Asif Hoque In Conversation with Naomi Joshi

Asif Hoque is a Bengali-American artist based in New York.

NJ: Tell me a bit about yourself.

AH: I was born in Rome, Italy. I lived there until I was eight years old, so my early childhood was in this European setting. Being around Eurocentric styles, it was the first thing that I considered as art, so I was influenced by that at a young age. We went to Bangladesh a few times, but not enough for me to feel like I knew my culture like that. In Italy, I didn’t have enough people around me that I felt connected to – not only racially but also spiritually and emotionally. I started to understand myself better once I moved to the U.S. At age 8, we went to the states for vacation purposes, and then we kind of just stayed. We never went back, and we moved toFlorida. I had a small Bengali community where I lived, but most of my friends were Haitians,Jamaicans, Latinos – Caribbeans basically. So I, as an immigrant, adapted really fast. And that became my identity – South Florida, sort of this melting pot of cultures. That’s really where a lot of me comes from: my music taste, the way I dance, the way I move, the way I talk, all of that is South Florida. Between the ages of zero to nine, I already was faced with three completely different cultures, and I became a reflection of that fusion. At the time, I didn’t know how to clock certain cultures – in the sense of what parts of me came from where. But now when I’m reflecting back, I think: oh, this is the part of Florida culture that I have, or my Bengali culture can be seen here and here. It’s just been waves of different cultures coming at me from a young age onwards.

NJ: Do you still identify with Italian culture in any way?

AH: Not really. I did before when I was younger. But I didn’t have a lot of Bengalis around me. It’s very interesting when you’re born in Europe, because if you’re born in New York, you still feel very Bengali. There’s that huge community. I didn’t get that at all, so I had to build my own. In Florida at the time, my peers didn’t know where Bangladesh was. But they knew where Italy was. And so, for me to adapt and feel special, I would say I’m Italian first, before saying that my parents are Bengali. It made sense then. But as I started aging, I thought: what am I even doing right now? And I think that really hit when I started figuring out that I wanted to paint Brown figures. I wanted to have this deeper connection with my paintings instead of just painting. The figures I was studying were all white bodies, and the artists that I was studying were all white. I didn’t feel connected to that. It took me a long time to realize: there’s power in knowing where you’re from, and there’s worth in feeling completely empowered by your culture, and so something in me switched. I started feeling a greater sense of respect for my culture. I say I’m Bengali-American now.

NJ: When did you start making art? Do you think that having lived in Italy, influences your style today, in any way?

AH: When I would visit Bangladesh, my aunt would take me to this after school art thing. I would go there to hang out, and that’s where I started really doing something, with brushes and generally just playing around with it. That’s my earliest memory. I didn’t take art seriously until after high school. It was always there. It was always something that just came easy to me. But it wasn’t something that I ever thought about actually doing. And I think that’s just the pressures of being an immigrant here. You don’t really get that luxury. Art is a luxurious subject. What artist could I compare myself to? Bengali parents want to be compared to somebody, and they want to be able to compare their children to somebody. And when you don’t have someone that looks like you who is successful in the artistic field, how do you say: hey, I’m going to be successful? And so you don’t even bring it up. You just go on doing what you have to do. Being the eldest son, I have two younger siblings, I’ve always had a crazy amount of responsibility. And so art was just never a part of the plan. In Italy, I don’t really have that many art related memories. Other than what I was around. It was the general vibe of the roman aesthetics: the Sistine Chapel, the sculptures and the churches too. I was born a few blocks away from the Coliseum. You know, the big Italian names were there and I was going to Vatican City as a field trip with my class. So I was seeing things over there, without really consciously being aware of what I was taking in. But none of my real understanding of art comes from there. It’s, if anything, just that Italian feeling. Later in life, when I was in Florida at community college, that’s where I started taking art classes. I was just eating it up. It was all really interesting to me, and that’s when I started falling in love with it. I realized then that this is something I really want to do.

NJ: Have you been able to build an art community for yourself?

