• Pathum Egodawatta on the W.A. Silva Museum for Language, Literature, and Typography

Wellawatte can sometimes seem like just a very busy part of Colombo, but within it, the neighbourhood holds a surprising amount of history. For example, in the heart of Wellawatte (admittedly on W.A. Silva Mawatha) sits an early 1900s home that belonged to W.A. Silva himself. 

W.A. Silva (1890–1957) was one of Sri Lanka’s most influential Sinhala language novelists, credited with modernising the Sinhala novel and introducing global literary traditions to local audiences. 

His works, including ‘Kele Handa’ and ‘Vijayaba Kollaya,’ remain landmarks of Sri Lankan literature and culture. And his home, Silvermere, though overlooked today,  was once a hub of artistic discourse and nightlife. 

As a pioneering figure in Sinhala literature, Silva dreamed of transforming his home into a space that would serve the public, connecting people to language and literature. Today, more than six decades after his passing, that vision is alive in the W.A. Silva Museum for Language, Literature, and Typography. 

Part cultural hub, part archive, part experiment, the museum is a unique space in Sri Lanka — one that looks to the past while actively creating the future of literature, typography, and cultural discourse.

Leading this charge to revive Silva’s vision is Pathum Egodawatta, a typeface designer and cultural entrepreneur, who is also a Co-Founder of the Institute of Typography and a member of Akuru Collective. 

Since 2019, Pathum has also served as a Director on the Management Committee of the W.A. Silva Museum, looking to reimagine the museum’s scope and position it as a hub for both Sri Lankan and South Asian cultural exchange, especially in terms of language, literature, and typography. 

A space with a story

Silvermere was never an ordinary house. In Silva’s lifetime, it was described as a “night social club in Wellawatte,” a space where writers, actors, filmmakers, and intellectuals gathered. 

Biographies recall its back porch filled with conversation, music, and food. Silva, alongside contemporaries like Martin Wickramasinghe and Cumaratunga Munidasa, embodied an era when literature and cultural life in Sri Lanka were being redefined.

For Pathum, this legacy was an invitation. “When I first got involved, the museum was framed as a museum of language and literature,” he explained. 

“But what drew me in was something else, too. Ravi Thilakawardana (Founder Secretary of the W.A. Silva Foundation and fellow Director of the W.A. Silva Museum Management Committee) had donated a complete set of letterpress printing machines from his personal collection. This was a full setup, from type to binding. For me, as a type designer, having access to those analogue materials was invaluable.”

Typography, for Pathum, from his early days as a student of visual communication design, had always been not just about design but about connecting with the technologies and histories that shaped written culture. 

“To understand type design you need to understand the base technologies,” he said. “These older machines, these archival materials, they’re not just relics from the past. They inform new ideas.”

Moving beyond the English-speaking gaze

The decision to devote himself to the W.A. Silva Museum, however, went beyond technical interest. Pathum was responding to a larger cultural need.

“In Colombo, and Sri Lanka more broadly, spaces for cultural discourse often exist, but they are dominated by the English-speaking gaze,” he said. “What we wanted with the W.A. Silva Museum was to create a parallel space — one rooted in Sinhala and Tamil cultural traditions, and one that could also engage with the wider South Asian region.”

This approach reflects Silva’s own legacy. While celebrated for revolutionising the Sinhala novel with works like ‘Hingana Kolla,’ ‘Sunethra,’ and ‘Kele Handa’ (the first Sinhala novel adapted into film), Silva was also deeply entrepreneurial. He ran businesses, published encyclopaedias, and invested in ventures to remain self-sufficient as a writer. For Pathum, this entrepreneurial spirit is critical.

“Something I call ‘entrepreneurial creativity’ was central to W.A. Silva,” Pathum said. “He believed artists should be self-sufficient. He was a businessman as much as a writer. That independence is something I connect with deeply.”

Although Pathum had read only a couple of Silva’s novels before joining the museum, his involvement has deepened his appreciation.

“His writing is visual — almost cinematic. That struck me. And the more I learnt about him, the more inspired I became. He wasn’t just a writer; he was part of a network of cultural pioneers. He was close to Cumaratunga Munidasa, for example, who founded Hela Havula. 

