What We Are Reading Today: States of Injury: Power and Freedom in Late Modernity
Updated 08 May 2020
Wendy Brown
Whether in characterizing Catharine MacKinnon’s theory of gender as itself pornographic or in identifying liberalism as unable to make good on its promises, Wendy Brown pursues a central question: How does a sense of woundedness become the basis for a sense of identity?
Brown argues that efforts to outlaw hate speech and pornography powerfully legitimize the state: Such apparently well-intentioned attempts harm victims further by portraying them as so helpless as to be in continuing need of governmental protection.
“Whether one is dealing with the state, the Mafia, parents, pimps, police, or husbands,” writes Brown, “the heavy price of institutionalized protection is always a measure of dependence and agreement to abide by the protector’s rules.”
True democracy, she insists, requires sharing power, not regulation by it — freedom, not protection.
Refusing any facile identification with one political position or another, Brown applies her argument to a panoply of topics, from the basis of litigiousness in political life to the appearance on the academic Left of themes of revenge and a thwarted will to power.
These and other provocations in contemporary political thought and political life provide an occasion for rethinking the value of several of the last two centuries’ most compelling theoretical critiques of modern political life, including the positions of Nietzsche, Marx, Weber, and Foucault.
Jeddah-born artist Dana Awartani on making contemporary work that honors the past
‘Traditional arts are dying out,’ says Dana Awartani
Updated 54 min 4 sec ago
Rebecca Anne Proctor
DUBAI: At the Diriyah Art Biennale, Saudi-born artist Dana Awartani, who is of Palestinian heritage, has created a dreamy, otherworldly series of 10 silk fabrics in earthy hues of ochre, reds and greens placed on wooden frames and mounted on the wall as overlapping, semitransparent panels.
The installation — “Come, Let Me Heal Your Wounds” — was derived from research into Ayurvedic dyeing, which is used to create clothing with alleged healing properties. To create the work, Awartani collaborated with artisans in Kerala, India.
The artist also identified 355 cultural sites that have been destroyed because of conflict and violence since 2010 in Syria, Tunisia, Libya, Iraq, Egypt, and Yemen. She marked each location with a tear in the silk, creating her own intuitive map of loss. Together with local craftspeople, Awartani then repaired the fabric, mending each hole by hand.
The work hints at the fragility of cultural sites throughout the Middle East and North Africa region, and serves as a plea to safeguard ancient monuments and Arab culture and tradition in general.
“You have this erasure of history that’s happening in the Levant, in Gaza now, and I felt it was critical to use my traditional arts training and aesthetic language to talk about issues that are relevant to the region,” Awartani tells Arab News.
Awartani’s work, which covers a variety of mediums — including drawing, painting, textiles, multimedia installations, and film — is inspired by the rich heritage of Islamic art, particularly ‘sacred geometry’; abstraction; and traditional crafts. She combines these influences with contemporary styles to render works imbued with both alluring aesthetic qualities and philosophical depth. Much of her work uses locally sourced materials, as well as vernacular and ancient design styles to present a dialogue between the past and present of Arab culture.
“The memories and experiences of the people I collaborate with also become part of the work,” she says, adding that traditional arts “are dying out, people don’t use sacred geometry anymore; people don’t work with their hands anymore.”
Geometry is at the center of her animated film “Listen to my Words” — also on view in “After Rain.” In it, a gray background is gradually filled by a delicately rendered geometric pattern inspired by jali and mashrabiya — latticed screens used in traditional architecture to regulate light, airflow, and heat. Jalis were also used to shield women from the male gaze.
The film, Awartani explains, was inspired by the story of Nur Jahan, the wife of a Mughal emperor, who reportedly played a leading role in government in the 17th century from behind a jali, whispering commands to her husband. It is soundtracked by contemporary recitals of Arabic poetry written by women centuries ago — giving them a platform, and resonance, in the present.
The incorporation of traditional practices into contemporary artistic discourse is central to Awartani’s art — she is currently pursuing an Ijazah certificate in Islamic illumination. The work she created after earning her master’s degree from The Prince’s Foundation School of Traditional Arts in London focused heavily on sacred geometry; something that is still a major influence (as evidenced by “Listen to my Words”), but less so than it was — a shift she attributes to “recent events in the Middle East, with the ways the current wars have destroyed the heritage and culture of the region. This has really shifted my perspective.”
Of her earlier work, she says: “When I graduated from the Prince’s School, it was hard to snap out of the training because you’re continuing an art form that has been around for centuries, and there’s a certain level of responsibility that comes with that.
“There are many people who take something old, like traditional crafts, and innovate without understanding it. Sometimes I find that problematic. For the longest time, I was still trying to hone my skills and learn as much as I could about traditional arts while still using it in a contemporary way through concepts relating to Islamic geometric patterns.”
