Fresh Faces: W. Rajaie

Working in solidarity with materials
By Mary Ann Lim

A&M's Fresh Faces is where we profile an emerging artist from the region every month and speak to them about how they kick-started their career, how they continue to sustain their practice and what drives them as artists. Read our profile on W. Rajaie here.

Profile of W. Rajaie. Screen captured from The Prolegomena to the Spirit of Soil; Ruh Geluh, directed by W. Rajaie and filmed by Amermoose.

In 2022, you graduated from The MARA Technological University (UiTM), with a Masters in Fine Arts and Technology. Could you describe your experience? How did your studies and interactions with your peers shape the practice that you have now?

I am not a sentimental person, so I do not spend much time reflecting on life experiences or breaking down those phases in detail. But overall, it was a journey of self-discovery. Who I am today as an artist is a by-product of what I went through in school.

You started your career in fashion making custom-made wearables and collaborating with big brands like Vans Malaysia and Converse Malaysia. Do you still have your fashion practice, or was there a point that you pivoted to fine arts instead? How does it inform your artistic practice?

My shift into fine arts was not a highly calculated decision. It happened naturally. I was already a fine art student while I was doing garment work. Studying art shaped my perspective towards clothing construction, and with basic technical skills, I made it work. Being given the opportunity to collaborate with the giants is great, but to be truly connected with passionate people along the journey is a blessing. I extend my appreciation to the late Jiman Casablancas. Rest in power. Al-Fatiha.

Somewhere during the Movement Control Order, which happened due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I decided to pursue my Masters. I took a break from garment work to focus more seriously on my studies, and after that, I continued to practise art full time.

Honestly, it feels like I have not abandoned my garment-oriented practice completely, as I did not make a concrete decision to stop. The residues are still there. I find myself casually going back to the sewing machine, making things for myself or very close friends, or even ghost designing for people. There is a possibility that I will return in a more formal capacity. If not for a new start, then at least for closure.

Installation view at the SUNYI Artist-in-Residence exhibition of W. Rajaie, The Phenomenology of Dust, 2024, incense cones made from collected organic matter on site (leaf, moss, seed, wild fruit, root, horse dung, stone, and bone), sawdust, guar gum, and jasmine fragrance oil, dimensions variable.

Your recent works feature a heavy use of organic and natural materials like soil, wood, and bamboo. What draws you to these elements?

I might not talk about those specific materials. I do not want to undermine my practice in materiality by reducing it to the mere atomic composition of things. So I will give a more non-linear take on my practice.

I am a man of my material. I speak the language of material, and I seek truth through them. Materiality plays a central role in my work. Possibly, it is where meaning emerges. In my practice, its not always organic and natural. And as a matter of fact, it is not always empirical or physical either.

Recently, I have stretched my practice into the realm of immateriality: myth, memory, fiction, events, and so on. I believe that non-physical material is equally concrete in the way it shapes our experience and reality. It is no less an act of material than anything solid and durable.

When I decide to engage with materials in an artistic setting, I engage its specificity and with purpose. But that intention is not instrumental, functional, or utilitarian. Most of the time, it is simply to be in solidarity. The beauty experience can only exist when there is no agenda behind it. I am interested in how objects exist in relation to one another. So before I am drawn to any element, I am drawn to that idea first.

Installation view at The Back Room, Kuala Lumpur of W. Rajaie, Sorga Rawa (Bog Paradise), 2025, soil, sand, wood, water, oil (saffron and musk), dimensions variable.

Speaking of object relations, the physicality of soil takes on metaphysical aspects in your recent solo show, Sorga Rawa (Bog Paradise) with The Back Room KL. Could you tell us more about the inspiration behind the title and your process in putting the show together? How did you transform earth and mud into a site of sacredness, ritual, and myth?

A few months before this project materialised, I had been working in Langkawi Island as a participant in the SUNYI Artist-in-Residence programme. Langkawi is an island of myth. My time there became a turning point in realising the capacity of myth to construct a new landscape of meaning.

What interested me about this mysterious thing called “myth” were not the stories behind the myths themselves, but the ecosystem of meaning that surrounds it. Myths produce their own volatile set of origins, narratives, values, and beliefs. From there, I decided to establish a conceptual framework which consisted of two main components: the evaporation of meaning, and the sedimentation of truth.

During the process of making Sorga Rawa, I coined the working and situational term “site-making”. It is derived from the site-specific approach, where artists conduct their practice contextually. In my case, it was a reversal. Narratively, Sorga Rawa was not “bringing” anything from outside. All of the materials used went through a sort of sterilisation of meaning where narratives and experiences were generated in the exhibition itself. 

