Mentor and Tormentor
Ken and Visakha Kawasaki
Mentor and Tormentor
Paw Thit could have taught Kyaw Win much about the meaning of art; instead
Burma's best-loved art critic is behind bars, a victim of the system the
inscrutable Kyaw Win represents.
by San San Tin
No Burmese artist or art lover could ever fail to recognize the title of A
Quest for Beauty, a celebrated book of art criticism by a writer of rare
gifts named Paw Thit. This excellent handbook of Burmese art history,
covering every imaginable "ism", has earned the admiration of countless
aficionados of the fine arts in Burma. Certainly, a passionate amateur
painter like Maj-Gen Kyaw Win, deputy to Military Intelligence (MI) chief
Lt-Gen Khin Nyunt, could be counted among those who can truly appreciate Paw
Thit's sensitivity to line and color, light and shade, perspective and depth
of artistic vision. And if Paw Thit ever had a chance to review Kyaw Win's
work on display at the G. V. Gallery, in Rangoon's exclusive Golden Valley
suburb, he would no doubt offer words of encouragement to this dedicated
dilettante. Cutting a dignified but kindly figure, he might make a critical
comparison to the work of U Lun Kywe, Burma's most famous impressionist
painter, while acknowledging that Kyaw Win had true talent and an eye for
beauty. Sadly, however, this encounter is unlikely to ever take place. For
Paw Thit, Burma's most respected art critic, is none other than U Win Tin, a
veteran journalist who was once one of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi's most valued
advisors-a role that has cost him his freedom. For a dozen years now, U Win
Tin, a.k.a. Paw Thit, has been a political prisoner in Rangoon's infamous
Insein Prison. Held in solitary confinement for more than a decade, but
unbent in his convictions, he continues to exert inestimable influence on
Burma's artistic community.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----
It is intriguing to imagine how Kyaw Win must feel about the fate of a man
who might well have become his artistic mentor, if only his military master,
Lt-Gen Khin Nyunt, had not placed him behind bars.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----
It is intriguing to imagine how Kyaw Win must feel about the fate of a man
who might well have become his artistic mentor, if only his military master,
Lt-Gen Khin Nyunt, had not placed him behind bars. Among artists in Rangoon,
to whom Kyaw Win is a familiar figure, this slim, dark-skinned man is
something of a mystery. "It is interesting to see his hybrid personality,"
remarked one artist who knows him well. "The two sides of his personality
seem to blend together-the tender-heartedness of the artist, and the hard
will of an interrogator and torturer."
Political analysts say that Maj-Gen Kyaw Win is one of the brightest and
most pragmatic members of the elite Office of Strategic Studies (OSS), a
think-tank headed by Khin Nyunt. With his quick intelligence and affable
manner, Kyaw Win is eminently well suited to his present task of acting as a
liaison between the ruling junta and Aung San Suu Kyi, leader of the
democratic opposition. Although she remains a prisoner in her own home, Suu
Kyi has been engaged in secret talks with the regime, conducted mainly
through its enigmatic emissary, since late last year. While nothing is known
of the substance of these talks, Kyaw Win's involvement guarantees that
however tough the negotiations may become, these encounters will remain
unfailingly cordial.
Kyaw Win belongs to the generation that witnessed Burma's fateful slide into
militarism. On July 7, 1962, the army ruthlessly suppressed student protests
against a military coup staged by Gen Ne Win, who was to remain Burma's
supreme leader for more than a quarter of a century. Students of the
prestigious Rangoon University were gunned down in cold blood, and the
historic Students' Union was dynamited with many students still inside,
claiming further casualties. Kyaw Win decided early on that the best way to
positively influence the newly installed regime was from within. "Students
from the class of '62 can remember Kyaw Win as one of the students who
believed it was possible to reform the army from the inside," recalls one
contemporary. "Many of them joined the army, but gradually they forgot what
they had once said." Thirty-three years later, in 1995, Kyaw Win joined
celebrations for Rangoon University's Diamond Jubilee as one of its most
illustrious alumni; Burma, meanwhile, remained as lost as ever in the throes
of a relentless cycle of military-sponsored violence.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----
At the opposite end of the spectrum from the privileged world of Kyaw Win's
favorites, many artists in Burma are barely able to survive.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----
Kyaw Win may have forgotten his original mission, but he never lost touch
with the more sensitive side of his nature. In the mid-1990s, many Burmese
were surprised to see a portrait of a Kachin woman on the cover of the Kyee
Bwa Yay ("Prosperity") monthly business magazine. It was not the
conventional, uncontroversial style and subject that caught their eye, but
the name of the cover illustrator. Although it appeared without rank or
further explanation, many Burmese in the know realized that this wasn't just
any Kyaw Win, but (then-) Col Kyaw Win, who as the deputy chief of
intelligence was one the most powerful men in the dreaded MI.
