Every two years, the Michelangelo Foundation for Creativity and Craftsmanship celebrates some of the finest craftsmanship in the world, through a public exhibition called HOMO FABER in Venice kicking off this September 1st. With Paris Design Week closely following, September is a month of celebration and work for many creatives. For those formatted by the academic calendar, it’s also a month of renewal. Since one needs to look back to look ahead, renewal begins with assessment of how we got here.
The Journal section of this website will hopefully become a platform for voices other than my own. But as a first entry and in spite of the fact that some of you already know that story, reflecting on the past few years felt like an àpropos way to set the terrain for the rest of our journey.
In 2017, a series of ironic life twists sent me back under my family’s roof in Cairo after 40 years in France. I decided to try to use my creative and design skills locally. For two decades I had been decorating homes for a variety of clients ranging from the occasional but fabulous Hollywood celebrity to busy business men to pads for friends and family (my friends and family are all celebrities to me), and a couple of office spaces. The attention the work had received was overshadowed by my musical career which was my main focus at the time. But as I clung to my Egyptian roots for the first time, I felt the need to look inwards through a focus on local crafts and objects. After months of experimenting with brass, ceramic, fabric, and wood, I came across a shop selling Egyptian alabaster souvenirs. I then remembered my friend Khairi Abaza’s repetitive comments about Egyptian alabaster being neglected and undermined by cheap Chinese resin imitations or low-quality touristic objects. I started talking to various antique dealers who all complained about the ‘piss-like’ yellowish hue, the brittle nature of the stone, and how it couldn’t compare to Italian alabaster or Iranian onyx. Egyptian alabaster is actually onyx. At first, I nearly agreed. I didn’t love the yellowish hue either. I too associated it with cheap, poorly executed objects instead of seeing it as the glorious symbol of the desert mountains under which it hides like a geological witness of history. Add the classic worldwide generational obsession for all things white, which thankfully has since began to shift and you have a construct that was hard to shake. Taste is built.
A few weeks into my research, a visit to the Egyptian National Museum on Tahrir Square made me wonder if these gorgeously haunting canopies and amulets were made from the same stone. Of course, they were. I then logically wondered why the Pharaohs would use this marble so profusely had it not been really special. I was also told about the Alabaster Mosque (not a favorite of mine but still a notable Ottoman historical monument).
I decided to spend some time with the man who ran the alabaster souvenir shop, a true countryman and bon vivant native of Upper Egypt whose ancestors had claimed a few quarries and made a living working with the stone. Monopolies on the quarries and lack of interest from big local corporations made access to large blocks of Egyptian Albaster difficult. Transporting them whole (without breaking them into smaller pieces or short slabs) wasn’t a priority. I asked if I could work from a massive block big enough to create a chair but I was advised to use assembled small slabs to make candle holders. After several sittings, we managed to pull off a tryout. The result was revelatory. A stool I had called PUSH since I presumptuously thought I was pushing some boundaries.
With alabaster always associated with lighting because of its mesmerizing translucency, my mind instinctively went to the memory of a baby night light I had as a child for longer than I should have. It had the shape of an open cylinder with a side slit and a bulging lit part that you had to push to turn it on. I rejected the idea of light which felt too expected but I stuck with the shape.
I rushed to create more pieces like the ENCAPSULATED lamps and boxes following a process that I don’t enjoy revealing because words don’t do it justice. It’s an instinctive process but it’s rooted in meaning. I then went to one of my close friends, art curator Joanna Chevalier, who immediately advised me to show the work. I was blessed to have her take me to one of the most tasteful design galleries in Beirut. OTC was one of the first local spaces to actually display works from cutting-edge international designers before Lebanon became the Design platform it now is. Objects created by Lindsay Adelman, the Campana Brothers, Nendo to name only a few, were suddenly within physical reach, revealing new technical and aesthetic pathways.
My participation in Beirut Design Week turned into a sold-out solo show. The journey that followed still has its many challenges but it surely is a blessed one.
Continued interest inevitably brings questions of how, why, functionality, academic bases, sustainability (what could be more sustainable than natural stone?). Crucial questions but potentially disruptive.
I have long rooted for acute focus on process which is eye opening. I’m forever fascinated by the depth of information investigated by recent research based Design studios. But does everything need to be dissected to the point where the final product practically fades into dismantled pieces.
“Do you remember, the 21st night of September? »
Many have argued that the choice of that date had to do with technical aspects of the composition of the song. Others have said that September 21, was the due date of the songwriter’s future son. Maurice White, who wrote this Earth, Wind & Fire classic lyric, said he chose the number 21 because he liked how it sounded. I believe him.
I found solace in a Louise Bourgeois interview when overly investigative demands were already surfacing in my musical career. She said: “A work of art doesn’t have to be explained (…) If you say, what does this mean? Then you do not have any feeling about it, I cannot explain it to you. If this doesn’t touch you, I have failed.”
The lines between Design, Crafts, and Art are increasingly blurred as will surely be displayed in Venice during this month of September. Certain traditions assert that Design is not Art. Art is grand gesture, Design rigorous calculus.
I struggle to call myself a designer though, but I do see myself as something of an artist, a true creative at least with an urge to tell stories, heal wounds, and try to build bridges.
So, what happened on that 21st night of September?
“Love was changing the minds of pretenders, while chasing the clouds away.”
Amen.
Happy September!
See you next month with new works.
Omar