Painting by numbers

Last weekend I was in Paris where I received a more than satisfactory dose of haute culture. One of the places I visited was the Institut du Monde Arabe, and its current exhibition of Islamic art. This expo consisted of the stupefyingly extensive personal collection of a Nasser Khalili, composed of objects originating from all over the Islamic world, throughout the ages. Cases and cases of beautifully adorned manuscripts, absolutely jaw-dropping pieces of jewellry, all kinds of objects adorned with myriad styles and patterns... You get my drift. It was almost overkill. Especially in comparison with the sweet little exhibit I visited at Krakow's Ethnographic museum a few months ago. A much more modest assemblage, but beautifully presented and very eloquently and simply explained. I have to say if I had to recommend one of the two, I'd opt for Krakow, despite its humble size and scope in comparison to the reams of scintillating (and closely-guarded - no photos allowed!) treasures housed in the Arab Institute.

The reason for this is that, although displaying an ostensibly less impressive collection, the ethnographic museum was far mor successful in its attempt to explain and make sense of its subject. Admittedly, its scope was more limited, far less variety than I saw in Paris, but in a way that helped to keep it manageable for the mind, to get one's head around it.

The main angle of the Krakow expo was the idea that behind the abstract, geometrical patterns which adorn and characterise many examples of art and ornaments from the Islamic world (as well as more lowly household objects), are all intensely symbolic references to the divine and metaphysical, and testify to a very advanced and subtle understanding of the universe. This is art by mathematicians. And very devout ones at that.

Although the Paris expo took exception to the idea, let's imagine that broadly speaking, it is considered poor form to portray the human figure in art in the Islamic world, and unthinkable to try to create the image of religious symbols such as God or Mohammed. So in light of this prohibition, Muslim artists elaborated a profound and elegantly simple scheme of abstract symbols to convey a certain vision of the universe, and faith, in their images and adornments. A means to infuse their creations with meaning.

The presentation of the exhibit was fantastic, first of all. The space which houses the expo in Krakow was symmetrical in itself. A room divided into five sections, each of which dealt with a number, and examples of art and ornaments where this particular number was in evidence, accompanied with a succint explanation of the symbolic connotations. Something along the lines of, 1 is for God, the beginning and the end, 2 is the dualism, the symmetrical opposition between men & women, holy and human, light & darkness. 3 is the triangle, symbol of man and consciousness, a highly significant number for the Islamic faith, as awell as its multiples (the 99 names of Allah, for instance). 4 refers to the material world, shapes like the cube, square and cross, the four sides of the Kaba, the 4 elements and the cosmos. And 5 of course harks to the five pillars of Islam, commonly seen in the shape of the Hand of Fatima motif, or the five-pointed star which symbolises community of all Muslims in recognition of the fundamental principles of the faith. And so forth. So now you know.

If it sounds like an overly-simplistic, boiled down interpretation of the meanings behind these elaborate creations then I'm sure it is, to some extent. But I really enjoyed the clarity that it provided. A way of shining light on the schematical universe of symbols in the aesthetics of Islam, of stripping away the pretentiousness and obfuscation. It was extremely unpretentious. Unnecessarily so, since the pieces themselves were absolutely breathtaking. I've always been a fan of abstract patterns, but I'd never seen anything like this before. Truly someone who is capable of elaborating creations like the ones which adorn some of the most beautiful mosques in the world, must have a certain grasp of the scale of the universe, of infinity.

And a little cursory research shows that indeed, there are field days to be had by people whose intellect allows them to take a keen & informed interest in issues of abstract religious art and, say, quasi-crystalline geometry. The science of snowflakes. I so I imagine it would be.

The main angle of the Paris expo was perhaps an effort to counter stereotypes and generalisations about the Islamic world, to convey the diversity and richness of its artistic endeavour. The message being - don't take anything for granted. If so it is a noble objective. But one which is perhaps more conducive to frustration, confusion and unease. It was certainly far less accesssible than the ethnographic museum. In any case, I'm very glad I had visited the Krakow as an "introduction to the field" as it were, it definitely provided me with a basis in the matter, a kind of roadmap for deciphering and decoding the vast number of artefacts displayed in the Arab Institute.

“They Called Me Mayer July”

In Kazimierz, the old Jewish quarter in Krakow, there is a very renowned & well put together little museum called the Galicia Jewish Museum which contains lots of interesting documentation including an extensive collection of photographs chronicling the past of the Jewish community in Krakow and throughout the Galicia region (which used to include parts of what is now Ukraine). While I was there, there was also an exhibition showcasing the work of Mayer Kirshenblatt, a Canadian citizen who was born in Opatow, a small Polish town once home to a thriving Jewish community, like many Polish towns were, but moved to Canada with his family for economic reasons, shortly before the Holocaust began. Mayer's work, produced many decades later, portrays his own experiences of growing up in Opatow, as he recalls them.

The collection of paintings constitutes a different type of commemoration than memorials to the dead, the immortalised places of suffering which are captured in the photographs of the museum or the physical remains of places like Auschwitz, or the restored Jewish graveyards. Its subject is life rather than death, and arguably that moment of life that is most vivid and colourful, childhood – perhaps the time when we are most impressionable, most attentive and curious about our surroundings, most “alive”.

This seems to be true for Mayer, as not only has he conserved an astonishingly detailed and clear picture in his mind of his childhood moments, his depictions seem to come directly from the child he used to be, as even his style of painting is reminiscent of the way a child paints. Schematical, simple, and not pre-occupied with resembling too closely the reality. The style is one which is completely untainted by any grief related to the tragedy of events which were to follow, since Mayer and his family left Opatow before the holocaust. As a result, his style is infused with a kind of childish innocence, depicting stories that are also full of the small joys of everyday life, in spite of elements of adversity.

I found this exhibition to be a refreshing and rejuvenating take on the Jewish life that used to inhabit Kazimierz. Rather than mourning what has been lost, it celebrates what once was. It presents an impossibly idyllic view of a place, in such a way that Mayer’s clear love for his old home shines through the portraits, nostalgic but not romanticised yearning for this place and a time that he left behind, and could never return to.