To narrate a myth is to creep into a human’s will to believe. Setting up a ritual is an agreement of participation. And engaging with material is a medium to access the inaccessible. With this set of principles, audiences were free to reframe the work through any lens—artistically, mystically, ontologically, or even politically.

Upacara Cemar Tapak (Ceremony of Stained Feet) in conjunction with Sorga Rawa (Bog Paradise) exhibition at The Back Room, Kuala Lumpur.

Rumah Batas, Kuala Lumpur.

You established Rumah Batas in 2024, which has collaborated with brands like ANAABU through an installation. Rumah Batas has also hosted an “extension exhibition” of your solo Ruh Geluh that was originally held at TAKSU, Kuala Lumpur. Could you describe what you hope to do with this space, and the ways you wish to see it grow?

Before I see Rumah Batas as a creative or business establishment, I want to see it first and foremost as a home, a house, and a dwelling. These intentions still hold true today. With future and upcoming public programmes, releases, and collaborative work, I hope it does not exhaust its essence as a home.

Rumah Batas is activated by being a living space, hosting guests, having a cookout, doing house chores, and all the daily mundane things. Those are actually the most crucial parts.

Baloh Tembuni by Rumah Batas for ANAABU Kedai Fizikal, Kuala Lumpur, 2024.

Do you make a living completely off being an artist? If not, could you share what other types of work you take on to supplement your income? Do these activities also inform/ affect your practice?

Most of my income comes from being an artist, through selling artworks, gallery commissions, and occasionally grants. A big portion of that ends up going straight back into my practice.

Despite having a relatively simple lifestyle, I actually have an appetite for big risks, and I invest a lot into my practice. Sometimes, I need to take on alternative projects to keep things moving. I have been lucky to work with various entities from different backgrounds—fashion, music, architecture, and interior design. I see those as opportunities to expand my skill set and understanding. They provide room for me to unfold my truth as a creative being.

It is not an easy career to sustain. Putting myself in this situation pushes me to be a dynamic person. Everything I decide to do becomes religion.

Who has been a mentor or an important artistic influence, and why?

I do not speak about this enough since I struggle to express gratitude and appreciation towards people. But deep down, I hold that appreciation close.

If there is one person I should mention, it would be Dr. Fuad Arif. I was sharpening my teeth under his mentorship through a student–lecturer relationship for a couple of years. He introduced me to many ideas, and we ended up sharing a deep interest in post-minimalism, continental philosophy, architecture, and the eastern aesthetic philosophy of wabi-sabi.

He has his own space called The Goose, which has influenced me to establish my house-oriented project, Rumah Batas.

What was one important piece of advice you were given?

I do not take advice. But I pay very close attention to the people I look up to: their practice, the thought behind their work, and how they navigate their careers as a whole. What they do outweighs any advice they could give.

Installation view at holes group exhibition at The Back Room, Kuala Lumpur of W. Rajaie, The Guts, 2023, cow dung, 22cm x 8cm x 490cm.

Could you share your favourite art space or gallery in Malaysia? Why are you drawn to that space and what does it offer to you or your practice?

I do not visit galleries that much. Going to galleries is basically work for an artist, so I would rather spend my free time doing something else. Most of the time, I visit exhibitions that genuinely intrigue me, regardless of the gallery.

As an artist, The Back Room has provided a healthy amount of artistic freedom. It gives me space to tap into my concept-driven practice, even if the result is still a big void. I think that kind of opportunity is crucial for emerging artists to grow and move forward. I personally think we have good chemistry. And chemistry is science, and science is truth (people say that, not me).

Are there any upcoming exhibitions/projects that you would like to share?

I have a few things coming up this year, but right now I am focused on refurbishing and building a new studio on a small durian farm somewhere in Gombak. It is a tiny wooden hut, originally made for a farm keeper. 

At the moment, I find myself in an interesting transition. I need to work from my current home studio at Rumah Batas since I left my old studio in Shah Alam earlier this year. For those familiar with my work, it is usually robust and crude, and all of that is a mere crystallisation of the continuous chaotic mess that usually happens in my studio.

Working in a house setting, where I have to maintain a certain level of order and cleanliness, requires discipline and rigidity. That is somewhat reflected in my recent practice. I plan to present this ongoing work, mostly study pieces, in an open studio at my place very soon.

Hopefully, it brings in some funding to push the new studio project forward. It might be a slow journey to see this new space taking shape, but I am excited to see how this new environment will influence my practice and future body of work.