[Translated Text] Small Dots Around the Circle (October 1986)

Linn (Hsay-­I), “Small Dots Around the Circle”, Pan (October 1986), 104-­107.1

One late afternoon of the cool season, when the sunlight has weakened but there was still enough light, “Stop, stop, that’s the place!”

Our small taxi stopped at the end of Thingaha Street.

We walked into Thingaha Street and after a while came to a rickety, old house with a small betel stall attached to it. The young publisher with me took off his Rayban shades and said, “That’s it, that’s the house.”

A man sitting in an easy chair and writing on a plank of wood across the armrests stopped work to welcome us.

“Well… Come in. Come in.”

He does not have the features of a Burmese, but has a fair complexion and bright, piercing eyes. His hair was long, his lips thin, and his cheeks were clean-­shaven but with a green shadow: an elderly man with a good-­looking face and noble features.

This man was….

There were some papers on the wall with words in black ink;; beside the papers hung the Buddhist prayer beads and more papers with philosophical views written in English.

The artist cleared away some thick books and papers from the top of a tall stack of books underneath the Buddha shrine. He took out an 80-­pages notebook and carefully carried it over to us. He set it down, opened, between the two of us.

“Have a look. Use them if you like them.”

A colourful painting in a drawing book lay on top of the notebook and waited to be assessed: on a black background, an iron spike was tied down diagonally. Half of a mauve heart hung on the point of the spike is also encircled by orange traditional design of stylised flowers. Below one-­third of the painting from the top, the background of green paled towards the bottom;; in the middle of this green was a light-­yellow crescent moon.

Beneath the moon orange waves flowed horizontally. The lines and the somewhat Indian-­ style bright colours fascinated us.

1

This article was first published in Institute of Medicine I Annual Magazine (1984-­85), 36-­39.

Linn (Hsay-­I), “Small Dots Around the Circle”, Pan (October 1986), 104-­107.

Translated by Ma Thanegi

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“I would like this to be printed in direct colours because, see here, these various hues of green from light to deep blue-­green and leaf green…I painted them in half tones so only direct colour printing would make this stand out like a painting.”2 In the mind of the publisher there was a struggle going on…to use art paper, offset printing, the postcard priced at half a kyat, the translation of the poem, creation of a ready to post love letter, art and finances…each took turns to argue and demand, inside his mind.

“I do like it, uncle. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m saying that to improve it but I know you have to be careful of your investment, too. I made sure to get the feel of your poem before I began painting.”

We fell silent. Sitting on the same and kevel floor the minds of the three of us rose and fell and tipped this way and that. We were quietly trying to shorten the cold distance between us of being a “worker” and customer.

The artist looked through the notebook of the publisher in which German poems had been copied.

“Here .... written in symbolic phenomena…let’s see…. ‘Love, touch my heart with your soft and slender fingers’.... this is romance. For this I used the crescent moon as a symbol, and used cool colours like green and blue, and this scene of a pleasant moon lit night gives more life to the meaning of love, isn’t that so? Anyone can easily draw the patterns I do without much thought… I’m not trying to preach here, you know?”

I replied, from where I was sitting leaning against the door frame, “Oh, of course we understand, uncle. We would never think that.”

“Also, I don’t think I should portray the title, of the sounds of a coffin being nailed shut, right? And then, to symbolise going against the natural order of things I used the spike made of iron that is something you cannot bend or tie down. Then, for the loud noise of hammering I used orange, in orange sound waves.”

At that moment I felt the distance between us that we had been so desperate to shorten, being cut. We all knew that he was not applauding his work in detail to make a sale. We were able to grasp the essence of symbolism from what the artist has been telling us. He seemed tired after his explanation;; he took out a packet of Khabaung cigarettes and offered it to us.

2

Direct colour is the term used in Myanmar meaning “process colour”, a printing term of using CMYK (cyan, magenta, yellow and black) which is more expensive than the cheaper RGB (red, green and blue).

Linn (Hsay-­I), “Small Dots Around the Circle”, Pan (October 1986), 104-­107.