Awartani first became interested in sacred geometry, she says, as a way to “understand the world from a different perspective by seeing harmony in nature and the cosmos through the lens of geometry and numbers.” Sacred geometry is also a way to connect with her heritage.
“As Arabs, we’re raised around this fine art, we’re surrounded by it in every corner, but we’re not aware of it,” she told Arab News in a 2014 interview. “You can see geometry all around you, like in mosques for example. I was looking for a track to follow — deep down inside I felt a yearning for it. There is an inner and outer beauty telling a story behind every structured piece; there is no randomness when it comes to creating such pieces.”
It is not only the theoretical side of Awartani’s work that has shifted — the way she creates it has also changed in recent years.
“It’s a lot more collaborative now, involving different craft communities,” she explains. “Whereas, before, I used to predominantly do paintings and works on paper, now I incorporate the work of traditional craftsmen in my work.”
In last year’s “When The Dust of Conflict Settles,” for example, she worked with apprentice stonemasons from Syria who have been displaced by the war in their homeland and are living in Jordan.
“It’s this coming together of various craftspeople to foster an exchange of knowledge that I am really passionate about now,” she says. “This exchange of knowledge and exchange of culture.”
Recipes for Success: Chef Elia Kaady talks kitchen discipline
Updated 53 min 20 sec ago
Shyama Krishna Kumar
DUBAI: Elia Kaady, head chef at Saudi fine-dining restaurant Maiz, may never have made a career of cooking if it wasn’t for his brother.
“Everyone probably has a person who inspires them to build a better a better future for themselves. For me, that’s my brother, who’s also a chef. He was the one who supported our family and took care of almost everything. So, I was inspired by him. Of course, I had a passion for food, but it’s mostly due to him,” Kaady tells Arab News.
Kaady began his career in Beirut, working at a wide variety of restaurants including La Posta, Burgundy, and SUD Rest-Bar. He then moved to Saudi Arabia.
Now he’s running the kitchen at Maiz, which opened its doors last summer in Riyadh’s upmarket Bujairi Terrace. The menu is inspired by recipes and ingredients from across Saudi Arabia’s various regions.
“It’s a Saudi restaurant that provides high-end, authentic and uplifted dishes in a beautiful location,” Kaady says.
During Ramadan, the restaurant is offering a Chef’s Suhoor Table, where diners have the chance to engage with the chef, ask questions, and gain insights into the menu and culinary inspirations behind each dish.
“The Chef’s Suhoor Table offers a great immersive experience for all the local Saudis and for all the foreigners as well,” Kaady says.
Here, the chef discusses shawarmas, his favorite dish to cook, and his management style.
Q: When you started out what was the most common mistake you made?
A: There were many challenges, especially when I was studying in the mornings at culinary school and working late nights in a restaurant. The main thing was getting the heat right — working with the stove was one of the biggest challenges. When you cook fish, or beef, or lamb, you have to get the heat exactly right.
What’s your top tip for amateur chefs?
Be patient. Rushing can cause you to lose your passion. Especially if you get something wrong the first few times; you will lose hope. For sure, speed can be important in the kitchen, but when it comes to doing it well, organization is the most important thing.
What one ingredient can instantly improve any dish?
Olive oil, or extra virgin olive oil. It’s a major element in Mediterranean cuisine. I belong to Lebanon, so I feel olive oil uplifts the taste of the dishes to another level. Moreover, it’s an essential part of our daily routine in the Middle East.
When you go out to eat, what’s your favorite cuisine?
Mediterranean is one of my favorites. But I also love Middle Eastern street food, which is famous worldwide. I love beef shawarmas. Each bite reminds me of my childhood. The sourness of the tomatoes, the parsley, the julienned onions and the tahina sauce take me to a different space. It’s so simple.
And when you’re eating out, do you find yourself critiquing the food?
Honestly, yes; I do do that sometimes. Being a chef, or being in the food industry, does make you a critical person.
What’s a common mistake you find other restaurants making?
The issue I find in a lot of places is that the food is unsalted or unseasoned.
What’s your go-to dish if you have to cook something quickly at home?
OK, let’s go simple again. In 20 minutes, I could have crispy French fries and tabouleh salad —adding some slices of red chili makes it taste very different. This combination makes me really happy.
What’s your favorite dish to cook?
I love making pasta dishes. Italian dishes are very rich but use just a few simple ingredients like tomato, olive oil, ricotta cheese, basil, garlic and eggplant. You could add pine nuts too. A dish like this will make my day.
What customer request most annoys you?
