Yusuf Misdaq, Writer


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Narayan Interview Pt. 1

Upon the Release of Yusuf Misdaq’s 2nd novel, ‘NARAYAN’

An interview with John Kaena, Hawaii, March 2013,
Edited by John Kaena, Apr. ’13


Well, first of all, thank you for allowing me into this amazing world of Narayan. I feel, as someone who studied in London for a few years myself, that this novel is really true to the experience. Especially the Winter where this takes place, I just read it as though I were back in London. I never thought I could miss it, especially that cold London which you depict here, in January and February, but I even felt that way as I was reading it, that there was something magical about that tough time of the year, which is something I’d never felt before.

Thank you! That’s really nice of you isn’t it. Thanks that’s nice. I’m glad it brought all that back.

So, since I just read it I will add that I wasn’t too well prepared for the ending, was not too sure what or how to feel about it, without giving too much away, how would you sum up the ending?

"Narayan" - available now as an e-book from Amazon

Well it’s fair to bring it up. But you’re sounding as though there is some huge fact or act that the ending hinges upon, but I see it more as a season or period of time into which the book evolves. Because the style remains somewhat similar throughout, but I guess what we are “looking at” towards the end of the novel is different than what we’re seeing or noticing at the start of it.

I was on the plane the other day and I had this thought about the book as I woke up: I just realized that this novel is, essentially, a sponge that slowly absorbs water. The sponge is the external realities, the surroundings, the observations, the “stuff,” for lack of a better word, that surrounds Narayan’s life. The water, on the other hand, represents pure essence, the abstract is-ness of Narayan, his soul if you like, and the soul of things around him.

And so, this is the thought I had – Narayan the novel can be seen as one long, steady absorption. The sponge of external reality slowly becomes heavier and heavier as the reality of the water overtakes it, overflowing it. This man’s inner being, his dreams, his tenderness and the fear of his loneliness, all of this begins to sort of take over. I think that’s what the ”ending” shows us.

Right. And I’m sorry to start our talk with the ending, but it just really stuck with me. As far as the novel as a whole, I guess the catchphrases like ‘pulls no punches,’ and, “uncompromising,’ really came into mind for me, as far as the way that you kind of force us to stay in this one place, focusing almost entirely on this one life. It’s meditative and beautiful, especially with your eloquent descriptions and so on, but also, as I said, it’s very uncompromising too. Just wondered what your thoughts were on that aspect?

Well, why not? Why not be uncompromising? What are we scared of, the truth? Haha, well, yes, in fact we are, if I can answer my own question. We very much are scared of that. People, and I don’t mean you, but we, generally, are used to more of a dance around things. Flirtations. We’re ill-equipped for a full-on ‘HERE IS THE TRUTH’ style work of art, even if no artist could ever really give you the truth capital T, but where we’re at as a society, we have our heads in the sand so to speak, so much so that even an artist who says he’s making an attempt at the giving you ‘the truth’ will give a lot of people cause to look elsewhere. They’ll just look the other way. We’ve dumbed down our hopes now, and even if we acknowledge the existence of that kind of art, we tend to attack the people who try to make it. We think they must be phonies somehow and we’re filled with suspicion. So you lose your track, and I’ve lost my track haha.

“Observational documentary is an art that rests on access, on the people you film, on their nature in front of the camera, as well as on their permission for you to film them, what they will and won’t allow you to film… Narayan, if he existed, is the kind of person who would never have granted me that access.”

No, that’s so true, I feel. And what would you say about the way this novel was, like I said, quite uncompromising in its approach?

Oh right. Well, I don’t believe anyone’s going to read a more real novel than this, but the thing is, it was hard for me to write it too. It came out unwillingly, sometimes kicking and screaming, if I can use that cliche. I mean, I would often feel like I had been kidnapped after a two hour session of frenzied typing. I looked at what had come out afterwards on the screen and I said, ”what is it?” I was in awe, inside of the feeling of awe haha, but also awe-struck.

I guess at the end that is another one of the main “vibes” I felt, yes. But that awe or grand feeling kind of dawns on you slowly, and I guess in many other respects it is quite a regular novel.

Yes, well I give my readers a gentle entry, I make it as easy for them as I can at every stage, at every increase in the sponges weight. I had to do it that way because it was hard for me to write this stuff too, like I said. It was hard to face what I faced when I wrote it, and you’ll read that as the novel develops. But yeah, it is easy to read too, right? The chapters are short, and there it is.

So, big question: What is Narayan about?

