Sabih Ahmed (SA): ‘Fragility and Resilience’ was inspired from a wide condition that a lot of people around the world seemed to share around the fine line between vulnerability and strength. This has been something palpably felt, especially since the Covid-19 pandemic, but also across the human experiences more generally: during motherhood, new relationships, moments of falling in love, encounters with loss and grief. The theme of the show felt like a timely one to contemplate, because its experience has become amplified and much more visible to everyone over the past five years. It seemed apt to address this through a rather personalised, diaristic account of an artist such as yourself. Rather than making a generalisation about the world, we wanted to look at the larger picture through a particular one, that of an individual. What does the theme of fragility and resilience mean to you?
Ayesha Sultana (AS): The words fragility and resilience hold dualities in their connotations. There is a relationship between my work and the themes of the exhibition, but while developing the works for the show, I was thinking more about my own personal journey rather than a collective experience. Sometimes, the process of making the work is more important, and the concept or layered meanings emerges from the ‘making’.
(SA): What do you think is the reason for this reluctance to arrive at a concept or meaning?
(AS): Sometimes, working on something can be a process of discovery for me. For example, when I started work on the Breath Count series, I set out with a certain framework that determined the type of paper I wanted to use and the scale. The concept was also consciously intended as a diaristic account of my breath. Over the years, these drawings have changed and the mark-making has become more and more loose and sparse.
(SA): Did your relationship with the work change during or after the pandemic, especially since breathing became so precious and dangerous at the same time?
(AS): I was living in Sylhet when I made the first substantial chunk of Breath Count. Part of the reason we moved there was the air quality, as I was becoming more and more sensitive to the pollution in Dhaka. Our surroundings had rich vegetation and lots of trees, but while living there for about a year, some days I still struggled with breathing. Working on this series helped me to become more aware of that. After the pandemic hit, this work took on a different meaning. I paused for a while, as I didn’t want it to be read through that lens. I eventually went back to making these drawings, needing to see it through for myself. I also wanted to mention that I’m going to be wrapping up this series soon. The works displayed at Ishara are the largest body of Breath Count recently made.
(SA): For us at Ishara, a major reason for framing the exhibition in terms of fragility and resilience was that we felt that the mediums that you use – such as paper, glass and tissue – seem to bear a strong connection with brittleness and endurance. How do you choose your mediums?
(AS): I’m intrigued by materials that go through some sort of a transformation. Paper, including tissue, is adaptable and versatile. It’s a medium that I can mould with my own hands without having to depend on someone else. Even glass can be transformed from a molten liquid to solid. Sometimes there is a conceptual connection in choosing a medium.
(SA): The exhibition at Ishara marks the first time your hand-blown glass sculptures, entitled Pools, have been unveiled. What inspired these works?
(AS): The process of motherhood has profoundly affected me. Recently, I came across several sketchbooks from the time of my pregnancy with my first child, and it was filled with organic shapes, mostly circular in nature. It seemed to be something that I was subconsciously drawn towards, like I was thinking about the foetus or multiplying cells in the body. I would say that the initial idea is drawn from there.
(SA): When we give tours of the show, we talk about how the works are almost like a museum of breath, because if any of them break after 100 years, someone’s breath from a century ago will release into the atmosphere. What was the process of blowing the sculptures?
(AS): For Pools, I was lucky to be guided by and work alongside Matt Janke, a master glass-blower in Atlanta. It was an exciting experience of learning new techniques. The work was a collaborative process between the glass-blower and myself. The finishing was done by an assistant in the studio. It was a process of trial and error over several months, to figure out the forms the sculptures would eventually take. We used many different techniques of glass-blowing in the studio. The most challenging part for me was trying to visually and conceptually resolve the work. Once that was locked in, we were able to finish the rest of the pieces in two to three weeks.
(SA): I want to move now to another work, the Threshold series, which consists of photographs taken by your father while he was serving in the Bangladesh Air Force. How did you decide to work with this medium, and to make the selection that was eventually included in the series?
(AS): I’ve been drawn to the photograph as a medium for a long time, and have often used it as a reference in my work. The photos from the Threshold series were not only personal family artefacts but also a visual record of a specific time and place in history. Sifting through family albums, the process of selection was deliberate. Some of them really struck me, as it resonated with things I wanted to explore related to the landscape and the boundaries of visibility.
(SA): We have presented Breath Count and Threshold together for the first time at Ishara. Do you see any relationship between the two?
(AS): The most obvious connection would be a formal one, as both works involve physical gestures and mark-making. Other than that, they have subtle ties dealing with personal history, memory and time.
(SA): How would you describe the journey of your practice in recent years? What have been your key concerns and explorations, and how have they transformed?
(AS): Over the years, my practice has become more and more personal. I don’t know if that has been intentional, but now reflecting on some of my older works, they have elements of the personal in them, in some abstract, discrete manner that I had not figured out at the time.
(SA): Finally, how much does the context of Bangladesh inform your practice, whether in your choice of mediums, the techniques that you use, or themes that you explore?
(AS): The context of Bangladesh is embedded in my practice, though not always in overt ways. The physicality of materials, textures and forms is inspired by the landscapes, structures and everyday encounters in this environment. While I was working on the graphite series, Dhaka’s urban landscape certainly informed my work. However, in recent years since I have been moving from one place to another, whether Sylhet, New York or Georgia, the context of Bangladesh does not always directly influence what I create, but transcends geographies and speaks to a broader human experience.
Courtesy: Ishara Art Foundation.