Quiet reflections from Saiful Razman
Saiful Razman’s Forms Of Void is more about quiet reflection than loud sloganeering.
BACK in June 2008, Saiful Razman Mohd Kassim, or better known as Razman, unleashed his first solo exhibition Pelan-Pelan Dan Bilik Gerakan (Plans and Operations Room) at the Annexe Gallery in Central Market in Kuala Lumpur.
Politics was thick in the air. Activist Hishamuddin Rais even wrote about the origins of the national anthem in the Pelan-Pelan Dan Bilik Gerakan catalogue. The mood of the day, especially after the game-changing 12th General Election, was one of discontent and division among the masses as the country woke up to a vastly changed political landscape.
The button-badge sloganeering and politically-charged sentiments, which engulfed Razman’s art, burned bright in those volatile years. The multi-disiplinary artist-musician’s early work was aggressive and questioning, a portrait of a young man giving voice to the troubled times and chaos in his surroundings.
Last March, his second solo outing Ereksi General continued his provocative slant and artful politics.
This week, at the launch of his third solo exhibition Forms Of Void at Richard Koh Fine Art in Bangsar, Kuala Lumpur, Razman laughed when reminded of the heady days of Pelan-Pelan Dan Bilik Gerakan in 2008. He also looked amused when asked if he times his significant public showings right after bruising election battles. Any coincidence, you ask? The 13th General Election or politics in general, as Razman explained, played a lesser role in his latest show, which features 11 large-scale paintings.
“Ever since I started in 2003, my work has been associated with symbols, images, objects and issues. Indeed, I found many ways to put a viewpoint across. It was sort of a struggle to get personal opinions and social commentary amplified through my art ... but right now, I don’t need all that,” said Razman, 32, with a hint of disillusionment in his voice.
“I do not think that people who face any of my present artworks must be overwhelmed by commentary of any sort. There is a certain fatigue, I reckon, in forcing out issues.”
Often enough in conversation, Razman spoke broadly about redefining his work and shifting the focus to the “process of art”. The Bachelor of Fine Arts graduate from Universiti Teknologi Mara found renewed passion in the structured methods accompanied with the classic form. His rebel-rousing years, which he remembers fondly, gave him the momentum to break into the art community here. He was also an upstart pioneer of the Notthatbalai Festival, organised by the Lost Generation Space, and the bassist for punk outfit Gasoline Grenade.
“Those were exciting times! There was a real surge of creativity and an urgent need for a change in attitude back then. Was it 10 years ago?” he asked quizzically.
Some things, as the painter observed, have not changed in the art scene. The energy to voice dissatisfaction has never wavered – be it the past, present and future generation of artists.
“There is appetite for politics when it comes to local art. A lot of painters are still pushing in that direction. In my own way, I’m trying to counter all that. I’m trying to give a different perspective.
“I’m interested in work without content ... pieces devoid of statement-making. For me, it’s more about pure painterly pursuits now.”
Forms Of Void, is as back-to-basics as it gets for the Teluk Intan, Perak-born artist, who candidly noted that unlike his previous shows, he didn’t “go to pharmacies and hardware stores” to gather props and unconventional work material.
“I walked into my studio without a preconceived idea and I put my trust in the process. I put more concern in painting onto the canvas,” he wrote in the catalogue.
Working with oil on canvas/jute at his studio in Petaling Jaya, Selangor, this project underlines a departure from Razman’s prickly and pointed past. There is a sense of confusion, inertia and aspiration wormed into the Forms Of Void series, with the pieces coldly titled Number 1 to Number 11.
On the walls, as you walk through the gal- lery, the pieces seem withdrawn, laconic and detached.
The death of his grandmother early last year also had a profound influence in Razman’s current works. He spent months grieving and reflecting on the loss in his own family landscape.
Each flutter and nuance of mournful feeling across Forms Of Void, as Razman indicated, was captured on canvas as he spent an intense eight months uprooting his previous artistic persona and realigning his direction in art.
“It wasn’t an easy period. On some days, I just shut myself in the studio. Some days were dark, some days gave me strength. Through it all, I didn’t lose focus in the art.”
Razman, who has been married for three years and has a two-year-old son, reckoned the cathartic artistic experience that came with Forms Of Void made him a stronger person.
Will he go back to the incendiary phase of Pelan-Pelan Dan Bilik Gerakan?
“Maybe I will turn back; I don’t know ... nobody plans these things.”
However, as this interview came to a close, Razman maintains he isn’t thinking about the “rewind button”. He has a whole new phase of uncompromising creativity ahead – no looking back, just moving on.
As Dutch American abstract expressionist artist Willem de Kooning once said, “Artists themselves have no past. They just get older.”