One of the prerogatives of power is patronage, and it is in his capacity as
a patron of the arts that Kyaw Win has exercised his more refined side most
effectively (and, to some extent, exorcised the sinister image that comes
with being a member of the MI). The G. V. Gallery, founded fourteen years
ago, enjoys every advantage of powerful backing: an ideal setting, a select
clientele, and works by some of the Burmese art world's most recognizable
names and most exciting young talents. State guests are often encouraged to
visit and see for themselves some of the best-kept secrets of contemporary
Asian art. And best of all, the gallery is blissfully free of interference
from the multitude of ministries (the Home Affairs Ministry, the Culture
Ministry, the Information Ministry, etc.) that together share the task of
squeezing the vitality out of any creative endeavor they come into contact
with.
Winning the approval of Burma's official arbiters of cultural and political
good taste normally involves a private showing of art works ten days ahead
of their intended public exhibition date. This de rigueur formality demands
a display of politesse that most artists find difficult to stomach. Wearing
their finest clothes and offering the best refreshments they can afford,
they must suppress their natural pride as artists to act as gracious hosts
to the "exhibition board"-a band of philistines without the dimmest
conception of what constitutes real art. They are guided by narrow-minded
notions of decency-"nude is rude" could be their motto-and a Pavlovian
aversion to anything with even the remotest political overtones. An
excessive use of red, for instance, could evoke associations with bloodshed
or communism, and would have trouble getting past the board. Anything too
abstract would face immediate censure. "We can't understand that painting,"
a board member might casually remark, ensuring that the work in question
would never see the light of day.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----
Few artists have overtly political tendencies, but the best believe that
they must express the innate freedom of the human spirit-a freedom that is
anathema to the powers that be in Burma today.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----
To some extent, G. V. Gallery's freedom from such constraints has emboldened
other galleries to attempt to circumvent official censorship by billing
exhibitions as "special shows" not intended for a general audience. But few
would dare go to the lengths of G. V. Gallery when it publicized an
exhibition in the official Kyemon ("Mirror") newspaper without first getting
approval through official channels. An article on a G. V. Gallery exhibition
that was held in the mid-1990s, written by sports-writer-cum-art-critic Sein
Myo Myint (one of Kyaw Win's pets), appeared in the paper without even
needing clearance from the News and Periodicals Enterprise's meeting of
chief editors, according to insiders. In a country where information is
subject to draconian controls, this lapse would have seemed nothing short of
revolutionary if it had not had been ordered by a very powerful member of
the military elite.
At the opposite end of the spectrum from the privileged world of Kyaw Win's
favorites, many artists in Burma are barely able to survive. While the life
of an artist can be difficult anywhere, in Burma it can be nearly impossible
without the close ties to powerful figures, particularly in the military,
that have become so indispensable to success in Burmese society. With a
miniscule domestic market and little hope of receiving international
exposure, most artists in Burma must rely on commercial work to make ends
meet. Even artists of the stature of Bagyi Aung Soe of Rangoon and Paw Oo
Thet of Mandalay, two of Burma's most admired modern artists, continued to
paint for magazines and book covers until the end of their careers. Bagyi
Aung Soe was in such desperate financial straits that his wife had to sell
mohinga, a popular Burmese noodle soup, to support the family. Who could
have imagined that his paintings would fetch thousands of dollars in
Indonesian art galleries less than a decade after his death in 1990?
Apart from the patronage of men like Kyaw Win, the greatest contribution the
ruling junta has made to the economic survival of artists was its decision
to give countless places around the country more "authentic" Burmese
names-rendering, for instance, Burma as Myanmar or Rangoon as Yangon. This
attempt to break with the country's colonial past under British rule created
a huge demand for sign painters, including many whose talents far exceed
such menial tasks. In more recent years, however, with the expansion of
Burma's market-based economy and the slight inroads being made by
information technology, new opportunities are emerging for artists to employ
their skills more creatively.
For artists who aspire to higher ideals, however, the realities of life in
Burma remain as oppressive as ever. Few artists have overtly political
tendencies, but the best believe that they must express the innate freedom
of the human spirit-a freedom that is anathema to the powers that be in
Burma today. Inevitably, their sympathies must lie with those who share
their conviction that liberty is the very essence of life. When Burmese took
to the streets in 1988 to demand an end to military rule, many artists
turned their talents to creating posters for protestors; later, they were
arrested and tortured for their contributions to the democratic movement.
Similarly, when Aung San Suu Kyi was first placed under house arrest in
1989, many artists were also rounded up for providing their services to her
National League for Democracy. And, of course, there is Paw Thit, who is not
simply a faithful guide to the intricacies of Burmese art, but also the very
embodiment of the pursuit of truth that lies at the heart of all artistic
endeavor. Could someone like Kyaw Win ever understand a man like Paw Thit?
The answer to this question could very well hold the key to Burma's future.
But for now, it remains far from certain that behind the sophisticated
exterior, there still lives in Kyaw Win a man who can grasp the true meaning
of art.
San San Tin is an art critic and poet. She currently resides in the United
States.