort. This was motivated by extraordinary caution on the part of the authorities, further reinforced by the fact that the regions bordering Afghanistan would regularly witness terrorist attacks. ‘The authorities didn’t want us to be at risk, but during our daily travels, we were met with great openness from the local inhabitants, who were happy to invite us into their world’, comments Konik.
The outcast trilogy