A Quick Portrait: Bagyi Aung Soe Dagon Taya Hkyeyi, 64 (October 1998). A. The following is an excerpt from an emotional essay written by Bagyi Aung Soe about four years ago. You can call it a memoir. “Talking about Tagore I am reminded of Ko Htay Myaing7 (Dagon Taya). I heard he’s painting now and I would like to see his work so much. But I had betrayed him once, so we are not really in touch and have grown apart. Ko Htay Myaing is a simple quiet man who never quarrels, drinks not, and is a good person; he’s lovely. On the other hand, I used to drink a lot, and was always on the lookout for a fight. The two of us, so different, often took walks at night and ate ice kachang at a roadside stall. We would talk about literature, music and art. If there was anything that I did not know he would teach me.” This is a simple and honest statement of his feelings. But I was not upset as he thought I was, and I do not believe we grew distant because of his drinking or because he became part of a group that had nothing in common with me. I think it was simply because we lost touch: when I stopped publishing the monthly magazine Taya in 1950, we did not see each other as much as we did before. Among my close friends, many are drinkers and we would meet and talk while they are drinking. One day I arrived at a house where we usually gather. Many were already there. After a while, I noticed that they did not look happy. They were not saying much and I wondered what the matter was. Just then, a boy with a shoulder bag containing a bottle came in. Only when the bottle was put on the table did my friends cheer up and began talking. When I pointed that out to them, they laughed. When I continued, “You drinkers are like this. You can only smile and talk when you see a bottle,” they smiled but did not seem to like it that I called them drinkers. That Ko Aung Soe8 and I saw less of each other (or as he said, “grew apart”) was not because of his drinking, nor was it because he became part of a group that had nothing in common with me; I have a principle of not having enemies. I can be sitting at the same table with those who criticise me without anything happening. I can understand them. But he wrote that he had betrayed me. It was not so. I do not think it a betrayal; it was only what he felt. B. When I began publishing Taya9 in 1946, I had first commissioned painter U Ba Kyi to do the illustrations. From the second issue, I used artist U Ohn Lwin; U Ba Kyi was appointed art teacher at the Teachers’ Training College. Then I asked my good friend Ko Nyi Nyi (Shin Lon) to do the artwork. At that time, Ko Aung Soe came to see me and introduced himself. He wanted to illustrate for Taya and I could see that he was a man of literature as soon as he began talking. Fair of complexion with nice eyes and brows, I saw he was a good-looking man. I wanted to illustrate with pen instead of brush. What luck: what Ko Aung Soe drew with a pen was exactly what I wanted. He was young, and that I liked too. He was then working at the Balthazar Company on Merchant Street (where the US Embassy opened later). Balthazar Company dealt in antiques. Ko Aung Soe lived not far from my office, which was on 14th Street. He lived on 3rd street. So we became close friends. He would bring me his
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Ko Htay Myaing is the author’s real name. Dagon Taya is his pseudonym. Taya means “star” in Burmese.
designs and as we chatted, I would critique his drawings. I was interested in art and as we grew closer, I said more. In fact, I had wanted to know someone like him. I had few friends with whom I could talk about art. Not all writers are interested in art. When discussing art, there are technical terms that non-artists do not understand. He was also interested in literature so we had even more to talk about. Being involved in the revolution against the fascists, he was interested in politics and we had more subjects for conversation. I could also discuss music with him, as some terms are common for different disciplines, for example, tone, rhythm and texture. In Burmese, the terms in each discipline are different. I liked his ink sketches and we discussed art more and more. I also critiqued his work. I wanted him to portray poetry through his drawings. I gave him poetry to read, and he who liked literature also liked poetry, especially those by Kyi Aye. He came to me one day, looking happy and excited. “I quit my job!” he said. I felt a stab of dismay: he was going to be a full-time artist. But my magazine was not a flourishing business; I was even prepared to lose money for what I wanted to do. I was not a publisher that he could count on for a steady income. He was married, and his salary could help with living expenses. I was worried that losing this salary would be bad for him but there was nothing to do; he had already left. I was not very solvent and I could but pay him a fair amount. I sometimes worried if I had ruined his life. When I told him that, he said laughing, “Not at all, you straightened out my life.” I still remember that. I learnt that his parents were rather well off. I once visited his house when he invited me for lunch in spite of my protests. He introduced me to his father and his family. His two children were still young, fair and sweet. As we sat talking, the younger child, a daughter (about four or five years old I think) called me “Taya”. Ko Aung Soe laughed and admonished her, “Don’t call him that!”10 It seemed they often talked about me, and the child had heard my name mentioned. His wife was also a fair and pretty little thing. “Ma Naw cannot cook so well, I hope you liked the food?” Ko Aung Soe asked me. “Of course, it’s good.” The furniture in his house was well-polished, dark red and mahogany coloured. We met more often and became closer. In the evenings he would come see me and we would walk to the ice kachang stall at the end of the street. He liked ice kachang and the shop offered a good mix: candied winter melon, raisins, jelly, and condensed milk. He liked red beans too; he would ask for anther helping of just red beans. We would sit and talk there. If he brought paintings, I would critique them. As we got closer, I would speak more openly. What I liked about him was that he wanted to create new things. I still remember that the first illustration he did for Taya was for a poem by Tagore. I told him then that I liked ink sketches. I also said that there were decorative elements in it. The whole space was filled without any leaving any blank space, unlike Western works. I felt this was a very Asian style, a traditional Myanma style. We would talk while walking along the strand. We would talk when going to the movies. We would talk eating out. We discussed the story, the acting and the camera’s angle when watching a movie. I learnt that he was also interested in acting. Later, I was not surprised to learn that he performed in some plays presented at the World Peace Congress. I was not at all surprised when he began acting in movies. I knew it was an art form he wanted to do. C.
