Day 164 - Calligraphic boats
July 2, 2019
Gallery 458 is home to a special exhibition devoted to Islamic calligraphy that proves unexpectedly fascinating; I realize that one could spend a lifetime studying this subject (and people do). The introductory signage reinforces the importance of calligraphy for both spiritual and decorative ends. The Qu'ran in its written form was regarded as the literal word of God, and this imparted an aura of the sacred to all forms of writing. At the same time, writing was incorporated as a design element into architecture and objects in a variety of media.
Over time, I learn, Islamic calligraphy has assumed a multiplicity of forms, sometimes revealing a tension between transparency of meaning and decorative potential. At the outset, Qu'rans were generally written on parchment in a thick, angular form known as kufic, without diacritical marks. They offered few aids to pronunciation but served instead as memory aids for oral recitation.With the introduction of paper from China in the eighth century, a new, more readable script was developed: the new Abbasid style, characterized by very tall letters, the use of both thick and thin strokes, and the consistent application of diacritical marks. Examples are on display in a case adjacent to the wall placard; even I can tell the difference between the kufic and Abbasid styles. I also learn that some scripts were specific to a region (for example, maghribi in Spain and north Africa), while others were used all over the Islamic world. I hadn't really noticed this before, but one script is unusual in that its letters are connected, while in other scripts, the letters are flowing but distinct. It's interesting, too, to see in the manuscripts symbols that indicate where worshippers should prostrate themselves; in one case, that symbol is a six-pointed star. In general, the exhibition leads me to think about the parallels and differences between Hebrew and Arabic scripts; it's impossible not to view Arabic calligraphy as far more varied and artistic.
The exhibition contains numerous examples of Qu'rans, some tiny, others very large and magnificently illuminated. It also shows how calligraphy was included in rugs, ceramics, and other objects. Today's work, however, was chosen less for its beauty than for its surprise value. It's an oil painting on wood, perhaps 24 inches high and 36 inches wide, by a prominent 20th century Pakistani painter, Sadequain (1930-1987). Entitled "Seascape with Three Boats," it shows how contemporary artists have incorporated traditional motifs (which is, I'm sure, why it was included in this show). I read that for centuries, Islamic artists have merged calligraphy with depictions of animals, boats, swords, and humans. (In another illustration on display, delicate calligraphy forms the tail feathers of a peacock.) In this painting, the caption explains, Arabic phrases are used to compose the forms of the three boats (although to me, it looks as if the phrases are used to compose their sails). The phrases say, "In the name of the memorable Qu'ran," "In the name of the glorious Qu'ran," and "In the name of the pen [and anything that writes]." So maybe the artist was extolling the virtue of the artistic enterprise, especially insofar as it serves and glorifies faith? Or maybe he was holding up art as on a par with faith? The placard also suggests that the letters on the prows of the three ships, sad, qaf, and nun, may be a play on the artist's name, perhaps adding some grist to the latter argument.
As I'm writing, a woman wearing a headscarf and her husband come along and also look at the painting. She is excited to be able to read the inscriptions, and we strike up a bit of a conversation, as I tell her what I've learned from the placard. She tells me that she was able to read the inscriptions in part because she recognized them from the Qu'ran -- she knew what she was looking for. She then looks at something she says she can't read at all, and I explain what I read about it: that it is a practice page on which people could practice writing letters but that it has no meaning as text. I think she was pleased by my interest, and we were both happy to have made this little connection.
Over time, I learn, Islamic calligraphy has assumed a multiplicity of forms, sometimes revealing a tension between transparency of meaning and decorative potential. At the outset, Qu'rans were generally written on parchment in a thick, angular form known as kufic, without diacritical marks. They offered few aids to pronunciation but served instead as memory aids for oral recitation.With the introduction of paper from China in the eighth century, a new, more readable script was developed: the new Abbasid style, characterized by very tall letters, the use of both thick and thin strokes, and the consistent application of diacritical marks. Examples are on display in a case adjacent to the wall placard; even I can tell the difference between the kufic and Abbasid styles. I also learn that some scripts were specific to a region (for example, maghribi in Spain and north Africa), while others were used all over the Islamic world. I hadn't really noticed this before, but one script is unusual in that its letters are connected, while in other scripts, the letters are flowing but distinct. It's interesting, too, to see in the manuscripts symbols that indicate where worshippers should prostrate themselves; in one case, that symbol is a six-pointed star. In general, the exhibition leads me to think about the parallels and differences between Hebrew and Arabic scripts; it's impossible not to view Arabic calligraphy as far more varied and artistic.
The exhibition contains numerous examples of Qu'rans, some tiny, others very large and magnificently illuminated. It also shows how calligraphy was included in rugs, ceramics, and other objects. Today's work, however, was chosen less for its beauty than for its surprise value. It's an oil painting on wood, perhaps 24 inches high and 36 inches wide, by a prominent 20th century Pakistani painter, Sadequain (1930-1987). Entitled "Seascape with Three Boats," it shows how contemporary artists have incorporated traditional motifs (which is, I'm sure, why it was included in this show). I read that for centuries, Islamic artists have merged calligraphy with depictions of animals, boats, swords, and humans. (In another illustration on display, delicate calligraphy forms the tail feathers of a peacock.) In this painting, the caption explains, Arabic phrases are used to compose the forms of the three boats (although to me, it looks as if the phrases are used to compose their sails). The phrases say, "In the name of the memorable Qu'ran," "In the name of the glorious Qu'ran," and "In the name of the pen [and anything that writes]." So maybe the artist was extolling the virtue of the artistic enterprise, especially insofar as it serves and glorifies faith? Or maybe he was holding up art as on a par with faith? The placard also suggests that the letters on the prows of the three ships, sad, qaf, and nun, may be a play on the artist's name, perhaps adding some grist to the latter argument.
As I'm writing, a woman wearing a headscarf and her husband come along and also look at the painting. She is excited to be able to read the inscriptions, and we strike up a bit of a conversation, as I tell her what I've learned from the placard. She tells me that she was able to read the inscriptions in part because she recognized them from the Qu'ran -- she knew what she was looking for. She then looks at something she says she can't read at all, and I explain what I read about it: that it is a practice page on which people could practice writing letters but that it has no meaning as text. I think she was pleased by my interest, and we were both happy to have made this little connection.
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