When a customer asks me to make sure their chicken is well-cooked. I know meat needs to be cooked properly.
As a head chef, what are you like? Do you shout a lot? Or are you quite laid back?
In this industry, we’re under constant pressure — we have to give our guests the best experience. And to keep a good environment in the kitchen, the staff must behave well. I believe it can be necessary to shout a bit; it’s another tool with the employees to have the rules followed in the kitchen all the way.
Trailblazers: Menhat Helmy bridges worlds through art
The final part of this year’s series highlighting pioneering female artists from the Arab world in honor of Women’s History Month
Updated 29 March 2024
Rawaa Talass
DUBAI: From scenes of local village life to images inspired by the cosmos, the late Egyptian modern artist Menhat Helmy’s oeuvre was a varied one.
Helmy was born in Cairo in 1925 into a large family of seven sisters and two brothers. She died in May 2004.
One relative who remembers her fondly is her eldest grandson, Canada-based journalist Karim Zidan, who grew up with her paintings hanging in his family’s house.
“Though she passed away when I was 12 years old, I still have vivid memories of her and our interactions. I remember her helping me build Lego sets and complete jigsaw puzzles,” Zidan, who manages Helmy’s estate, tells Arab News.
Long before she became a grandmother, Menhat was a bright young woman who studied at the Egyptian capital’s High Institute of Pedagogic Studies for Art in the 1940s. Next came a great opportunity to study at the famed Slade School of Fine Arts in London, during the 1950s, reportedly making her only the second Egyptian woman to study there.
“London played a pivotal role in her career,” notes Zidan. “It was during her time at the Slade School of Fine Arts that she discovered printmaking, the art form that would come to define her work and legacy. My grandmother produced her first etchings at the school.”
The 1970s saw Helmy delve into abstraction, as in her 1973 masterpiece “Space Exploration.”
“During this time, my grandmother was fascinated with space and technological developments such as the computer,” explains Zidan. “She sought to depict her newfound fascinations in her work, but the geometric synergy in it is rooted in her appreciation for Islamic art. All of this is clearly represented in ‘Space Exploration,’ which can be viewed as a depiction of the night sky; constellations in perfect formation; a universe in flux; or even electrons flowing through a circuit board.”
Today, Helmy’s artworks can be found in the UAE’s Barjeel Art Foundation, the Jordan National Gallery of Fine Arts and the UCL Art Museum in London.
“The variety of her oeuvre, coupled with the sheer complexity and avant-garde nature of the work, is precisely what makes her such a pioneering figure in modern Egyptian art,” Zidan concludes.
LAHORE: For Saad Mehmood, it was a routine visit to a mosque in the eastern Pakistani city of Lahore for Friday prayers in 2017 when the then 22-year-old stumbled upon a store room with sheaves of paper stored carefully on a shelf.
The worn pages were fragments from everyday copies of the Qur’an, which were awaiting ritual disposal. In Pakistan, pages of the holy book that are disposed are often called shaheed, or martyred, copies.
In Islam, widely accepted methods of disposing worn pages of the holy book are to wrap them in a cloth and bury them, ideally in a mosque, or to burn them respectfully.
But Mehmood, at the time a final year student of fine arts at the Beaconhouse National University (BNU), was inspired by the worn copies and decided to restore them as part of his thesis.
“Saad asked for some of these pages that were torn or worn out, and started to restore the ordinary, mass-printed sheets with gold paper and the finest ink — bringing that which was ‘martyred’ back to life,” the artist’s statement accompanying an ongoing exhibition of his works in Lahore reads.
The effort is “an act of artistic devotion,” Mehmood told Arab News at the exhibition last week, saying all his work now revolved around restoring the holy pages and turning them into artforms.
“This work started in 2017,” Mehmood, now a 28-year-old visual artist, said. “I collect the pages of the Qur’an that are shaheed, then there’s an entire process to their restoration, I fill in the damaged parts so that the pages are readable again.”
Mehmood said he had done extensive research on damaged Qur’anic pages and what happened to them and where they went from storerooms of mosques and homes.
“I saw that they’re buried in graveyards, or floated in clean and flowing water. Sometimes, I even saw the pages being burned and their ashes buried in some corner of a graveyard,” he explained.
This got Mehmood thinking: instead of disposing of the sacred texts, he could restore them.
The process of restoration was a difficult one, as many Qur’an pages Mehmood came across had no references.
“When we open these [Qur’anic] collections… there are [some] smaller pages which don’t have any references [which ayat, surah, what page number],” he said. “So, this was a conundrum… how do I restore them when there’s no reference to work with?“
Mehmood decided to make a collage of such pages.
