Ebru, the art of crafting images and pictures with special paints on the surface of water, originated on the continent of Asia, spread to Anatolia, and from there to the rest of the world. Ebru has long been the name given to the original Turkish art of “paper marbling” [1].

Enchanted by their interaction with water, human beings started practicing the art of paper marbling. By practicing Ebru, one may interpret the time on the marbling tray as a sort of time travel in which the wiggles of the water take a journey between the past and the future.

For ages, people have been using long-lasting rock surfaces to transfer information to future generations. These artworks and writings are reminders of past civilizations and they have always gained the attention of mankind around the world.

Some natural ingredients for traditional Ebru art include rose branches, dust paint, bile juice, and gum from a wild licorice plant. This natural combination of each ingredient of Ebru art ensures its uniqueness.

Each careful sprinkle of a color on the surface of the water is the reflection of the emotions that are felt by the artist yet are difficult to express otherwise.

Ebru is a delicate reflection of a civilization in which water is exalted as glorious and precious. It is one of the major elements of our world, that are essential for existence, along with soil, air, and fire. Ebru is the art of enthusiasm presented with sincere feelings.

Ebru gives a new perspective to the world of art and to cultures that are not familiar with it, since the concept of water serving as a base might initially seem impossible.  Throughout history, eastern and western civilizations were established around sources of water. Water in fact attracts human beings to its vibrancy like a magnet. It is the source of life for all the people from different ethnic groups, colors, languages, and religions. The mosaic appearance of Ebru art reflects human diversity in its tank with harmony and coherence [2].

In the past, people used to write thing they didn’t want to remember on water. Anything is doomed to disappear on the surface of water other than Ebru.

Using water as a medium is paradoxical because water signifies change as opposed to permanence. However, embroidery on the surface of the water is not something to be planned beforehand but rather an art form that the Ebru performer comes up with at the moment. A single stroke can be transformed but not reversed.

Once the artist has reflected his or her soul’s shape, and the colors have taken their place, the paper is gently laid on the water.

Ebru is like life itself; even if we think we do the same things every day, every moment differs from the others and is unique in its own way.

Ebru is either in the sky or on the Earth [3];

“O eye, do not sprinkle tears into my heart’s fierce fire, for there will be no way you can put out such a fire.
Is the revolving sky’s color the color of water? Or is it my tears that cover up the sky, I cannot know.”

Those who are interested in the art of Ebru and put their hearts into it will connect with a feeling of spiritual serenity and tranquility. Life in contemporary times is a never-ending wave of turmoil. Those who want to escape the hustle of the routines of life will never be rejected and will be welcomed to the ambiance of serenity by the peaceful waves of Ebru.

It takes people from their own world and brings them to another world of imagination where they can reflect on their feelings and get rid of the negative emotions within them.

For those who are stuck in the modern cycle of never-ending tasks, it is a way for them to reach a peaceful state of mind and relax.

Ebru art might take the artist back to their childhood when they used to play with dirt and mud. Perhaps the lack of preserving their childhood feelings can be remedied.

Ebru craftsmen use the biz, a tool used like a pencil to write on the surface of the water. In Ebru, every move on the water gives color patterns.

The art of Ebru in such a small container can take a human to anywhere that they wish to be or can be a canvas for any image that they wish for, such as a garden of flowers or a limitless sky. It will be anywhere other than any negative emotions inside.

Ebru art eventually makes the performer, as well as those that enjoy it, joyful once it is placed onto the wall of a house or at work and is thus able to begin emanating its bliss.

* This article was based on the speech given by Mualla Yazici in the Fountain Talks meeting at Fishers Public Library, Indiana.

References

1. Saracoğlu M. “Ebru or Water Marbling.” The Fountain 72 / November-December 2009.
2. Refik İ. “Uçsuz Bucaksız Bir Okyanusta Renklerin Dansı: Ebru.” Yağmur 3 Nisan, Mayıs, Haziran.1999.
3. “Su Kasidesi – Altın Nefesler,” Yeni Ümit Ekim, Kasım Aralık 1998.

The Coronavirus Pandemic has shaken much of the world to its core and caused many disruptions. Economies have been crippled, millions have been laid off, quarantine has forced us to stay at home for an extended period of time, and thousands have died. Control over our lives and society, it seems, has been lost for most of us.

Perhaps it is possible to, ironically, use what takes control away from us as a means to regain it. One should ponder this coronavirus disaster, why it has come to us, what we can learn from it, and how we can prevent it from happening again. This way, we can regain control through reflection, faith, and science in order to learn from our past mistakes to help ensure that such a crisis does not happen again. Otherwise, we could continue to lose control of our societies.

Our brains have a finite amount of resources but must be taken care of in order to ensure that our bodies can perform all of our necessary daily functions. We can strengthen our brains through long-term potentiation (LTP), which essentially means using it regularly in order to keep it fresh, strong, and up to date. It also explains how our brains change and adapt to different situations and scenarios we encounter, thus serve as a means for us to learn from our hardships and develop new strategies for survival and growth. How can we maintain control of our minds and bodies if we do not learn from our mistakes and continue to grow?

We can continue to find control and peace in anything that speaks to us on a personal or spiritual level. This can range from simple scraps of paper to eloquent forms of art, such as Ebru. Our authors delve into a wide range of topics that they are passionate about. Their arts and crafts, whether a canvas for art or a sheet of paper for writing, is their field where they are in complete control. Surely, we can maintain control in these hobbies or actions even when it seems that everything else around us is falling apart.

“The Orientalists” piece in this issue is providing an alternative perspective on some of the travelers to the East. The perception of the East in the Western mind has been much shaped by the extensive chronicles of these travelers who endured long and strenuous journeys across North Africa and all the way to India. Lawrence Brazier shares with us a panorama of some of the leading Orientalists many of whom, according to him, “were travelers who found the East, indeed, ‘other’ than what they experienced at home. Their quest was a personal enthusiasm for the Orient.”

Serge and I were buddies. Our interests were largely similar. We were both interested in Oriental mysticism, travel literature, art, architecture, and ceramics. 

“The mystical part about making pots is whether you are in a good state when you make them, or anything else. Trying to achieve a good state by throwing pots as a therapeutic undertaking must be difficult. No, the state comes first and everything else follows,” I suggested.

“Sounds rather obvious,” Serge said.

“That’s the trouble, really. We expect our jobs, our hobbies and everything else we do, to give us peace. Of course, we must do our work with our minds, but the mind had better be in abeyance or you have no chance of creating anything worthwhile.”

“But artistic aspirations…?”

“I like basic aesthetics. Slender pots appeal to me more than fat ones. A fairly minimalist approach is evident. A traditional Japanese house delights me. I too, of course, wish to be empty.”

“How about architecture?” he asked.

“It is about form, which by necessity is governed by function. I greatly admire architects and I can feel their dilemma when attempting to combine form and function. The great architects give us spaces that are comfortable for our interior worlds. “

“But empty…?” Serge prodded.

“I suppose I mean the ability, the luck or grace to receive vision. I am convinced that any artistic endeavor begins with an inner vision. A quiet mind is almost a prerequisite. Then comes the work of getting stuff made, which I contend is the job of the mind. I once read that Mozart claimed to have seen music floating before him; he then had the task of getting it all down as sheet music.”

“So you equate throwing pots with a mechanical process,” Serge said.

