Jamini, Issue: March 2007
Since the death of Abdur Razzaque at the end of a long and distinguished career, Hamiduzzaman Khan has become the doyen of Bangladeshi sculptors. At 59 he is at the peak of productivity and has just mounted a garden show on the British Council premises. Kaiser Haq talks to him about his life and work and aesthetic preoccupations.
Kaiser Haq: The fact that you are the senior most sculptor in Bangladesh today tells us something about the position of the art form in our culture, doesn’t it?
Hamiduzzaman Khan: Yes, it does indeed. Our art tradition is much stronger in painting and graphics than in sculpture. Except for Professor Razzaque and Novera our senior artists didn’t show much interest in the form. Professor Razzaque’s recent death is a great loss, since he can be called the founding father of the tradition of modern sculpture in the country. Novera has deservedly become a legend. She showed remarkable courage and energy during her years as an active artist in Dhaka. Her disappearance from the scene and her reclusive existence somewhere in France are perhaps the most intriguing episodes in our brief art history.
K.H.: Your own interest in sculpture seems to have developed rather late. Could you tell us the story of how you became drawn to sculpture?
H.K.: My first degree, from what was then the Dhaka Government College of Arts and Crafts, was in painting. I finished my degree in 1967 and then for two years freelanced in order to save money to go abroad for treatment. You see, I had suffered a serious traffic accident that fractured my skull and literally left me with a hole in my head. There was a bit of skull that had been severed and even after I had been patched up in hospital I only had skin over the place where I had lost skull bone. Even a slight injury in that place could now be fatal. I needed reconstructive surgery, which couldn’t be done in the country. Dr. Asiruddin, who was a high ranking-physician in the government health service, helped me go abroad. I went to Edinburgh, whose General Hospital has a worldwide reputation. As I was a student from a Commonwealth country, the hospital authorities waived all fees and I went through successful reconstructive surgery. The money I had taken with me, I spent on travelling for five months. I visited the museums and art galleries in Britain. I was particularly fascinated by the British Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum and the National and Tate galleries. I felt drawn to sculpture, especially Henry Moore’s work, of which I saw a lot. Then I went to Paris and Italy, and there too the sculptures I saw were an eye-opener. I realized what potential lay in this form to create an aesthetic effect that would be accessible to all. Most paintings are private possessions or housed in museums and are not seen by the majority of people. But throughout Europe I saw stunning sculptures in public places. They bridged art and ordinary life. People and traffic swirled around masterpieces that had withstood the depredations of the elements for centuries. I felt impelled to try my hand at this robust art form.
K.H: Was it only Western sculpture that attracted you in this form?
H.K: No, no. On my way to Britain—I went by ship—we stopped for a few days at the port of Dakar. There I was impressed and charmed by traditional African sculpture. There were exquisite ebony figures.
K.H: What about subcontinental sculpture?
H.K: Unfortunately, sculpture was conspicuous by its absence in this country. I am exaggerating of course. Like everyone else I have seen the classical sculptures in our museums, and among my teachers we had a distinguished sculptor in Professor Abdur Razzaque. But at the Art College the dominant activities were painting and drawing, and then graphics. I needed the exposure I had to a large number of sculptures of varied styles to make me feel that sculpture was what I wanted to devote myself to. Of course, later on I became well-acquainted with the subcontinental tradition in sculpture.
K.H: So how did you switch in sculpture?
H.K: When I returned from Europe with my reconditioned skull—this was 1969—I began to work at sculpture, concentrating on clay as a medium, under Professor Razzaque. This was not part of an academic course, but something arranged informally with the blessings of the Shilpacharya Zainul Abedin. The following year Abedin Sir, as we all called the Shilpacharya, appointed me as a lecturer in sculpture at the Art College.
K.H: That was a volatile phase in our history: political unrest, a terrible cyclone, elections, and then came the Pakistan Army crackdown and the Independence war.
H.K: Yes, our national struggle left a profound impression on me. I was picked up by the Occupation Army, but luckily they soon released me. Then I made my way to Kishoreganj, my ancestral home, on foot.