AH: I developed an art community in South Florida – we were all just poets, musicians, rappers, graffiti artists. It was a small community of creatives that wanted more. We didn’t have anything. We didn’t have galleries that we could go to other than the Norton Museum of Art, in West Palm Beach. So we developed our own. We went to speakeasies, we went to coffee shops, and we put up art. And we did that for a few years. It was empowering. We were able to create something. And the more hungry I got, the more I looked at New York. I felt like I had conquered everything I could do in Florida, but I knew I could do a lot more. I knew I had to study in New York. So, I moved here when I was about 21, and I dove right in. I went to Pratt for a couple years, couldn’t afford it anymore, so I had to stop. But I was still developing my own thing outside of school. I got my associates degree and I worked. You know, the classic move to New York, work in coffee shops. And I’ve been here for about 9 years now. I went to Hunter College too, but never finished. As I was going through school, I had an opportunity to work for an artist. His name is Timothy Curtis. And he sort of became my mentor, as he was working in the art world, this very hidden art world. I was in the process of understanding, I was learning, and I was developing my own shit. With Timothy, it started out as an older brother thing. Just being in the studio – that energy of him working, creating. I was just watching. And he nurtured that hunger of mine; he was like: “okay, you like this, well you should do this or you should try this”. It never felt like he was talking down to me. He just told me: “hey, this is what I’m seeing, you should see this too”. And we developed such a good friendship that we’ve kept along the years, that energy and guidance between us. It’s so good to have mentors, because visually, they’re doing exactly what you want to be doing. It was like tunnel vision for me. I keep thinking, imagine if I’d had that kind of role model in Florida. Where would I be? Funnily enough, I actually worked for a New York artist – she used to be famous in the 80s and 90s. After I worked for her for a couple of months, I finally got to show her some of my pieces, which I have to admit, were shit. She told me: “you will never show in New York”. She was very much a gatekeeper of the institution – in her world, an artist like me had no space there, no chance of ever making it. After that day, I never showed up to her studio again. But that fired me up. If you tell me I can’t do it, I’m gonna fucking do it. My parents also, at the time they were fearful for my future. It’s that immigrant mentality: you have to find something that you can do, that can support the family. And they didn’t know where this path would lead me, so they were hoping I would do something that would sustain me. While I was working and being mentored by Tim, I stumbled on a teaching job. It was more like after school care. I’m good with kids. Any Brown, immigrant child, if they’re the oldest, they’re good with kids. My baby sister, she’s five years younger than me. I started taking care of her as soon as she was born. So, none of that was a problem. I got that job at this after school care, and I just worked my way up. I subbed for every class that I could, got to know all the head teachers, and eventually I was able to become an associate. And a year later, I was able to pick up my own class. I’ve been an art teacher for five years now. I teach first to third grade.

NJ: What’s it like working with kids?

AH: Working with kids has just become the most meaningful learning and teaching experience for me. Even though I’m teaching them, it’s made me look at materials differently, and return to old artists with a fresh eye. As I’m teaching them, I’m re-learning everything, and I’m taking that energy back into my own studio. In my work, there’s always this childlike, playful aspect. I want kids to stop and look at my art. I want it to grab their attention. If I can hold a kid’s attention for a second, maybe they will get that impression that I had with the art I saw in Italy. Because then that becomes an aspect of the whole representation part. Maybe, if a Brown kid were to look at my paintings like I looked at the Sistine Chapel, then they’ll have the courage to create. It’s a kind of domino effect. In the art I make, there’s always an element of: you can learn this too. You, too, can do things like this.

NJ: People always say – you only really understand something when you’re able to explain it to someone else. But how do you teach someone to be an artist? How do you get your students to express themselves artistically?

AH: It’s a funny thing. Not everyone can be a teacher. I’m learning that you’re there as sort of a third wheel. You’re letting the kid explore in whatever way they want. But as you’re seeing them develop on their own, you can make suggestions. It’s about adding more information to what they’re already doing. I’m not the teacher that says: you have to draw like this. It’s about curating that learning atmosphere and giving positive feedback, saying: let’s learn together. It’s about reaffirming what they already had. Kids can paint better than most people. It’s just about continuously giving them that positive energy. As a teacher, I’m more of a nurturer, so I’m always looking at the positive aspect of why I’m doing things. And I want to put in the work for representation. I don’t want to do it because I’ve been negatively affected by whiteness and white-dominated spaces; it’s about being above that. By simply creating, I become the representation.

NJ: Tell me about your whole journey as an artist, how did you end up here?

