Rasad

The market stall stands on a raised platform, putting the products out of reach. That very distance forces you to pause and consider something you would usually pass by without a second thought at a real market: the journey these products have made and the political and historical stories behind them.

The installation Rasad is the result of a collaborative creative process in which dozens of artists from Bangladesh incorporated their perspectives on food politics. This is reflected in the wide variety of objects on display at the stall.

To understand how these perspectives come together, I, Roos van Laer, spoke with three of the artists involved: Tayeba Begum Lipi, Mahbubur Rahman and Kazi Sydul Karim Tuso. Commissioned by the Centraal Museum, I also documented the installation process so that the stall can be reconstructed in accordance with their ideas for future exhibitions. This article is based on those conversations and explores the background, the creative process and the stories behind the objects.

Rasad is a Bengali word that cannot easily be translated. At its core, it means food, but it encompasses more than that: it also represents nourishment as a repository of knowledge, culture and ideas. This broad meaning is central to the working methods of Britto Arts Trust. Founded in Dhaka in 2002, this non-profit artists’ collective explores overlooked histories and communities in Bangladesh and brings them to light through its work. By collaborating with international museums and art venues, the collective draws global attention to these people and stories. The installation Rasad was shown at documenta fifteen in Kassel. This special edition of the art exhibition focused on collectivity and knowledge sharing. Alongside the market stall, documenta fifteen also featured a mural inspired by scenes from Bengali films and documentaries, as well as a garden with a community kitchen where a different national dish was prepared and shared each day. In this context, it became clear that Rasad is not only about Bangladesh, but tells a broader story about food and the role it plays in our daily lives.

That broader perspective emerged in the earliest phase of the work, during the workshops organised by Britto Arts Trust. Knowledge sharing was the guiding principle. Artists from across the country came together to reflect on food production in Bangladesh and how it is intertwined with global economic and political systems.

Tayeba Begum Lipi, one of the founders of Britto Arts Trust, whose work has previously been shown at the museum during the exhibition Statement Chairs, explained that the workshops included discussions about food politics and the problems people in Bangladesh face as a result in their daily lives. The issues were explored by watching documentaries, reading academic research and visiting local communities. Knowledge and different perspectives were shared, leading to long-term collaborations with artists who felt connected to the subject. Through these collaborations, the collective translated the various issues and stories into art. They used existing products as a starting point, adapting them artistically to make their criticism of international food politics visible.

Increasing competition from multinationals is making it impossible for farmers in Bangladesh to continue working in their own organic way. Plastic packaging, cans and plastic bottles now dominate the streetscape of bazaars in Bangladesh. Companies such as Nestle and Coca-Cola package their products and label them with barcodes to gain greater control over production and improve product traceability. In practice, many countries are not equipped to process such large amounts of residual waste. As a result, most of this packaging ends up on the streets.

Food products in Bangladesh are subject to different requirements than in Europe. Consumers are less protected against the risks posed by what they buy. As a result, buying food has become a kind of Russian roulette. Food packaging in local bazaars is full of lies that conceal the product's potential dangers. Rasad brings to life the tension between organic local agriculture and the international pressure imposed by multinational corporations.

Take, for example, Tayeba Begum Lipi’s milk cartons, which she covered with razor blades. After reading scientific articles about the presence of E. coli bacteria in unpasteurised milk, she looked for a way to incorporate this story into Rasad. In Bangladesh, you can simply buy unpasteurised milk on the street, and many people do, unaware that this bacterium can make them fatally ill. Lipi saw that it was mainly children in her community who died as a result. At first glance, the gleaming razor blades give the milk cartons an aesthetic appeal, but on closer inspection, they are sharp and dangerous. Through Lipi’s use of materials, the danger that can lurk in a seemingly healthy product like milk is made visible.

The collective worked mainly in its own workshop in Dhaka, but occasionally also visited the studios of participating artists. The artists experimented with a range of media. Mahbubur Rahman, co-founder of Britto Arts Trust, guided artists in working with different materials. Under his direction, one artist’s ceramics studio was adapted to enable ceramic objects to be produced on a larger scale. By jointly developing reusable moulds, many of the objects in the installation—such as peppers, tomatoes and aubergines—became the result of a collective making process. These ceramic objects form the basis for various layers of meaning: pineapples and peppers were fitted with handles, transforming them into hand grenades, while pumpkins and tomatoes were stamped with the NON-GMO label used to indicate that products have not been genetically modified. In this way, the collective shows how hollow the promise of organic farming has become.

The way the market stall’s jarring paradoxes have been given tangible form varies not only in shape, but also in tone. Tayeba Begum Lipi points to the cartons of fruit drink branded ‘Lie Lie’, a direct reference to the product’s unreliability. The carton claims that the product consists of one hundred percent fruit juice, but if you read the fine print, you discover that it contains all kinds of other substances. It is an example of how the objects in Rasad poetically reveal a painful reality. “The ceramic works often do this with humor, as a way of gently wrapping the underlying pain,” Lipi explains.

The objects in Rasad refer not only to the lies about and dangers of the products. The collective also points to the problematic international economic and sociopolitical structures that negatively affect food politics worldwide, not just in Bangladesh.

Mahbubur Rahman’s black ceramic coconuts tell an important story about the harmful intervention of the United States on Bikini Island. In 1948, the Americans forced the local population to relocate so they could conduct nuclear tests on the island. To this day, the inhabitants have been unable to return, and the soil has been so severely contaminated that agriculture of any kind is no longer possible. The coconut refers not only to the island’s nickname (Coconut Place), but also to the population’s forced journey. Coconuts have evolved in such a way that they can travel great distances on ocean currents. Inscribed on the ceramic coconuts are the words men otemje bein anji which mean this is their work. In this way, the artist places the blame squarely on the United States. The coconut is also marked with the Coca-Cola logo. In Rasad, brands such as Coca-Cola symbolize a contemporary form of imperialism that manifests itself through both economic power and military intervention—a theme that is difficult to ignore in today’s world.

At a time when space for challenging and uncomfortable perspectives is under pressure, art’s role in bringing together different points of view is more important than ever. With this acquisition, Centraal Museum aims to play an important role in this—not only by giving Rasad a place in the collection, but also by lending out the installation so that its stories can continue to resonate in ever-changing contexts.