What happens when women stop trying to fit the frame and take over the entire canvas instead? Add a few curves, a generous dose of humour, some everyday absurdities and a cheeky reversal of the male gaze, and you have the wonderfully irreverent world of Fatima Aamer Mustafa.
A Lahore-born artist who graduated with honours in Printmaking & Digital Media from the National College of Arts (NCA) in 2023, Fatima draws inspiration from the women, streets, homes and social rituals of Androon Lahore. Her work transforms familiar scenes into sharp visual commentary, questioning why women’s bodies are everybody’s business, why they are expected to make themselves smaller, and why the rules governing their lives can sometimes be downright ridiculous. Using photography, digital manipulation, painting and satire, she challenges conventional ideas of beauty, femininity and visibility, creating images in which women are unapologetically expressive and impossible to ignore.
Her work has featured in exhibitions across Pakistan and internationally, including Many Facets of Eve and Pressed Flowers, Nuances and Narratives in Lahore in 2025, as well as her solo exhibition Flâneuse at The Khaas Contemporary Gallery in Islamabad in 2023. With humour as her weapon and everyday life as her material, Fatima doesn’t just ask women to take up space…she makes room for them, fills the frame, and leaves society to figure out what to do about it!
Fatima, what is it about women’s everyday lives and experiences that continues to draw you back as an artist?
I think it comes from growing up surrounded by women and observing the little things that often go unnoticed. Growing up in Androon Lahore, I saw women constantly negotiating between their own desires and what was expected of them. There was so much happening within the home, in the streets, in the bazaars, during family gatherings, and even in the most ordinary everyday interactions. Women were always doing something, caring for someone, negotiating, adjusting, and finding ways to make space for themselves.
I find these everyday experiences incredibly interesting because they can be funny, frustrating, absurd, and deeply moving at the same time. My work often begins with something I have witnessed or experienced myself, but it gradually becomes a way of questioning the social structures surrounding women. I don’t think I will ever run out of things to explore because women’s lives are so layered, and there is so much that we experience but rarely talk about openly.
How has your own relationship with your body influenced the way you represent women in your art?
My own relationship with my body has definitely influenced my practice. Growing up in a society where women’s appearances are constantly observed, commented on, and evaluated, you become very aware of how much importance is placed on the body. There is always some expectation about how a woman should look, dress, behave, or present herself. Through my work, I have become increasingly interested in challenging these expectations rather than trying to fit within them. I paint women who are fleshy, curvy, expressive, and unapologetically present. I don’t want to make their bodies smaller, quieter, or more acceptable to the viewer.
Humour and satire are important to this process because I don’t want to approach the subject only through pain or vulnerability. I want to question why women’s bodies are treated as public property in the first place. For me, body inclusivity is not simply about representing different body types; it is also about allowing women to exist without constantly having to justify their existence or appearance.
Do you think of your work as creating a space where women can recognise themselves and feel less alone?
Absolutely. One of the things I find most interesting is how many women share similar experiences but often assume that they are dealing with them individually. We might laugh about an uncomfortable interaction, a comment about our weight, or an expectation placed on us by our families, without necessarily acknowledging how widespread these experiences are. In my paintings, I often bring women together in ways that suggest familiarity, solidarity, and shared experience. They might be occupying a domestic space, standing confidently in public, or simply existing together without appearing to seek anyone’s approval.
I like the idea that a woman might look at my work and think, “Oh, so it isn’t just me!” That recognition can be powerful. I don’t necessarily want my work to offer solutions to every problem. Sometimes, simply making an experience visible and allowing women to laugh about it together can be a form of solidarity. I want my paintings to create a space where women feel seen rather than examined.
What can art offer to conversations around body image that conventional discussions about beauty, weight and appearance cannot?
I think art allows us to approach uncomfortable subjects without turning them into lectures. Conversations about body image often become very prescriptive. We are told to love ourselves, to be confident, to lose weight, or to embrace our bodies, but even these conversations can sometimes become another set of expectations placed on women. Art allows for contradictions. A woman can be confident and insecure, funny and vulnerable, or completely uninterested in how others perceive her. She doesn’t have to become an inspirational figure to deserve representation.
Through satire, exaggerated figures, colour, and composition, I can make the viewer question their own assumptions about beauty and desirability. Humour is particularly useful because it can disarm people. They might initially laugh at a situation, only to realise that they have participated in the same behaviour they are laughing at. I also think painting gives bodies a physical presence that is difficult to ignore. Rather than discussing women’s bodies as abstract social issues, I can place them directly in front of the viewer, on their own terms. The work doesn’t need to tell people what to think; it can make them reconsider why they think the way they do.
What interests you about role reversal and turning the male gaze around?
It is so deeply embedded in how we look at women, often to the point that it feels completely normal. Women are frequently positioned as subjects to be watched, judged, desired, or evaluated, while the person doing this is rarely questioned. Role reversal allows me to disrupt that familiar arrangement. I enjoy re-imagining what happens when women occupy the position of authority and men become the ones being observed, displayed, or scrutinised. It creates an opportunity to expose how uncomfortable these dynamics can become when the roles are reversed. Th sheer idea od challenging the powere dynamics between men and women!