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It is considered very rude for younger people to address the elder ones without a honourable prefix like “U” (uncle) or or “Daw” (aunt).
What I liked about Ko Aung Soe was his desire to create new things. We are alike in this matter, and it was due to this that one could say I gave him my support. When he showed me his later works I would say I liked them, and he would listen silently, gazing at my face. He showed me a work he was submitting to be considered for studies at Śāntiniketan. It showed an elephant pulling at a teak log. The figures were bordered with firm, cleat lines in the traditional Asian style. I pointed to the elephant handler sitting on the neck of the elephant and joked, “Now what brand of sweat shirt is he wearing? Is it the Phoenix brand?” In fact, the elephant handler was wearing a sweatshirt. I was glad that he was sent to Śāntiniketan. After he came back, I usually saw his paintings in exhibitions. When I was publishing Taya, I would often use the words “seikta bayda” psychology or “seik-taza panhkyi” psychotic art. When some people began to call his works “seik-taza panhkyi” I could not help smiling. Actually, I think they were probably using the term because the works came out of the psyche, an overflow of the imagination. In the West, they call it abstract art. A painting like this does not seem to have any sense to it when first viewed but after looking at it for a long time, you get a sense of what it is about. It is not figurative art and is also called modern art. In Myanmar, we call it “khit-paw panhkyi”11. I feel that the concepts of contemporary art symbolise contemporary times with freedom, boldness, new ideas, new thoughts, new works. I did not know what he learned at Śāntiniketan. I was never there. When I was in Calcutta in 1956, I tried to go and visit it but was not successful. There was then a concept called “yoya thit” or “new tradition”. I think it meant creating new concepts based on old traditions. In Asian art, mental concepts are more important than the physical. In European contemporary art there are many “-isms”: modernism, symbolism, impressionism, surrealism… they are uncountable. They had emerged in the West during the past century. When artists spoke of Ko Aung Soe’s “seik-taza panhkyi”, they would turn to me and say, “It’s his doing”. Ko Ohn Lwin would smile and say to me, “He made Aung Soe.” I said nothing in reply. I did not make Ko Aung Soe; it was his own destiny to become the success he was. When I first met Ko Aung Soe he was only about 25, and I was not even 30. For the next 40 years he and I did not see so much of each other as we had in the days of Taya. But in thought, we remained in touch. I saw his paintings at exhibitions; I would hear of him from many people. I would compare what I knew of him with what I heard and in this way, see him in my thoughts. When I missed him I would go to his house on Thingaha Street, which was a bit far from my place. When we met, we would talk of art and other matters. He would show me his paintings and compose poems. I would often see his illustrations for poems in many magazines. Around 1970, Bamaw Tin Aung12 and I were sitting at the Shwe Pyi Soe Press on 33rd Street where we often gathered when Ko Aung Soe came in. He looked somewhat tipsy. When he saw us he began to talk loudly. We were alarmed. He was really drunk. He spoke angrily of his frustrations. We could not help but escape. We really escaped at a run. Thank goodness he did not follow. He turned into Anawrahta Street and from that direction we heard further sounds of agitation. I later heard that he had dropped his waist garment near the traffic lights. The traffic police blew their whistles, traffic stopped, and he was taken away to the rehabilitation centre. When he drank, he would not eat regularly but go from one friend’s house to the other and eat there. He would only stop drinking when he collapsed. I felt unhappy and pained. What a thing to happen to you, Ko Aung Soe. Then I heard that he had stopped drinking, and I was glad. During that time I visited him once or twice. Each
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Khit-paw panhkyi literally means “contemporary painting”. A famous writer who has passed away.
time he would show me the paintings he had done. Then he fed me coconut noodles, which was very good; his wife is a good cook. That time, he talked to me of mental powers. The last time I saw him was in 1983. It was at the ceremony for paying homage to elderly writers at the Lokanat Gallery of Art on Pansodan Street. I was an invited guest. He too was among the people honoured. After the ceremony we sat together at lunch in the little side room of the gallery. His hair and beard were long. At the ceremony, he had asked everyone to pray for artist Ko Lay who was ill. Everyone gave in to his wish and recited after him the prayer he intoned. I knew him well. When not drinking, he liked to lead a quiet and simple life. He would never argue with anyone; he would not talk much. Only when he was interested would he talk with some verve. He had no wish to quarrel; he loved peace. I think he was a good writer and often urged him to write. At my behest he wrote some articles for Taya. I suggested he write fiction, but he would not. I know that imagination flows in the artist and the views and feelings are sharp. When artists create forms they stand out sharply defined. I later noticed that he became interested in folk art. I think he was creating modern art based on folk art. He rarely used oil paint. It seemed that he preferred the hard nib of a pen to the swirl of a brush. When illustrating poetry, his works stand out more brilliantly. During the post-Word War II period, modern art (if you want to call it “seik-taza panhkyi� psychotic art) was, I felt, established by Ko Aung Soe. This psychotic art is when the artist uses his psyche to create from his overflowing imagination. Ko Aung Soe was a dedicated creator. I think he was fully committed to his art. I do not know if he was later taken over by not only his art but his imagination as well? Was his psyche normal when drinking? When he stopped drinking, did revelations emerge from his psyche and intensified? I looked for answers. But I do not have much insight, for during his last years we did not meet often.
[Ma Thanegi]