On Nostalgia and Material Culture in the Hijaz: An Interview with Sarah Al Abdali

[Refugee 2011] [Refugee 2011]

On Nostalgia and Material Culture in the Hijaz: An Interview with Sarah Al Abdali

By : Rosie Bsheer

Born in Jeddah, Sarah Mohanna Al Abdali hails from a family with a rich Hijazi history and has grown up with a deep appreciation of the land, architecture, and heritage of the coastal region of Saudi Arabia, which is a recurring theme in her work. With the ever-changing physical landscape, Al Abdali feels alienated from the contemporary Hijazi city and seeks to share her imagined vision of a place that no longer exists, largely through public art. In this interview, Al Abdali contextualizes her artistic and political commitments and interventions in a fledgling popular art scene in Saudi Arabia.

Rosie Bsheer (RB): Can you tell us about your background and how you entered the world of street art in Saudi Arabia? What artistic and cultural forms have most influenced your style and work?

Sarah Mohanna Al Abdali (SMA): I come from a graphic design background, having studied and worked as a graphic designer for about two years. The work I have thus far produced reflects my longtime interest in both history and politics and seeks to spread awareness of issues that play a central role in shaping everyday social life. These range from encouraging reading as a habit amongst the youth and visualizing the politics of heritage construction to spreading knowledge about the Palestinian struggle through online magazines. Free artistic expression is a challenge in some parts of the world, and in Saudi Arabia, both the authorities and certain sectors of the population work, together and separately, to limit and control cultural production. They attempt to censor work that addresses issues they consider to be taboo, such as religion. Many continue to avoid such critical work out of fear of the attendant legal repercussions. However, I have been able to take advantage of my design background—with the discipline being inherently solution-driven—in order to overcome the host of socio-political challenges and experiment with various channels of expressions and communication.

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[Arusat Al-Moled.]

I was eager to express my thoughts on and critiques of the politics of development, architectural landscapes, modern aesthetics, historical amnesia, and socio-political inequalities, among others. This sense of loss, coupled with a desire for a different future, compelled me to share these ideas with the wider public on the walls of my city, Jeddah. I was therefore inspired by critique first and foremost, and the artform consequently followed. Informed and inspired by the Hijazi culture and aesthetics, I have since experimented with various genres, artistic traditions, and mediums, including oil painting, film, photography, and illustration.  

RB: There is a great sense of nostalgia in your work, particularly of Hijazi material culture and lost pasts. You also use humor/satire to critique current social, political, and cultural practices, including gender inequalities and capitalist development. Can you elaborate on your understanding of these processes and contextualize the ways in which they have shaped you as an artist?

SMA: As already mentioned, the Hijazi element has a strong presence in all my work and increasingly shapes my artistic and political thinking, especially as the already slight Hijazi material culture is actively destroyed and marginalized. When I was invited to participate in Edge Of Arabia’s #cometogether and create a piece for one of the streets in Bricklane, I happened to be going over my father’s archive of old photographs. I dwelled on the images of neighbors, brothers, sisters, and even tourists, posing in front of the long-lost houses of Hijazis who had hosted them, given the absence of hotel accommodations. Some photographs were taken in Harat al-Sham in old Jeddah where my father’s family lived, and where I actually installed the art piece, Fain Majlisi. Others were taken in the homes of relatives. I tried to imagine what the characters in the photographs would say if they woke up and found themselves in Bricklane! The intention behind choosing and experimenting with old photographs in particular aims to resurrect lost worlds, built environments, and senses of belonging that are continuously being replaced and silenced by the hegemonic culture, and esthetics, of the modern state. These images thus capture everyday life before the wave of materialism, consumerism, and high-rise buildings took over the Saudi landscape in the 1960s, permanently altering the socio-cultural landscape of the Hijaz.

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[Hijaz Meets Bricklane.]

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[Bricklane Close-up.]