Ha! Okay. Well, in some ways it’s the story of a simple, beautiful human being who works in a ticket office for South-West Trains, which is exactly what the blurb should say, really. And in other ways, if we’re talking philosophically, I guess the whole project is just one big “NO,” that happens to have a story attached to it. I guess I can see now, since it was a while ago that I wrote it, that this novel was basically my refusal to accept the life I was seeing.

In what sense?

Just the inhumanity of our lives. The life I was living, in and around London, a commuter, and generally my experiences of cities, what they force us to become, I think I was basically saying “no” to that. It was my way of being able to register my voice. Not in a way that will change anything maybe, not like an idiot revolutionary who screams in the streets, but just, a rejection of something in ones heart. An expression of hatred for something vile and evil.

Okay, but what is this vile and evil thing?

Well, I was, like all city-dwellers I think, forced to ignore many aspects of life. It’s cruel. I’m talking about what cities turn us into… Or modern life. Or technology maybe. And I had to move fast when I was in that city-mode. Being from Brighton*, I wasn’t as used to that fast-pace. I had to purposefully forget that everyone around me could be my best friend, had to hold myself back when I wanted to talk to strangers. But each time, I was still registering my complaints. Silent protests. Sometimes you think them in your head consciously, you think, “Oh, I wish I had time to stop for that person,” you feel bad that you didn’t respond to the smile of that kind lady who randomly smiled at you, you worry how she must have felt after seeing your face not respond to her smile, and you wonder whether or not your lack of responding with a proper smile in some way depressed her and made her think that there was no point in smiling to anyone ever again… You wished you had been quicker to give money to someone, you wish you hadn’t been shy about this, you wish you had been more bold about that, you wish you could have given more… So for me, and for the people I observed, and for the lack of mercy, the end of politeness, for all of it, I kept on registering these silent protests in my heart. I think most of them were subconscious.

And so I suppose when I left London, after a year, it all came out, literally starting on one day in a train. These [characters] are the beautiful strangers that I never got the chance to meet. They’re the innocent people I hope, and know, exist. I was able to hold them for a while, shine a light onto them and illuminate them for a moment. For a few months.

Speaking of moments, there are quite a few really funny and light moments here too that were really touching.

One of the nicest comments someone gave me about my album a few weeks back was that each time it got quite deep, it then went to a silly place a few moments later, or vice versa, so it was flirting between lightness and heaviness. And I liked that, it’s not conscious but it’s good when it happens, the two complement each other well in art, it’s like having salt and pepper on a table. Sometimes reality is just sweet.

Great. And the idea of ‘reality’ actually leads just as smoothly into my next question, which is: why did you give the book the subtitle, ‘An Observational Documentary’? This is a novel, after all, so what gives with this mislabel?

I think I got confused. I had just finished my MA in Documentary Filmmaking when this novel began flooding out. So I had spent the year doing that very intensely**, both learning, watching and mostly practicing. Observational documentary is an art that rests on access, on the people you film, on their nature in front of the camera, as well as on their permission for you to film them, what they will and won’t allow you to film… Narayan, if he existed, is the kind of person who would never have granted me that access. I could never have gotten that close, and filmed those scenes, filmed him sleeping, filmed him sick, all the things I would love to have done as a documentary filmmaker with a person like Narayan. But he does exist, and so I just wrote him as a novel instead of making a documentary about him.

Does he really exist?

Do you? … I don’t think I do. And who does exist, really?


I would say yes. I would have to say yes. The reason I am so happy with this novel is that I was able to dissipate into the essence of things when I wrote it. I wasn’t happy or sad at that time, but I was able to shift into transparency for a while and document something important. It’s a struggle of course, the self always pushes for its place at the peak, but then reality pushes back.

You’re referring to the switching narrative voices? Because you, the author, actually play some part in this novel, we hear from you every now and then.

Not just that though. I mean, the self pushes for its importance to be acknowledged in every moment of our life, forget novels, in every way you could imagine. And then reality pushes back… You’re walking down the street, and you think you want to eat, and your mind goes down a very narrow path after that thought. But if you push that thought away for a moment and just focus on the trees swaying above, you’ll feel happier, even if it only lasts a few moments. One of those acts, the first one, is the self pushing for its satisfaction, whereas the second one is a stepping stone to becoming one with everything. That’s what I mean when I say reality. And if you put a capital R for reality then you could call ‘Reality’ God too, it’s the same thing really. So I suppose, even though we fight against Reality and try to satisfy our selfish desires, in the end, Reality has trees and mountains and clouds and the ocean on its side. It’s got more firepower, so it has to win in the end. So, our existence is reminded of its unimportance through contact with these larger realities, nature etc…

But listening to that reminder is another thing. I mean, we have to listen to the reminder too!