I explained: “One obviously must learn the mechanics. I spent a year at art school learning how to throw in series. I was fanatical and everyone said I was crazy because I never fired anything. I once worked on a Greek island and was made aware of Greek potters who have little or no artistic ambition. They see working with clay in the same way that a mechanic works on a car. I heard about one potter in Athens whose wheel head never stops turning. Balls of clay are usually weighed to make certain pots and one then places the ball on a stationary wheel head, gets the thing turning, throws the pot, stops the wheel and cuts off the pot to be placed on a board. The man in Athens simply grabs a chunk of clay of about the right weight, whacks it on to a running wheel head, centers and throws the pot and cuts it off and removes it while the wheel head is in motion. He does that all day long, hour after hour.”

“Wasn’t it the Bauhaus people who spoke about a machine for living?”

“Sure,” I said. “But for them function was an aim. The rest was a philosophy of de-cluttering. Décor art also has a function, I hope, because it can get people forgetting themselves, if only momentarily, which I believe is the best way to experience pleasure.”

“What do you mean by forgetting yourself to experience pleasure?”

“It is quite clear – and many doctors and psychologists agree – that the activity of the mind can be repressive. Mental activity is seldom conducive to healing if taken to an extreme. A patient’s first thoughts are naturally the stuff of concern and the need to seek help! If the patient can surrender his or her condition completely to the expertise of the doctor, the doctor’s task is simplified because the patient’s mind does not meddle with the doctor’s work. More important, the mind is placed in abeyance and permits, or releases, the flow of a natural healing process.”

Serge was confused. “But how does creativity come into it?” he asked.

“One could say that any flow of natural energy, meaning not mind-induced, could be pleasurable. But it is not simply a question of absolute faith in a doctor because the mind in this very complex world has often formed what in German is known as an Eigendynamic, a life of its own, which means that the mind could take control of a person’s life and becomes a personal, overriding function. That which should be a person’s servant has then reversed the roles.

“Most people find a feeling of equanimity in a state of passive focus. I once attended a concert featuring Ella Fitzgerald and a jazz trio. The lady was in such fine form that within a few minutes she had captured the attention, the hearts, and the minds, of the entire audience, thus giving them a release from self. The feeling of euphoria was utterly palpable. Any great artist can give this grace to people. To look at a Rembrandt, at least for the first time, can be stunning – meaning, the mind is stunned. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and many more, were capable of offering such grace. I would suggest that truly great artists are themselves in a state of mind abeyance, as mentioned above, when creating their pictures, sculpture, music, literature, and architecture. Great artists ‘receive’ rather than ‘conceive’ their works.

“We are encouraged to be selfless, to simply let go of the thoughts that constantly bug us and turn to what we instinctively know to be true. True art, design, architecture, and hopefully ceramics, can therefore not only be pleasing but also beneficial.”

“Is humankind sick?” he asked.

“Not at all but there does appear to be a widespread feeling of dissatisfaction as we travel down our days. We have little repose. You might say we don’t give ourselves a chance to be truly happy. Was it Krishnamurti who said that there is only one thing between you and God: you. Get out of the way.”

“So you think a mystical approach would be useful?”

“I really do believe that, but, naturally, one would need the time to get quiet. Having a family, a job, earning a living and all the rest is hardly conducive to achieving equanimity from the outset. I can now make ceramics at my leisure but I admire those creative people who are able to achieve great work within the hustle of daily life, especially the young ones.”

“Looking at the pictures, there seems to be an ‘Asian’ approach to your ceramics.”

I said: “The master-potter, Bernard Leach went to Asia to learn about ceramics. He returned to England in 1920 and brought the Japanese master, Shoji Hamada, with him. Hamada and Leach showed us the possibility of selfless pottery making. They constructed and fired a wood-burning kiln, which, opposed to the radiant heat of an electric kiln, brings out the inherent qualities of the clay beneath a glaze. This is achieved by reducing the air intake at a critical point during firing because, obviously, a naked flame requires oxygen to keep burning. Thus the flame starved of oxygen seeks oxygen in the glazes and the clay. The result is buttery textures and some marvelous hues. I have a potter friend, however, who studied with Leach and he said it took years to escape from his influence.”

“But what of selfless pottery?”

“Again, it is the state of having one’s mind in abeyance. Leach maintained that if six potters were to each make a simple tea bowl and one of the potters was in a quiet state the result would be noticeable. In fact, he said that eight out of ten observers would instinctively choose that one bowl.”

“This would seem to imply meditation,” Serge said.

“I have nothing against meditation, but I never did it.”

“So what is your approach?”

“I do nothing really special: just get quiet, relax, begin, and watch what happens. I’m sure many others are happy with the way they operate.”

“Is there a learning process, in all this?”

I told him, “It’s like learning to drive a car, which is initially undertaken as a mental process. Beginners tend to be nervous. Gear changes get snarled, the rear-view mirror is largely forgotten, and so on. The mechanical learning process gradually becomes internalized and a natural flow takes over. Gear changes and all of the other skills become automatic. When this has occurred the mind is set free to concentrate, although focus would be a better word, on what is coming at you on the road.”

“So how did you learn?”

“It may sound far-fetched but one might say that the hands learned what to do. There is a marvelous video on YouTube showing the jazz guitarist Stanley Jordan playing a number (Jumpin’ Jack). Jordan has the ability to play melody and bass simultaneously, somewhat in the way a pianist plays. Deep into his solo one sees Jordan looking down at his hands and there is a smile on his face that seems to say ‘…hey, you guys are really having a good time.’”

“Oh come on, jazz and a quiet mind?”

“Jazz means improvisation engendered by freedom. The freedom from self, conflict, and anything else that hinders creativity.”

“Of course it would be impertinent to speak for other artists but I love the idea of what the Japanese call Shibui. It is a feeling engendered by quiet reticence, something that gives pleasure for reasons beyond explanation. I suppose it means a special rightness about something. Since I am not a Mozart, I do not expect to stun or startle with my work. I am satisfied if a bit of Shibui arises through a combination of shapes and glazes.”

“Talking about shapes…” Serge said.

“As I said before I prefer slender pots; pots that narrow down to a small foot. This gives the pot an appearance of floating – is soaring too presumptuous? My bowls usually have a turned foot. It gives them a lightness that I find pleasing.”

“Have you not been copying the painter Giorgio Morandi with his still-life renderings of ceramic vessels, especially the fluted bottles or those with cut sides?”

“I had never heard of the man before you mentioned him,” I told my friend. “But Morandi does appeal. Thanks for introducing me to his work.”

“The glazes are obviously an enhancement!”

“True but there is a lot of science involved. I fire with an electric kiln because it was given to me as a gift. We are too strapped for cash to buy a preferred gas or wood-burning kiln. My glazes have therefore been things to overcome rather than just use.”

“Build your own kiln!”

“I would love to but for the time being I am where I am at. The electric kiln I use is not particularly large, 60x75x50 centimeters inside, and it does have its eccentricities. All potters have this problem and have adjusted their glaze recipes and firing cycles accordingly. After several test firings, I have been lucky to achieve a good off-white, a really luscious chocolate black, a rather startling blue, a gorgeous dark green thinning to brown on the edges. I also have a nice pale green, which is supposed to be a celadon, but never really came out that way. I am still looking for a classic Chinese tenmoku glaze that fires at 1250°. It is a wonderful black breaking to brown on thin edges.”