My ideas are mostly inspired from al-Balad, the once-walled in historic town in Jeddah whose residents and land owners abandoned in the mid-to-late nineteenth century for modern housing and accommodations outside the city walls. The unique style of Hijazi architecture there continues to be neglected despite alleged efforts at preserving its historical architecture and importance. Most of al-Balad’s buildings continue to suffer from environmental and human degradation, with some even burning down in recent years. The town today hosts markets for textiles, spices, and other basic goods and is dotted with migrants living and working in these unenviable conditions. 

While al-Balad does not have the necessary infrastructure of a modern-day tourist destination, local and foreign visitors go there for its cultural, architectural, and historic value. For people like me, nostalgic for a past they have never lived but grew up hearing about, al-Balad is the ideal location, where the past, present, and hopefully the future, can meet. After all, despite the nation-state building project, many Hijazis continue to identify as such and feel a strong sense of affinity and belonging with the Hijazi past.

Fain Majlisi, in which I show my great grandfather sitting in a majlis [council] in al-Balad, attempts to capture this sense of loss. The majlis is a social and political meeting place that was once an important element in the Hijazi tradition of bringing people together to discuss, debate, and even play games such as Carrom (a board game of Asian origin) and card games such as Baloot. I try to put myself in my grandfather’s shoes and wonder what he would say upon seeing the current state of al-Balad, where he had lived. The speech bubble translates into: “Where’s my majlis?” questioning the reason behind the loss of that important social space which was once an essential element in Hijazi life and society.

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[Where`s My Majlis?]

I am also inspired by everyday social life and struggles in Saudi Arabia, and my work is often based on my experiences and those of people I encounter on a daily basis. While I am interested in women’s issues and struggles, I never planned to tackle gender politics and inequalities per se. I was, however, compelled to address the latter because of the seeming obsession with overprotecting “girls” and “girls’ honor” and the forms of control that are exercised over women in Saudi Arabia. When highlighting social norms and contradictions therein, I do so sarcastically because of the subversive power of humor. One example is my Saudi rendition of Asmahan’s Gharam Wa Intiqam [Love and Revenge], a 1944, black-and-white Egyptian classic film. In this adaptation, a Saudi girl begs her father to let her travel and live abroad. The father, in an ironic patriarchal and masochistic tone, warns her of the “dangers” of such dreams.

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[Untitled 2012 Riyadh.]

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[Untitled 2012 Mecca.]

RB: What are the major events and processes that shaped your artistic trajectory and its politicization?

SMA: The ongoing destruction and construction schemes in Mecca have intensified my sense of political and cultural marginalization. In Mecca, Masjid al-Haram [Grand Mosque], the holiest site in Islam, is a place where all Muslims are supposed to be equal, a fact that is highlighted during the hajj season. Yet, the upscale King AbdulAziz Endowment Project (Abraj al-Bait Towers) overshadows the mosque on one side, while the Jabal Omar Development overshadows it on the other side. Other five- and seven-star megaprojects consisting of more skyscrapers, apartment buildings, and hotels geared for the comfort of the upper classes, are sure to ring in the mosque in the years to come.

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[Submergence.]

In order to construct Mecca based on this new, “modernizing” vision and under the excuse of accommodating the ever-increasing number of pilgrims, old sites, some dating back to the time of the prophet, have been demolished. What little is left of the Meccan/Hijazi identity and its material culture is being completely destroyed. What once was a cultural and economic entrepôt that prided itself on the diversity of its cultural and social traditions is today no different than any other commercial metropolitan city. 

RB: What do you hope to achieve through your work, and who is your target audience? Generally, how has your work been received?

