A bronze sculpture by Amanullah Haiderzad currently on view at Haiderzad Museum of Modern Art in Kabul, Afghanistan.

I press the button firmly, shifting quickly to the side, take my phone out and glance at the screen — it's 12:28 pm, perfect timing.

In the elevator, I am joined by a young boy, his mother, and a man with his dog. They are not related, but I could easily infer that they knew each other, or at least the boy and the dog seemed to have met before. Neighbors, probably.

As I look for a doorbell, my knuckles instantly gravitate to the wooden frame. I barely rest my hand in my pocket when the door opens, and I see the kind smile of a short, white-haired man in a gentle voice muttering, khush amadi, "welcome."

After our brief customary greetings that felt as if we had known each other for years, I sat down on the couch while Haiderzad disappeared to his tiny kitchen in the corner in search of glasses. In his brief absence, I glanced around his modest apartment. From the Afghan rug on the floor to the stacks of books, photographs sitting next to the TV set, and his works hanging on the walls, my eyes could not rest still in the maximalism of the decor, reminiscent of many living rooms back home. Ushering a moment of personal reflection, in that what Haiderzad had prepared was not only familiar but also a reminder of all that I had come to miss by not returning to Kabul for more than a year.

It was a hot summer day as I stepped out of the Art Students League in New York to take a break from the canvas I had stared at for hours. I took my phone out and began typing a message to the Facebook profile under his name, introducing myself and asking if we could meet. I had spent months trying to find a connection to Haiderzad through Afghans I knew in the city, and none seemed to be in contact or even know of him, so this became my last resort.

With the summer heat long gone and the chills of November around, months from my initial message to Haiderzad, his name suddenly popped up on my phone with "thanks for your message, are you in New York?" followed by a thumbs-up emoji. After exchanging numbers, we had a quick conversation on the phone, during which he graciously invited me over for lunch that following Sunday. Though I now lived hours away, I immediately accepted.

Haiderzad in his apartment. Photo: Muheb Esmat

As we briefly sat on the couch, talking about our separate journeys to New York, Haiderzad vividly recalled a memory from his early years in the United States. Working a random job to make ends meet, he accidentally ran into a sculpture exhibition at the Lincoln Center. On his walk home, tears began to flow down his face, thinking not only about his fate but also the state of the arts in his home country. Arguably, one of the leading modern sculptors in Kabul now roamed New York's streets as an unknown figure in exile. The thought of such an abrupt identity loss and sacrifice is achingly painful, yet is the stark reality of many Afghan artists of his generation who left the country searching for survival at the cost of everything they had ever built and dreamt of doing.

I offered to help prepare the table for lunch, but in typical Afghan hospitality, Haiderzad insisted that I do not move and gave me a catalog to look through. He had prepared one of the dishes that I most missed from Home, the famous Qabili Palau (rice cooked with raisins and carrots) with sides of Kofta (meatballs) and Banjan (eggplant). As we sat, I asked him about his museum in Kabul and what it took to make that project happen. In the next hour or so, I was given a brief window into the fascinating story that makes Haiderzad. Born in 1939, Haiderzad graduated from Habibya High School in Kabul. He then received a prestigious government scholarship in 1960 to study fine arts in Rome. It was here that he learned to work with both marble and metal, creating powerful forms that thread beautifully between abstract and realistic figures —forming a new sculptural language that merged the historical and modern sensibilities of Afghan society.

Haiderzad working on his marble sculpture in Italy. Photo: Afghanpedia.com

Upon returning from Rome, Haiderzad began teaching art courses as part of the literature department at Kabul University before eventually founding a separate department dedicated to the fine arts. When the communist regime came into power through a military coup in 1978, it instigated a campaign to imprison and even kill dissident academics. Through whispers, Haiderzad found out that he was part of a group of intellectuals that the regime was targeting. Fearing for his life, the artist fled the country for Pakistan before migrating to the United States. To cope with the unfathomable pains of exile and the unfamiliar city and culture that he now calls Home, Haiderzad continued to make works and even ventured into new styles. He made a series of abstract calligraphic sculptures that the Queens Museum and the Silvermine Art Center would later exhibit.

A concrete sculpture inspired by the Buddhist frescoes in Bamiyan, 1967. Photo: Arthur Paul Afghanistan collection

Circling back to my question, Haiderzad recalled his early enthusiasm for moving all his works back to Afghanistan once the Taliban regime fell in 2001. Funded with the help of an Afghan entrepreneur living in New Jersey, Haiderzad had sent his entire body of work, comprising sculpture, painting, and medals, to Kabul with the promise of being given a space to establish a museum dedicated to his life long career. What unfolded, however, was much the contrary. From the customs authorities who recklessly abandoned his work for numerous days under the sun to his former students objecting to the idea of creating a gallery space in the confines of the fine arts department, to eventually being offered multiple rooms in an old palace shared with the Ethnography Museum --Haiderzad's oeuvre struggled to find a welcoming home. His tiring journey in giving back to his country and sharing his career's worth of works with his fellow Afghans had been equally frustrating as it was rewarding.

Installation view of Haiderzad's works at Haiderzad Museum of Modern Art in Kabul. 2019

I quickly glanced at my phone -- it was 2:30 pm. Though I knew my train was departing in half an hour, it was still hard to utter the words I had to leave. I could have sat there and listened to Haiderzad for days, but I knew that there would be more chances to come. After multiple selfies on his iPad, we said our goodbyes, and I rushed to the elevator. I left with not only a glimpse into Haiderzad's life in his modest Manhattan apartment but also a deeper appreciation for an artist who has spent close to six decades making art in the face of the most tumultuous circumstances that life has thrown at him.

Installation view of Haiderzads works at Haiderzad Museum of Modern Art in Kabul. 2019

MUHEB ESMAT