“It felt as though I had entered a grave”

How did you receive the proposal to create an artwork in the fire-damaged Prothom Alo building? When did you begin the work?

The editor of Prothom Alo, Matiur Rahman, telephoned me and asked me to come to the office one day, to see the burnt building and consider whether something could be done there. That is how the process began. After visiting the site, I quickly decided what we might attempt. We began work on 18 January.

How much had you known about the fire beforehand? You must have followed the news; what impression had formed in your mind?

I would describe it as an “outburst” within a longer process. Over time, we had witnessed what seemed to be an increasing anti-positioning directed at the newspaper. There had been resentment towards Prothom Alo from various quarters. That hostility escalated to such an extreme level is deeply unfortunate.

When you first stood before the building and entered it, what did you feel – as an artist and as a human being?

Through news footage we had seen the flames erupting from the building. There was, of course, the red of fire — but also a whitish blaze, which appears only in the most intense conflagrations. It was clearly an extreme fire.

From a distance, it felt like something grotesque — as though arson itself had become a kind of celebration in recent times. We have repeatedly witnessed incidents of fire being set, at airports, in different buildings. Fire has become a swift instrument of destruction.

That was my sense from the outside. But when I entered, it felt as though I had stepped into a graveyard. Dense, profound darkness — so dark that one could scarcely see oneself.

Everything had burned in such a way that there was no surface left to reflect even the slightest light. Everything was blackened. Fire consumes a human being, and it consumes an object. Yet one does not fully grasp how the destruction of an object touches the human conscience until one sees it. The charred surface of a burnt object carries a mark of suffering; that mark is profoundly painful.

Did you experience any tension between political reality and personal emotion while working at the site of an attack on a media institution?

There are always two realities — the reality of those who attack and the reality of those who are attacked. But the larger question is: why do we resort to such destruction at this stage of civilisation? Why can we not remain within dialogue? How long will we continue to witness terror and devastation? Is there no end? What kind of civilisation are we moving towards?

I am not judging politically. I am not dissecting the context in that sense. An institution was attacked; there was an attempt to obliterate it. There is also an economic dimension to such destruction. Even if privately owned, an institution sustains many livelihoods. In a broader sense, it is part of the nation’s assets. Such damage ultimately affects the national economy, and therefore the responsibility lies with the state and with citizens alike.

And because this is a media organisation, issues of democracy and freedom of expression are intrinsically linked to it. Its protection is a shared responsibility.

How much freedom were you given?

Everyone at Prothom Alo said the same thing: Mahbub should work as he wishes, and we will provide full support. Throughout the process, I received cooperation from all sides.

The work contains multiple layers, many ideas, many questions. I also attempted to introduce a poetic narrative. There are fragments of dramatic dialogue. Each material carries a particular meaning and suggestion. Viewers will interpret and experience it in their own ways.

You have previously undertaken similar projects — in Old Dhaka, in Germany working with ancient castles, and recently at Bengal Shilpalay. How would you compare this project to your earlier works? What distinguishes this exhibition?

In most of my projects, I prefer to collaborate with other artists and place great importance on their participation and perspectives. Initially, I considered involving more artists here as well. But time was limited, and the complexity of coordinating ideas within this specific space would have made the process difficult. So I primarily developed the work from my own conceptual framework. Nevertheless, several young artists, collaborators from various media, and many staff members of Prothom Alo assisted me greatly.

There was an abundance of material on site. The burnt objects themselves became my art materials. Some areas I cleaned; others I left untouched. In many ways, the project resembled a form of industrial production. To undertake such a vast endeavour within such a short timeframe was truly monumental.

Did you have sufficient time? How large was your team?

No, the timeframe was extremely short, truly so. Many people were involved. Around 12 artists worked with me, along with video teams, technical staff, and numerous Prothom Alo personnel. As I mentioned, it was almost like small-scale industrial production.

You spoke of sorrow, yet artistic creation also brings a certain joy. How did it feel to create such a major work?

I feel as though I have merged into the entire space. I no longer possess a separate existence. I can hardly distinguish where I am and where I am not. I have not even been able to spend time at home. It is a very different feeling — difficult to articulate.

Yet it feels like a significant achievement, almost like an award. To be granted the opportunity to work in such a vast and charged environment is rare. In that sense, it is a major attainment for me as an artist. I have forgotten even to think of my body. As I said, I am no longer within myself.

Thank you.

Thank you. And my thanks to the readers of Prothom Alo and to all who come to see the exhibition.