“Your glaze application sometimes seems somewhat free-form,” Serge said. “What is behind that?”

“Well, if you have ever tried to draw an arc or a circle you will see the distinct wobble of the line because of an unsure hand. Just swish the pencil around on the paper and the result is likely to be much more graceful. You may not achieve a perfect circle but the result will be more pleasing to the eye. Lord knows how Giotto did a perfect circle in the thirteenth century. Splash glazing is a sort of just do it endeavor. There is no foresight involved, I dribble a glaze on to a pot and…”

“Watch what happens?”

“Right,” I said. “It is again the idea of not really putting one’s mind into a thing. Otherwise I dip my pots into a bucket of glaze in the usual way. Of course, large vessels must have a glaze poured over them, but it is still uncontrolled.”

“Clay?”

“The stoneware clay I use has been great help in achieving texture, although it is not very easy to throw. I mix two clays, with and without grog. The clay is speckled with pyrite and it looks good on the unglazed parts of a pot. The pyrite also shows through the glazes, especially in the off-white.”

“There seems to be lifestyle aspect in what you do.”

“I got around to it a bit late but consider myself lucky. We have a nice old house and a small pottery room. The garden is up and running. My marriage seems to be good, although I am definitely not going to ask her opinion about that. How you live, where you live, and what you do are largely a matter of circumstance for most people. An organized human environment is rather required.”

“Do you remember us talking about Francesco Patrizi, the author of many works of philosophy and the arts?”

“That’s right. He was looking for perfection of a sort,” I said.

“Patrizi wrote a book tantalizingly called The Happy Town. The work is Utopian and an attempt to counter Thomas More’s notion of separating church and state. Patrizi proposed the integration of both. He was born into the nobility in Croatia in 1529 and had the time and inclination to consider the improvement of the world around him. La città felice was written in 1551 in Padua and was printed in Venice in 1553, when Patrizi was only 22 years old. His book proposes a topographical situation that is obviously seen as the Croatian town of Cres in its deep, protective bay, and is about achieving an ideal state. We are confronted with a man who wished to create order, but it was order-imposed. His architectural notions encompassed ‘…straight streets to enhance winds in the hot season’ and ‘…streets meandering like a river to divert winds in the winter months.’ There were to be squares and institutional buildings for commerce, but his main thrust was the stuff of social order. Fabrizi proposed two social groups, the nobility, composed of soldiers and the priesthood, and workers and peasants forming a second group. This second group in The Happy Town were not actually meant to be happy but were only to serve and ‘…not to attain a state of bliss.’”

“Ho hum for Fabrizi. Thomas More was really a humanist, someone who cared.”

“Exactly!” Serge said. “Patrizi was an architect who wished to tell people what is good for them. One debatable point about art could be about what it does to people. Should art bring people to quiet reflection – bliss would be an exaggeration in my case – or should it provoke? Personally, getting people all riled up doesn’t make sense to me.”

“So what is the message?”

“Not offending anyone’s sensibilities, which means offering stuff that calms rather than antagonizes.”

“Your method…?”

“Get quiet, relax, begin.”   

“And watch what happens?”

“That’s about it.”

We begin in the Lead Article with a discussion about how to avoid inner decay, a phenomenon that can cause people to drift away from what it means to be human by becoming lost in despair. This anguish spreads through the heart and body like a disease and subsequently causes everything to look bleak, taste bland, and feel pointless. It is contrasted heavily by the light of belief, which has the opposite effect and lifts the soul up into tranquility.

Our narrative by Lawrence Brazier that delves into the wonderful world of pottery and his thought process behind trying to make the best pieces. His discussion with his friend reveals how he believes, in his opinion, that attaining inner peace produces the best kind of art. His perspective is that art should calm and soothe as opposed to provoke and agitate, therefore encouraging a peaceful state of mind in order to achieve the desired result.

Celine Dan Tam Nguyen’s memoir explores how her grandmother, whose husband was killed in a war, had to strengthen her resolve every day in order to provide for herself and her five children. Her survival depended upon defiantly standing up to a patriarchal society that encouraged her to simply sit down and accept defeat. It is a harrowing story of the toll that war takes on innocent families, and how they must find peace within in order to persist during such trying times.

Irfan Yilmaz writes a beautiful article on the intricacies and immense qualities of the hummingbird, the world’s smallest bird. It is renowned for its speed, precision, and rapid heart-rate despite being such a tiny creature. We may also achieve inner peace by temporarily removing ourselves from the noise of our society and by ruminating on the beauty of the natural world around us in creations such as the hummingbird.

Islamic calligraphy isn’t just a gorgeous style of art, but a symbol for how rich and diverse the Islamic world truly is

For all of the artistic forms the Islamic world has produced, calligraphy seems to be the most pre-eminent. It is entwined in the popular consciousness with Islam itself; mosques around the world proudly display the shahada and the bismillah, and these are featured – in calligraphic script – on the flags of many Muslim countries. Calligraphy has travelled across the Muslim world, transliterating many languages and morphing into many different schools of styles; it has even influenced Western styles of illustrated books and penmanship. This article does not focus on calligraphy entirely, but rather will show how the religious, historical, and cultural backgrounds of the different Islamic cultures informed the development of calligraphy – from the way the Qur’an and the Sunnah view art, to the history of the Arabic script and its transmission, to the way calligraphy travelled around the Middle East, and finally to how the actual production of calligraphy and the training of calligraphers influences its style.

Essentially, the ubiquity of calligraphy in the Islamic visual arts can be traced to the fundamental religious concepts of shirk – that it is forbidden to associate any other entity with Allah, thus risking tawhid, or the “oneness of God.” These other entities can be anything – from the “little gods” (ilah) of greed, capriciousness, and atheism, to the polytheistic deities displaced by Islam at its birth – but for the purposes of this essay, shirk is synonymous with idolatry. To humans, God cannot be comprehended with our own senses or mentality; it is only possible to see the results of His work on Earth and infer His qualities from that. Since God is fundamentally beyond the scope of the human, any attempt to reduce Him to a visual representation is heretical. Idols and icons of God detract from tawhid – that is, it places an intermediate entity between the worshipper and God – and “nothing must stand between man and the invisible presence of God” (Burckhardt, 1976 : p.34).

Within the Qur’an itself, there are many verses dealing with proscriptions in producing images of the divine – in particular, the story of Abraham destroying the idols in 20:52-7. As well as this, many hadith tell of the Prophet Muhammad’s disapproval of not only the makers of religious idols, but any visual depiction of animate beings like humans and animals. This again is to do with shirk – humans acting with arrogance and equating their creations with the creations and creatures of God.

Artists were encouraged to draw plants, landscapes, and abstract pictures instead. Historically, this prohibition against animate figures can explain the flowering of abstract design, calligraphy included, across the Islamic world; it also shows why mosques and other Islamic religious centres lack the anthropocentric art that is usual in their Christian counterparts (e.g., Jesus’ crucifixion, icons of the saints, etc.). Visual depictions of humans and animals do exist in the Muslim world on a smaller scale – murals and frescoes were painted in liberal enclaves like al-Andalus and ‘Abbasid Baghdad, and both Persia and Turkey have supported robust traditions of miniature painting and illustrated books since the 13^th century (Eastman, 1933 : p.22-3). However, the common theme underlying all these works is that they were usually small and for private viewing only; murals were not found outside the palace walls, and illustrated books and paintings were hobbies for nobles, and not for mass consumption. Calligraphy, with its abstract, non-representational style, and the general veneration of language and writing in Islamic culture, became the dominant art form within the Muslim world.

