For ARTRA Magazine’s South Asian Contemporary Art Edition 68, we conversed with featured contemporary artist Tayeba Begum Lipi (Bangladesh) about her poignant oeuvre of works, especially in sculpture which are in seminal public collections such as the Tate Modern UK, Solomon R. Guggenheim NYC, and the Royal Ontario Museum among others. In this interview, Tayeba reveals the significance behind her material of choice: the razor blade, recalling her first experiments with the medium in Lahore back in 2008, preceding her installation at the 54th Venice Biennale in 2011. She touches on her fascination with the psychology of women and her critical perspectives on gender as present in her recreations of feminine-coded objects. 

Tayeba Lipi’s artistic ventures mentioned in this interview include her contribution to the Venice Biennale 2011 and ‘This Is What I Look(ed) Like’ (2019). Tayeba’s participation in the Venice Biennale in 2011 marked not only Bangladesh’s first participation in the festival, but also the debut of her razorblade sculptures, her current distinctive style. Her exhibition ‘This Is What I Look(ed) Like’ (2019) presented snapshots the multidisciplinary evolution of her style, including her self-portrait photographs about the stigma related to women ageing and her video installation ‘Unveiling Womanhood’ which questions the nature of women’s dressing in Bangladesh. 

Q |  Why are razor blades your material of choice in your sculptures? 

I am from a very small town in northern Bangladesh. When I was growing up, it was like a remote village. I come from a large family and am the 11th of 12 children. For a family in that context, the razor blade becomes an important tool in the household: for men to shave; for children to sharpen their pencils; for women to give birth. Back then, there were almost no maternity facilities for pregnant women. As a child, I saw my sisters-in-law and sisters give birth in my own house. The razor blade was used for cutting a baby from its mother. The power of this small object has been something that has stuck with me for a long time. 

The first time I did a razor blade work was in Lahore, Pakistan in 2008. I was invited by R.M. Naeem, who is a well-known Pakistani artist, for a residency. Around this time, Pakistan and Bangladesh were undergoing similar political situations. Bangladesh was shattered by the military under a Caretaker government, so when I flew to Lahore it was with a very heavy mind. There was a lot of social unrest– many journalists were abducted and people were going missing. I found that there was something similar happening in Lahore, and heard many stories related to political, economic and religious unrest. It was from this that I began looking for something very quietly. I was searching for something sharp and shiny, something that could send a strong message. I happened across 2 different coloured razors in a local market and had the idea to create my first installation. I created a coffin installation piece out of 3500 original razor blades. It was not until my project for the Venice Biennale in 2011 that I began using fabricated stainless steel razor blades. 

Q | Why do you choose everyday objects as the subject of your sculptures?

I have always drawn from the simple entities around me. I believe that the things around me are representative of issues larger than me, even global ones.  Drawing and painting was my original major at school, and I always talked about myself in those early works, too. Myself in the sense that they were not reflecting my own problems exactly, but also the issues of the women around me. A lot of my friends and family tend to rely on me and come to me to talk about their personal issues. My art touches on my own experiences, while translating the larger experiences of women. I love being a woman and understand women more than men; I understand what they feel, what they think and how they react. I feel like my works are very direct but they are in fact quite paradoxical. It has a sense of self-criticism, where I criticize my own gender. Some of my sculptures are recreations of bikinis or high-end branded bags, which are objects society often associates with women. These are things I could never use because I’m not comfortable with them. I have never worn stilettos either, but I bring them into my art. When I see all these things, I see the madness of women. I try to talk about not only issues of violence faced by women, but also the psychology of women in my work, and their presence within their own environments through the objects around them.

Q | How does your piece ‘Unveiling Womanhood’, where you remove a hijab made of stainless steel razor blades, reflect your views on the shifting landscape of women’s dressing in Bangladesh?

In my hometown Gaibandha where I spent my childhood, I never saw anyone wearing burqas. Even when I was in university, female students used to wear skirts and shorts. I think I owned only one dupatta which I never actually needed to use! That culture has changed over the last 2 decades. I’ve noticed ultra-modern friends of mine, who I never saw as overtly religious, start wearing hijabs. They would say, “This is my new look!” But what really was this ‘new look’? It seemed quite like a contradiction between modernity and modesty––wearing a hijab, modest clothes, and yet having bright lipstick and thick makeup. 

I feel that men in countries like ours want us to dress this way, and it is an unfortunate reality. These are educated women, who are being increasingly empowered to step outside home affairs or the housewife role, but on the condition that they will cover themselves when they do so, so that the men of their family can accept their liberty. Of course, there is a prevalent reality where women are facing violence in their home lives and may not be able to choose how they present outside their homes, but this phenomenon also occurs with women who tend to enjoy their freedom, who don’t really care for the opinion of their male partners. This installation boiled down to the question: “Why should I need to cover my hair?” Ultimately, I saw no point in it for myself or anyone else. 