Translated by Ma Thanegi

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“Here, have a smoke.” He took out one and lit up as did the young publisher sitting across from him.

“You can see this much for yourselves. Here in our country we don’t much have a tradition of discussing a painting. If you show it to a man on the street and he says he has no idea what it’s all about, should you be angry? It’s not his fault. A man can only understand and appreciate what he is used to seeing.”

Near where we were sitting there were three trays, piled high with unsealed plastic packets filled with plum preserve and those already sealed. There was a lit candle, used to seal the plastic bags and I leaned over and tried to light my cigarette from its flame. The artist’s wife, sitting at the trays, pushed the candle nearer to me and glanced at the artist.

The artist went on, “we have to train the people to see more, to have more experience, and widen their views. First, we have to discuss and analyse among we artists, especially with the younger generation. It’s not that I know so much but by our age and experiences there are some things we know.”

Just then, the artist’s young son, long haired and shirtless, passed over the plum preserve trays and went into an inner room. We could see through that room from where we were sitting. He carefully combed out his hair and peered closely into the mirror.

The artist continued, “I am friendly with the young artists, but I dared not sit and talk to them for long… or else people will say that this old chap is trying to be a leader of a “road devil” gang!”3 We all laughed heartily.

“As I can’t do that, and there’s very little material for them to study, when there is an upcoming exhibition the young chaps often come to ask me whist I was going to paint. I read all the books or articles I can get my hands on, and as they are in English I have to take time to cross the language barrier first. I explained to the younger artists, how these foreign artists began, hew they worked and struggled, how they appreciated the essence of nature, how they created something out of it. Some people say that artists doing cover illustrations just copied from western works they saw in foreign publications. What I meant by studying the works of other artists is not to copy their works exactly but to practice with copying exercises and to learn from the process. I cannot really blame those who copy foreign works and pass them off as their own creation, though, because when they are young they are desperate to succeed. That’s not good but on the other hand, through the practice they could better manage colours, their brushwork become bolder and they improve their skills.”

3

At the time anyone with long hair is considered a gang member. Young men especially of the intelligentsia liked to wear their hair long.

Linn (Hsay-­I), “Small Dots Around the Circle”, Pan (October 1986), 104-­107.

Translated by Ma Thanegi

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The publisher asked, “So, isn’t that like just selling a merchandise? As if they are selling tickets or something, right, uncle?”

“Well, it’s about earning enough to eat, too, you know. Painting is like plying golf, it takes a lot of money. Paints, brush, paper, they’re all expensive…. No one can spend huge amounts. Even me, I can eat only because my wife is earning from packing plum preserve!”

I asked, “But doesn’t the council shop sell paints?”4 “I am not a member of the council, so I don’t get any paper or ink or paint. That reminds me, I have a younger brother who’s an artist.5 Once, knowing I’d run out of ink took me to the lady manager of the shop, saying he knows her well. I went long, dressing myself well. When we got there, she asked for my membership card. Well, I had the latest copy of Ngwaytayi periodical with me. People say that just by seeing the symbol of dots around a circle under my signature, anyone would know who I was, so I showed it to her, saying I was the artist and that I have come in person. But she shouted at me, ‘I don’t know you! I don’t know you! I don’t know any artist!’ and told us to leave.”

“So, uncle, what are you using now?”

“My brothers-­in-­law have a business on the river side of packing goods for transport so they have inks to stamp names and numbers on the bales and boxes. They brought me some and I just scoop it up with my finger, dilute it and keep it in a bottle. I use permanent ink only when it’s necessary.”

The artist silent puffed on his cigarette. He did not look tired;; his eyes were as bright as ever. He looked as if he was enjoying talking to us as we could understand him. As I was sitting at the edge the artist’s wife would once or twice addressed me.

“He’s getting old and likes to talk more. His hearing is none too good, he doesn’t often hear clearly.”

The publisher took out his wallet and asked, “Uncle, how much is the designer fee?”

“It’s sixty.”

The publisher handed over the notes, placing them on the floor;; the artist did not touch them, and the notes lay there on the floor.