Well, yes of course. That’s the struggle. The reminders remind us, and then we have to live accordingly. Mostly we don’t, we get the reminder, but we carry on doing silly things. But that’s okay, we’re human, it’s a slow process right? But still, ultimately, we have to aim for non-existence. Then we’ll be happy. When we look up at the trees or the clouds, we get a glimpse of that happiness, the final happiness.

Waikiki Beach, Honolulu, Hawaii / March 2013

Waikiki Beach, Honolulu, Hawaii / March 2013

* Brighton, beach town on the South-East coast of England
** MA degrees in the UK are more commonly one year intensive programs]

Narayan Interview Part. 2


Is our final aim something or somewhere that is ‘truly loving,’ as in Narayan’s dream?

It doesn’t seem loving always. But I believe, and this is just my opinion of my experience, but I believe that… Honesty to the experience of your own life tells you that it is. It is ultimately loving. I mean each person, looking at their own life. Are you still alive? That’s it, end of discussion, love and mercy are here. It’s wow. People talk about the indifference of the world. It’s always in vogue to be cynical, and for cop-out scientists who operate on lower intellectual levels, and for all the lay people who like to emulate them and talk with pseudo-scientific references, it’s just so accepted for them to talk about the randomness of the universe and such, and actually funnily enough this echoes something that Stanley Kubrick said, about the universe being indifferent. Now I love his films more than anyone, but beyond or behind that seeming indifference, there is an infinity of order. I think if you look at Kubrick’s last film (perhaps anyof his films) you would see that he was more than aware of that aspect of existence. Maybe you could call it the higher aspect.

“Here in the West it seems that the artists overtook most of the spiritual leaders in terms of spirituality”

But people don’t go deeper into that aspect, that “order” all that much, they stick to their first observation of chaos and insist upon that. They insist upon insisting, even. It’s easier. And to be fair, a lot of the spiritual and religious avenues of today are severely lacking, so what option do inquiring people have? You have to go somewhere far to find it. Here in the West it seems that the artists overtook most of the spiritual leaders in terms of spirituality, at least for the last century. So everyday people find safety in thinking of the universe as random and indifferent, and their art, which is their religion, has been fully backing them up on that. That’s how it’s been since I was a kid, the most accolade-d films and editing styles have mostly all been supporting that world-view.

But beyond that, beyond the chaos, it’s the suggestion of order that is the true ‘unknown quantity’ – and that is what is truly scary and risky to acknowledge. Narayan has a thorny relationship with this himself in the first half of the book, well in most of the book in fact. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, he gets upset even when the possibility of it comes up in everyday conversation.

People get like that. I think of someone as great as Terrance Malick**, after making ‘The Tree of Life’ – which is a masterpiece, and the people’s reaction to it was really one of those wonderful things that reveals so much about where a society is at. Those who disliked it will try to play it off as if it’s all a matter of taste, but really, for 90% of the intelligent people who disliked it, it has nothing to do with taste. So many of these laughable reviews by so-called journalists or film critics who had the balls to call ‘Tree of Life,’ preachy or pretentious…

I didn’t see that film yet, but I heard a lot of mixed reviews from friends.

Well, not to say anything against any of your friends who didn’t like it, but I just find that people are so scared of the suggestion of beauty and its relationship to order and concepts like God or the afterlife, that they will lash out at any and all attempts to depict it, and use as many words as they can invent to throw at it. All because it’s uncomfortable, it makes them uncomfortable. I mean in England it’s become scientifically okay (ironically, due to bad scientists) for people to say that the afterlife and God is just a big bunch of nonsense. But no scientist possessing a shred of wisdom would say such an unscientific thing. But anyway, that’s what those reviewers will never tell you, and probably don’t even realize themselves, that they were just annoyed by a film because it touched them in a sincere place, and quite logically linked the sincerity of childhood with the spiritual yearning to know God, to see the infinite. And because people have gotten used to clinging to the intellectually un-sound ”There’s no God, it’s all a lie..” – because this film showed them that there was way more to this than they realized, they were made to feel uncomfortable. And what they conveniently failed to acknowledge is, it’s supposed to make you uncomfortable! Art has always been, at least in part, about that.

“You have to take full advantage of the abstract nature of art in order to get the same message across.”

