Retro: A Visit with Hasnul Reflections on friendship, art, illness, and grace

 – A Visit with Hasnul -1/8/2023

Reflections on friendship, art, illness, and grace

Earlier this week, I had a good visit with my old friend Hasnul Jamal Saidon, Director of the Museum Tuanku Fauziah (MGTF). He was in the middle of working on a series of white-on-black canvases using white Prisma pencil—haunting, minimal pieces that seemed to speak of family, from what I could see of them leaning against the wall. There was a quietness in his art that mirrored the man himself.

Hasnul is currently undergoing chemotherapy for kidney cancer, which he discovered a few months ago. Despite the gravity of the illness, he seemed to be holding up well, graciously entertaining Ben and Rob—my two Australian brothers—who were also present during our visit.

It struck me how much Hasnul had changed. From what I observed, this was a classic case of what some might call an “ego death”—a stripping away of the protective masks, the bravado, and the controlling tendencies that once marked his public persona. He is surrendering, letting go of old habits and traits that no longer serve him. The realization of life's impermanence—its abrupt and often unfair nature—has humbled him, and in that humility, a gentler, more grounded Hasnul is emerging. That cocky air he once carried seems to have dissolved into something more contemplative, even tender.

I don’t say this to judge, only to share my personal observation and how it affects me. Watching a friend face such a monumental challenge brings reflection to the surface. Hasnul knows this, too. He’s open about his past flaws and seems sincere in his desire to transform this tragedy into something meaningful. Cancer, after all, is a great equalizer—it doesn't care for your titles or accolades. The cost, financial and emotional, is staggering. It pulls the rug out from under you just when you're at the height of your career and confidence. Yet in Hasnul’s case, I feel there’s a hidden blessing: a wellspring of creativity is emerging through his pain. He remains a master of his craft.

My relationship with Hasnul has always been somewhat ambivalent. From the beginning, I felt our connection was conditional—based on my talent as an artist and what I could bring to the table. I was given leeway, but always within invisible limits. I used the space and facilities at the museum to do my work, and in return, I served the institution in whatever way I could. But I knew my place. I accepted being sidelined at events, left out of conversations with dignitaries or art-world elites. I swallowed my pride, choosing to look beyond these trivialities.

Hasnul has always had a dominant personality—he often takes center stage in group conversations, sometimes to the irritation of those around him. It’s a trait that has earned him respect and resentment in equal measure. Many of his peers, I’ve noticed, struggle to see past his rough edges, and in turn, often fail to appreciate the depth of his talent. He is like a pendulum that swings between extremes, lacking a smooth transition between moods or modes of being. Again, I do not say this to judge—only to express my honest perception of a man I’ve known and respected for more than a decade.

It is my belief that this illness may be a blessing in disguise for Hasnul—a form of karmic reckoning, perhaps, that has opened a path toward healing not just of the body, but of the spirit. Cancer is a harsh teacher, but an honest one. It humbles even the most confident of men, forcing them to confront their mortality and strip away the illusions of power and invincibility. It reminds us to be gentle, to be present, to be grateful.

I pray that the All-Mighty grants him full healing and returns him to his true self, free of arrogance and the macho façade. I hope he continues to create, to pour his soul into his work even as he navigates the storm of this illness. If his time is cut short, then may his wife and three daughters inherit a legacy steeped not just in artistic brilliance, but in transformation, love, and grace. It would be a terrible loss for the country to lose such a powerful and visionary artist.

Through Hasnul, I also had the opportunity to meet Professor Najjar Musawir from Illinois, an African American artist and academic who visited Malaysia some years ago. He stayed in Penang for a while, and I was tasked with making him feel at home. It was a gift to spend time with him and learn from his experience. I’ve written about that encounter elsewhere on this blog. These are the individuals who have touched my life, and perhaps, in some way, I have touched theirs. For whatever it’s worth, it has been a meaningful exchange of souls.