There is also a strong element of humour in this approach. I don’t want to simply replace one form of domination with another. I want to make the viewer aware of the absurdity of the original power structure. By reversing the gaze, I hope to make people question why certain ways of looking at women have become so normalised in the first place. For me, satire is a way of holding up a mirror to society, except I quite enjoy changing the angle of that mirror.
Your women often occupy the entire frame. How conscious are you of visibility, confidence and women’s right to take up space?
I am quite conscious of this, even when I am not approaching the composition with a very deliberate theoretical framework in mind. I am interested in the way women are often expected to make themselves smaller, both physically and metaphorically. They are expected to be present, but not too loud; confident, but not intimidating; visible, but never demanding too much attention. In my paintings, I often allow women to occupy the entire frame. Their bodies are not squeezed into corners or reduced to decorative elements within a setting. They become the central presence, and the composition has to accommodate them.
This is also connected to my interest in public spaces, particularly the streets and bazaars of Lahore, where women’s presence can be complicated by constant observation and unwanted attention. I want to imagine women inhabiting these spaces without appearing apologetic for being there. I think taking up space is both a physical and a psychological act. My women do not necessarily need to look conventionally powerful. Sometimes, simply allowing them to exist unapologetically, in all their fleshiness and complexity, becomes a statement in itself.
How do you balance the personal story of one woman with the larger social commentary in your work?
My work often begins with something personal: an observation, a memory, an interaction, or an experience shared by someone close to me. I frequently photograph women around me, including my mother, aunts, friends, and other women whose presence or experiences interest me. I also photograph locations separately and bring these elements together through digital manipulation and painting.
This process allows me to construct scenes that may not have existed exactly as they appear in the final artwork, but which communicate something recognisable about women’s lives. I think the personal and the political are difficult to separate, particularly when discussing gender. A seemingly ordinary interaction within a family or a public space can reveal much larger expectations about women’s behaviour, appearance, and freedom. At the same time, I don’t want the women in my work to become anonymous symbols of oppression. They have their own personalities, humour, confidence, and contradictions. The social commentary emerges through their presence and the situations I create around them, rather than erasing their individuality. I want the viewer to recognise both the woman herself and the larger system she is navigating.
How much of the Androon Lahore you grew up in can we see in your art today?
Growing up in Androon Lahore has had a huge influence on the way I see the world. It is a place full of character, humour, chaos, colour, and stories. My family has deep roots there, and our ancestral home, which is around seventy years old, carries its own sense of history. The surrounding streets, bazaars, neighbourhood interactions, and family gatherings have all contributed to how I observe people and construct images.
Some of my strongest memories involve the everyday rituals of women: getting ready for Eid, applying mehndi, dressing up for family occasions, gathering together, talking, gossiping, and negotiating the expectations placed on them. There is so much performance involved in these seemingly ordinary moments. Women are constantly aware of how they are being seen, but they are also finding ways to express themselves within those expectations. I grew up in a family with a strong sense of humour, and I think that has influenced my artistic voice as much as the visual environment around me. I have always been drawn to the funny and absurd aspects of everyday life. Humour allows us to discuss things that might otherwise be uncomfortable.
Studying at the National College of Arts in Lahore, where I specialised in Printmaking and Digital Media, gave me the tools to translate these observations into a visual language. My printmaking background continues to influence how I approach layering, repetition, and image-making, while digital manipulation allows me to bring together different figures and spaces to construct new narratives. Ultimately, Androon Lahore gave me more than a visual vocabulary. It taught me to pay attention to people, to the stories hidden within ordinary situations, and to the humour that often exists alongside social restrictions. Those observations continue to find their way into my paintings.
What are you currently working on? Any upcoming exhibitions, projects, or dreams?
At the moment, I continue to explore the relationship between women, their bodies, and the social expectations that shape their everyday lives. I remain interested in how satire, digital manipulation, photography, and painting can work together to challenge familiar ways of seeing women. Alongside my independent art practice, I also teach visual arts, which has become an important part of my creative life. Working with students constantly reminds me how differently people interpret images, question conventions, and develop their own visual language. It keeps me curious about the possibilities of art beyond the studio.
I am particularly interested in continuing to develop my body-inclusive practice and exploring how these ideas can translate into larger, more immersive presentations of my work. I would love to create exhibitions that allow viewers to engage with the work beyond simply looking at individual paintings, perhaps through installations and more spatial ways of experiencing the images. As for a dream, I would love for my work to reach audiences beyond Pakistan while remaining rooted in the place and culture that shaped it. I don’t want to lose the humour, the contradictions, or the very specific details of the world I come from in the process of becoming more widely understood. I would also love to keep creating work that makes people laugh, feel slightly uncomfortable, recognise something familiar, and perhaps question it afterwards. If someone leaves an exhibition looking at women, bodies, or public spaces a little differently than before, I think the work has done something worthwhile.
