Multidisciplinary artist Dhan Illiani gets candid about her struggles with societal expectations as she stands at the crossroads, teetering between the desire to be heard and the need to be understood.

Head in the clouds yet her feet shackled to the ground. Dhan Illiani, affectionately known as Dhani, is the latest in a long lineage of culture’s tortured artists. Her body of work, relentless in its pursuit of examining the female footprint, feels like a fever dream you resent waking up from. Effortlessly traversing across fine art mediums—conceptual photography, performance art, and installations—the 28-year-old bares her unfiltered inner thoughts with every undertaking.

Dhani’s art practice is a continuous exploration of self, in identity and in faith. It is a notion as exciting as the first stroke of a brush upon a blank canvas. A world of possibilities unfolds at the tips of her fingers. Her work is as inimitable as it is unpredictable—but therein lies the conundrum. The mercurial nature of her art makes her a boundless entity that cannot be confined to any existing mould, which frustrates many whose worldview makes little sense without this clear distinction.

To put the pieces together, however jagged they may be, is to realise that the peculiarity of this multidisciplinary artist is merely a confluence of her lived experiences. But in the days before the world interjected with its clattering chorus, not unlike an irritant thrusted upon a mollusc in a vicious quest for precious pearls, Dhani was only a child whose imagination bloomed at the hands of her loving parents. Creativity, as it turns out, runs in the family.

"My late mother used to sew all these interesting garments and doll me up," she says, adding that she would soon find a creative outlet of her own in drawing, recalling anime-like illustrations that took up most of her sketchbook. Her appreciation for fabrics was spurred on by her father who would bring home gorgeous textiles from distant shores. “I loved feeling them in my hands, being covered in them, and seeing my mom create from them,” she shares.

END OF BEGINNING

Her inclination for sartorial artistry grew over the years. But assisting her sister, stylist to the stars Haida Yusof, in editorial photo shoots gave her a rude awakening she never knew she needed. “I have developed a love-hate relationship with fashion,” she says. “I hate seeing how those who want to make it in the industry have to hustle, to the point where their wellbeing is put in jeopardy because it’s so unsustainable and toxic. There’s this whole ecosystem that preys on the labour of creative workers. It’s not the sort of environment that I want to thrive in,” she adds.

Dhani then recounts some of the encounters she’s had where she felt like her identity was treated as though it was another trade item, a number in the ledger. “I don’t identify as a hijabi, but because I tend to be quite flexible about wearing it, I can be tokenised very easily,” she says. Her grievances echo the many troubling accounts over the years of brands hijacking one’s selfhood for a pretence of inclusivity. “They leech off your uniqueness,” she adds.

The conversation naturally shifts to her resolve in doing away with her hijab, which has raised more than a few eyebrows, especially among her young following. It was a decision that she did not take lightly—she admits that there was “a deep fear” in taking the step—noting that it had become part of her identity and faith. “It’s the expectations that society puts on you; they are almost impossible to shoulder. I’m only human,” a hint of defeat hangs over her answer.

Dhani, retracing the invisible lines of her past, shares that her journey started not with contentment but a compulsion. She was shamed into wearing the hijab. It began as a shield to fend off teenage boys’ taunting and teasing when a photo of her in dance leotards—she was once an aspiring ballerina—somehow made the rounds. It took her years before she found a way to reconceptualise the headscarf, to make it her own, outside of the male gaze.

GOD’S OWN COUNTRY

But what used to be empowering to her had become anything but. “I felt like it was taken away from me. It was no longer about my choice of connecting to my maker,” she says, adding that the pressure of being a role model especially weighs down on her. “So much of myself was identified as just a piece of fabric. I had to figure out ways to relate to it in ways that I feel my faith can personify,” she explains.

Removing the hijab, according to her, felt a lot like ego death. “How is it that I feel much more modest without it than with it? The element that was supposed to keep me humble seemed to have the opposite effect,” she contemplates. Refusing to play into the narrative of someone else’s making, Dhani has allowed herself to sit with the very question, giving herself the permission and space to figure it out on her own.

So it probably comes as no surprise that Niyat has been noted as a creation of great significance to her. Presented at the National Art Gallery last year, the installation piece saw Dhani waving the white flag in surrender, freeing herself from the unbearable burden of expectation. It was a thought-provoking introspection that distilled her experiences into a simple question of intent: what exactly does she want to convey in her art?

“Some people thought the exhibition was about my intention of donning the hijab, but then I went and relinquished it,” she lets out a hearty chuckle. Using hung head coverings, tattooed leather fabrics, and a sketched-out slab of concrete, she condensed the unique yet universal struggles faced by Muslim women in the country. “I wanted people to understand these different aspects of us. Do not reduce us to fit into your narrow boxes of morality,” she says.

ART IMITATING LIFE

But getting that point across was a challenge in itself. Dhani, despite the many feathers in her cap, still suffers from the sneers of sceptics. The nature of her practice remains an easy target. “It’s easy to dismiss my practice due to the lack of understanding that fashion can be practised critically,” she shrugs off her naysayers. “People think it's just glitz and glamour; unserious. But it's a lot of work. It can be very critical and political,” she adds.

The constant dismissal, in reality, induces an adverse effect that is far greater than a bruised ego. It exacerbates the deep-seated issues within an industry still marred by gender politics. It throws her deeper into the jaws of misogyny as if she hasn’t already been chewed up by it. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the young artist opens up about the ordeal of navigating through the problematic behaviours of men in power.

“I have tasted the bitter luck of working with people who would use their influence and my work as a way to gain access to me,” she says, recalling the moments when the art world’s power brokers had used business formality as a preface to conceal their true intention. “They would reach out to me and ask for a meeting to discuss potential projects, but then I’d find out that the only reason I was in that meeting was so that they could ask me out to dinner,” she adds.

Some of her peers have been implicated in much seedier situations. In an attempt to level the playing field, they would sometimes convene to discuss their experiences with certain curators or collectors, hoping to find the right way to sidestep the unpleasantness the next time they find themselves in the same predicament. “We can't be vocal about it. We’re talking about big names backed by the system here. It is us who would bear the burden of outing them,” she concedes.

Dhani has had a roaring 2020s. From her razor-sharp fashion commentary on overconsumption in ‘The Big Waste’ at REXKL to her performance art piece in close collaboration with the Semai community in ‘Hik Bersamak: Indigenous Pop!’ at the 59th Venice Biennale, the artist has established herself as the new force in the local art scene. So it goes without saying that the industry savants and spectators are clamouring for what she has in store as we enter the second half of the decade.

To this, she offers an unexpectedly wholesome response: nothing. “I have come to realise that the most important thing right now is my health, so I’m putting myself first,” she says. Staring at the remnants of her past steps, Dhani has come to an epiphany that she has spent her formative years weaving aspiration into every waking moment, never pausing for anything less than greatness. “Your ambition should not be outdoing you,” her voice tender yet trenchant.

QUIET LUXURY

Further proving her commitment to self-betterment, she who is a member of the Women’s National Ice Hockey team has decided to sit out the SEA Games this December. “The fact that athletes have a short shelf life doesn’t bother me. I never intended to play competitively,” she says nonchalantly. “I think it is important to remember to take care of yourself in a world that keeps on telling you to run yourself dry,” she adds.

But standing still does not mean standing idly. Dhani knows exactly which direction she is going in once her serene interlude concludes. “I want to focus on having a more cohesive body of work, so I’m going to be a little bit more vicious in going for what I want,” she shares. Her next big move will also see the artist formulating an art practice that’s larger in scale. “There’s nothing solid yet, but it'll come up. That's usually how my works come to be,” she flashes a hopeful smile.