This was published 3 months ago
In detention, with no brush or oils, this Archibald finalist taught himself to paint
Sitting in insufferable heat, in a dirty tent filled with 50 men living in bunk beds, Kurdish refugee Mostafa Azimitabar was desperate for distraction and tranquillity. He was living in an immigration detention camp on Manus Island, Papua New Guinea.
Looking around the tent, he spied a cup of coffee and a toothbrush. He had previously begged an officer for art supplies – something to help pass the time.
Mostafa Azimitabar with his portrait of artist and friend Angus McDonald, which is a finalist in the Archibald Prize at the Art Gallery of NSW.Credit: Janie Barrett
“They gave me the reasons why they couldn’t — because paints are chemicals,” Azimitabar recalls. “‘Just imagine if you refugees eat the paint. It’s harmful and could kill you,’ they said.”
“I poured the instant coffee in hot water, then just plonked the toothbrush in the coffee and I dragged it on a small piece of paper – [thinking] this is a mountain, this the sun, these are the trees.”
It was pretty basic, like a drawing by a five-year-old, he says. But it made him smile.
That was the beginning of an extraordinary art practice that has seen Azimitabar, who spent more than eight years in detention, short-listed in the Archibald and Sulman Prizes for paintings created using a toothbrush.
The 38-year-old artist, originally from Iran and now based in Sydney, is self-taught. His use of the humble toothbrush was inspired by necessity.
His Sulman entry, When the sun rises, the shadows will bring us together, is a colourful landscape created using those basic tools: coffee and a toothbrush, together with oil paint.
Azimitabar’s Sulman-shortlisted ‘When the sun rises, the shadows will bring us together’,Credit: Jenni Carter/AGNSW
The Archibald portrait is of fellow painter and good friend Angus McDonald – who won the Archibald’s People’s Choice award in 2020 for the painting of another Kurdish refugee, writer Behrouz Boochani. In the painting, McDonald is cradling what looks like a swaddled baby, but is a cow’s skull – a motif McDonald uses in his own art.
The portrait of McDonald is Azimitabar’s second short-listing for the prestigious portrait prize. In 2022, his self-portrait made the cut. It was inspired by McDonald, who encouraged him to enter.
“I chose him this year because he is a close friend of mine and he is an amazing artist. Also, most importantly, he cares deeply about human rights,” Azimitabar says.
The portrait took 64 days to create and involved many layers of paint, says the artist.
“It’s like [it’s] three-dimensional,” he says. “When I look at it, I can’t look anywhere else.
“I am proud of myself that through a lot of suffering I had in detention, I changed the negativity. I want to share hope with everyone.”
Azimitabar, held at the Mantra Hotel in Preston in 2020.Credit: Luis Ascui
The human rights activist was fleeing persecution in Iran by boat in 2013 when he was detained on Christmas Island before being sent to Manus Island.
His story – and that of fellow refugee Farhad Bandesh, who he met at the camp – is told in Angus McDonald’s film Freedom is Beautiful, which screened at the Melbourne Documentary Festival and Sydney Film Festival last year.
After six years on Manus, Azimitabar was medically evacuated to Australia for emergency psychiatric treatment, only to be held in what he describes as an even worse prison: hotel detention in Melbourne. He lived in a room on the third floor. His window faced a concrete wall. He was allowed only one hour of fresh air a day.
Mostafa Azimitabar’s KNS088 (self-portrait), which was short-listed for the Archibald Prize in 2022.Credit: AGNSW
“It was an invisible coffin,” he says. Art provided some solace, a brief escape from intense misery.
After 14 months in the hotel, Azimitabar was freed in January 2021. He remains in Australia on a bridging visa.
While working on the portrait of McDonald, Azimitabar was appealing his court case against the Australian government’s hotel detention policy. Initially, a judge had ruled that Azimitabar’s detention for more than 14 months was “lawful but lacking humanity.” Azimitabar’s appeal of this decision was ultimately dismissed.
“It was a difficult time, but I drew strength from continuing to paint,” he says.
Azimitabar paints most days, and if he’s not painting, he’s usually thinking about art.
“My brain goes to lines and to making marks, like for tomorrow, when I want to make clouds and landscapes,” he says. “It’s like a dream for me. I just love it.”
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