East Enders - Lilian Pizzichini is moved by a celebration of age and wisdom in Aldgate

The East End has always been home to many different communities and disparate voices. And as far as being heard goes, the thriving young artists, Bengali restaurateurs, rag-trade machinists and the latest influx of refugees, this time from Kurdistan, have their say as much as any other Londoner. It may not be much, but we know they are there. However, when we do turn our attention towards the people of the East End we tend to stick them into rigid categories of race, creed and socio-economic status. The result is that one section of the community is in danger of disappearing.

An exhibition at the Women's Library curated by the writer and artist Rachel Lichtenstein is dominated by six full-length portraits - six foot by five foot - of elderly women. They may be invisible on our television screens and magazine covers, but in this brick-walled room they tower above visitors with all the potency of queens and noblewomen. All the women gathered together for this celebration of old age live within a mile's radius of the library, which is in Aldgate, gateway to the East End. They look as though they are made of stern stuff; they've definitely weathered a few knocks. Their bodies - some are in wheelchairs, others still standing - may be failing them but they inhabit their spaces well. And their homes, humble or affluent, are lovingly tended and welcoming. They belong here, they have something to offer us, and they know it.

Eva is a short, stout woman originally from Germany. She has a rough, ragged face, a downward-sloping mouth and a tired but defiant look in her eyes. She also has forearms like hams and looks like she'd be quite handy in an East End pub brawl. But her portrait shows her dressed in a pink hat made of crepe paper, a white embroidered blouse with black bow, a long flowery skirt and a knitted shawl. She reaches her huge arms up to her hat at the same time as contending with a plastic Sainsbury's carrier bag full of cherries, to tilt the brim more jauntily towards the camera. She is getting ready for her performance at the Sundial, a local community centre. On the audiotape that accompanies her picture, we hear her sing a song about cherries while waltzing round the room, distributing her wares. Her voice is surprisingly sweet and breathy, like a little girl's. The exhibition also uses the printed word to tell us about these women. A slogan creeps across the cabinet that contains Eva's treasured possessions - on loan for the duration of the show. It reads: "When I read a book I really live it, I really see the pictures in my mind."

It isn't long before a common theme emerges: all the women have passion in their lives. It might be for bingo, or their god, for jam-making, the internet, poetry or their families, but they pursue their dreams and interests with vigour. Their energy challenges the perception of the frail old lady living alone in a council flat smelling of cat's piss and quaking behind a bolted door. Every day 85-year-old Marga gets on the number 8 bus and goes on an adventure. She usually ends up on Hampstead Heath, where she swims a few laps in the pond. Even in winter. For her portrait, she is wearing a T-shirt that says "Cars can't dance". She lives in a commune on Brick Lane. In her spare time she makes computer paintings. She makes old age look like fun.

Not all the women are as free to roam the streets of London as Marga. But - and again this confronts our old-lady prejudices - they don't moan about it. Hali is from Somalia, and is a health worker in White-chapel. She is photographed standing against burgundy flock wallpaper in flowing robes of crimson-and-lilac silk. She emanates joie de vivre as she tells us about the happiest day of her life. This occurred when her sister was finally granted a visa allowing her into Britain. Hali's sister has Alzheimer's and needs constant care and attention. Hali is just grateful that she can be with her to provide that care.

All these women share what Lichtenstein calls an "old lady's philosophy" and an "old lady's aesthetic". Each house she entered contained a shelf, desktop or mantelpiece on which flowers, dainty ornaments, family relics or books were carefully arranged. These shrines, as Lichtenstein calls them, are reproduced here. They add to the impression that these women's lives are filled with compassion and intellectual curiosity. The use of different media - oral history, photography, artefacts - shows us these women in full. Their treasures are laid out in glass cabinets like jewels in the Tower of London. Chaay, a former social worker, has chosen a copy of the Radio Times to represent her interests. It is laid out flat and her favourite programme is ringed in blue Biro. Chaay loves Kilroy because she is interested in other people's lives and wants to help solve their problems. Unfortunately, due to ill-health, she cannot leave her house without assistance. But she fills her time with TV and books and conversation. As Eleanor, who came to the East End from the Caribbean in the 1960s, says about her frustrated desire to go to church: "Even if I am not there in person, my spirit is there." In her introduction to the exhibition, Lichtenstein explains that both her grandmothers died by the time she was 12. "So many women of my generation are missing out on the wise words of their elders." The thrust of her exhibition would suggest that instead of looking for gurus or life coaches, or waiting for a pithy apercu from a personal fitness trainer (fat chance), we should be seeking out the wisdom that is barely contained in this room.

"Keeping Pace: older women of the East End" is at the Women's Library, London E1 (020 7320 2222/ www.thewomenslibrary.ac.uk) until 30 August

Lilian Pizzichini is the author of Dead Men's Wages: the secrets of a London conman and his family (Picador)

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