To find out more about where those
splendid traditional designs originated
and learn to trace a few yourself,
check out The Splendour of Islamic
Calligraphy by Mohammed Sijelmassi
and Khatibi Abdelkebir.You too can read Islamic calligraphy:
vertical lines are usually consonants,
smaller marks above and below are
vowels, and that tall letter that looks
like the letter ‘l’ is probably an alif , the
first letter in Allah.Emerging
Art
Talents
» » Khadija Kabbaj
Basketry tables,
mummified Barbies,
and other subversively
applied traditions
» » Hicham
Benohoud Self-
portraits with face
obliterated by
shredded paper, sticky
notes, corks
» » Hassan Hajjaj
Mock fashion photos of
women in Louis Vuitton
veils and Moroccan-
flag jellabas
inside stucco arches, and literally coming out of the woodwork. Look
carefully, and you’ll notice that the same text can have an incredibly different effect in another
calligraphic style. One calligrapher might take up a whole page with a single word, while
another might turn it into a flower, or fold and twist the letters origami-style into graphic
patterns.
The style most commonly used for Qurans is Naskh, a
slanting cursive script introduced by the Umayyads. Cursive
letters ingeniously interlaced to form a shape or dense design
are hallmarks of the Thuluth style, while high-impact graphic
lettering is the Kufic style from Iraq. You’ll see three main kinds
of Kufic calligraphy in Morocco: angular, geometric letters are
square Kufic; ones bursting into bloom are foliate Kufic; and
letters that look like they’ve been tied by sailors are knotted
Kufic.
Lately, contemporary artists have reinvented calligraphy as a
purely expressive art form, combining the elegant gestures of
ancient scripts with the urgency of urban graffiti. Farid
Belkahia’s enigmatic symbols in henna and Larbi Cherkaoui’s
high-impact graphic swoops show that even freed of literal
meanings, calligraphy can retain its poetry.CRAFTS
For instant relief from sterile, predictable modernity, head to your nearest
Moroccan souq to admire the inspired handiwork of local mâalems
(master artisans). European designers may be known by their logos, but
you can tell true mâalems by their hands. The most meticulous artisans
work clean to avoid staining their work, but they may have calluses from
specialised handiwork that don’t come from, say, pointing and clicking a
computer mouse. Most of Morocco’s design wonders are created without
computer models or even an electrical outlet, relying instead on
imagination, an eye for colour and form, and steady hands you’d trust to
take out a tonsil.
This takes experience, not just intuition. In Fez, the minimum training for
a ceramic mâalem is 10 years, and it takes a zellij mosaic maker three to
four months to master a single shape – and with 360 shapes to learn,
mastery is a lifelong commitment. When you watch a mâalem at work, it’s
the confidence of the hand movements, not the speed, that indicates a
masterwork is in the making. Techniques and tools are handed down from
one generation to the next, and friendly competition among neighbours
propels innovation.
Instead of sprawling factory showrooms, mâalems work wonders in
cubby holes lining souqs specialised in a traditional trade – basketry, slippers, banjos. But
artisans in rural areas are not to be outdone: many Moroccan villages are known not for their
sports-team colours, but for a style of embroidery or signature rug design. Most of the artisans
you’ll see in the souqs are men, but you’re likely to glimpse women mâalems working behind
the scenes knotting carpets in Anti Atlas and Middle Atlas villages, weaving textiles along the