To adequately explain the first appearance of Islamic calligraphy, two distinct questions should be asked – what sort of script did the first Muslims write in, and where did it come from? And what is the history of the written, illustrated Qur’an that actually used calligraphy?

Answering the former question, Arabic script evolved from Nabatean, which in turn came from a script termed Proto-Sinaitic. Only a few examples of Proto-Sinaitic have been found, all dated to c.1900 BCE (Man, 2000 : p.189), but it is postulated that Proto-Sinaitic was one of the first alphabetical scripts developed (rather than ideographic or “symbolic” scripts, like Chinese). Since the actual spoken languages across the region all belonged (and for the most part still belong) to the Semitic language family, it was relatively easy for one script to be adapted to many languages; an archaic form of the Arabic script was known to the first Muslims, even if they were for the most part illiterate. The production of copies of the Qur’an was the first step to greater literacy in the Muslim community (the umma).

The first Qur’ans that still survive today were written in a thick, angular, straight style called Kufic, after the city of Kufa in modern day Iraq, a center for book production; most date to the 8^th or 9^th centuries. According to tradition, it was ‘Uthman’s successor, Ali, who first used and popularised this style over others (Schimmel, 1984 : p.3-4). Kufic was not cursive like modern Arabic script is; rather, five-sixths of letters were supposed to be straight against one-sixth of curved. This meant that the angular, thick lines of Kufic were very easy to chisel into metal or stone – the first Islamic coins and tombstones feature inscriptions written in Kufic (Schimmel, 1992 : p.4-7). A slanted subset of Kufic appeared around the same time, in copies of the Qur’an found in and traced back to the cities of Mecca and Medina. This style, called Ma’il, did not seem as popular as Kufic, but represented the first step towards the more recognisable cursive classical calligraphy. As Islam spread across the Middle East, different varieties of cursive script developed. This development was helped by the spread of sophisticated paper-making technology. Though paper had been known of and used since the start of the ‘Abbasid Caliphate in 751 (Coomaraswamy, 1929 : p.50), more durable vellum had been used to create Qur’ans up until the 10^th century. However, with the importation of high-quality Chinese paper, and the creation of royal paper mills in Baghdad, cursive styles began to appear in both the Qur’an and in official documents of the era; the first wholly paper book can be dated back to 870 (Schimmel, 1984 : p.16). The differences between each style of writing were studied and placed into groups: the “six cursive scripts” or al-aqlam al-sittah, as conflated by the master calligrapher and ‘Abbasid vizier, Ibn Muqla (885-940). These six groups were:

1. Nashk – everyday script; the precursor to the modern Arabic used worldwide. It is the most basic cursive hand; at first it was not used much to write Qur’ans or important state documents, but for everyday writing purposes. However, after the 15^th century, nashki underwent a “renaissance” and it appeared in many books across the Islamic world (Schimmel, 1970 : pl.IX).
2. Thuluth – “one-third” (named after the angle of the slant of its letters); the most common decorative script used in Islamic cultures. Ibn Muqla called it “the mother of the cursive scripts.” Thuluth is more extravagant than Nashki writing, with long, flowing lines and elegant curves, and it was often used in medieval times to decorate the veneers of buildings (Coomaraswamy, 1929 : 54).
3. Muhaqqaq – a script derived from thuluth and used by the Mamluk sultans of Egypt in the 13^th century, and Safavid Persia in the 15^th century; most of the sultan’s royal documents were written in this hand. It was considered to be drier than thuluth, with pointed letter endings and very high “tall” letters (Schimmel, 1992 : p.16).
4. Rihan – a less-extravagant version of muhaqqaq; it is distinguishable from thuluth by the pointed ends of its letters. After Ibn Muqla’s time, rihani writing fell out of favour and is not very well attested (Tabbaa, 1991 : p.122).
5. Tawqi’ – the official hand used by the ‘Abbasid caliphate under Yaqut al-Musta’simi, the successor of Ibn Muqla. The letters in tawqi’ are straighter than in other varieties, though it is still very much a decorative style, rather than an everyday one; it was mainly used to write out court documents and royal decrees (Schimmel, 1970 : p.7)
6. Riqa’ – a more informal, less “monumental” version of tawqi’, riqa’ is still used today as a secondary writing style. Like tawqi’, it flattens out elongated curves and high letters for ease of writing; it is known as the “copyist’s hand” (Shimmel, 1984 : p.23-4).

As well as these definitive styles that were used across the Islamic world, there existed regional variations that were used by specific cultures. The most well-known of these include:

1. Maghribi, which arose in North Africa sometime in the 14^th century, and owed more of its stylistic origins to Kufic than the cursive scripts; thick lines and tall, straight letters were emphasised (Schimmel, 1992 : p.32-3).
2. Ta’liq or “hanging,” that was used – from the time of its conquest – to write exclusively in the Persian language. It evolved into Nasta’liq in the 15^th century; Nasta’liq separated the letters far more than other styles did, and often wrote them on differing levels for artistic effect (Schimmel, 1992 : p.34-7). It was the preferred script for writing poems and for accompanying miniature paintings.
3. Diwani – the extremely elaborate calligraphy of the Ottoman Empire; it first appeared around the time of Suleiman in the 16^th century; Suleiman was apparently a master calligrapher himself. Diwani is extremely complex and difficult to learn – its rules were only taught to a select few, but exponents of the art could create images out of calligraphy (Coomaraswamy, 1929 : 58).

The basic method of production for all of these hands is essentially the same – the calligrapher uses a reed stylus/pen called a qalam, a supply of ink (hibr), and usually an inkpot as well (dawaat). The ink was collected from “lampblack”; that is, the remnants of oil found in burnt oil-lamps, though other methods existed, like burning tar or pitch (Schimmel, 1984 : p.40). At first, in the early days of Islam’s expansion, only black or brown ink was used; however, it is common to find manuscripts in which a later scribe has gone over their predecessors’ work with coloured inks, especially since not all the early Qur’ans used the same spelling. By the turn of the millennium, though, calligraphers could choose to write in many different dyes and inks, and color their books with such luxuries as lapis lazuli and gold leaf (Schimmel, 1970 : pl.XXII). The form of the calligraphy was also dictated by the material the words were written on; because only parchment was used to create the earliest books, cursive scripts would be too hard to write effectively on them.

The invention of paper directly led to the explosion of cursive styles. To prepare the paper for calligraphy, the artist had to first apply ahar, a conditioning mixture that consisted of rice powder, egg white, and starch, to make the paper smooth. Any further unevenness was smoothed out by a stone, traditionally an agate. Once the page was complete, sand was thrown over it, both to soak up the excess ink and as a blessing (Schimmel, 1984 : p.41-2).