K.H: You first made a name for yourself with sculptures depicting the war and the Pakistani atrocities. But it was a few years before you could process the painful material into art. How was the process of transmuting the agony of history into art unfold?
H.K: It took a while. I needed to improve my technique before I could think of doing justice to the subject.
K.H: And the opportunity to improve your technique came when you got a scholarship to study in India?
H.K: Yes, in 1973 I was awarded an Indian government scholarship to study for a two-years MFA degree. Abedin Sir chaired the interview board and gave his decision in my favour without even asking me any questions. It shows what a no-nonsense personality he had; he knew my work well enough to decide that I should get the scholarship.
K.H: You chose to go to Baroda rather than to Santiniketan. Why?
H.K: I was offered admission to Santiniketan but an Indian High Commission official advised me to go to Baroda, which had a very dynamic faculty at the time. But as the admission quota for the year had been filled up I had to start my studies at Baroda the following year, in 1974.
K.H: Could you describe Baroda’s impact on your career?
H.K: The Fine Arts department at Baroda had been founded by the dynamic Sankho Choudhury. It also had celebrated figures like Raghav Kaneria, who had taught at the Royal College of Art in London and is now teaching in New York, Mahendra Pandia and Subramanyan. Kaneria’s influence on the development of my technique in handling metal was profound, especially in the use of wax casting.
Subramanyan inspired and encouraged students to be innovative, to trust their creative spirit and try out quirky new things. Once when I was working on a bronze sculpture he suggested that I leave intact the runners through which the molten metal is poured. Normally they are removed when the casting has been completed. You can imagine how letting the runners remain added strangeness to beauty. I must say it opened my eyes. I began to develop a more flexible idea of aesthetic significance and value.
K.H: Tell us something about the work you began producing after Baroda.
H.K: By the time I finished my master’s degree in 1976 I had started producing work that was radically different from anything I had done before. Some of these were exhibited almost straightaway. For instance, at a show commemorating the 25th anniversary of the Baroda Fine Arts department, which was held in Bombay, I had two bronze sculptures and one in plaster. They were all depictions of the terrible experience of the independence war, and were laid on the ground. At the time sculpture that was not upright was hardly ever seen in India. M.F. Husain came to the show and on seeing my work wanted to meet me; it was a great honour for a young artist like me. Then I came home but was invited back to India the same year to participate in another group show.
K.H: So one could say that your Indian training really started you on your career.
H.K: Yes, India was a seminal influence. After finishing my degree there I had the opportunity to assist Sankho Choudhury and Kaneria on some large-sized sculptures that they were working on. Meanwhile, sculpture as an art form was also gaining increased exposure in Bangladesh. The first national exhibition of sculpture was organized by the Shilpakala Academy in December 1976, and I can proudly say that my works in bronze were widely admired.
K.H: And from then on you have been a prolific artist, in your major medium, which is sculpture, as well as painting and drawing.
H.K: Yes, I always work hard, and at different sorts of things. I began producing large, or at least largish sculptures. In 1979 I did a 13-foot one which is now located in Sylhet. I had my first solo sculpture show in 1982. That year I was also commissioned to do the sculpture at Bangabhaban. Then I went to the USA and spent a year and a half on a scholarship at the Sculpture Center School in New York.
K.H: That must have been very different from what you experienced in India.
H.K: Yes, naturally. America is America as the whole world knows! It has both negative and positive sides. But as far as my work as a sculptor is concerned, America taught me the usefulness of technological advancement. My scholarship wasn’t meant to make me work for a degree. It gave me full freedom in using the Centre and its resources to develop myself professionally. My interactions with American sculptors taught me a lot.
K.H: Can you be more specific?
H.K: American technology enables sculptors to do things a lot faster than it is possible in this subcontinent. There all you have to do is prepare a maquette, or miniature model, and hand it over to technicians who can blow it up to any size you want in any medium you want, whether bronze or steel or stone or whatever. I had the use of a studio for which the fee of $4000 was waived, and I could try out new techniques just as I pleased.
K.H: Towards the end of 1983 you came back.
