بلاگ

Through his intricate ballpoint pen drawings and use of antique texts, Habib Hajallie explores the powerful connection between art and music, creating multi-sensory experiences that challenge the way we perceive history and identity. In this article, we discuss the “sound of form” in his work, the echoes of cultural narratives, and the embodied, almost musical act of composition.

By Sophie Heatley | 17 Mar 2025

“I can never draw in silence,” Habib Hajallie tells me. “It allows me to get into the flow state. Songs carry me through when I’m in a lull.” If I listen to music while writing, I’ll start typing the song lyrics, I half-joke. Hajallie’s music does find its way into his work, though; you can feel it in the rhythm and the pace of his mark-making. A maestro with a ballpoint pen, he orchestrates his portraits with the precision of a master conductor. A practice that takes so much patience, time and concentration, being able to lose himself in the music and moments of detail are a relief and a necessary part of Hajallie’s creative process. That’s not to say he’s not present with the process; the music is a way in, to embody each stroke of what can be a very unforgiving medium. “If I don’t understand the pressure of my pen, I won’t get the outcome I want, and there’s no escaping mistakes.”  

Music allows Hajallie to connect more deeply with both the time periods he references and the figures he brings to life. For example, when depicting West African figures, he immerses himself in Afro-beats or classical African music. “There’s a real vibrancy to these sounds. They give me energy and help me capture their essence.” Different genres accompany different subjects, scales, and scopes. The Grime Series, featured in The Sound of Form exhibition, overlays prominent grime artists onto London tube maps – London being the birthplace of Grime. “When I drew JME, I was listening to a lot of his music.”

The life-like resemblance to Hajallie’s subjects is breathtaking and envy-inducing, and yet their exquisite detail is the least interesting thing about them. Drawing is so much more than figurative representation for the artist; the creative act is one of reawakening dormant histories, elevating underrepresented voices, his pen a quiet instrument of rebellion and reclamation. 

Armed with pragmatism and an “unromantic” level of organisation, Hajallie begins his process by collecting antique texts, largely from vintage shops, charity stops, and eBay. “I have stacks of philosophical books. I’ll go through them one by one and highlight certain sections that resonate.” 

From his vast collection of saved quotes, prints, and book covers, Hajallie embarks on the next step: recontextualisation and subversion. With a focus on challenging ethnocentric views and fostering cross-cultural understanding and empathy, he superimposes both prominent contemporary figures and those from antiquity — many of whom were erased from history or overlooked — on the pages of problematic 18th and 19th century literature steeped in colonial ideologies.

By juxtaposing these outdated, harmful ideas of eugenics, race, and misogyny with modern themes, Hajallie subverts the narratives of the past. Drawing inspiration from artists like Godfried Donkor, known for using archival material to challenge stereotypes associated with Black figures, and Barbara Walker, who famously used found materials to raise awareness of racial profiling, Hajallie’s work becomes a dialogue between eras. This conversation reclaims historical texts and repositions marginalised figures on the front covers, “reincarnating” them and giving them a renewed, empowered presence — deepening the discourse surrounding minority voices.

This intersection is further enriched by Hajallie’s use of crosshatching and Renaissance-era techniques, all executed with his humble biro. In doing so, he bridges the simplicity of domestic, note-taking tools with classical artistic methods, creating a striking fusion of the old and the new, complex and yet accessible.

“I started drawing with pens. We had loads of Barclays pens and Argos pens when I was kind. I’ve always loved the immediacy of it; you don’t need to sharpen it, you don’t need to dip it in water. I guess it started as just a convenience, but now the accessibility of it has become so tied up in my practice. It’s important and nostalgic to me.” 

In a world that is constantly shifting towards technology and a “more-is-more” mentality, analogue mediums seem to be gradually fading into obsolescence. However, the specialist remains resolutely uninterested in changing his medium, believing that there is still so much to discover and explore. “I like drawing because it’s an analogue medium. There’s something truly special about using your hands to create something—it becomes a part of yourself,” he explains.

This sentiment is particularly evident in Hajallie’s “quasi-surrealist” self-portraits, which caricature himself to spark conversations around his dual heritage—Sierra Leonean and Lebanese. In these imagined scenarios and narratives, he explores the complexities of his background, and by extension, wider discussions around culture and identity. “I’ve since realised that my personal experience is enough to use myself as a sitter and convey what I want to share,” he reflects.

Hajallie’s cross-genre, cross-era works are rich with historical and personal resonance. Their painstaking conceptualisation and execution invite viewers to delve into multi-layered, literary-sonic spaces, urging them to listen to the stories long neglected or actively removed from the various canons. Ultimately, these portraits serve as a mirror to our biases and a poignant reminder to read the small print: What is this truly about? And what am I choosing to ignore, even advocating for, by not looking further?