Munem Wasif’s solo exhibition, ‘Kromosho,’ at Bengal Shilpalay (April 18 – May 31, 2025), presented by the Bengal Arts Programme, offers a multifaceted exploration of time, memory, and Dhaka’s evolving urban landscape. Through photography, film, and installation works – ‘Kheyal’ (2015-2018), ‘Stereo’ (2001-2022), and ‘Shamanno’ (2022-ongoing) – Wasif invites a profound engagement with the city’s history and present realities.
Wasif’s connection with Old Dhaka profoundly inspires much of the exhibition. His earlier black-and-white photographs, often intimate portrayals of the old city, are rich in detail and atmosphere, hinting at its sensory experience and establishing Wasif’s long-standing fascination with its textures and inhabitants. The evocative single-channel video installation, ‘Kheyal’, is a central piece; Its grainy black and white visuals and subtle soundscape blur past and present, immersing viewers in a dreamlike exploration of memory and place. In contrast, the photographic series ‘Stereo’ shifts focus from people to Dhaka’s architecture and urban objects. This series provides a contrasting, almost clinical perspective to the earlier emotionally charged works, highlighting urban experience’s multifaceted nature. Adding a tangible dimension, the ongoing installation ‘Shamanno,’ commissioned by Durjoy Bangladesh Foundation, showcases Wasif’s engagement with found materials and archival pigment prints. Juxtaposing these repurposed objects with archival photographs creates a compelling dialogue between the material past and its visual documentation.
Ultimately, ‘Kromosho’ reveals Old Dhaka’s many moods and intricate complexities, moving beyond surface-level observations to examine the layered stories of the city. Through a compelling combination of photography, film, and mixed media, Munem Wasif offers a deeply personal exploration of this urban labyrinth, a culmination of over two decades of his artistic engagement. We sat down with the acclaimed artist to gain further insights into the creation of ‘Kromosho,’ his profound connection to Old Dhaka, and the subtle yet powerful narratives embedded within his art.
Could you elaborate on why you chose the title ‘Kromosho’ for the exhibition and how it connects to your long interest in Old Dhaka and what viewers see in the exhibition?
Deciding on a title for an exhibition is a complex matter. I believe each artwork warrants a profoundly inventive title, one that encapsulates the entire concept within something concise, capable of conveying the intricacy of both the artistic process and the work itself. I have essentially matured alongside this body of work, and consequently, observing this exhibition allows one to witness the diverse practices I have engaged in, my evolution as an artist, and the concurrent metamorphosis of the city over time. I was intent on finding a Bengali term, especially since we frequently exhibit internationally where titles are invariably in English. However, the inaugural show took place in Bombay, a city with a remarkably cosmopolitan essence, where one senses the simultaneous presence of numerous languages – Hindi, English, Tamil, Bengali, Sanskrit. Kromosho also exists in Sanskrit, so it resonates with a wider range of people. Indeed, I felt it articulated my artistic trajectory, the gradual nature of my creative output, and how I interact with the environment. Thus, I believe the title speaks to my very method.
What initially drew you to this particular part of the city and how your relationship with it, and your understanding of it, has evolved over this significant period?
The motivation behind choosing Old Dhaka as my subject is rather complex, and I am hesitant to go into it too deeply – I don’t want it to lose its mystique. My upbringing was split between Dhaka and Comilla. I also spent significant time at my maternal grandparents’ home in Siddheshwari, which, during the late 80s and early 90s, also possessed a noticeable neighbourhood vibe. My childhood memories are imbued with a strong sense of an extended family, of community – the para, mahalla, games in open fields, the allure of mango orchards, and shared boundary walls.
Later, when I relocated to Dhaka and began exploring photography, Old Dhaka naturally became a frequent destination for many photographers. However, this period coincided with my mother’s illness, her battle with cancer. In retrospect, I believe I was also on a journey of self-discovery, trying to understand my own identity. In this context, the camera became a fascinating instrument, mediating between the internal and external worlds. While it allows one to observe the external world, the act of looking through the lens can also be a mirror, reflecting subconscious inner explorations. Old Dhaka provided a space where I could wander, savour delicious food, connect with people, and learn the craft of photography – how to perceive light as it obliquely graces the streets. Moreover, I was profoundly influenced by the works of Akhteruzzaman Elias and Shahidul Zahir, both of whom have written extensively about Old Dhaka. Yet, in those initial forays into Old Dhaka, I wasn’t consciously processing these influences; I was simply exploring, taking photographs, much like one tentatively learns to ride a bicycle, losing oneself in the labyrinthine alleys, seeking a sense of place.
