Imagine walking down a crowded street in Mumbai, the usual noise of honking cars and people hurrying along. In the middle of it all, you spot something unexpected: a large, blank canvas standing tall on an easel. People stop. Some hesitate, unsure. Others step up, grab a brush, and begin. Children dash forward, eager to paint. Adults look around nervously, some apologising, others wondering if they’re allowed to join in.
This isn’t a pop-up exhibition or an art installation. It’s Open Easel, a public art experiment led by Zahir Mirza, a former advertising professional who, at 60, decided to take art out of galleries and into the streets of India. Zahir’s mission is simple: to invite complete strangers to paint, free from judgement or the pressure of perfection.
“I wanted to create a space where people can paint first and worry about what it looks like later,” Zahir says. “It’s about giving them permission to create without the anxiety of being judged or compared.”
A former Ad man’s rebellion:
Zahir Mirza grew up in Mumbai, and his career was shaped in the world of advertising. For decades, he helped lead major campaigns for brands like Lifebuoy, ICICI Bank, and Kingfisher, crafting visual stories that reached millions of people. But after years of working in the fast-paced advertising world, Zahir began feeling disconnected from the very creativity that had once inspired him.
“The industry was all about performance. About selling. About doing art for an end goal, whether it was for a product or a brand,” Zahir recalls. “But I started wondering, ‘Is this really creativity? Or just something manufactured for the market?’”
While Mirza himself comes from a visual and creative professional background, he claims that art predates formal training itself.
At 60, Zahir made a life-changing decision: he stepped away from the corporate world to explore art in its most raw, unfiltered form. He didn’t want to create for brands anymore. He wanted to create for people. And so, Open Easel was born. Zahir began taking his easel to busy streets in Mumbai, Delhi, Surat, and even smaller towns like Nashik, setting up a canvas and inviting anyone passing by to pick up a brush and paint.
Breaking boundaries with public art:
Unlike a traditional gallery or art class, Open Easel is about bringing art directly to the public. Zahir sets up his easel in places where people are already gathered — in parks, near busy intersections, at markets, or outside popular cafés. The idea is simple: no art degrees required, no critique waiting — just an open space for people to express themselves.
At first, people are hesitant. They wonder, “Can I really paint?” Some apologise, saying they’re “not good at art.” But Zahir reassures them with a smile: “There’s no such thing as ‘bad’ art here. Just paint.”
Children run toward the easel without a second thought, eager to create. Adults, on the other hand, often stand back, unsure if they belong. Zahir understands why.
For him, artistic expression is not a specialised skill reserved for a few gifted people. It is something deeply human and instinctive.
“Adults have been taught to fear imperfection,” he says. “They’ve been told what counts as art and what doesn’t. But who decides? Who says what’s enough? No one should.”
Zahir isn’t there to teach technique; he’s there to offer a space where people can forget about the rules and rediscover the joy of creating.
“I want to challenge the idea that art is only for those with social or cultural capital,” Zahir says. “Art is for everyone. It always has been.”
Art for anyone, anywhere
For Zahir, the true impact of Open Easel isn’t about the paint on the canvas—it’s about the connections that happen when people let go of their fear of judgement.
One moment in Surat, for example, left a lasting impression on him. A woman from Assam, hesitant at first, began painting a river. Zahir asked her about it, and she spoke softly about the Brahmaputra, the river of her homeland.
“The Brahmaputra is our life,” she said, her voice soft but filled with meaning. As she painted, she began humming Bhupen Hazarika’s “Bistirno Dupare,” a song that connected her to her roots, to the river, to home.
“That moment really hit home for me,” Zahir says. “Art doesn’t just show what’s in front of us. It connects us to something deep inside. To memories, to places we carry with us, to emotions we don’t always have words for.”
Why adults hesitate
Zahir believes the hesitation adults feel when they face a blank canvas isn’t about skill but the pressure of modern life, where we’re taught that creativity must conform to certain standards. We’re told that art must be perfect, that it must perform in some way. Zahir’s mission is to undo that conditioning.
“Adults come up to the canvas and ask for permission to paint,” Zahir notes. “They apologise for not being ‘good enough.’ But that’s exactly what I want to change. Creativity doesn’t have to be perfect; it’s about expression.”
Children rarely need encouragement. They walk up to the canvas and begin immediately. Some refuse to leave even after hours.
In contrast, children approach the canvas with excitement and freedom. “They paint for the joy of it,” Zahir says. “They paint because they can.”
Art without pressure to perform
In every brushstroke, Zahir sees a challenge to today’s performance-driven world. In an age where creativity is often turned into content for social media, Zahir’s mission is to give people the space to create for themselves, without thinking about likes, shares, or validation.
Open Easel rejects the idea that art must always become content, achievement, or product. Sometimes it can simply exist as release.
“You don’t need to turn art into content,” he says. “Sometimes, it’s just about letting go and expressing yourself.”
What’s next?
Zahir’s dream is simple: to see Open Easel spread across every city in India. He wants public easels in every park, every street corner, every busy market, where people of all backgrounds—young and old—can come together, pick up a brush, and express themselves.
“There’s so much power in a single brushstroke,” he says. “If we all remember that, maybe we can stop performing and start creating again.”
All images courtesy Zahir Mirza