The actual training of a professional calligrapher (khattat) was another matter entirely; though most Muslims of education knew how to write the basics of the nashki or riqa’ styles, the future khattat must seek the patronage of a master teacher (sheik). This idea of seeking guidance through a teacher comes directly from the influence of Sufism –  in fact, almost all master calligraphers were Sufis as well. Students had to train constantly, using a mashq (practice slate); on a given day, they would study only the permutations of one letter, though of course the style of training varied from teacher to teacher (Schimmel, 1984 : p.48). Most commonly the rules of form laid down by Ibn Muqla were the most studied. If the students were successful enough in their endeavors, the teacher would award them an ijaza (lit.,  “permission”), a certificate that showed that their sheik considered them adept enough to be a khattat. These ijaza were vital in showing the different lineages of styles across the Islamic world. One final, surprising feature of the calligraphers and their students was that so many of them were women – calligraphy was seen as a pious career for both sexes; many Ottoman princesses were considered master calligraphers in their own right (Schimmel, 1970 : 47).

In conclusion, Islamic calligraphy inherently shows the growth and development of Islam itself, through its aniconic styles of art, to the growth in usage of the Arabic script, and to the blossoming of distinct local variants of Islamic culture. Through all this, it is possible to trace the respect and awe Muslims held for writing, and calligraphy in particular, linking it with the heart of religion. An old Arabic saying puts it best by saying, “Purity of writing is the purity of the soul” (Schimmel, 1992 : p.1).

References

• Burckhardt, Titus (1976) Art of Islam: Language and Meaning, trans. French by Peter Hobson, London : Islamic Festival Trust.
• Al-Bukhari, Muhammad ibn Ismail (c.846) Sahih al-Bukhari, trans. Arabic by Muhammed Muhsin Khan, University of California (database) http://www.usc.edu/schools/college/crcc/engagement/resources/texts/muslim/hadith/bukhari/
• Eastman, Alvan C. (1933) Islamic Miniature Painting, Parnassus, vol.5 no.7, New York : College Art Association.
• Gruber, Christiane (2009) Representations of the Prophet Muhammad in Islamic painting, Muqarnas,  Necipoglu, Gulru & Leal, Karen (eds.), vol.26, Cambridge : Harvard University Press.
• Man, John (2000) Alphabeta, London : Random House.
• O’Connor, M. (1986) The Arabic Loanwords in Nabatean Aramaic, Journal of Near Eastern Studies, vol.45 no.3, Chicago : Chicago University Press.
• Denny, Frederick Mathewson (1989) Qur’an Recitation: A Tradition of Oral Performance and Transmission, Oral Tradition http://journal.oraltradition.org/files/articles/4i-ii/2_Denny.pdf
• Akram, A.I. (1970) The Sword of Allah: Khalid bin al-Waleed, His Life and Campaigns, Rawalpindi : National Publishing House (database)
• http://web.archive.org/web/20020224232028/http://www.swordofallah.com/html/bookhome.htm
• Schimmel, Annemarie (1984) Calligraphy and Islamic Culture, New York : New York University Press.
• Schimmel, Annemarie (1992) Islamic Calligraphy, London : Metropolitan Museum of Art.
• Coomaraswamy,Ananda (1929) Arabic and Turkish Calligraphy, Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts, vol.27 no.162, Boston : Museum of Fine Arts.
• Schimmel, Annemarie (1970) Islamic Calligraphy, Leiden : E.J. Brill.
• Tabbaa, Yasser (1991) The Transformation of Arabic Writing: Part I, Qur’anic Calligraphy, Ars Orientalis, vol.21, Michigan : Smithsonian Institution and Department of the History of Art.

She was studying biology and was in love with the micro-cosmos.

“Why don’t you go to lab, then?” Alice asked. “It would be better if you stay there. At least we’ll know where to find you.”

Marylyn breathed and responded. “You know, there are three tiers of knowledge. One is while you sit in class. There, you just hear about cells, the plants, and various kinds of bacteria. When you are in lab, you see that the knowledge you know so far is just a narrative. But when I am in nature, even it is only one tree, I can live it. I can breathe in, breathe out, and each time my cells will appreciate me, my soul will feel refreshed. I wish I could breathe in all knowledge as such. I wish I could be more into their hidden world.”

“You know, I love hiking,” Sharon said. “I love seeing places that I have never been to. To get to know a tree I have never been introduced to before is a way of getting to know the wilderness friendship community. I try hard to have a meaning each time I walk on a new trail. There is that huge connection and circulation in nature. A drop of water that was once at Manhattan Beach can return back to the Bay Area as morning dew. A leaf that left the family tree in one fall can return to her wilderness society in the form of a new nutrient that serves birds or other animals in the form of a new plant. Scientists follow birds that travel for years, but we all travel around. That makes us a family. All are given to the service of humans at the end. Beauty is the thing that makes me think the most. Each snow crystal has a unique blueprint, though we cannot see that with our bare eyes. When an ocean wave pounds the shore, the way the drops of water scatter is very mathematical. You can measure it, and figure out a pattern. But does the water know this? Do flowers know how to calculate how to take off their petals, mathematically, every morning when they see the sun? If not, what kind of knowledge is it? As a human, am I the only one who can read this knowledge?

“If so, we are given both a big responsibility and a very deep honor. I cannot appreciate enough that duty and honor. But, my problem is it is not as easy to read or listen to the language of the universe as it is to read a book. But I imagine, if I could listen to that language, what would it feel like? I would have new friends each and every day from nature, friends who would have scientific names. But I know them beyond science. This is a knowledge of friendship. This is beyond just names; it is to be able to carry a conversation and be one of them.”

“You are funny,” Alberto said. “You should have studied philosophy.”

Karen was silent until that moment. “What you say about three layers of knowledge, reminded me of 3-D movies. It’s as if you would rather be in that movie. But I suppose we do not have a 4-D.”

“I agree,” continued Alice. “But I assume there is something in nature that tells you even though you are in the most beautiful place, it will not last long. Or you will not be able to penetrate into it. You are just an outsider. When you read a book, you can have a special imagined space for that book in your mind. Movies are different. Say, you read Great Expectations. Your characters and places are unique to you when you read it. No cinema can substitute the places and characters your imagination generates in your little world. So when you read, you enter into a secret world of your own. It is so secret that sometimes, even words or art cannot describe it. You travel to the tops of mountains, or to city centers – except those places only exist inside of you. And you can go to those places whenever you want to.

“Nature is like the words on the page of a book. The first layer of knowledge is to attain the ability to read. But when letters composed of leaves come together and form a word from a tree, and when you put trees together what does the sentence of the forest say to you? This is, again, a secret world. First it reads, then it tells, then it speaks, and I suppose at the zenith, it feels. When we go into the wilderness, the first impression is that feeling. Then we go backwards and try to see where it speaks, what it says, what it writes. At the zenith of that inner journey, we meet ourselves as a reader of nature. We are interlocutor, we are in a conversation that touches, that encompasses, but it is beyond the limits of even 4-D. We do not know how to describe it. Thus, we can only say that it feels.”

“Well, is it like me when I want to lie in one letter of a song?” Liam asked. “Or take that word as a jacket and wear it for days? Once we even discussed with my friends in philosophy club whether to initiate a group on wearing the sounds of words in our every day presence. A friend once made a presentation on how we talk out our inner self when we meditate and how that moment of meditation is indeed a replica of nature speaking in its own language. He brought pictures both from nature and from other traditions. He showed how sitting in silence is reminiscent of how trees with big, strong roots lay out on the earth. He showed how oceans and the earth prostrate, teaching us to be humble despite the fact that oceans and water compose 70% of the world and the rest is the soil. He showed us flowers that open their hands and arms to reach out beyond the sky and heavens. When we bow down, we intend to leave our carnal selves in the shape of an animal on four legs, he believed. In his presentation, nature spoke in the form of a human. But I do not know the reverse. Can humans decipher more than the symbolic language of nature? Can we delve in between the lines of the book of universe?”