Tayeba Lipi, 2010, Commodity IV

Q | In ‘This is What I Looked Like’ (2019), you juxtapose self-portraits from different stages of your life, highlighting the evolving perception of beauty. How do you see societal expectations around female beauty affecting women? 

Every age has a beauty. You have to celebrate all your changes. I began understanding this more after being diagnosed with cancer. Before that, I was scared of my body changing. ‘This Is What I Looked Like’ was a solo exhibition I did at Sundaram Tagore Gallery in New York. I was speaking to a friend of mine, a woman around my age, about this particular work. She said to me: “Lipi, I feel as if what you’re saying is coming from my heart. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning and pass by my mirror, I don’t recognize myself.” As you age, from 40 to 45 to 50 years old, women tend to constantly ask themselves, “What is happening to me?” Sometimes, people don’t accept this fear of ageing.

Q | What is your perspective on the paradox of creating feminist art that ultimately gets absorbed into a patriarchal art market, and how do you navigate this tension in your practice?

I find that interesting. The art market is a different creature, I don’t think that art collectors really think about who you are, whether you are a man or woman. They focus on the art that an artist creates, and whether they are interested in collecting it. In any case, equality is a topic that many people talk about across the world, especially though art. So, I have never had that barrier in my work because interest in it has always been beyond gender.  However, one thing to keep in mind is that my works are not collected much in my own country. Bangladesh does not have a prevalent art collector culture, we have a few key collectors who are pretty well known. Rajeeb Samdani loves my work, so he has a few pieces including the work that I showed at the Venice Biennale in 2011. Other prominent Bangladeshi collectors include Abul Khair from the Bengal Foundation and Durjoy Rahman from the Durjoy Bangladesh Foundation.

Q | As a Bangladeshi artist, what challenges and opportunities do you face in creating art that speaks to the complexities of being from a South Asian background? How do you look at topics of gender, consumerism, and ageing through the perspective of a South Asian? 

I think it all depends on cultural landscapes. In South Asia, our cultural landscapes are all different in the contemporary world, even though our cultures shared common roots a long time ago. If you look at West Bengal and Bangladesh, we share the same language and tastes in food. But I find it alarming how divided this region feels. Across Europe and Southeast Asia, you can see those respective cluster of countries supporting each other and coming together. There are only 7 countries in South Asia, but we’re hindered by political, economic, and social barriers that prevent us from working collectively.

Q | Are there any artists, peers or contemporaries from Bangladesh or across South Asia whose works you find interesting? 

My partner Mahbubur Rahman has been a big influence on me. We have known each other since the beginning of our artistic careers. He has always been an inspiration. Our works are very different, but we both share a similar artistic language. He experiments a lot, and is braver than me when it comes to his work! There are many artists whose works I admire, including artists from the younger generation. I admire an artist’s madness to create work, to explore certain materials, to experiment and introduce new art forms. This applies to many artists from South Asia– India, Nepal, Pakistan and Sri Lanka. I know Anoli Perera, Jagath Weerasinghe, Pala Pothupitiye, Thisath Thoredeniya, Bandu Manamperi and many other Sri Lankan artists from my work with the Britto Arts Trust. I’m a Co-Founder and Trustee of Britto, which is also under the Triangle Network like the Theertha International Artists’ Collective, which they were a part of. I talked about how politically divided this region can feel, but contemporary art in South Asia is very interconnected. I’m thankful for the Triangle Network for giving us the opportunity to connect with each other and develop this network over the years. I can now easily say I have artist friends across Sri Lanka, Nepal, India and more.

Tayeba Begum Lipi (b. 1969, Gaibandha) is a contemporary artist currently based in Bangladesh. She did her MFA at the Institute of Fine Art, University of Dhaka. She is the Co-Founder and Trustee of Britto Arts Trust, Bangladesh. Lipi has exhibited globally in Singapore, Istanbul, London, Dhaka, NYC, Hong Kong and Delhi. She was one of the key artists of the Bangladesh Pavilion at the 54th Venice Biennale 2011, and recently exhibited at Documenta 15 in Kassel, ‘ReCollect’ at Kunsthaus Zurich (2023), and Centraal Museum Netherlands and Harewood Biennale UK (2024). Her public acquisitions include the Tate Modern U.K, Solomon R. Guggenheim NYC, Kunsthaus Zurich, Royal Ontario Museum, Neue Gallery Kassel, Renne Collection Vancouver, Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT) New York, Devi Art Foundation India, LO-FTF Council Denmark, among others. She was included in the publication ‘50 Contemporary Women Artists: Ground breaking Contemporary Art from 1960 to Now’ edited by John Gosslee and Heather Zises and Foreword by Elizabeth Sackler published by Schiffer Publishing in 2018, Being and Belonging from Royal Ontario Museum and Artist as Activist by Eli and Edited by the Broad Art Museum, MSU, USA. 

Written and Interviewed by Kavinu Cooray
Co-Edited by Pramodha Weerasekera