At the heart of Ib's life and his vision of a 'better humanity' were his wife, Datin Sim and daughter Alia (Photo: Grace Tan)
“I believe that an ‘artist’ is only a man like everyman. And everyone has an equally intriguing story to tell in the course of his becoming. My abiding version of ‘success’ is the freedom to find a way to express myself, and how to ‘know myself’ without the need to ‘perform’ for others. Success is being true to your soul. I maintain the same, simple, straightforward approach to life, without expectations or complications.” — Ibrahim Hussein
Though the late artist Datuk Ibrahim Hussein claimed, “I don’t believe in inspiration”, a sense of the magical seemed to swirl around both him and his work. He saw destiny as key to his journey, famously describing himself as the painter with “one eye”. Distinct from much of Malaysian art, Ibrahim’s early works were shaped by social and political events — notably the May 13, 1969, tragedy.
Over time, his explorations expanded into abstraction and experimentation with tools, paint and the human figure. Yet, he consistently returned to social themes, whether Palestinian self-determination, the struggles of figures such as Bandit Queen Phoolan Devi and Aung San Suu Kyi or the legacy of Pol Pot, who is depicted amid the ruins of Angkor Wat.
As part of CIMB Artober Art & Soul 2025 in Kuala Lumpur, seven rare paintings by Ibrahim Hussein, who died in 2009 at the age of 72, will be exhibited, underscoring the timelessness of his work and the urgency behind his vision for a “better humanity”.
At the heart of his life and this vision were his wife, Datin Sim Hussein, and his daughter, Alia Ibrahim Hussein.
They share their stories below.
Sim Hussein
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I have always loved art. When I was studying in London at the St Godric’s Finishing School, I would spend a lot of time visiting museums. I was my father’s favourite daughter and he wanted me to finish this part of my schooling to major in something else. In the end, all this didn’t happen because I met Ib.
I had come back to Malaysia and was planning to return to London to finish studies. In the way of my father’s upbringing — you don’t wait, you work — I got a job at a place called Kee Huat Radio. I was working there when I met Ib. Everything happened so fast with us. I decided, against my father’s wishes, that I would be with Ib. I was young then — 19 — and wasn’t even sure I was making the right decision.
Ib and I were together for five years before we got married. He was insistent that we would not do so till my father accepted the marriage, and he was eventually able to get my father to come around. All through this time it was my mother — she was not educated but I owe so much to her — who kept me close to the family.
Alia was born a year after our marriage. Things took a long time to settle. It was not quick, and Ib and I had to go through many difficulties. But, after that initial phase, I must say things just got better and better and better.
When I first met Ib, he didn’t seem to have much of a plan for his life — he didn’t even have a bank account! These are things I am very good at; so, when I knew I would be with him, I set about planning our lives.
The early years of building Ib’s career required a lot of focus. We were doing a lot of exhibitions overseas and he taught me everything about art, even how to stretch the canvas — something I eventually got better at doing than he did!
Ib and I never disagreed; we never had a bad day. Our time was always so focused — how we lived, the time we went to sleep. My whole life changed because of Ib. Everything I did was my choice and I always wanted him to just have the peace of mind to paint, because I knew if he didn’t have that, he could not paint. That was the priority in my life with Ib. I knew everything that went on in his mind. And he never wanted me to be unhappy and always made sure I was fine.
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Initially, we had our worries but, then, after that, there was great success in his career. With Ib, things happened magically. He was exhibiting overseas, we were travelling widely — even to China before its boom. There was even a time when we thought we might relocate elsewhere. I wanted that; Ib did not.
He had this idea that he wanted to “give back” by setting up the Ibrahim Hussein Foundation in Langkawi. Initially, I said “no”, knowing that Ib always had good feelings about things without ever imagining they could be the other way. But seeing how much he wanted it, I eventually said “yes”. This was always my role — I would always urge him to “think again, think again”.
He was greatly disappointed with these plans — there were very few people to support it. But he put all this behind him and began painting again. At the time of his death, we were reaching for another level — plans for a new studio, a gallery, travel.
His death was not something I ever expected, but I had to cope with it. I grieved for so many years, but had to go through that grief in order to heal. I am much better now, though I still miss him a lot. Right now, it is best for me to think about what to do to carry on his legacy. If you are an artist, you have to share your work if you think they are important enough. That’s how I am feeling now.
I have learnt so much because I was with Ib 24 hours of the day, and I am the only one who can do what needs to be done now for his legacy. A place to show his paintings, that’s the most important. Also to inspire, especially young people. Most of the things Ib wanted in his life were not for himself — they were for me, Alia, or others.
That’s why if he had lived just a little longer — imagine what his paintings would be like today.
Alia Ibrahim Hussein
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I know you’re not meant to have memories that early but I have memories of my father before I could even verbalise — from before I could actually remember.
The most conscious of these is of my father painting, and of me crawling on the canvas and he carrying me away. One of the reasons I am such a night person is that I would sneak down at five or six in the morning and see my father painting. My mother, as always, would be with him. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life — a husband and wife working together 24 hours a day. I don’t know how they made it work. Honestly, my mother was his muse. I find great comfort in the night because of that.
Growing up, I witnessed what brilliance and passion actually was, with my father. I was conscious of that from the very beginning — how brilliant, how pure my father was. That was a lot to live up to. There were times when I felt quite lost thinking “if I don’t have that…” With him, it was that sense of pure purpose.
Seeing his paintings brings back so many memories of my father. To be honest, they all touch me in the same way and I don’t really differentiate between them. I have always had a strong connection with his works. Even now, I cannot bear to part with any of them. I feel his presence when I am surrounded by them. Wherever I live, I just fill the walls with his paintings and feel enveloped by his presence, cocooned …
I love all his works, but especially hold on to the “happy works”. There are a lot of social commentary paintings but the more abstract, brightly coloured ones which evoke more happy, serene emotions are what I mostly have in my apartment.
I am emotional when it comes to my father’s work. Even though I became a scientist later on. I was always more artistically inclined, and this is because of him.
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My father believed what he was doing was the best thing for me — to allow me find my own way. He must have thought that, since he had to find his own way without anyone really guiding him. But I do wish he had drawn me into his world just a little more. Some of my best memories are of me sitting in his studio with him painting and mum by his side, but he never gave me a brush and brought me along. I think he really didn’t want to influence or pressure me in any way.
I didn’t ask then but now, as an adult looking back, I think “that’s a little sad”, especially now that I have my own child, Eli, and I love making my son try things that I, too, am passionate about. But that was not my father’s thinking. It’s just different ways of bringing up a child.
I just wish my father had done nothing but paint. I know he wanted to “give back to society” by setting up the Ibrahim Hussein Foundation, but I wish he had just carried on painting. It was painful for him to have to go through the politics of funding, things like that … that was not his gift. His gift was what he could put on a canvas. For many of those years, he didn’t paint, and he returned to painting only towards the end. Imagine the number of artworks he could have produced! In the final years, he would paint till his hands bled.
I am not even sure I have dealt with my father’s passing. It was too painful, not something I was prepared for. It is better not to wonder about the “what-ifs”. I still get very emotional when I think about it.
I just wish I could have a conversation with him today: I don’t know what we would talk about, but I wish we could have one. And, mostly, I wish my son could have known him.
'CIMB Artober Art & Soul 2025' will be held in Hall 1, Malaysian International Trade and Exhibition Centre, KL from Sept 26 to 28.
This article first appeared on Sept 22, 2025 in The Edge Malaysia.