AH: I had my first professional show in LA, back in the summer of 2019. And after that, I kind of just stepped back a little bit. I needed to reassess the whole situation, and my style completely changed within the six months following the show. I needed to figure out how to develop my work even more. I felt that this was not it, this was not where I wanted to be. I took some time and I somehow met this collector, who became a friend: Anne-Laure Lemaitre. She just randomly hit me up last March, about Spring Break , which is an art fair that happens in the city. It was quick, and I love doing things that are spontaneous. I felt ready for something like that. That show was called ‘A Lover Boy’s Tale’, and it was a continuation of my first show, which was called ‘Lover Boy’. You can scroll down to my earliest pieces on Instagram, and see there’s a lot more color in those pieces. I was still figuring out the tones, I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to be all Brown figures. I spoke more about my personal relationships for the ‘Lover Boy’ series. And then the next show was about me opening up this idea of a world in which the figures and the features I was creating could exist. I wanted to make my own world with this lover boy character, which was a cupid. That cupid idea just went full throttle with every fantasy, every piece of imagination – these griffins, phoenixes and mystical creatures. This sense of wonder just started popping up, and I wanted to ride that wave. The animals that I’m bringing in and reintroducing constantly, they’re from what I call fantasies. You’ve got the griffins, and I’m gonna introduce the pegasus – wings are fantasies. We see them all the time, we see birds flying, and they just give you this empowering energy, this sense of imagination. People always want to fly. It births imagination when you put wings on something. So that’s where that kind of world started. Eastern art is so hidden to us – we don’t ever see that imaginative energy. And so, I’m just trying to bring that to light. I’m trying to make these ideas and concepts more digestible, also for kids that are growing up in the way I was raised, where I didn’t have that visual context. I’m trying my best to break these boundaries. I hope to be in spaces someday where you would never picture someone who looks like me to be. Predominantly white spaces have always held such power. Being able to put my pieces in that space gives me that power. A lot of people shy away from white spaces, and I get that, but for me it’s about conquering that space and reclaiming my power. As I’m developing my work, there’s always that underlying intention. It’s the energy of: I can do it too. In that show, this piece came about. It’s called ‘Our Renaissance’ . For me, that’s where it really began. I just had this influx of ideas. The pandemic hit, and I was working from home, which allowed me time to develop more. I started to just be by myself with my thoughts, I didn’t have to constantly think about the outside world. It was sort of this cocoon thing – I just brainstormed a lot and developed what you see more of now.

NJ: I’ve noticed that the titles you choose, the figures you draw and the stories that you tell, very much surround topics of love, romance and intimacy. Where does that come from?

AH: They are things that I never, in my early life, saw. As a Bengali man, I never saw my parents be physically affectionate to each other. It was definitely there – they love each other. But I never saw them kiss. I never saw them hold hands. I never saw that physical intimacy. I just saw that in movies. So, I started to develop my own ideas of physical expressions of love. I was first exposed to these kinds of ways of being, in western movies – these exaggerated love scenes. I was given the impression that it has to be big, it has to be grand, in order for it to be love. And I realized later that parts of what I saw were very toxic. Those 90s movies with grand gestures, where, even though that person might have rejected you, you’re outside the window, singing to this person because you love them. And that’s not cool anymore. They said no! They don’t want to be with you. It’s a very Western idea of love. But I fell in love with that romance. I wanted to have that. The titles I’ve chosen for my pieces or my series are very much inspired by song lyrics, really just anything I’m listening to while I’m painting. I don’t write about it very much, but the songs already say everything that I’m trying to convey. A lot of times it’s those songs that describe the energy my pieces are supposed to have. I sometimes post music on Instagram, and that’s not random. You can look into that. I always wanted to be a classically trained artist. I was always trying to develop a really fine art style. But I started to feel the need to fuse that with my own being. How would I be portrayed in this style? I couldn’t just go to a museum and be like: this is what I would look like, because the institution was dominated by whiteness. I was recently looking at Gauguin, who painted these Brown bodies, these indigenous females. He, like many other renowned, European artists from that period, looked at non-white figures, they studied them almost like animals. These people were exoticized and when thinking of that, very strong feelings of anger arise. That idea of some white guy ramming into an island and thinking: I should paint these figures. Did they want you to paint them? Did they give you permission to paint them? And I thought, I could do a better job. Technically speaking, these artists were masters of the arts, but I wanted to work on my own vision of Brown figures. I know, if it’s me painting these bodies, I’m not exoticizing them – I know them, because that’s my body too. My approach to these figures is inherently more familiar, more loving. So, I started painting Brown bodies because I wanted to give them love. I wanted to give them this positive energy, and that’s where the linen material came from. I stopped painting on regular cotton and decided to go with linen because I wanted to show Brown figures with expensive materials. Brown figures on linen, you can’t miss that. It’s right there in your face. Not only are the Brown, angelic bodies looking at you, saying we don’t need you – I’m giving these figures this power, but I’m also making a statement: these are not normal humans, they’re something higher. And I’m also adding the material of linen, which is, in the art world, the finest quality canvas that you can paint on. I’m giving a lot of energy to these Brown figures, just by exposing the linen.

