Syed Iqbal's third solo exhibition marks a minor departure from the earlier exhibitions in terms of technique, but is basically concerned with the earlier themes, and those that, as a short story writer of repute, he has all along explored. Instead of oil, his preferred medium in earlier exhibition, Iqbal has used acrylic, in which he now feels more comfortable, since it has allowed him more dynamism and free movement; his earlier dense canvas has now opened up, inviting more light, sunshine and space. The experience should certainly be uplifting for an artist given to expressing the sad song of humanity. One feels that Iqbal is experimenting more with the inner structure of his paintings than with their external forms and imagery. In this interiorized vision, apparent contradictions and discrepancies of life are resolved, sadness loses its edge, and darkness to Light. Darkness in not negation, or a rejection, something that synonymous with evil; but a necessary condition for light to become what it is. This darkness is equated with quietude, a prelude to the emergence of the soul to light a preparation for annulling all disaffection and disaffection and disquiet for a fuller understanding of life and the world, as in the teachings of Buddha (Iqbal drew some inspiration from Buddha)

Iqbal's short stories also deal with this duality in the human condition. His characters struggle in the morass of life but after a thorough grinding in the mill of quotidian existence, they somehow transport themselves in a higher sphere mostly through love and understanding, but also, at times, through sheer indifference. Iqbal's paintings might seem at first sight to be following the abstract expressionistic style his swirling forms and wide sweeps of colour creating a non-human geometry, ironically exposing the formlessness of much of our existence and the absurdity of modem life; but a closer look would reveal how astonishingly peopled they are, with figures lurking behind splashes of colour or twisted, tortured composition. These are basically the dramatis personae of Iqbal's world: a stranger or an outsider wandering in foreign land, a lonesome shadow immobile before a grave, an anguished onlooker on life devastated by the deflowering of nature. They are only suggestively present, but are sufficient to remind us that realism is not very far from Iqbal's gaze. Indeed, his realistic themes are camouflaged in abstracted compositions. This he does with a purpose: if one is confronted with these compositions, it is up to her or him to discover the meaning to discover the meaning through the maze of line, colour and form. As in his short stories, his paintings too, invite the viewers to find out their own meanings.

Iqbal has a neat hand and a neat pair of eyes. His work is crisp and clear, with few ambiguities. To me his paintings seem (and sound) lyrical: full of passion, sadness and joy. The symbolism of light and darkness is never trivialized, but is invested with a new meaning. Iqbal is a storyteller in paint, and a poet too.