“We tend to reduce our cultural heroes to a few names, such as Anagarika Dharmapala or others. But there were many pioneers, many changemakers. Silva was one of them.”

Silva’s personality also appealed to Pathum. “He wasn’t austere. He was fun. His house was known as a place for parties, for singing, for joy. And yet it was also a centre for serious creative work. That balance is rare.”

From museum to hub

When Pathum began working with the W.A. Silva Museum, its scope was narrower, focused primarily on Sinhala literature. Over time, the vision has broadened.

“The idea wasn’t just to house old things,” he said. “It was about living up to the standard of W.A. Silva — being a space where culture happens. With the Institute of Typography, we have pushed the focus towards typography, languages, and scripts — not only Sinhala but Tamil as well, and scripts from across South Asia.”

This regional framing is deliberate. “Sinhala is closely related to Sanskrit. Tamil shares traits with South Indian scripts. If we are thinking about typography, it makes sense to think regionally. We want to position the museum as a regional hub for languages and scripts.”

This vision is reflected in the programming. One example is the museum’s celebration of International Mother Language Day, proposed by Bangladesh at the United Nations. “Other than Independence Day, it’s the only day Sri Lanka marks as a national celebration. We have held Mother Language Day events for two years. It connects us to a global movement while grounding us locally.”

Since 2019, the museum has hosted over 40 events — workshops, film screenings, discussions, book launches, and social gatherings. Many have been small, intentionally intimate, but highly targeted.

The challenges of building a cultural hub

The museum’s journey has not been easy. From the Easter Sunday attacks in 2019 to the pandemic and the economic crisis, external shocks have shaped its trajectory. 

“We have been in constant flux,” Pathum admitted. “That’s why for a long time the space remained private, known mainly within the Akuru Collective community. We didn’t have the infrastructure to scale.”

Even today, the museum is not open daily; visits are by appointment. But Pathum is determined to change this. “What excites me most is opening the doors properly and making it accessible.”

Looking ahead, Pathum is most excited about a new initiative: the book scanning and digitisation centre.

“Our main focus will be Sinhala and Tamil books. The goal is to bring knowledge stuck in print into the digital realm. That way, it can be accessed more widely, even through Artificial Intelligence (AI) tools. It’s about making our literary heritage part of the future.”

This project is part of a broader five-year plan that includes building infrastructure, strengthening programming, and expanding partnerships. In 2025, the museum signed a three-year agreement with the W.A. Silva Foundation, creating a framework for stability and collaboration. 

To make these ambitions real, funding is crucial. So far, the museum has been sustained by donations from a small group of supporters, including contributions from type foundry Mooniak and resources like 50 foldable chairs donated by Phoenix.

The next step, Pathum shared, was a private fundraising campaign to hire a programme manager and essential staff. In 2026, a wider campaign will follow, targeting sustainable funding. 

“Our strategy is simple. First, we talk about the space and build awareness. Then we bring in partners and organisations that want to contribute. It’s about showing people the value of what we do,” he said. 

The approach mirrors Silva’s own entrepreneurial spirit: pragmatic, creative, and community-focused.

Building a living museum

What makes the W.A. Silva Museum remarkable is that it is not a static institution. It is a living, evolving space, shaped by the needs of its community and the vision of those who steward it.

For Pathum, the goal is not only preservation but regeneration. “We’re not building a museum of the past. We’re building a cultural hub for the future,” he said.

It’s a vision that resonates with Silva’s own belief that literature and art should be both self-sufficient and socially engaged. And in an era where cultural spaces in Sri Lanka often struggle, the W.A. Silva Museum stands out as a project that connects heritage with innovation, local traditions with regional networks, and analogue technologies with digital futures.

Silvermere, once filled with the voices of Silva’s contemporaries, is now set to house a new generation of designers, writers, volunteers, students, and cultural workers. It is not hard to imagine Silva himself — novelist, entrepreneur, host — being pleased. His house once again hums with life, as a place where ideas are debated, language is celebrated, and creativity is shared.

“For me, it’s about keeping the doors open, about making this space part of people’s lives,” Pathum said. “That’s what W.A. Silva wanted. And that’s what we’re trying to do.”