The first time I got to know Haz Yusup was back in 2019. That was when she was part of the residency programme under Rumah Seni Selangor (RusSel). She was one of three artists selected for that cohort alongside Khairul Ehsani Sapari and Fadhli Ariffin.
I was the co-curator for that cohort, alongside Nazrul Hamzah. That was when I first encountered her figurative paintings. In her works, the figures often had their heads covered either with a piece of cloth or a sheet of aluminium foil.
A graduate of Manchester School of Art in 2013, Haz is a figurative artist whose works often explore themes of romance, tragedy, femininity and intergenerational emotional trauma.
If one looks at her practice over the years, from her residency exhibition SisaRasa up until her recent solo exhibition Mother’s Daughter, the subject matter remains remarkably consistent. The figures, the emotions and the themes continue to return. Yet there is one subtle shift that I find interesting.
The heads are now visible.
When looking at her earlier works, the figures often appeared with their heads obscured, cropped, turned away, or hidden from view. This could be seen during her residency exhibition as well as in her first solo exhibition. The body was present, but the individual remained partially concealed.
In her more recent works, however, the faces begin to emerge.
When I look at this shift, I cannot help but wonder why.
I had the opportunity to ask Haz a few questions for this article and from her responses, two ideas stood out to me: visibility and compassion.
As a curator, I find myself reading her paintings less as exercises in figurative painting and more as investigations into visibility. Not visibility in the conventional sense of exposure, recognition, or career milestones. Haz is already well-established as one of Malaysia's notable female figurative painters.
Rather, I am interested in visibility as an emotional condition.
This question appears repeatedly throughout her responses. When reflecting on her younger self, Haz admits that she once overlooked her own truth because she was afraid of being truly seen. She speaks of limiting herself in order to fit within the expectations of an art community.
Years later, during a difficult period in her life, she came across a photograph of herself at seven years old in London, the trip that first sparked her interest in figurative art. Since then, she has found herself moving in a direction where she wants to make that younger version of herself fall in love with art again and again.
What strikes me is that this is not merely an act of remembrance. It is an act of compassion.
Compassion, in fact, appears throughout her answers. When asked about common misunderstandings surrounding her work, Haz notes that many viewers interpret the nudity in her paintings as purely erotic or hyper-sexual. Yet her response is not defensive. Instead, she writes that it takes growth and compassion to truly understand another person's reality.
That statement feels significant.
Visibility alone is not enough. To be seen does not automatically mean to be understood.
Perhaps this is where compassion enters the conversation. The gradual appearance of the face in her paintings is not simply about revealing identity. It is also about inviting empathy. The figures become more visible, but they also become more human, more specific and more knowable.
Viewed through this lens, Haz's practice is not only about romance, femininity, tragedy, or trauma. It is about the difficult process of acknowledging oneself and extending that same understanding towards others.
Visibility may be the thread that runs through her practice, but compassion is what gives that visibility meaning.
When I asked Haz what comes next, her answer caught me by surprise.
"To live like I'm in a rom-com movie, hahaha. It's basically just believing that everything will turn out great. Plus, my career of choice makes for an interesting main character. Don't you think so? :)"
I laughed when I read it.
Yet the more I think about it, the more it feels connected to everything that came before: the willingness to be seen, the compassion extended towards oneself and the belief that healing is possible.
Perhaps that is what her paintings have been moving towards all along.
Not an escape from reality, but the possibility of finding hope within it.
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