4

At the time under a Socialist system, the Artist” Council has a shop selling materials cheaply but they are often out of stock. The high prices BAS mentioned earlier are black market prices.

5 In Myanmar, “brother” can mean an unrelated friend who is like a brother.

Linn (Hsay-­I), “Small Dots Around the Circle”, Pan (October 1986), 104-­107.

Translated by Ma Thanegi

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The artist asked, “Where did you find this poem? I showed it to a lot of poets, most of them did not know it.”

“The poet is German;; I studied it while attending German language classes.”

“I liked the poem;; I read it over three or four times and felt its beauty, then I painted the illustration. I’d like to see this project succeed, it’s a nice concept to have the postcard already printed with the poem. With poems like ‘chasing the hare’ etc they ask for my design first and then compose the poem! I think they should have given me more than sixty! Haha!” he laughed at his own joke.

“Uncle, you studied abroad too, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“So you have foreigner friends, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So, why don’t you ask them to send art materials…?”

He did not look at me but stated into space.

“Well, perhaps, but I’ve never done that. …. Some have passed away already. But their children, they still remember. Just recently, the grandson of an Indian artist, a ship’s officer, he was in Yangon when his ship docked here, and he asked me to come and see him. I had to lie to him that I lived too far away from Yangon that I came by car and boat just because I wanted to see him;; then I came back after having some food with him. How can I do otherwise, he would not know my situation that I live like this, he would think highly of the lifestyle of a well-­known artist, like in India where they would be prosperous. If I host him to a meal I must at least have it at the Strand Hotel. If I were to bring him home, as you can see I can only offer him plum preserve…haha!”

We all laughed again. It was not a laughing matter but we laughed to lighten our hearts, we laughed in order to live longer;; laugher covers heavy sighs.

“Did you enter any exhibitions there, uncle?”

“Yes, I did. There, they take it seriously the creating of art. New themes, new forms, new ways of using colours, they allow everything to be done freely. Those who can experiment with these new things are also well-­grounded on the basic methods and rules of painting.

When I was there I sold three paintings;; one was in oil and I did not use a brush, I squeezed out the paint directly onto the canvas. Sceneries, landscapes…over there, they like it.”

The publisher asked, “Don’t you have any catalogues from the show?”

“No, I don’t have any…but wait, there’s one thing, a coincidence…quite amazing…wait, I’ll show you.”

Linn (Hsay-­I), “Small Dots Around the Circle”, Pan (October 1986), 104-­107.

Translated by Ma Thanegi

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So saying he got up and went into the back room. In a while he came back with a book packed carefully in a paper box.

“This was published by a Christian organisation;; my younger brother artist Wathon got it as a present. We were both looking through it and suddenly we saw one of my paintings;; we were so happy and he gladly gave it to me as a present.”

He handed the book to us and we looked at it. It has a series of paintings of Jesus Christ

by Southeast Asian artists. On one page we saw a full-­face black and white drawing of Jesus. At the bottom of the page there was the artist’s signature with the dare 23-­9-­70. on page 154 there was his shirt biography. There was his name, and that he was born in Myanmar and is a Buddhist, and that he made the drawing in 1970.

“So I was born in Myanmar eh? I only knew when they said so!” he joked. We all laughed dryly.

I said, “At least they should have added one thing…”

“What is it?”

“That you were also an actor.”

“Hahahaha” At my joke his eyes became bright again. He was in a talkative mood and his wife, sitting nearest to me, said, “He cannot remember things, sometimes he forgets what’s he’s saying or doing. Someone has to remind him all the time. His work needs so much thinking too, doesn’t he have to use his imagination to work. Even then I don’t allow him to think too much at night, or to read, I have to force him to sleep. He’s not getting any younger…”

I had to end her conversation because the other two were also winding down.

We said goodbye to the artist and came down from his rickety house. The cold of a late winter evening passed through the warm feelings in our hearts. We felt a sudden chill as if we fell from a great height. We walked into the night by the faint yellow light of the street lamp.

Translated by Ma Thanegi

Linn (Hsay-­I), “Small Dots Around the Circle”, Pan (October 1986), 104-­107.

Translated by Ma Thanegi

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