“So, at least they are still visible, still accessible,” he said. “So, we don’t accidentally disrespect the words, they will remain in front of our eyes, and then turn them into art to be appreciated.”
Mehmood has also visited multiple religious scholars to present his idea and his work.
“There are a lot of organizations in Pakistan like Tahaffuz-e-Auraq [who dispose of pages in the prescribed manner],” Mehmood said. “I restored them and then I started showing people that basically this is the work I’m doing.”
The idea found wide acceptability, he said. “GOLD LEAF”
The ongoing exhibition in Lahore, organized by the Pakistan Art Forum, includes collages of restored Qur’anic fragments, concentric circles around Islamic calligraphy, decorative additions like gold leaves, and paintings with Arabic diacritics on Vasli and white paper. And this is all by design.
Mehmood said he wants to further explore this Islamic art form and create something new, like his painting of the diacritics without any words, or of punctuation marks without any sentences.
“The Qur’an came to us from Arabia, and the diacritics were added later, so that non-native Arabic speakers [Ajmi] could understand the text,” he said. “[Helping] in how to pronounce and enunciate it, zeir, zabr, that is also something I’ve worked on, and will continue to work on.”
There is also a reason why Mehmood uses gold leaf so often.
“When you look at my work… I have used gold leaf on the shaheed [damaged] Qur’anic pages,” he said.
“I used that gold leaf specifically and consciously, because gold is considered a divine material. And where the words are missing, pages torn, I’ve also used gold leaf to show the preciousness of the lost words, using a precious material.” “EXPAND WAYS TO EXPERIENCE QUR’AN”
The visual artist has held a number of group exhibitions at the Alhamra Arts Center in Lahore and Sanat Gallery in the southern port city of Karachi. Last week, he held his second solo show in Lahore, titled Al-Qadr, referring to the night when Muslims believe the Qur’an was first revealed.
While most of the visitors to the Lahore exhibition said they had come out of curiosity, they left with admiration for the intricate work and beautiful calligraphy or collage technique that Mehmood uses.
“Calligraphy is a part of [what I do], but this is something else [entirely],” he explained. “You can call it a collage. You can call it an installation. You can call it painting, you can call it artwork.”
Shahid Rassam, a famous Pakistani painter and sculptor, described Mehmood work as “positive,” saying he had seen other works, though rare, in which worn Qur’an pages were restored as a form of art.
Rassam, who has himself made contemporary forms of the Qur’an, including one in which he used metal engravings, said it was “vital to expand the ways in which we experience the sacred text, even as art installations.”
“I think what this young man [Saad Mehmood] is doing is objectively a positive thing,” the artist said. “He’s taking sacred pages and giving them their rightful respect, instead of just letting them lie in poorly-kept stores and boxes.”
What We Are Reading Today ‘Common People: In Pursuit of My Ancestors’ by Alison Light
Updated 28 March 2024
Jasmine Bager
Alison Light, author of many acclaimed books about feminism and history, takes us on a journey to trace her own ancestors in “Common People: In Pursuit of My Ancestors.”
Many of us might be curious about our ancestors — who were they, what stories did they have to tell, what were they like? Exploring one’s lineage could uncover less than glamorous backstories or prove to be a frustrating endeavor with inconsistencies and dead ends.
Light, however, finds a way to chart the course of the lives of everyday people. She goes through the stories of servants, sailors, farm workers, combing through archives to revive their stories and allow these people to live once more — if only in her pages.
In her 2009 book, “Mrs Woolf and the Servants: An Intimate History of Domestic Life in Bloomsbury,” she was transfixed by the life of Virginia Woolf, a popular yet deeply depressed author in her own right, who relied on live-in domestic help during her life to help with the most intimate and mundane of daily tasks. In this book, Light uses the same approach but turns the focus to her own life and history. She tries to understand her own ancestors and — by extension — all of ours, too. Her attempt at understanding the lives of those who once existed helps us to understand our own lives. Family history is a kind of public history and one that we share.
The book has maps, detailed family trees and Light’s personal photographs to augment her painstaking research and ability to zap life into those long gone.
“I began this book because I realized I had no idea where my family came from,” she says in the preface. Although she knew where she grew up and her personal history — as well as fragments of her parents’ lives, which they shared, and some stories about her grandparents — she did not know the bigger picture.
Her mother’s mother was an orphan and her father’s side was littered with blank spaces. She concluded that many of her relatives had no roots, as far as she could tell, and so the book became a quest to dive deeper into what it is possible to find out about people we never met but whose bloodline we share.
Since genealogy has become something of a trend in recent years, finding out your genetic background has become a simple process — spit into a tube and have it analyzed. But what are the stories that go behind and beyond the science?
Light’s book tries to find out, and you, the reader, can join her on that journey.