| By SAN SAN TIN | AUG, 2001 - VOLUME 9 NO.7 |
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. 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. 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. 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. 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.