We Live To Fight

The Inception Grant solo show by Md. Zobayer Hossain Joati | Curated by Prima Kurien In partnership with Triveni Kala Sangam To say that Zobayer’s photographs merely document a sparring culture that has gripped the underbelly of Bangladesh would at best deliver a meek punch to the cheek; the knockout jab, however, comes when we realise what his images truly contain: an unbridled and volatile tension that has long gone unnoticed. No more. With We Live to Fight, Zobayer introduces us to the sweaty and dingy underground world of flexed muscles, black-and-blue bruises, and cold staredowns – it is a spectacle, a floodlit circus of hidden arenas and second-rate halls where we glimpse the fighter in a constant state of preparation for the fight of its life. These are figures that rarely sit idle, and Zobayer’s camera suspends such moments of exaggerated movement, teasing the viewer that is ready to ask for more. In such brooding and dramatic documents, there emerges an implicit understanding between us and the photograph: both acknowledge the catastrophic obviousness with which a fight shall end, and yet, Zobayer holds back from letting us see the finishing blow. His...

To say that Zobayer’s photographs merely document a sparring culture that has gripped the

underbelly of Bangladesh would at best deliver a meek punch to the cheek; the knockout jab,

however, comes when we realise what his images truly contain: an unbridled and volatile

No more. With We Live to Fight, Zobayer introduces us to the sweaty and dingy underground

world of flexed muscles, black-and-blue bruises, and cold staredowns – it is a spectacle, a

floodlit circus of hidden arenas and second-rate halls where we glimpse the fighter in a constant

state of preparation for the fight of its life. These are figures that rarely sit idle, and Zobayer’s

camera suspends such moments of exaggerated movement, teasing the viewer that is ready to

ask for more. In such brooding and dramatic documents, there emerges an implicit

understanding between us and the photograph: both acknowledge the catastrophic obviousness

with which a fight shall end, and yet, Zobayer holds back from letting us see the finishing blow.

His images spiral us into a rancorous frenzy, asking, demanding, to ‘let them have at it’; behind

drawn curtains and locked doors, we are left to our baser instincts, and this is where he zooms