Yes. We don’t make it easy for ourselves in today’s age, do we?

Well, I laugh when I see all these adverts in America trying to link the latest Apple device with unleashing your inner creativity and so on. Because all this technology is geared towards convenience, it’s about making us super comfortable and making things as intuitive as possible. And that limits our ability to misuse things, to be inventive ourselves, to redefine what intuitive means for each of us, as opposed to what a designer at Apple or Microsoft or Samsung thinks it has to mean for everyone. And so, going back, even if one side of art has always been about making the audience a little uncomfortable, our present society is, I think, the least equipped of all societies at handling that.

That idea of art is also reminding me of Socrates, how he made those people around him so uncomfortable with his arguments.

Exactly! And, hahaha, they killed him for it. Talk about making people uncomfortable! I love Socrates, and you know he was saying it all in plain language, that there must be an afterlife, there must be something beyond this life, he worked through it in simple and very clear logic. He was talking very simply about God and so on, it’s all there if people can just be bothered to read it. It’s funny, I sometimes think maybe we all learned from his example, all us artists that came since his time, and you’re right there’s a deep relationship between Socrates and the artists life. I think we artists, somewhere in the evolutionary chain post-Socrates, we all realized that the people around us can’t bear to hear it in plain language. You know, human kind cannot bear very much reality. So you have to take full advantage of the abstract nature of art in order to get the same message across. I mean, ultimately, no artist wants to be killed. These days they just ignore us though haha.

Interesting. I have always felt that artists and art always reach whoever they are meant to reach.

Well this is true of course. To deny that would be crazy. But when you’re an artist who is saying something that you think is fundamentally important to everyone, you still have to be dissatisfied with reaching only a few people, as my stuff mostly has to this point. I mean, an elitist will be happy to reach a few and keep on preaching to them because it suits their needs, and most people these days are pseudo-elitists, wannabes. But other than that, you want your work to reach absolutely everyone. Money comes into it too, because it’s a struggle if you’re not loaded. Struggle is struggle. You know dealing with all the media types I have to, I go through so much nonsense, but I think the only times I’ve ever lost my cool with anyone was when I felt like my art was being restricted.

[At this point Yusuf and I take a moment to look out at the Ocean before us and tuck into a little lunch and the conversation resumes in trickles]

I look at my own father, he saw Kubrick’s 2001 in the 1960’s, and he loved it, he even saw it a few times in the cinema, and when I was a kid he kept renting it out from the video shop and showing it to us, I really loved it, even if it got a bit long and boring at parts. But you know, when I got older and started to appreciate it on a deeper level, I thought about that, about the fact that he liked it so much, and I was shocked. I thought, my dad is, for all intensive purposes, quite a square guy when it comes to art, he’s more of a literal-ist, common-sense person, I mean he’s a historian, so it just shocked me how he could possibly love a film like that, that was so abstract and borderline mystical? I can’t stress enough how much of a nuts and bolts, straight up kind of guy he is in some ways. And I’ve had a lot of amazing interactions with people of previous  generations who display such a beautiful width in terms of their interests, and it’s exactly that kind of width which is so discouraged today. I really think it’s because back then, people were a lot more open to the places that art could take them than they are now. They were wider, as human beings.

Today, your opinion of something, your initial knee-jerk reaction, is so holy in your eyes, that you are considering it the whole time that you’re interacting with a piece of art. Not just considering it, but sharing those considerations. Twitter, and so on are all encouraging this quickened reaction time, this overall faster pace of life that doesn’t leave room for deeper thought, for slow, unfolding reflections and so on. And so, while you are busy phrasing and forming your first opinions, your very first reactions, getting ready to share them with your small circle of friends, any kind of deep art that evolves slowly, is going to get thrown out of the window. Because you checked out after page 4 and were too busy trying to impress everyone with your own review of that art, which is really not a review at all, but just a big boast of how clever you think you are.

Oh wow, this is really funny. Of course you’re absolutely right. But how do you link this back to the idea of our loving end?

Well, love and mercy are at the core of things, as I said, that is my experience, and my opinion. And for me, that is tied to there being an intelligence and an order to our life. When you love something, you do so for reasons, no matter how abstract they may be; there is always a reason for me loving something. I don’t love every person I meet the same way that I love my brother, for instance. The reason is, I didn’t grow up with them and see them evolve and grow in the same way that I did with my own brother. So, there’s a reason! There’s always reason…  Now when we say that the world is random, without reason or cause, and chaotic at its core, when we say at it’s essence that it is indifferent, what we’re really saying is, “I have no responsibility” – to myself or to others or the future generations. I mean, if you work your way through the logic, that’s where it has to end up. This world doesn’t care about me one way or the other, so what reason or example do I have to care about it, or the people in it? See, because we mimic. We humans mimic what we see. If we see trees, we become flexible like them and we grow and go towards light like them. And if we spend all our time with computers, we become like them. Babies mimic.