‘This is a very sophisticated talk. I’m not sure I can add much to it,” Suzie said. “Yet, I see that this is also our daily lives. You know my friends in art school, we seek ways to make things speak in the language of art. I suppose one flower is an example of the highest level of sophistication in the artistic language. Humans can make that flower speak in zillions of languages. But art also feels. The regular words are just a tool to express the meaning. It is mostly a knowledge that is revealed in the forms of feeling. Is feeling also a type of knowledge?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Evan responded. “My professor used to say that sometimes a great article begins with an unsatisfied feeling. You do research and find out that you were not satisfied because of an aspect you missed or that you were right and the literature dismissed one important point. Thus, we shall not underestimate feelings as a point of origin, but we have to dig deeper for the source of knowledge. Feelings are a trigger; the rest is all on the results of the analysis.”

“Well then,” Sharon said. “It is five minutes to my class. Hope to see you again afterwards?”

As planets have been moving like whirling dervishes around the sun for millions of years, the Milky Way and billions of galaxies in the universe constantly keep turning in space, whose boundaries we are unable to define, in a realm of ether. As the world completes rotating around its own axis in 24 hours, it orbits around the sun with a speed of 30 km/hr and it does not even make a second’s delay in completing its yearly tour. A crowded family formed by the other nearby worlds and their satellites are travelling toward the Vega system with a speed of 220 km/second. Thanks to this rhythmic order, the orbits of planets and their positions at a given date, the times for lunar and solar eclipses, and changes with the length of days and nights, can be predicted years in advance, or calculated for historical times. The repetitive nature of these movements and continuity of the present order, for millions of years, show that everything depends on a certain plan and law, and that nothing acts on its own. There is no place for coincidence when things happen within a frame of laws, where order and rhythm exist.

The continuity of existence depends on the repetition of existing motions within a certain period – namely, on rhythmical motion. The cessation of motion in the cosmos would mean the non-existence of rhythm. It is not possible to talk about rhythm without motion and activity. This movement in existence must have a meaning and purpose. It is exceedingly difficult to explain, with physical laws, why existence came to be and the purpose in this motion. In addition, why this motion began and how long it will last, cannot solely be explained with physical laws. However, there is great meaning in this harmonious turning; an unbroken bond in existence, and a unity. Everything uses a silent language to give a meaningful message to insightful hearts. Then, how is this message supposed to be read and understood?

As we understand from holy scriptures, existence is made subservient to humanity. Existence stands as a means for human comprehension of the meaning within. A person who can view existence with eyes of wisdom and manages to hear creation’s silent melody becomes enraptured with this rhythm and feels like a whirling dervish awed by the Divine.

Rhythm in nature

There exists a balance in nature and a meaningful bond between beings. As everything runs in harmony, beings both help and compensate for one another. The sun, the earth’s source of energy and light, and essential for the continuity of life, is made dependent on a certain order with its rhythmical motion; the world and other planets move in accordance with this main rhythm. Day and night happen by the earth’s spinning around its axis, which is another rhythmical and constant occurrence. An absence of rhythm causes uncertainty and the situation is defined as chaos. If the future is completely uncertain, it gives way to utter chaos and life on earth cannot continue.

The holistic and integrated nature of beings is reflected in human biology, as it is in all living beings. Humans can always perceive, in daily life, that the motions in the universe are in a rhythmical order. As a person comes to this world connected with these rhythms; one can feel their effect in every stage of life and in one’s own body. The circular motion that occurs with the periodical repetition of minutes, hours, days, seasons, and years influences us. The inner rhythm we call our “biorhythm” is adjusted in accordance with the order outside, and there is a 24-hour periodical rhythm in daily life. Every individual has an innately given, peculiar, and distinctive bio rhythm special to the person’s biological and spiritual structure. As in human beings, a periodical rhythm is observable in many living things’ metabolism, heartbeat, and bodily functions, like respiration and sleep; this is known as the circadian rhythm. If the rhythms of living beings are upset, their biological balance is also upset, a situation which can sometimes cause death.

There is no place for coincidence in the universe; everything runs in a regular order established by the One of infinite wisdom. What brings order to life is the existence of rhythmical motion and the continuity of this order, which gives people a sense of security and makes life easier. One can make daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly plans. For example, the fact that the sun’s motion depends on certain physical laws that can be defined with mathematical formulas, and that we see it rising at a certain hour from the same direction every day, gives a sense of comfort to our mind and feelings. Most people do not even worry whether the sun will rise the next day. A person with sound reason does not fall into contradictions while observing occurrences and looks to future with trust. Thanks to periodical occurrences, a person finds a beauty in one’s memories and feelings by remembering the past. These recurring seasons can help us to remember things that, otherwise, might be forgotten.

As an inherent quality of human nature, a person wishes to see an order to social life and expects consistent behavior from others. People with consistent behavior are more preferable as friends and inspire trust in those around them. The order formed as a consequence of individuals’ living in harmony can be seen as social rhythm. Just as a social life that respects others’ rights, and acting in accordance with the existing order, is peaceful and harmonious, a social life that runs counter to the idea of order and trust can lead to chaos and unrest.

Arts

Laws prevalent in existence can also be expressed with arithmetical equations. Mathematical curves, fractals, number series, and many other things reflect a rhythmical pattern and a plan. For example, works executed with the proportions of Fibonacci numbers and the golden ratio give aesthetic pleasure to viewers. The eye perceives numerous patterns and motifs formed by ranges of colors, and the ear perceives all melodies and sounds as rhythm. For a person who views creation with eyes of wisdom, the positions of leaves on a tree, a soaring bird, a flowing river, and all of spring’s colorful blossoms are causes of admiration and enthusiasm. Beauty appeals to human nature. And what lies in the essence of all art is aesthetic beauty and harmony, which evoke this feeling of admiration. The human reason, spirit, and emotions have their share from the mysterious activities observed in creation; they express these through art. An artist is essentially inspired by this order and harmony in the universe. If art is the name for sensing this rhythm and harmony in the universe, then the artist is a person who expresses this rhythm in one’s works. Those who grasp this fine meaning and aesthetic beauty in creation can be said to have caught the true spirit in art.

Music is the art where rhythm is sensed best. The patterns and harmony in music perfectly agree with the harmony in nature. Perhaps, how music appeals human feelings and gives us delight is a consequence of such a correspondence. A person’s recognition of this harmony and rhythm in the universe makes one conform to it and become unified with existence.

To conclude, humans have not been left to run wild in this world; an order is needed for their material and spiritual life. The balance, harmony, and beauties existing in creation are reflected in human nature as well. Without a rhythmically working order, the balance of life will be upset, chaos will begin, and maybe the world will come to an end!