It’s so special that nowadays, I’m surrounded by more south Asian artists and collectors. I love hearing: hey, I bought your piece. That makes me so happy, because that energy is not only being embraced, but it’s being given back to me. It comes full circle. The art world is filled with white collectors. What gives me joy is that when they buy my paintings, they’re not just buying the product, they’re also buying the idea. Now their kids, and maybe even their kids’ kids, are going to see these Brown figures on the wall. It becomes generational. That’s when I feel most comfortable selling my work – it’s the conversation that is sparked, and that idea of these Brown figures being special, is passed on.

NJ: Tell me a bit about the merchandise you recently released with Beloved New York.

AH: It was through one of my best friends, Doug Koh. He brought me into his group of friends, a lot of which are part of the fashion world, and that’s where I met David Chang: the founder of Beloved NY, who goes by China. We just started hanging out very organically. His brand is all about cupid love, this in your face kind of romantic love. And as you know, I’m painting cupids too. So we literally just sat there one day, and thought, we should make something together. We just bounced ideas off one another and both us, being these almost goofy, romantic kind of people, we wanted to release our collaboration on February 14th: Valentine’s Day. It all happened so organically, and I think that shows, because people just gravitated towards it. It doesn’t come off as performative, and I think its authenticity is what makes it so special. It wasn’t about the money, it was about getting this idea out there, in the world. It’s for the community – walking around with Brown bodies on your back.

NJ: Would you say that your art has a target audience?

AH: I’m having another solo show in Miami, in May. And my parents are going to see it for the first time. They’ve never really seen my work in person, never in a gallery setting. I do it for them, I do it for people like them – they had the hardship of moving here and not being able to think about luxurious subjects like art. There’s not a critic in the world that can shut me down right now. I don’t care, because my parents are okay with it. I work so hard to earn their respect. I don’t need anybody else’s. But it’s also for the kids. I want kids, especially Black and Brown kids, to be able to see my art. But also everyone else – I chose the subject of love because it’s not always a positive thing. There’s also conflict and heartbreak – the darker side of things. But I also picked the subject of love because I knew it would resonate with a larger audience. You can’t completely shut out a group of people – I want white people to absorb these affectionate figures, too. Because we had to absorb theirs.

NJ: You weave an autobiographical narrative into your work. Can you tell me a bit more about that?

AH: That’s where the ‘Lover’s Rock’ comes in. After ‘ A Loverboy’s Tale ’, which was the idea of opening up the world, I was able to see my full timeline. I see my whole art career as a process of bringing things from the past to light. My experiences and my history, they’re an inherent part of me. But I also like to include experiences that are more recent, ones that I’m undergoing now, into my work. The autobiographical aspect gives my art a timeline. ‘Lover’s Rock’ was the idea of: how do I make my daily life into an epic, fantastical story? I had the pleasure of working with curator Ché Morales and digital executor Adriana Avendano, at the Mindy Solomon Gallery. When you go through the whole VR scenario, you’ll realize that the story is about these two human figures, who don’t have wings, experiencing a night out in Brooklyn. Lover’s Rock is a Caribbean club in Bed-Stuy. So, the story is about these two individuals getting ready for the night. The birds function as metaphors for music that you play, when getting ready to go out. And the cupids are metaphors for drugs and alcohol. You’re being injected with substances that make you more relaxed, and more open to this eventful night that you’re about to have. It’s about a journey of people that are pregaming, before going into this club. At the end of the show, you see these griffins painting, in which these two figures are finally engaging. You’re faced with these lion-like figures that are symbols for courage and strength. In the Jamaican community, lions are royalty. So, you’re met with all these energies in this space called Lover’s Rock, where you are finally open enough to meet this other person. It’s sort of a modern love story within the context of stepping out on a Saturday night. In today’s day and age, the possibility of meeting someone you might fall in love with on a Saturday night, is there. I wanted to mix that with a utopian, Odyssey kind of flavor, but with Brown figures. I wanted to present a Western story, but make it for the Brown community, almost like claiming our place. And that speaks to my overall vibe: I want to have shows in spaces that weren’t meant for us. That’s my energy – wherever I can’t be, I want to be.