Even now, I find it difficult to explain my repeated return to that place. There’s an ephemeral, almost immaterial quality that draws me back. And it’s not the Old Dhaka of clichés that interests me – not the Bakarkhani, Ahsan Manzil, Sadarghat, chhipagali, traffic congestion, Chawkbazar, its culinary specialties, or any of the stereotypical representations. What truly captivates me is how the space activates something within me. It can evoke an illusion, a maze akin to those in Jorge Luis Borges’s writings, or the atmosphere of classic Italian neorealist films.
As an artist, I can say that Old Dhaka has been a constant source of inspiration, a place that never ceases to offer something new. Having known its residents for over two decades, I am consistently struck by their warmth and candor. There’s a refreshing lack of pretense. Moreover, the artistic process, as I perceive it, shares a kinship with the musical concept of reyaz or the Bangla term sadhana – a practice of recursive engagement. This isn’t just about performance; it’s about the pursuit of an authentic voice. Through this repetitive exploration, one begins to discern subtle nuances, both in craft and content. Old Dhaka, for me, has been such a space, a place conducive to this sadhana.
Beyond the sights and people, you also touch on things like the atmosphere or even fragrances of Old Dhaka. How do you bring these intangible elements to life through your art, and what do they add to the story you’re telling?
Old dhaka, for me, has always been a place of layered complexity. It’s a place where you can close your eyes and discern your location simply through the scents. For example, the water of Chawk Bazar has a distinctive character due to the presence of turmeric and pepper, while Shakari Bazaar or Tanti Bazaar possess a particular sonic register, immediately identifying them as predominantly Sanatani areas. In contrast, moving from Mitford to Islampur, the prevalence of perfume signals the proximity of chemical businesses.
These subtle details contribute to a broader sense of place, and as an artist, I have always been drawn to these nuances rather than grand spectacles. This interest is reflected in my work, such as a photograph related to fitkiri. I used to spend time in a salon, engaging in adda with the locals, and I was particularly fascinated by the contrast between the fitkiri’s structure and form against a piece of wood painted in a beautiful shade of blue. To me, the piece of wood became a poetic symbol of the idle men who frequented the salon. Photographing the men directly would have been too literal; I wanted to capture the essence of the space in a more evocative way.
My film ‘Kheyal’ also explores this balance between the tangible and intangible. After publishing my book ‘Belonging,’ I reflected on how I primarily photographed the external – walls, people, visible elements. This led me to become interested in the psychological and metaphysical spaces, the challenge of capturing something like noishabdo or the atmosphere of a specific time of day.
I am not interested in nostalgia, but rather in yarning, which is distinct. Old Dhaka is a contemporary place, a site of constant activity and, at times, even brutality. My photographs reflect this tension, juxtaposing older black and white images with newer colour photographs, creating a visual dialogue.
For viewers who may be unfamiliar with your work, what key feelings, insights, or questions do you hope they take away from experiencing ‘Kromosho’?
I don’t have specific expectations for what the audience will take away from this exhibition. I prefer not to dictate their experience. However, I hope they will simply walk through the space, observe, and perhaps come to understand that Old Dhaka is a place of constant discovery, where the tangible and intangible intertwine, and where a spirit of community persists amidst rapid change and apparent chaos.
This is something I have keenly felt. For me, a particularly compelling aspect of Bangladesh, and especially pronounced in Old Dhaka, is a certain form of resilience. Faced with minimal space, challenging living conditions, and exorbitant property values, the inhabitants exhibit remarkable resourcefulness, making the most of what they have. This spirit of making do, of finding freedom within restriction, is perhaps best symbolised by the pigeons that manage to soar above the crowded rooftops.
I have always been amazed by these subtle nuances, and I believe some of these reflections are present in the exhibition. My hope is that viewers will notice these small details.