And I’ve been there. I’ve been to where I felt the world was indifferent and chaotic, it was a dark time, and a deep time, but ultimately that attitude comes from a lack of faith. Really, I mean, ‘Into Solidity‘, my second poetry book, spends much of its time in that mindset, so I really was thinking that way for a while back there.

Okay. Well, not to complain but we’ve come so far from the book, can you tell me a little more about the character of Neha, and any of the other characters that you like to elaborate on?

Well, they’re real. I can’t say anything that a million authors probably haven’t already said about their characters. They’re based on parts of people I know, sometimes they’re partly invented or idealized, sometimes they’re caricatures because sometimes we do see people as caricatures, we have to in order to make sense of life sometimes. But yeah, Neha was a real person to me. I had people to thank in this book, and I thanked them, and one of them really contributed to Neha, as did lots of the girls I went to school with and grew up around. People are just so amazing. They are the greatest resource this world has.

I’m sure I’ll be kicking myself later on, but I can’t think of anything more to add right now.

Yes, same here. Thank you very much, sorry for talking so much.

No thank you, this was really radical, and I do hope that everyone who is meant to read the novel will get that opportunity just as I did, even if it was on a screen. Narayan wasn’t what I expected, I didn’t always like where it took me even, and yet it was both challenging and easy at the same time, in a way that I really felt enhanced by it, and that’s the highest praise I give you for the novel.

Thank you man. That’s very kind. I hope that everyone reads it too, even those who aren’t meant to haha. Thanks so much for taking the time to read and for asking me all these great questions, this was my favorite interview by far.

Thanks Yusuf.

*** Terrance Malick, film director of ‘Tree of Life’ and other films.

Buy ‘Narayan’ on Amazon Kindle HERE

"Narayan" - available now as an e-book from Amazon


We are amazingly excited to announce the E-release of Yusuf’s second novel, “NARAYAN”. For those of you who have been following for a while, this book has reached mythic notoriety, since we have all heard of it and about it (notably its prestigious award nomination by Penguin) – and yet we’ve never read a single part of it, or seen the cover! Well, we’re pleased to finally fix that today… The cover (designed by Yusuf as always) looks really great and seems to capture the story and its themes well (although boo, we only get to see the ‘front’ cover, since this is the E-Book / Kindle release —the paperback is coming in May—!) The quote at the bottom of the cover is, let’s be honest, absolutely hilarious! And typical, somehow…

So, Kindle owners, get your copy today ! An interview with Yusuf on the novel is coming up in a few days, from an exotic location… Stay tuned for that…


The story of Narayan, a humble, unassuming man working in a train station ticket office, is one of urban realism, and at the same time, an exploration of man’s inner-world, taking on the mundane and the profound in one brave, poetic sweep. Set against a dreary Hounslow Winter, Yusuf Misdaq has crafted, out of almost nothing, a searing portrait of existential hardship and hope.

"Narayan" - cover design by Yusuf Misdaq for Nefisa UK

Cover design: Yusuf Misdaq, Nefisa UK


Best wishes,
Gangs of Nefisa UK, Hounslow!

PS- For clarification as we had a few confused comments – the post below this one (i.e. Butlers and the English language!) was put up as is, with no editorial comment from us, as per Yusuf’s request. It was indeed written by Yusuf Misdaq!

Service & Englishmericanisms

Who is Alfred the Butler?

Does anyone care?

He was the wise one, in all of his incantations, from the intuitive Londoner (the latest version, played Michael Caine), to the regal, upper-class and somewhat tender Michael Gough. Even the muted and socially-awkward Alfred of the campy 60’s TV series, played by Alan Napier, had a quiet dignity about him (for some reason, he reminds me of an old Indian/Pakistani grandfather from the 20’s).


Why am I writing about this as soon as I sit down? Here in lovely Fells Point, a pretty little Baltimore neighborhood. I’ve started to sometimes spell it ‘neighborhood’ now (US spelling, as opposed to neighbourhood, English standard). And what’s more, I’m starting to soften my D’s. I’m almost saying “bedder” as opposed to better. This is what happens to you when you speak to Americans all day.