The human life, likewise, is marked by an experience of exhibition. The entire universe is out there for us to visit every day and every moment and cherish the beauties therein. The human being is no less an exhibition. As eloquently mentioned in the lead article we are blessed with a perfect physical structure that “whichever organ we may study, it is impossible not to feel admiration before its anatomy.” But the human is not only what it appears outside: “the depth of the inner world of a person has such rich potential to develop, and the potential to keep developing dimensions within; a complicated brain and a spirit with an elusive essence that evades material measure; and then the perfectly harmonious relation of these two phenomena-the physical and the spiritual together. . . mysterious beings… Within everything are meanings crystallized from the hues in the corona of that magnificent artwork-the human and her dignity.” The lead article is complemented with other articles in this issue on some of the fantastic abilities given to the human: the miraculous human birth, sneezing as a protective alarm system for our body, and the amazing Endoplasmic Reticulum which is the “industry district” in our cell where “most of the factories of molecules produced by chemical reactions are found.”

The Fountain continues to partner with civil society organizations and universities for international conferences and other events around the world. The earliest ones in the pipeline are the “Peacebuilding through Education” conference in New York, September 24, and “Ideal Human and Ideal Society” conference in Lahore, Pakistan, November 21. One concurrent event with the New York conference is Peace in a Frame photography competition. You will see ads of these events in this issue, and please refer to the listed websites for further information.

Art, on its quest for refinement, is the expression of the ethos and values of society. It serves to remind us that life must be permeated with physical, spiritual and emotional beauty. The objects in these Met Galleries are the memoirs of civilization, yet they are not cast in the amber of the past. They pulse with life. They help us to understand how the cultures touched by Islam were built and evolved through the present day. A balanced display of objects of all types and techniques leads the visitor on a rich ride through the artistic, cultural and religious contexts of regional spheres stretching from Rabat to Ulan Bator, from Trabzon to Jakarta.

A paradise of artistic delight

Selecting these outstanding pieces must have been an emotional and challenging experience for the curators. How to choose only 1200 pieces from the Museum’s vast collections of 12,000 objects to tell the story of the interlinking themes across centuries and continents? The galleries explore the richness of Islamic art in objects big and small: from monumental bronze salvers of princely palaces to humble ceramic bowls, from stylish illuminated manuscripts to Qur’an pages filled with graceful calligraphy, from steel sabers to gardens of textile delights.

Some of the stunning artifacts on exhibit include miniatures from the most famous series of paintings in Islamic art, the celebrated 16th century Shahnama of Shah Tahmasp, ornamental doors from the 9th century royal residence at Samarra in Iraq, a monumental 12th century Seljuk feline incense burner from Iran, a 12th century astrolabe from Yemen, and carved stucco panels from a 10th century house in Nishapur, Iran. Turkish and Mamluk carpets are presented in a room under a newly-assembled wooden ceiling from a 15th century Spanish monastery crafted by Muslim artisans, offering visitors a constellation of stars above and below.

Architecture, one of the most visible and unifying manifestations of the Islamic heritage, has a place here as well. Peeking into the Damascus Room, an intact 18th century reception room from an upper-class Syrian Ottoman house, gives insight onto the daily life of the era. The 11-foot high turquoise tiled prayer niche from a 14th century theological school in Isfahan has been moved to a more prominent place in the galleries (and respectfully reset to its correct kibla orientation), which allows visitors to feel its architectural impact. One of the most popular attractions is the Moroccan Courtyard – a room built from scratch to resemble a 14th century home interior, with intricately carved niches and a bubbling fountain. This graceful gem was created by craftsmen from Fez brought in especially for the project.

Innovative objectives

A desire to rethink the presentation of the galleries prompted the museum to close them for renovation in 2003, two years after the events of 9/11. The curatorial staff set out to sensitively join the galaxy of cultures touched by Islam, and to make its appreciation more accessible by the general public through a judicious intermingling of art objects. The curators chose three major strategies to achieve this monumental task.

Firstly, the official name change from the former reductive “Islamic Galleries” was a bold one. The new name is indeed a mouthful, but it removes the stigma of Islam as opposed to the West and alien, as well as the stereotype of an art produced only in relationship to religion. It effectively dismantles the notion that Islamic art is a single, uniform production.

Secondly, intelligent architecture, using an open plan, created more square footage and brightened the former dim and mysterious rooms into a light and positive space. Lattice screens made in Egypt point the way and provide awareness of the mutual visibility of the cultures. The floors are paved in a different stone for each section, ranging from Egyptian marble inlaid with stars to soft Indian sandstone. Created as well are two new galleries, one linking Spain and North Africa, and the second for the South Asian sphere. The circular path though the galleries encourages visitors to make intuitive cultural interconnections as they rove.

Lastly, and most importantly, the curatorial approach is groundbreaking. The galleries are arranged not in a chronological order, but attempt a more geographical transverse. Particular attention is paid to display objects that emphasize the exchange of artistic influences with surrounding cultures. One gallery is devoted to depicting the imprint of the late Roman, Sassanid and Coptic traditions on the formation of this art. Objects from the Byzantine Empire, China, and Europe are skillfully sprinkled in the cases to highlight the interplay of cultures. Particularly intriguing is portrayal of the hybrid Buddhist-Jain-Hindu-Muslim-Colonial context of the Indian subcontinent. Effort was also paid to present objects which highlight secular and cosmopolitan aspects, not just those exclusively linked to liturgical needs.

In this fashion, the Met galleries help us break with the idea of art compartmentalized solely in reference to a single religious or cultural tradition. Our eyes are lifted towards a more universal vision. The voyage through trans-regional history presented in these Galleries opens new lines of conversation and leads us to contemplate the artistic and historical traditions of our own practices in relation to those of a different civilization.

A reinterpretation of misconceptions

Interpretation of Islamic art in the past by the Western world has often dismissively focused on the visual differences of this art: Islamic art “bans human representation,” Islamic artists “did not understand perspective” in their miniature painting, Islamic art is limited only to the “flat surface” and to the production of the “minor arts,” and “uses only geometry and calligraphy” to express the aesthetic, and so forth. The current presentation allows visitors to see the contrary, persuading them to make up their own mind about how these artists sought to depict the divine and mundane in ways different, yet just as powerful, as those in Western art: flowing calligraphy soars off Qur’an pages as high as the arches of Gothic cathedrals, glass mosque lamps sparkle with the intensity of a king’s gold treasure, colossal wall tiles shine forth with the same inspiration as stained glass windows, and carpets sing as brightly as a Cezanne or Klee painting.

The revised perspective of these galleries, filled with a respectful, reconciliatory motivation, allows visitors to appreciate the distinctive themes and the monumentality of this production, as well as the complexity and diversity of artistic expression. By providing objects illustrating the universal human aspiration towards beauty and refinement in society, we are led to reassess our present relations to these cultures accordingly.

Many examples here illustrate universal human aspirations and the interconnection of the peoples of the earth. Through excellence in craft, these objects poignantly illustrate the hope-filled quest of the honored verse of the Qur’an: “We created you nations and tribes that ye may know one another.” (49:13). The first piece visitors view upon entering the galleries is a large, 10th century white ceramic bowl from Nishapur in Iran, inscribed in a boldly powerful black calligraphy. It sets the tone for harmony, for the potter and the calligrapher needed to work closely hand in hand to produce such a masterpiece. On an Iznik plate from 16th century Ottoman Turkey, the artist has depicted 4 types of flowers – a rose, a hyacinth, a honeysuckle sprig and a tulip – all gracefully springing from the same clump of roots. A special grouping of manuscripts side by side explores the triple traditions of Judaism, Islam and Christianity that lived together harmoniously in medieval Spain. A folio illustrating the preparation of medicine from honey, copied in Baghdad 1224 from the Greek medical manuscript De Materia Medica by Discorides, illustrates the respectful heritage of scientific thought from one culture to the next. A judiciously-situated doorway pulls visitors out of the Egypt/Syria gallery into the room containing the Met’s 19th century “Orientalism” collection. These paintings depict the Middle East as seen through the eyes of European painters. Pausing to look at these colorful and often fanciful interpretations forces us to ask ourselves how we view these cultures today.

