There is something other-wordly about museums – they are portals into history and provide an accessible way to travel across time and cultures. They also serve as guardians of cultural heritage.
The Smithsonian museums in Washington DC offer the modern day equivalent of a flying carpet ride around the world. One can see everything from moon rock to space ships, from Jackie Kennedy’s inauguration gown to Dorothy’s magic ruby slippers from the movie Wizard of Oz. To walk through these meticulously maintained collections is a sensory experience.
This weekend I clicked my virtual red ruby slippers and landed in the Freer and Sackler Galleries of Art which showcase treasures of Asian culture. Over the years of living in DC I have often been drawn to the many events that have taken place in the Sackler – from the various exhibits showing Asian artefacts to ImaginAsia classrooms which host interactive family sessions, to making diaromas (3 dimensional models) of monuments. It makes history come alive and is an amazing way to spend a rainy day.
Album Folio
The current show at the Sackler is an exquisitely curated exhibition by Simon Rettig. The exhibit profiles Persian calligraphy through a series of compelling images from the 1400-1600s.
I have always been fascinated by “Qalams” or traditional pens which initially attracted me to this exhibit. There is something so alluring about a device so simple – carved out of reed to a fine point and used for such great purpose. It is a powerful symbol of wisdom, learning and creativity all rolled into one.
Creating beautiful script with a qalam is difficult unless you are obsessive and slightly compulsive
Deceptively simple, creating beautiful script with a qalam is difficult unless you are obsessive and slightly compulsive. It involves endless hours of repetitive writing, almost like meditation. If you are a purist, then you even make your own ink. Get an ancient “takht” and “qalam” in the local market and try for yourself. It is a painstaking process requiring technique and endless patience.
After many attempts at creating diamond shaped blots and lines going off into different directions, I struggled with creating anything which was vaguely artistic. The ancients, whether in the Islamic world or China, had patience with this form that I clearly do not. Instead, I now dabble with the fine fonts created by the genius of modern calligraphy – Microsoft Word.
There is an old Persian couplet along the following lines: an artist has art and creativity in each finger of his hand and that hand then contains a treasure which should be shared with the rest of the world. The four master calligraphers – Mir Ali Tabrizi, Sultan Ali Masshadi, Mir Ali Haravi and Mir Imad Hasani are clearly artists whose hands created such treasures. Their work spans the process from when the script was first devised in the 1400s until two centuries later when it had evolved into an art form. These scripts became the visual embodiment of the Persian language, spanning different regions from Turkey, through the Middle East all the way to Central and South Asia.
This Persian artist woke up one morning after a dream-like vision
The scripts, interwoven into Persian images, are breathtaking. Calligraphers created individual pieces or “qitas”, like exercise sheets, and these contained poetry and calligraphy arranged in diagonal lines across a sheet. The images were pasted on the script and worked on by different artists. If one looks closely, it’s almost like a communal scrapbook worked on by different artists over months. It involves painstaking detail and interwoven layers of text paper and mediums – ink, colour and gold.
Mir Ali Tabrizi, one of the early Persian calligraphers in the 1400s profiled in this show, is widely credited for creating the Nasta’ liq script. Reputedly, this Persian artist woke up one morning after a dream like vision that he should write script to resemble the wings of geese flying off into the sky. Inspired, he created a script mixing two scripts. The sensuous flowing script was meant to reflect the melodic sounds of the Persian language and is now synonymous with its culture.
His artistic creations were recognized widely and he was bestowed the title of Qodwat al Khottab (meaning Chief of Scribes) under the reign of Jalayrid Sultan Ahmed in Tabriz. Mostly, these calligraphers were attached to royal courts and operated under a system of patronage. They produced valuable depictions of the Koran for their royal patrons who commissioned pieces for their private collections. These collections housed in private libraries were valuable and coveted by rulers. Interestingly they were also surrendered as spoils of war.
Like mercurial modern day celebrities, these artists were also embroiled in controversy and intrigues. One of the master Persian calligraphers, Imad Hasani who worked in Shah Abbas’ library, was renowned for his technical virtuosity in Nasta’liq. He was apparently murdered in an intra-court rivalry. His relatives escaped and ended up in the Moghul court of Shahjehan, himself an avid collector of calligraphy.
As we walked around the small exhibit, we were part of a multicultural group – two young Irani students who could read the script and translate and a scholar who could explain the differences between Persian calligraphy and the influence of the Moghuls. Decades after these Persian lines were written, the Moghuls then collected these sheets and added more images to the border. Essentially text was created by the masters in Persia on separate folios. These were later embellished by the Moghuls and then compiled into beautiful albums.
This small exhibit of 35 images opens a window to a secret and often mysterious world of art, culture and text, all inspired by divinity. That these images have been so lovingly preserved and displayed is a testament to the Smithsonian’s commitment to showcasing cultural heritage, regardless of where it originates from.
Even my ten year old daughter, who spends hours practicing her own signature, was enthralled. Rather than being chided for being self absorbed for repeatedly drawing her name, she can now justify it as a form of artistic self expression. She was not alone. We both came away inspired to sign our names repeatedly (and slightly obsessively) from right to left, like the wings of flying geese across the sky.
