There are artists who make work to be seen. Then there are artists who create ways of seeing.
For Pakistani visual artist Mariam Ibraaz, the canvas has never been just a surface, it’s a place where memory settles, where grief finds shape, and where questions that refuse language reveal themselves through paint, photography and installation. But somewhere along that journey, another practice entered her life…
Yoga. Not the kind performed for social media or measured by impossible poses, but the subtler kind: breath, awareness, stillness. The sort that asks you to pay attention.
“I think the main difference between creating art and yoga is that art feels complete when it is communicated to the world,” she says. “Yoga, on the other hand, is not meant to be performative or practiced for anyone else. It is a very personal journey that should lead to growth both internally and in relation to your surroundings.”
It’s an observation that neatly captures Mariam herself. She exists between worlds – artist and teacher, observer and guide, creator and caretaker. Yet none of these identities compete. Instead, they seem to orbit the same centre: an enduring curiosity about what it means to be fully present.
That curiosity has shaped a career spanning more than a decade. After earning her Bachelor’s in Digital Arts, a Postgraduate Diploma in Art Education and a Master’s in Art and Design Studies from Beaconhouse National University, Mariam’s 2011 solo exhibition, Excerpts from Eroded Inner Verses, introduced audiences to an artist fascinated by perception, fragmentation and the emotional architecture of memory. Group exhibitions followed across South Asia, from Delhi and Kathmandu to Lahore, alongside a coveted residency at VASL Artists’ Association.
Yet while the settings changed, the questions remained.
“In many ways, the foundation of my practice hasn’t changed,” she reflects. “I’ve always been drawn to the emotional layers of memory, perception and the inner self.”
What has changed is where those questions now lead. “My earlier pieces came from a place of questioning, drawn from themes of grief, healing and catharsis. My current work feels more rooted in acceptance and transformation.”
The shift is subtle but profound…her work still inhabits emotional landscapes, but it now reaches beyond them, exploring spirituality, what she calls “inter-being,” and humanity’s relationship with nature and the unseen. Rather than searching for answers, her recent work seems comfortable sitting beside mystery.
Perhaps that’s why yoga felt less like reinvention and more like recognition. Her introduction came through teacher Salman Malik, whose classes altered not only how Mariam moved, but how she understood herself.
“I realised how what I practiced on the mat was benefiting my life and also how it changed my perception of life.”
Eventually, she travelled to Thailand to complete her yoga teacher training. “I wanted others to experience the gift of yoga,” she states.
For Mariam, teaching isn’t about perfect alignment or physical achievement. It’s about relationship. “The connection of the teacher and the student really influences the dynamics of the practice. It can be a very beautiful experience to be guided towards (and also away from) yourself.”
It’s a striking phrase: guided away from yourself. Not towards ego or identity, but away from the noise that often disguises who we really are. That same sensibility permeates her art.
“Creating art has always been a meditative process,” she says. “Practicing yoga has made me more aware of this.”
There is an almost ritualistic quality to the way she describes making work…not producing images but inhabiting moments. The canvas becomes another form of mindfulness, each brushstroke another measured breath. Does she believe artists have a responsibility to awaken something within others?
“Artists can help people become more aware, similar to how poetry or a novel can. It’s more like a conversation between the artist and other people.”
Importantly, she doesn’t imagine art as instruction. Once released into the world, it belongs equally to its audience. “The artist expresses a certain thought, emotion or concern, but how the viewer responds depends on their own experience and perception,” Mariam explains.
That openness extends into how she understands creativity itself. “I think everything we do in life depends on the intention behind it,” she says. “As long as your heart and mind are truly in it, even the simplest tasks like making your bed can be a creative act.”
Motherhood deepened that belief. When her son arrived, life inevitably slowed. Studio time became scarcer. Yoga classes less frequent. For many artists, this interruption might have felt like creative absence. Mariam discovered the opposite. “I realised bringing life into this world and learning how to navigate life alongside our little ones can be a highly creative process in itself, no matter how much the world might downplay this fact.”
It is perhaps the most revealing answer she gives. Creativity, for Mariam, isn’t confined to galleries or exhibitions. It exists in attention, care and intention.That philosophy extends beyond her studio. In 2024, Mariam and her husband Fahim co-founded The Simurgh, a boutique hotel in Hunza – another expression of their shared belief in creating spaces that encourage stillness, reflection and connection.
Those same ideas find their deepest expression in her recent artwork. Among her recent paintings, Life After, stands apart. Created following the passing of her father, the work approaches loss not through darkness but through tenderness. Immersing herself in spiritual and philosophical texts following his death brought unexpected peace, eventually finding expression on canvas.
“I painted a woman lying in the earth in a serene fetal position, almost like a baby resting in the womb.” Around the figure, flowers bloom.
“Each flower symbolises the experiences and memories we gather throughout our lives…things that, in my view, transform into blessings in the hereafter.”
Rather than depicting death as finality, Life After imagines it as return. “I wanted the work to feel peaceful and full of quiet beauty because that is how I imagine life after death, not as an ending, but as a state of calm and grace.”
It’s an image that lingers long after viewing it, much like Mariam’s own practice. Her work doesn’t ask for immediate answers. It invites slower looking, deeper feeling. Today, alongside managing The Simurgh, she’s developing a new artistic project she’s not yet ready to reveal.
“Let’s just say it will be pieces of art that everyone can bring home,” she says.
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