Habiba Nowrose, from the series ‘Concealed’, 2013

Habiba Nowrose is a Dhaka-based photographer and researcher whose practice largely revolves around making staged portraits that explore the role of gender in shaping human relationships. Through the series Concealed (2013) and Life of Venus (2018), she attempts to address the notions of beauty, anonymity, and how women are often compelled to live up to societal and familial expectations. For Habiba, the making of these portraits — where faces and bodies blend into bright, kitschy backgrounds — entails paying careful attention to the use of props as well as colours and textures. Her new solo exhibition Tongue-Tied attempts to address the stigma associated with appreciating and enjoying traditional Bangladeshi foods, and will be on display at Alliance Française, Dhaka until 10 March, 2022.

We first came across Habiba’s work at the trans-media project Look, Stranger! curated by Rahaab Allana at the Serendipity Arts Festival in Panjim in 2019. We speak with her about her image-making process, the challenges she has had to encounter through her practice and her experiments with the narrative form of traditional documentary photography.

What prompted you to explore, as you mention, “human relationships and gender identities” through photography, particularly to foreground the plight of women who are limited by patriarchy?

I graduated in the subject of Women and Gender Studies and I am very passionate about these issues, especially how gender plays a role in shaping human relationships as well as our identities. So when it came to pursuing a personal project, I was naturally inclined towards exploring these subjects. It came to me very spontaneously; I didn’t have to mull over it because I was already reading and thinking and discussing it a lot.

From your series Concealed (2013) to Life of Venus (2018), one notices a transition from a single subject to the addition of different characters. What made you include more subjects, and how did this narrative evolve over time?

When I started working on Concealed in 2013, I was very focused on expressing the feelings of anonymity and ambiguity and not quite knowing who you are — all through the medium of singular portraits. I liked the typological approach of photography and thought it would be best if I do really tight portraits, and that’s what I went ahead with at that time. When I gradually moved on to the next stage of the series, I felt I had lived with Concealed for a considerable amount of time and wanted to explore more possibilities. I wanted to experiment with the narrative form of traditional documentary photography. I felt that playing with multiple characters through storytelling — having a beginning, middle and end — would be an interesting aspect to explore in conceptual work like mine. I also felt I wanted to take up the challenge of introducing several characters and arranging them on a comparatively larger, multi-layered scale. This really excited me. For Life of Venus, I wanted to tell the stories of the women I see every day, with the mythological character Venus who is considered to be the symbol of femininity. While researching about the mythologies surrounding Venus, I realised that there are many other characters in the story of Venus. So her story demanded that I include multiple characters in the Life of Venus series.

Habiba Nowrose, from the series ‘Life of Venus’, 2018

Your subjects are almost camouflaged into kaleidoscopic backgrounds, are stripped of any distinct markers of recognition, as if expected to blend in with their surroundings. How did you arrive at the form of a staged portrait?

I was going through a very tough time when I started working on Concealed. I come from a traditional, conservative Muslim family in Bangladesh — they do not expect the women in the family to pursue professions like the one I am currently in. Upon graduating, I decided to go back to Pathshala South Asian Media Institute [in Dhaka] and complete the rest of my studies in photography. I knew I didn’t want to go through a conventional nine-to-five job or get married at that time. I didn’t think either role would give me a sense of fulfilment, and in my heart, the role that would fulfill me the most was that of an artist. While I did go back to Pathshala, I felt I was letting down the people around me. My parents thought I was a disappointment. I was struggling at school because I felt I wasn’t able to convey the type of work I wanted to do, and I thought I was disappointing my peers as well. I was almost losing my sense of self; I felt very lost. I then felt I had to be honest with myself, and to fuel my fascination for the traditional prints that make up Bangladeshi textiles — called cheentkapor [in Bangla, cheent means ‘print’ and kapor means ‘textile’] — I began to use them in my portraits. These printed textiles are mostly used by those who cannot afford sophisticated and expensive clothes; usually they aren’t considered to have good taste. I began experimenting with these really colourful textiles — I borrowed clothes from friends, set up the background and lighting and started test-shooting with my model at that time. After test-shooting for weeks I finally got several portraits which expressed the feeling of being lost and being anonymous. This is how I gradually shot the entire series.

You mention that your portraits are made after "elaborate preparation". Can you tell us more about the image-making process?

While producing a body of work, I don’t immediately jump into research but first look for things that spontaneously interest me or have always been of interest to me. Then I look at relevant journals or articles or books to come up with a clear idea of how I want it to progress. I progress towards making a list of possible images. Once this rough plan is ready, I move on to finalising whether to purchase or borrow all that I need for the shoot. A lot of the images I’ve shot contain props from my own house or from my friends or relatives. Then I start test-shooting. It is only after a few days of test-shooting that I decide if I want to continue with that particular set of images or not.

What made you initially choose the cotton fabric cheentkapor for the portraits?

The textile is called cheentkapor. I actually have an interesting memory of being introduced to it. When I was young, one of our relatives bought a sari for our house help. It was a plain sari with a thin golden border. When my mother saw it she said that the help might not like it as they prefer something more bright and kitschy. This made me realise that something with a lot of colour or loud prints is usually associated with our help, or with those who cannot afford very expensive or sophisticated fabric. So I began to look at these textiles in a very different manner, and when I started working on my project in 2013, this particular memory came back to me. Back then I didn’t know how I’d incorporate these prints into my work but I was just fascinated and mesmerised by them.

I also tend to wear the traditional cheentkapor as a salwar-kameez, and have used my own clothes or scarves for my work. Our local hawkers’ market is basically a street where one can find both cheap and expensive fabrics, and I happened to buy a few yards of textile from them to start making the portraits.

When do you know that a portrait is complete, or that you're satisfied with a portrait?

Usually by looking at the image I can tell whether I am happy with it or not; it’s pretty obvious. If I am not, then I shoot it again. Sometimes I might think that the images that demanded a lot of time and effort would be the best ones but oftentimes it is the ones I don’t expect to be good that actually turn out to be among the best. I have, in fact, gotten quite a few images by accident, when I was planning for a certain kind of photograph but the result was entirely different.

Do you glean points of references for your work? Who are your influences?

I think the American photographer and installation artist Sandy Skoglund has influenced my work the most.

How did you adapt your practice in the wake of the pandemic and the subsequent lockdowns?

My work has, right from the very beginning, revolved primarily around the studio so when the lockdown was imposed I didn’t have to transform or pivot my practice drastically, especially in terms of the location or the kind of lighting. But the pandemic and the lockdowns have impacted all our lives. During the first lockdown I experimented with photographing food waste, and later began to make still-life sculptures with traditional food items.

Follow Habiba’s work @habiba_nowrose_photography

Journal

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In Conversation with Habiba Nowrose