My acquaintance with the works of Anisuzzaman Faroque happened rather unexpectedly. Had ARTCON not been close to me, this introduction might never have taken place. In Dhaka, my encounters with people from painting, architecture, fine arts, or literature are often accidental—perhaps this is true for everyone. Yet the ways in which literature and fine arts circulate and communicate are quite distinct. Because of that system, one eventually encounters the work of a writer or an artist in some way or another. But in the case of painting or sculpture, such encounters are less likely; we usually have to visit galleries or exhibition spaces to connect with these artists.
Faroque’s first solo exhibition presents both drawings and sculptures, executed respectively in charcoal and metal. The drawings serve as testimonies to the artist’s sculptural sensibility; in fact, they appear almost as two-dimensional echoes of sculpture itself. In this publication, the inclusion of these four drawings before the photographs of the sculptures provides a compelling introduction for the viewer.
Faroque’s gentle or humble grass essentially begins with a single work—the first piece of the series. From that work emerges the spirit that justifies the title of this publication. The softness suggested by grass extends beyond the subject itself and permeates many of his other works. Softness becomes a fundamental and unique quality of these sculptures. Even when his works move away from the literal imagery of grass, they continue to carry its resonance through a grammar of tenderness—sometimes appearing in aquatic plants, sometimes in orchids, and sometimes in a hanging moon.
Works such as “Special Child I & II,” “Very Complicated Chair,” and certain untitled pieces depart somewhat from the exhibition’s central conceptual terrain, yet they captivate the viewer with remarkable depth. By contrast, works like “Grass Flower I & II,” “Iron Leaf,” “Diakul,” “Three Types of Surfaces I & II,” and “Flying Iron Wings” map out a landscape of softness and humility—perhaps as much in the realm of imagination as in geometry.
In this context, “Nocturnal of the Wetland” becomes a fascinating inclusion. Though somewhat ominous in character, its geometric composition allows it to integrate seamlessly within the exhibition. A certain harshness or intensity appears in several of Faroque’s works, yet the artist never allows it to dominate uncontrollably. This restraint seems not merely a curatorial decision but rather a signature of his artistic language.
Mixed metals also appear in Faroque’s works, yet he repeatedly retains iron in the naming of many pieces. The word “iron,” almost like an unnecessary adjective, creates a distinctive linguistic tone—perhaps even a subtle pun. The irony is gentle rather than sharp; the term “iron” becomes a decorative yet charming ornament within these soft, grass-like forms.
At times, the use of mixed metals reveals a pair of bronze moons that shine with striking brilliance. For viewers from the Bengali cultural sphere, these moons may evoke poetic memories of Sukanta and Jibanananda—soft, sweet, tranquil, hanging moons, yet intensely present and concentrated.
Meanwhile, “Orchid Flower in Bird’s Beak” is an astonishing imaginative vision—almost unimaginable in its delicacy. It is magical, enchanting, and serene. In contrast, “Mammoth, Horse, Others and I” is profoundly unsettling. Its movement, tension, and form create a pause in perception. It is not exactly terrifying, but something uniquely disquieting. Standing before it, one may feel a deep sense of existential fatigue or absurdity. The mind then longs to return to the orchid hanging from a bird’s beak, or to the mysterious serenity of the suspended moon.
—
Manosh Chowdhury, Professor, Department of Anthropology, Jahangirnagar University