Episode #120: Htein Lin: Pursuing Art and Liberation
On Thursday, August 25th, 2022, we here at Insight Myanmar learned that the accomplished artist and longtime activist, Htein Lin, was arrested again, along with his wife, Vicki Bowman; their fourteen-year-old daughter is reportedly safe.
We had only just recently interviewed him and had not even finished producing the audio or written portions yet, so hearing this news was doubly shocking. Due the urgency of his situation, we have worked to release this as soon as possible. We believe this may have been the last interview Htein Lin gave before his freedom was so abruptly taken away. Like other interviews throughout his storied career, his courage and conviction resound through this talk.
Htein Lin’s impressive resumé includes four pages that list his group and solo art exhibitions, installations, and performances around the world; these include La Biennale di Venezia in Italy, the Singapore Art Museum, the Mori Museum and National Art Center in Tokyo and the World Bank Organization in Washington, DC. His works can be found in private collections in France, Belgium, the Netherlands, India, Sweden, Spain, Thailand, Malaysia, Beijing, the US and the UK. Recent popular pieces include: Soap Blocked, Skirting the Issue, and A Show of Hands, a well-received series of plaster casts of the raised hands of former political prisoners in Myanmar.
“I studied law in Yangon University. I am very lucky there was an art association at our university; there was a regular art exhibition which was in the public space, and also a performance group.”
Htein Lin’s story began innocently enough, as do many narratives about the formative years of a youth exploring possibilities for adulthood, albeit in his case, in a developing country under the thumb of oppressive military rule. He joined a traditional theater group at his university and obtained a lead role. “I learned how to become an artist and how to love, and also internationally, I tried to communicate and be part of global society.”
The 1988 uprising in opposition to the military junta occurred while Htein Lin was still studying for his degree. Like many students at the time, he became involved in the protests. He experienced guerilla warfare as a member of the revolutionary group, All Burma Students’ Democratic Front (ABSDF). “Many of my friends died in the jungle.” As the conflict stretched on, the leadership of his group eventually became embroiled in a bitter power struggle. Allegations of spying were made, and lethal violence ensued, exacerbated by the many weapons on hand. This traumatic experience helped clarify for Htein Lin that he did not want anything to do with guns anymore, and that engagement with politics requires responsibility. “But when we were young, we didn’t understand. We thought only that we must try for democracy. We did not understand what democracy was.” He reiterates, “If you really want to be democratic, you need to deeply understand what democracy is.”
While living in a reconnaissance camp along the Indian border, Htein Lin met Sitt Nyein Aye, an artist from Mandalay who became his mentor. Together they discussed art and painting techniques, and Htein Lin’s passion grew. He was hearing about Vincent Van Gogh and Picasso for the first time out there in the jungle, and discussing Cubism, without his ever having actually seen any such works. “I just followed my imagination,” he explains.
Although he completed his law exams in 1994, Htein Lin felt compelled to continue working in art and theater. “The part of my life that is because of this revolution. I didn’t want to be a revolutionary, but the paintings – they just happen to our lives. I didn’t have a choice.”
Then in 1998, Htein Lin was arrested when a letter of an old friend, a retired school teacher, was intercepted by the Tatmadaw. It referred to upcoming demonstrations and the ten-year anniversary of the 1988 Uprising; and in the letter, Htein Lin was referred to by name, as a kind of revolutionary artist who painted to express his righteous anger with the military. When Htein Lin was brought in for interrogation in the middle of the night, he tried to explain that he was an artist for creativity’s sake, not to make revolutionary statements or painting out of anger. But though his sentence was much less than the others who were swept up by the Tatmadaw because of the letter, he was incarcerated for six and a half years as a political prisoner nonetheless, initially at Insein prison, and then Mandalay prison. He lived in an eight-by-nine-foot, concrete cell shared with two other inmates, without adequate light or food. Refusing to accept this awful situation as an obstacle to his creativity, he secretly began to work with objects he could find around the jail, such as pieces of glass, dismantled cigarette lighters, old bits of fishing net, razor blades, and syringes.
As Htein Lin reflects on the process of creating art in prison, he realizes that, in a way, it was very freeing. Even in solitary confinement, he found a sort of liberation. “I was really surprised after two or three paintings; I had to look back. I was so free! But I was in prison; I could not do any exhibition, I could not display any paintings, because we had an agreement to not make any show until my release. There was actually not enough audience, only my cellmates and the prison guards. No [censorship]; so, I did not need to worry about somebody getting arrested because of my painting. Because I’m already [arrested], I don’t need to worry about that! It made me totally free.”