H.K: Yes, and I have been stationed at home ever since, teaching at what is now the Dhaka University Institute of Fine Arts.
K.H: What is the most conspicuous outcome of your American sojourn?
H.K: I would say a growing interest in stainless steel as a medium for sculpture. It is virtually imperishable, extraordinarily malleable and makes work of any size possible. Since my visit to America most of my works have been in stainless steel. I began working directly on metal, welding it and using car paint to get a good finish.
K.H: You have also been travelling a lot.
H.K: Not quite a lot let’s say quite a bit. And my travels always have a direct connection with my art. During the Seoul Olympics in 1988 I was invited to work at the Olympic Park, a sculpture Park, the fifth largest in the world. 180 artists participated from the world over, and each had full creative freedom and practically limitless resources at their disposal. Since then I have made several more visits to Korea. I have enjoyed working there and have been stimulated by the interaction with sculptors from diverse backgrounds. I also visited Indonesia in 1992 and studied Balinese wood sculpture, which is really exquisite and possesses tremendous expressive power.
K.H: Your wife, who was once your student, is also an established sculptor in her own right. How has your marriage affected your art?
H.K: Hard to say. But we have intense and meaningful discussions related to our work. My wife has worked in both wood and metal and is very sincere in her endeavours.
K.H: I believe you have done the largest number of large and conspicuous sculptures in public places: in Ghatail Cantonment, at the World Bank offices, at Acme Laboratories, the crossroads near the American Embassy and many other locations. Clearly, you find it meaningful and very satisfying to do this sort of work. Would it be right to say that you are aiming to bring art close to real life?
H.K: Precisely. I like the idea of people of all walks of life seeing my work as they go about their varied tasks or loiter and try to relax a little. It is far better to have this contact with people through one’s art than to produce things that patrons will keep hidden from the popular gaze.
K.H: Do you have any philosophy of art? How do you relate to tradition and what is more important to you, form or content?
H.K: That’s a barrage of questions, but I will try to answer them unambiguously. Since Bangladesh itself lacks a strong tradition in sculpture, I feel free to take from whatever attracts me in other traditions. At the same time I am always studying the forms, shapes, textures and colours in the world around us. If I see an old house, with mouldings and wrought iron railings, I will study them, draw them and try to use them in my work. As for a philosophy of art, I really don’t have one. I am pragmatic. But I use abstract as well as organic forms because I feel the dialectics between them captures something essential about the human world.
K.H: Yes, you have just published a marvellous book of drawings of different parts of ‘Rose Garden’.
H.K: And I am constantly doing such drawings wherever I go. As for form and content, I never allow them to come into conflict, because both are equally important and, indeed, in a truly successful work it becomes impossible to tell them apart. I should also mention that in addition to sculpture and the drawings that go with it, I do a lot of paintings. I have been exhibiting in all three genres fairly regularly.
K.H: This is indeed very impressive. What about your contemporaries? Do you feel confident about the future of sculpture in this country?
H.K: There are a number of sculptors who deserve praise, and each of them is distinctive as regards medium and favourite subjects. Alok Roy has done fine work in terra cotta, which is the oldest and most widely used medium in Bengal. Two sculptors started as amateurs but are now splendid professionals; Ferdousi Priyabhashini, whose favoured medium is wood, and Rasha, who has an interesting experimental bent.
K.H: Now for a bit of criticism. You must be aware that a number of critics, including myself, have argued that your earlier work in bronze is far more satisfying than the more recent work in steel. How do you respond to such criticism?
H.K: I respect all such constructive criticism. I know what a wonderful medium bronze is, but it is relatively expensive and doesn’t withstand the elements as well as stainless steel. I admit that steel tends to repel the aesthetic gaze, as you have pointed out, but I also believe that the problem can be overcome, at least to an extent. There are many kinds of stainless steel available in the world today and it should be possible to import varieties that have a different sheen, and even interesting textures. I think if I keep on struggling with this medium I will be able to produce interesting work that will last.
K.H: Let us end on that confident note. We wish you all success in your endeavour.