On the one hand, all of this doesn’t matter one iota. If anything, it’s good, good that I am un-bonding to England (as much as one inevitably misses ones homeland) – good that I would un-bond from any nation. A fine symbol for the necessary un-bonding of men from their material surroundings. But all that is high and mighty.

In doing so, I become a nation-less, accent-less man. I also fall into other stereotypes, ever more rarefied. The Englishman in America. There is something tragic about him, especially when his accent starts slipping. I glossed over this felt phenomena very casually in my first novel, I remember a scene with a Frenchman who spoke on a talk show, with a slightly Californian accent, as if he had been in Hollywood too long. He was no longer a Frenchman, not an American, just some sort of entity, a gimmick. Yes, there is something tragic about ‘Englishman in America,’ especially when his accent is no longer English. When he loses his Englishness.

As much as it is, and should be, in fashion for English people to be slightly ashamed of their Englishness, there is still no denying that somewhere, somehow, once transplanted abroad (and in particular to America), a strand of that Englishness becomes associated with credability, and with the intellect. I can’t for the life of me understand why.


When the D’s begin to replace the T’s, one feels saggy. After all, ‘T’ is, and always will be, sharper than ‘D’. Try it, you’ll see. Even the word “Testicle,” sounds exact and pointed (when in reality it, or rather they, are anything but). On the other hand, we have dud. Dipstick. Dilute. Dangle. Dilapidated. Dutch.

All blunt, clumsy objects. All duds.


The butler is the wise one. He serves, and gives. He cares, and by way of the self-sacrifice that his profession demands of him, he is able to gain a distance, a clarity of assessment and thus sound judgement in times of crisis. A far-sightedness. A feel for things. And yet, armed with all of this wisdom, the constraints of his profession force him to hold these jewels in his heart. He will not tweet his knowledge, boast of it, or use it in any cheap way. He rarely imposes his views (although it must be said that, concordant with our societal decay in politeness and decency, ‘Alfred’ has become more and more outspoken with each generation / incarnation) either upon his master or anyone else. Rather, he contents himself to speak when asked, and he maximises his verbage by employing higher than normal ratios of wit; taking indirect and subtle avenues into difficult, thorny subjects. Again, such delicacy is reserved for those who have clarity of thought, and clarity of thought is reserved for those who are able to have the big-picture, and the big-picture, for those who do not clog up their lives with their own needs, wants and desires.

If we want to see the big picture, we must remove our selves from the mirror, for we are spending far too long in front of it, and we see little else.

Even when Alfred is forced to challenge (and therefore contend with the mighty ego of) his employer, he largely manages to get his point across without hurting or offending. If anything, we feel even more sorry for Alfred when he is forced to speak up and protest, as we saw Michael Caine’s Alfred do increasingly in the recent Batman trilogy. Why is this? Because it is a shame and a sore-sight for the eyes when the obtuse, action-packed world forces a quiet and wise person to have to shout loudly. We still respect humility and calmness; we don’t enjoy seeing it threatened.

Butler is best.

And yet, there is something in us, in all of us, that wants to be Bruce Wayne. Batman. Both.

Since he is an unattainable object, and since humility is far easier, and far more heroic (in the -big picture-) the question must become, who will step up? Or perhaps more aptly, who will step down? Step down from the high plastic throne of lies and say, “I will be a servant!”

Who has the guts to live a life out of the limelight for the vast majority of the time? For all time?

Who has the tenacity?
The testacles?
Who wants Truth more than they want



Dud or Tree?
Ding-a-ling, or trembling?

Details on upcoming interview

Taken from Ahmadyarts website:

Dialogues in Contemporary Art: John Menick and Yusuf Misdaq
Take 3 at ICI, Tuesday October 17th, 7-8:30 pm

In what promises to be yet another invigorating discussion, Ahmady brings together John Menick and Yusuf Misdaq. Two brilliant artists with very different backgrounds whose individual perspectives on artistic activity allow for the making of heartfelt works that are simultaneously process based, conceptually vigorous, and seamlessly span across mediums: writing, sound, film, and more.


Dialogues in Asian Contemporary Art

In collaboration with ArtonAir.org and Independent Curators International, Yusuf will be joining host Leeza Ahmady for a conversation on his practices and the intersections of his writing, music and visual art, as well as shedding some light on his recent (successful!) Kickstarter campaign.

Come along, October 16th at the ICI’s curatorial hub in Tribeca, NYC. More details to follow.