Htein Lin describes a personal transformation in reclaiming his participation in art. “That’s the freedom which I found in solitary confinement. With that freedom, the way of my imprisonment changed. Freedom inside! Inner freedom is so important. Being in prison, I realized this is an opportunity to create something that really speaks new words.”
He describes a clandestine and short-lived scene in which the guards actually allowed paintings to be stuck onto the cell walls with toothpaste. “Paintings are hanging [choked up] on the prison walls in the cells. But the armed guards are not coming directly; I mean they have showered, shined shoes, their best uniforms, and very smart, and attending to my secret art exhibition. It was so nice, the exhibition in the people’s art museum! I will never forget this little, short, secret exhibition in the prison cell, because these guys are so intelligent, full of dignity, attending to an art exhibition, even though they have never seen an art exhibition in their lives. But they are students, activists, politicians, doctors, school teachers, and full of dignity.”
He speaks to how art can uplift the spirits of community members, whether guards or fellow inmates. “They see our situation; we have an art exhibition. We were so civilized and proud! We forget about the prison. We are dignified; we are safe with that. We have an exhibition. And all of that gives energy to create the whole life.”
But suddenly, Htein Lin was transferred to Death Row. He and a poet friend were confined more than 23 hours per day with serious criminals, including at least two murderers. Yet they could not have been more welcoming. His new neighbors offered up the one thing in their possession: their white, prison-issue sarongs as cloth upon which Htein Lin could continue to paint. “They gave me their uniforms. Some of the large paintings at that time, I painted [on] the longyis given to me by these death penalty prisoners who were criminals. They had a lot of crime in their lives. But I asked them, ‘Now, you are very nice; you give me your longyi?’ ‘Yeah, I never did kind things, [never] gave helping to people; I did lots of crime. But this is nice. Now, I have a good feeling that I could help you, an artist, and without any crime.’ So, that’s a lot of faith. So, that is a gift from the death penalty prisoners.”
Then, just as suddenly, he was released. After returning to civil society, Htein Lin became increasingly involved in artists’ discussion groups and experimental performance art. He met and married his wife, Vicki Bowman, the former British ambassador to Burma, and spent time in London, before eventually moving back to Myanmar. Particularly moving is his description of seeing Vincent Van Gogh’s work, Sunflowers, for the very first time. “At that time, all kinds of his work, it just talked to me, coming to my brain, coming back to my memory. ‘Oh that’s why those guys were talking about.’ You have never heard about these kinds of things; you have never seen it, but you have created from imagination in the past. And then it became real. So, so nice.”
He also sought and found meaningful spiritual community in Dhamma Dipa, a vipassana meditation center in the tradition of SN Goenka. This led to further awakening and integration of his life and art: “If you are living in the present without reacting, without anger, and [if you] share in anything negative, sharing with loving-kindness and compassion in you, you become a very beautiful piece of art. Because our daily life has gotten so crowded. I look around everywhere, people need tranquility, and they need to calm down. So, if you could do that in your daily life, by just being peace art, you don’t need to do something different. Artists are always suffering to do something edgy, to be creative, something new and critique-able and bright. But this is a challenge of the artists’ community, to do that! So, if you are trying to do that, peace and loving-kindness, harmony with others, you are all the time engaged in artwork for the society.”
His wisdom seems to have ripened when he shares insights regarding the coup of February, 2021. “The thing is that, if you feel depressed and despair, [it] can feel hopeless, but it isn’t. It is just Hell; it’s Hell! It doesn’t hurt, you know? So, that’s why we have to lift [up] and try to do that which is the best you could do. So, it’s the same. Being in charge and being in prison.”
Of the experience of political prisoners, he says, “We are not wasting our time. If we do nothing but sit in a prison cell, we are telling and shouting that: ‘We do not agree with you. We want democracy!’ And this is the only place, 24 hours taking responsibility. Even sleeping, we are talking, very loudly talking. We not agree; we do not agree! We want freedom. We want democracy. We want peace.”
May equanimity be of support to Htein Lin in his recent re-arrest. “I am an artist now. I am getting old. Now, I cannot do any revolution, but I can think, so I just figure what is the best help for society? We as human beings have to do this. If you are a very good democratic society, or if you are with a military government, or whatever, you have to face that this is your society. You are a part of that; we cannot reject that [fact]. So, just let’s see how we could do that. To push, and see how long we have to wait to be right.”