Remembering A. Rashid Razak — Artist, Friend, and Fellow Traveller

 

Remembering A. Rashid Razak — Artist, Friend, and Fellow Traveller

A few years ago, I wrote this piece about my friend A. Rashid, whom I considered one of the finest portrait painters on the island of Penang.

Today, with a heavy heart, I am reposting it.

Rashid passed away about a week ago after battling cancer. He was only about a year younger than me.

I first came to know Rashid at the Malay Art Gallery he ran beside Masjid Kapitan Kling on Chulia Street, in the heart of George Town, surrounded by jewellers, money changers and, of course, the famous nasi kandar restaurants.

The gallery itself was annexed to the mosque and had once served as one of its main entrances.

Rashid's life was anything but an ordinary one.

At sixteen, he was on his way to becoming a national football player. He made it through to the final team selection, but his father persuaded him that football was a waste of time.

Art was already in his blood. His father had been an artist himself and had initially encouraged Rashid to follow that path. But then came another change of heart. A friend convinced his father that Rashid would have a more secure future as a customs officer, and so Rashid entered the Malaysian Customs Service.

He was not happy with what he encountered there, particularly what he saw as corruption within the department, and eventually made the decision to leave.

 

He returned to art.

Later, while running a gallery in Kuala Lumpur, Rashid became acquainted with Dr. Kriss Hougen, a social anthropologist conducting research into traditional healers and alternative forms of treatment. When Dr. Hougen subsequently became involved with research at Universiti Sains Malaysia, Rashid became part of that world as well.

At one point he was involved in a USM research programme examining the local drug scene and prostitution. He told me that this became one of the most rewarding experiences of his life—not because of the subject matter itself, but because he had the opportunity to meet people society had largely pushed to the margins and to know something of their lives personally.

He even managed to help a few of them turn their lives around through support groups he became acquainted with during his work.

That was Rashid.

He was curious about people.

He was curious about life.

And he never seemed to stop learning.

 

 

 

I had known Rashid for about four years when I wrote the original piece, and our friendship had grown through our mutual appreciation of art and our respect for each other's abilities.

When times were financially difficult for me, Rashid was often the one encouraging me to take the plunge and become a full-time artist.

I remember looking at his own struggles and thinking that if he could persevere through all that life had thrown at him, perhaps I could find the courage to do the same.

Rashid was also an obsessive learner. He devoured books and whatever information he could find that might help him improve his portrait painting. With the arrival of the Internet, he became almost permanently attached to the computer, exploring websites and resources devoted to portraiture.

His artistic journey had begun many years earlier.

As a young man, he had been associated with Anak Alam, the Malay artists' collective spearheaded by the renowned Malaysian artist Latiff Mohidin. The Anak Alam residence at Taman Burung in Kuala Lumpur became a gathering place for many artists, including Zulkifli Dahlan, Mustafa Hj. Ibrahim, Yusoff Osman, Mariam and others who would later become important figures in Malaysian art.

Rashid carried that history with him.

In his later years, his portraiture continued to develop. He produced several large works for the Malay Rulers of Kedah and Perlis, and his paintings found their way into the collections of art patrons and collectors.

 

 

Three of these individuals in the picture have passed away including, Rashid, Azmi and Chor Hong Whai 

His talent was continually evolving.

But perhaps more important than his paintings was his perseverance.

He had been pushed toward football, then away from art, into the Customs Service, out again, and eventually back to the vocation that had been calling him all along.

He found his way.

And in doing so, he encouraged others—including me—to find ours.

Today, I look back at these words with a very different feeling.

I wish I had known that one day I would be reposting them as a remembrance of my friend.

Life has a strange way of separating us from the people we have known, one by one.

But perhaps an artist never completely disappears.

Something remains in the paintings.

Something remains in the stories.

Something remains in the memories of those who sat across from him, talked with him, argued with him, learned from him or simply shared a cup of coffee and a conversation.

And something of Rashid remains here, too—in these old words I wrote about him when we were both still travelling through this strange adventure called life.

 

Rest well, my friend.

You followed your own path in the end.

And I am grateful that our paths crossed.

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