Hamiduzzaman Khan: A sculptor who painted with form, light and memory

Sometimes, life takes a turn so unexpected that it reshapes everything that comes after. For Professor Hamiduzzaman Khan, that turn came in the form of an accident—one that would unknowingly lead him towards becoming one of Bangladesh's most beloved and pioneering sculptors.

It was the late 1960s. A medical trip to Scotland for treatment brought him face to face with the public sculptures of Henry Moore at the National Museum of Scotland. Something stirred inside him. 

Until that moment, sculpture had been just another medium. But standing in front of Moore's colossal, emotive forms, Hamiduzzaman saw what sculpture could be—a language of silence and space.

From there, his journey continued across Europe. In London, he wandered through the British Museum, the National Gallery, and the Tate. There, he fell in love with John Constable's pastoral landscapes. 

In Italy, Michelangelo's work overwhelmed him. And in Paris, the sculptural forms of Montmartre and Montparnasse and the works of Rodin, Matisse and Picasso left deep impressions. He returned to Dhaka changed—not just in body, but in vision.

On 20 July, Hamiduzzaman Khan passed away at the age of 79 at United Hospital in Dhaka. He had been battling pneumonia and dengue and was on life support before doctors declared him dead at 10:30 am.

The art world mourns the loss of a quiet giant. His body was brought to the Faculty of Fine Arts at Dhaka University—where he once taught generations of students—and was laid to rest after Asr prayers at the university's Central Mosque. His wife, fellow sculptor Ivy Zaman, had earlier shared that his condition had been critical for days. A medical board had been closely monitoring him.

But to truly know Hamiduzzaman Khan, one had to listen to the way he spoke about his art. Always soft-spoken, always contemplative, he gave rare but revealing glimpses into the mind of a man who saw beauty in the ordinary and the overlooked.

In 2023, his exhibition Riverine offered such a window. The show captured the fading charm of Dhaka's rivers—the Buriganga, the Shitalakshya, and the Turag—through delicate watercolours.

"I was mostly travelling by boat," he told us then, eyes twinkling. "Their serenity simply enchanted me. I thought, why not express what I see and feel by painting them on the canvas?"

He knew these rivers weren't what they used to be. "The city has grown so fast and without planning. The rivers have changed, lost their vastness. But I still see beauty there. They are still full of life and art." 

In one painting titled Boats, he portrayed the Buriganga with the city in the background. "The boats," he said, "are what breathe life into the river. As they float outside the concrete city, they look magnificent."

Hamiduzzaman's watercolours spoke in the same way his sculptures did: with subtlety and strength. His use of minimal detailing in landscapes and figures left space for viewers to bring their own memories to the work. 

"This is expressionism," he once said, pointing to a painting of a cattleman in the hills of Chattogram. "There isn't much detailing—just impressions."

And yet those impressions lingered long after you looked away.

In another deeply personal exhibition at Galleri Kaya, he shared a story that felt almost mythic. As a young student in the 1960s, while on another trip to London for health reasons, Hamiduzzaman spent his days sketching quietly in a small gallery. When it was time to leave, he entrusted his paintings to the gallery, not knowing if he'd ever return.

Decades passed. The paintings were forgotten.

Then one day, Goutam Chakraborty—who was curating an exhibition of Hamiduzzaman's early works—received a call from a friend in London. At an auction house, among old art lots, he had found watercolours signed by Hamiduzzaman Khan. 

Goutam bid on them without hesitation. When he finally showed them to Hamiduzzaman, the artist was stunned. "Had it not been for that auction," he said quietly, "I probably would have never seen these paintings of mine ever again."

Those recovered works, raw and emotive, traced back to a time before recognition, before fame. But even then, his voice as an artist was clear.

Over a career spanning five decades, Hamiduzzaman Khan created some of the most recognisable sculptures in the country—Songshoptok at Jahangirnagar University, Hamla at Sylhet Cantonment, Jagroto Bangla in Brahmanbaria, Freedom at the Krishibid Institute, and Shantir Payra at TSC. His 1988 sculpture Steps, placed in the Seoul Olympic Park, brought him international acclaim.

For his contributions to sculpture, he was awarded the Ekushey Padak in 2006 and received a fellowship from Bangla Academy in 2023. Besides these honours, he also received numerous awards from local and international institutions and organisations, including Bangladesh Shilpakala Academy.

He was a founding figure of Bangladesh's modern sculpture movement, building on the path opened by Novera Ahmed. But his contribution went beyond form. He brought emotion, story, and silence into steel and stone. His metal sculptures were abstract, yet intimate—structured yet full of movement. His paintings were gentle reminders that even in a rapidly urbanising world, nature and memory still hold space.

He was also a mentor, a dreamer, a builder. In Gazipur, he founded the Hamiduzzaman Sculpture Park—the first of its kind in the country, dedicated entirely to sculpture.

At every exhibition, every conversation, one walked away feeling a little wiser. He spoke little, but every word held weight. Every brushstroke, every curve in metal, every empty space—meant something.

Professor Hamiduzzaman Khan is survived by his wife Ivy Zaman and their two sons, Zubair Zaman Khan Copper and Zarif Hamiduzzaman. He leaves behind a legacy not just etched in stone and colour, but in the minds of those he touched—with his work, his words, and his unwavering love for art.