My friend Iskandar, the great potter
Long have I heard of this talented potter and dreamt of meeting him, but it was not till years later when our paths crossed on the Road to Tehran that I finally caught up with him, and discover the man behind the craft.
Act 1: early 1960s, the back room of 62 Monk’s Hill Terrace
As a trainee ‘O’ level teacher, I discovered Omar Khayyam and through his delightful quatrains was introduced, aside from the delights of the grapes, to the world of the potter and his pots of clay.
Whenever I felt bored in my little room in my father’s government quarters terrace house, I would snatch my little Rubaiyat companion and read my favourite verses from this irreverent Sufi poet.
Sober or high, the Rubaiyat never fail to delight and enlighten me of the foibles and frailties of the human pots of clay.
Some of my favourites included references to the divine potter and just to quote two:
Then said another –‘’Surely not in vain
My substance from the common Earth was taken
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Shall stamp me back to common Earth again.’’
Another said – ‘’Why ne’er a peevish Boy,
Would break the Bowl from within he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in after Rage destroy?’’
Whenever I felt remorse then, I would think of the Rubaiyat and console myself, saying that ‘’in fashioning me the Potter’s hands did shake – feverishly’’.
Act 2: early spring 2008, in the land of the mullahs, ayatollahs and also the Rubaiyat
Although the potter lives practically a stone’s throw from my sister’s place in Kembangan where my father also lives and I know his younger brother, Rahim, we never met until I joined a 12 day tour of Iran organized by friends from the Bukit Timah campus days.
Aside from Iskandar and his lovely wife, Saleha, others in the small group included Jailani Rohani, Aminahton, Amin Sidek, Moksim Salleh, Aziz Hussein, Jamal, Ashfaq and Abdul Malek Ishak.
It was on the long dusty bus ride from Tehran to Kermanshah that I finally came face to face with the potter in the flesh – Iskandar Jalil, small-built, short, wiry and tanned, but warm and down-to-earth.
Early next morning I saw him standing by the bus, dressed in a thin cotton T-shirt, track pants, sneakers, while other were holding tight to their jackets, as the cold spring winds swirled around us.
‘’Doesn’t he feel the cold?’’ I casually asked Saleha. She replied: ‘’He is always like that, quite immune to the cold.’’ I told myself that this potter might have been an Eskimo in his previous life.
A few days later, while touring the ruins of Persepolis – once the capital of the mighty Persian Empire – I noticed the care that he took taking shots from his small but upmarket Sony digital camera, often giving instructions to Saleha on how to pose or how to take shots of him.
I asked him on his photography and he let me view images from his camera; I would see the touch of professionalism reflected in the tightness of the composition and the attention given to perspective. In Malay, you say: ‘’ada standard lah.’’ (high standard )
Next, I noticed he always had a tightly packed haversack on his back from which he often drew out a big, thick, black dairy-like notebook, to write. I was curious and on one occasion peeped over his shoulder; in big bold letters he was writing down the name of the place in addition to sketching the entrance. They took up almost the entire page.
I told myself these were signs of ‘’a big heart and a bold spirit.’’
On the second last day as the bus was taking us back to Tehran from Isfahan, except for the potter, the rest of us were slumped against our seat, a little weary and possibly a little home-sick.
Iskandar, born in 1940 and could be considered as our ‘’abang’’ (elder brother) were going round tirelessly from seat to seat with his big black note book.
Finally, he came to me and handing over his book, said: ‘’Ismail, can I have your name, address, e-mail and phone numbers.’’
He was the only one in our party who did it.
(Unfortunately, Omar’s home town of Nishapur was not on the itinerary. Anyway, our Iranian guide told me there was nothing to see – no monument, no tomb. The mullahs obviously frowned on his Rubaiyat with their plentiful references to taverns and wines and the timeless potter.)
Act 3: One evening about eight months later in 2008, at a renovated 3-storey terrace house in Jalan Kembangan
Toward the end of Iran tour, I told Saleha that I had heard much talk about their newly renovated home. The result was an open invitation for tea.
After much procrastination, I finally asked Jailani to arrange, and he too needed a little prodding, before he rang up and that was how he and I, and his wife, Aminahton, ended up being graciously treated to a tour of the house.
All I could remember is the minimalist-style, hardly any furniture except for basic wooden stuff and lots of artefacts from his travels and pots, big and small, in varying patterns, scattered all over.
When it was time to say good-bye, the potter took out two small bowls from the cupboard – one dark black, the other light tan – and placed them on the table before us. He then took one in each hand, raised it to eye level and then threw them on the floor with some force.
They landed with a loud thud, rolled a little and then remained still, intact. He picked them up and placed them on the table and asked us to examine the bowls.
We were stunned, speechless. Incredible, there was not even a whiff of a hairline crack. ‘’They are almost unbreakable – a matter of heating technique,’’ he said.
Added the potter: ‘’Take one each. Decide who wants what.’’
I gestured to Jailani and he slowly reached out for the light one. I was happy to take the dark one. So unexpected, so generous, and I felt a little overwhelmed.
Today, the bowl is prominently displayed in my study, perched securely on the topmost shelf above my writing table, flanked by an art book and a little bird house.
Act 4: 14 October 2011, Art-2 Gallery at the MICA building, the opening of the five-day solo exhibition and the launch of a limited edition book – iskandar jalil Images of My Pottery Travels.
About 300 odd pieces, the creme de la creme – of his prodigious output over the last five years are on display in the grand foyer. They come in varying shapes and sizes and colours – bowls, pots, plates, teapots, plates and an assortment of figurines, and their total value by my estimate come to at least S$ a million.
The guests start streaming in from 5.45 pm and by 6.30 pm when the proceedings began the entire place was jam-packed with fans, friends and admirers.
Dressed in a bright brown long-sleeved batik, the silver-haired Iskandar said that he held a solo exhibition every five years.
‘’This is my sixth solo in the last three decades and I think it is going to be my last.
‘’But I will not stop pottering. I will very soon start on another journey, another pilgrimage. My target is to work with up and coming artists from any media and hold joint shows in which I hope to pass my knowledge to them.
‘’I like to teach and I like to help. And any artist who like to join me for a show, please contact me,’’ he added.
Guest of Honour Professor Tommy Koh who is also Ambassador-At-Large then described Iskandar as a master potter and beloved guru.
‘’I am almost speechless. It’s a fabulous show, ‘’ he added and then went on to elaborate his qualities as a teacher and as a traveller, which fitted nicely with my observations.
‘’At 72, you are still young and still capable of producing great works. We look forward to another solo exhibition and if I am still around, I will be honoured to come and open it,’’ added Prof. Koh.
The exhibition will run from the 15th to the 20th of October.
Ismail Kassim
15 October 2011