A Courtyard of Hope

The mainstream portrayal of Islam is not always kind, and does not usually deal with transcendent beauty, refined ornamentation, or intricate arabesques. Yet one of the most famous hadith, or sayings of the Prophet declares: “God is beautiful and He loves beauty.” Should it thus come as a surprise that this culture has led to the creation of so many great works of art? Perhaps the art at the new Met Galleries will close some chasms and conflicts that plague Muslim-West relations, especially over the last 10 years. Instead of blaring headlines on a newspaper article, perhaps scrutiny of the elegant calligraphy of a Qur’an page will offer grounds for reflection of the other face of the story and provide hope for well-needed harmony. The spiral of galleries ends in the serene Moroccan courtyard. Visitors are invited to linger there a moment and take home with them its restorative light and spirit of tranquility.

A new game

One of the most engaging pieces on display is a 12th century chess set from Iran, one of the earliest to come down to us. Crafted from glazed clay, the modern-looking pieces challenge us to a game. Yet, we cannot play because one piece is missing. Somewhere along the march of time, through earthquakes, Mongol invasions, wars and strife, one pawn has gone missing from this stunning set.

Looking at this chessboard, one cannot help but reflect on the still-charged game of misunderstandings which pits East and West on opposing sides. Does the loss of this representative of castles and conflicts auger a more peaceful society? Perhaps this missing foot soldier can presage the beginning of a new game, one where we are all on the same side of the chessboard; a game without confronting pieces and with reconciliation as the victor.

May the art in these Met Galleries inspire us to write the rules for this new Game of Peace.

Katharine Branning is the author of a series of essays on Turkey, “Yes I would love another glass of tea” and the curator of the exhibit “Song of Stones” dedicated to Seljuk art held at the Turkish Cultural Center in New York in the fall of 2011.

A sudden vibration I feel above the earth; a rhythmic beat, like a marching band. A caressing and tranquil harmony permeates from all around. It is no stranger to me; I seem to recall this experience previously. My parents, from whose fruit I was spawn, told me stories of merciful droplets that would fall from the sky. Several miles high they would come to our aid. They were the answer to our prayers. Now, I alone, a single seed destined to beget my own clan of many fruits rejoice for the coming of rain. I wonder if the rain knows that it will allow me to fulfill my potential. Nevertheless, all that really matters is that there is an All Knowing One who brings me my sustenance from an unexpected and contrasting place – miles high in the sky.

I feel an eruption within me as the cold, parched earth moistens from all around. Although given no mouth, I have the required faculties to absorb the moisture through my rotting shell. Waiting to break free and penetrate the earth above, I first ensure that my presence is firmly established and stable by means of sprouting deep within the earth – how else would I bear the weight of my future children. Like the umbilical cord of a human child, I too draw my sustenance (earth/water) by means of my intertwined roots deep within the earth. Two miraculous and contrasting elements are earth and water. Complete opposites which do not compete but work in unison. No taste and hardly any color. There are no visible workers in sight or artists holding paint brushes in their hands, but my first sprout, which has now penetrated the earth, has various shades of green.

I sprout out of the earth in prostrated form and in awe of the events thus far. An act to acknowledge His all encompassing Power and Compassion; I am humbled by Thee. The more I accept my insufficiencies and impotence compared to His Might, the more I am nourished and sustained. Now there is a new guest which visits me at length each day. Its warmth caresses my newly formed leaves and energizes my zeal to extend and expand – the sun. Yet another contrasting force from where my roots spread deeper into the earth. The sun’s light, from millions of miles high, synergizes with the earth, air, and water to give me the strength I need to grow. I’m sure none of these causes (earth, air, water, and light) are aware of each other. If they were, they would most certainly be in conflict with each others’ will. The display of solidarity between them could only be explained by the Power of Authority and Unity, Who has Governance and Command over all. None fall out of their jurisdiction. All these causes are but only a veil to my Makers Dignity and Grandeur; however, His Divine Unity and Glory does demand that I be observed from beyond these superficial causes and acknowledge that He is the True Cause. All these conflicting elements become subservient to my needs. Indeed, He is the Creator of all things.

It has been quite some time now since my inception from within the womb of the earth. I stand tall with several arms branching out, adorned with leaves like open hands constantly asking for nourishment from my Maker. In return, He wants me to attract others to His fine display by means of decorating me with luscious flowers, neatly and purposely laid out petals side by side. Within my flowers I carry the pollen required to sustain and fulfill the purpose of other creatures and life forms. Just another piece of the ecological jig saw, which becomes un-puzzled when looked through the rational eyes of belief. No harm is inflicted to me as I hear the buzzing of wings circling my ornamental, soft, colorful, and tasty bloom. A poisonous bug pilots his landing delicately on a petal which is now fully blossomed. A succulent feast I offer to this creature that carries a toxic sting, but produces very sweet, multipurpose nourishment for its own clan and various other life forms.

I have now matured, ready to display the next work of art my Maker had preordained within my core. I must bear fruit to fulfill various other acts of wisdom; to continue my species, to act as a source of sustenance to other life forms, and once again to attract and amaze all consciously observing eyes to the Mercy, Compassion, Art, Knowledge, and Wisdom that my Creator has displayed. A picture does tell a thousand words; however, I also speak in as many tongues as there are languages. I have become a vessel to translate My Designer’s subtle but prominent messages.

My fruit, like a human child, has various stages of growth and formation. My children, too, start off as a humble seed but I fulfill my potential within a very short period of time. All my cousins and relatives follow a similar process; however, we are all commanded to bear our offsprings at different times to cater to different needs. Take, for example, the orange or apple, whose trees usually bear their fruit during autumn and winter months. They contain various nutrients and vitamins to nourish their consumers and assist in the preventing of (or aid in the healing of) common ailments that humans are susceptible to during these months.

My fruit is now mature – ready to bedazzle its observing audience and tantalize its consumer as a delicious culinary delight. It is fashioned and conserved with an outer layer to protect it from harmful outside elements. It is painted with various shades of a variety of colors and endowed with a succulence not to be found within the earth, water, air, or light! I feel so honored in being given the opportunity by my Maker to be a demonstration of His Might and Art, however small I may be in the big scheme of things. I have had no control over any of my faculties or attributes in developing into a fruitful tree, nor did any of the elements which have assisted me to grow. I have become a means in consolidating and manifesting many of my Designer’s beautiful Names and Attributes.

The time has now come for me to rest and experience my own resurrection. With all my offspring now either consumed and having given nutrition to other life forms or fallen to the earth where it had originated from, I shed my leaves. They too will fulfill another purpose by being a nutrient to the earth and the creatures within. I give praise to my Sustainer, Who has looked after and catered to all my needs; from being a humble seed to a fruitful tree bearing my own seeds. I have served many purposes, both physical and metaphysical. In conclusion I do ask all that have witnessed my journey: “Then which of the favours of your Lord will you deny?”