Salman Toor's Show at the Whitney by Lara Foley

Detail of Stoop, 2020

Visiting Salman Toor’s show, How Will I Know, at the Whitney felt celebratory as it did melancholic, in that it was a pleasant excuse to escape my apartment and see the art in person, while the tinges of nostalgia and pre-COVID life that danced across his canvases led me to a sentimental state. As only 10 of us were allowed to enter the gallery at a time, a haphazardly-socially-distanced line formed outside the door and through the main entrance of the museum, where I waited amongst the others, some my age, some much older, and even some in strollers. I held my green notebook in hand, but in the midst of feeling the pressure of limited time and new museum protocols, I forgot to write down a single note. Instead, I took a few photos with my phone, a prop which was not remiss in Toor’s paintings, his contemporary imagery wonderfully familiar.

Toor explores concepts such as identity, the people we surround ourselves with, and the places we inhabit. These themes reminded me of the struggles that the Joad family dealt with in John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, as they decided to leave behind Oklahoma and make the trek to California. They too found a sense of belonging and comfort in the fact that they traveled together as a pact, providing each other with a sense of calm and peace of mind. Toor’s own ‘migration’ from his birthplace in Lahore, Pakistan to New York feels very present in this artwork as well, and he paints his Brown, queer characters in a commemorative light that is often robbed from them in both America and South Asia.

Man With Face Creams
and Phone Plug, 2019

In Man With Face Creams and Phone Plug, a man stands before his items as they are checked at an airport security checkpoint. The man’s facial expression is weary, Toor demonstrating the exhaustion of the questioning and racism people are subjugated to endure. In The Grapes of Wrath, the Joads are seen as unwelcome migrants in the eyes of the townspeople, who fear the newcomers’ presence will drive out their own jobs and profits. They are not cognizant or sympathetic of the conditions the Joads experienced back in Oklahoma and the home they were forced to leave. 

Although Toor’s paintings often have unsettling subject matters and gruesome colorings, I found them to be remarkably moving, their precision dazzling, his gaze hopeful in shifting the narrative and composing an enlightened perspective. I found this to be reminiscent of Steinbeck’s desire to write The Grapes of Wrath, eager to be of use in documenting and shedding light on the ways in which the workers were living in the 40s. Both of their contentious efforts to illuminate the disparages these groups face are as important as ever, and Toor does so in such a way that unites the viewer with his characters in distinctly intimate ways.

Detail of Bar Boy, 2019

As I walked home from my excursion to the Whitney, I noticed all around me the early signs of spring: the tulips in the planters, restaurant workers hanging up string lights, children running around the playground. That’s when I noticed a cat sleeping in a storefront window; I walked over, eager for some much-needed animal stimulation. I stood smiling at it for some time until, slightly startled, I realized a woman was behind it, watching our interaction. She caught my gaze and her eyes twinkled, her mask undoubtedly covering a smile, acknowledging the happiness the cat had brought me. I thought to myself that all of these small gestures of togetherness and joy really are what makes

The Star, 2019

everyone feel whole. Salman Toor’s celebration of unity and camaraderie between people and between cultures inspires one to appreciate all of the little twinkles in one’s life, even if life might feel a bit strange and murky green these days.