SMA: I see every artwork as a learning process that reveals great meaning and self-understanding. I attempt to practice Islamic traditional arts as a way of connecting to the surroundings within which I live. As an admirer of the architecture of the Hijaz, I aspire to understand and experiment with some of the crafts that undergird the old landscape. I am currently completing my Master’s degree in Islamic Arts, which I view as a transitional phase yet one that has immensely influenced my work and thinking in general. I plan to work with different mediums and styles used traditionally throughout the Hijaz and the Muslim world. I believe there is space for innovation in the traditional crafts. Among these, I have developed an interest in tile making, wood carving, and gypsum sculpting as well as miniature painting. A part of reviving the neglected old city relies on bringing such crafts to life. I am currently trying to find the few remaining craftsmen in the Hijaz in order to learn from them through conversation as well as their actual crafts, given they have mostly given up their trade due to old age. The reviving of old crafts in the Hijaz is an arduous and long project as many of the crafts are difficult to master and the trade is on the verge of becoming extinct. Because of the lack of skilled carpenters and wood carvers, for example, the roshan—a traditional window in Hijazi architecture, similar to the mashrabiya in Cairo—has become a rare sight. Some of the already few renovation projects in al-Balad have poorly produced the roshan because of the lack of skilled labor. I am hoping to work collaboratively with craftsmen and learn from them how to revive such traditions. I also plan to travel regularly to meet local craftsmen in Egypt and Turkey where they still practice and produce traditional crafts. 

I hope to avoid the general commercial direction that Saudi art is largely taking. Various independent art galleries have emerged in the Saudi market lately, but these have turned many artists into business people first and foremost, with art pieces becoming projects that audiences invest in rather than appreciate. I care to produce public art that touches the reality of ordinary people who interact with it. I find traditional arts as a productive venue through which to do so, one that also challenges the predominant capitalist consumerist trend, both in the Saudi art world and in the built landscape. I appreciate that while there’s a master for each craft, a craft can actually be taught and practiced until mastered: it is a learned skill. Collaboration is also an essential trait in most of the traditionally practiced crafts, whereby the craftsman’s workshop becomes a social space that brings together students, master craftsmen, and others interested in learning more about the craft. 

As to reception, my work has received mixed reviews from the Saudi public, based more on the subject matter rather than the actual “piece,” which really motivates me to carry on. “Makkah street sign,” for example, has created an interesting and much-needed discussion concerning the real estate developments in Mecca. Surprisingly, Fain majlisi was removed a week after its installation in al-Balad. I personally do not know who removed it, but I found it interesting that efforts were invested to remove artwork and yet the random names and phone numbers that pepper the walls remain at large.

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[Makka Street Sign.]

RB: What is, and has been, the influence of art and cultural expression on everyday life in Saudi Arabia?

SMA: Cultural expression in its varied forms has shaped the ongoing struggle to define both individual and group identity in Saudi Arabia, which is a collage of different cultural, social, religious, and political formations. The once diverse lifeworlds of the past—Hijazi or otherwise—have been erased by the homogenizing imperatives of the modern state and its powerful institutions. Non-official modes of expression, identity, and belonging are no longer tolerated or accommodated. If anything, they are easily dismissed as subversive and as such, a target of state disciplining and punishment. Given the lack of spaces of expression, social media has emerged in the last few years as a conduit of social, cultural, and political articulation—what many describe as a “parallel reality”—with great consequence to popular culture. This level of exposure, interaction, and debate has made visible an existing group of artists, comedians, musicians, etc. and led to a new generation of popular cultural producers. Comics and illustrations have become a regular daily occurrence and go viral on the Internet as a response to certain political and social events. A new wave of YouTube shows and films that represent the youth and the struggles they face on a daily basis have become equally popular. 3al6ayer [On The Fly], the most widely viewed of them, regularly and openly critiques the destruction of Mecca, gender disparities, state and private institutional corruption, and other political, social, and cultural issues that are labeled as “sensitive.” 3al6ayer’s Omar Hussein has set a trend in popular online satirical and stand-up comedy shows, with numerous other similar YouTube shows popping up in the Saudi digital world. On the one hand, there is an interesting response taking place among the creative audience to what goes on in the political scene.  On the other hand, art is becoming a popular trend and easier world to access and participate in, with many artists embodying the motto: “Art is for art`s sake”. There are a plethora of Saudi artists today trying to carve a space for Saudi popular art. There are many talents, and the art scene is taking different and diverse directions.

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Interview With Kuwaiti Filmmakers

[With a desert to one side and an ocean to another, living in Kuwait can offer very strange experiences. The skies are never blue, approaching a disconcerting beige, and the night bathes in the surrealistic orange glow of street lamps. The ministries and government buildings have the facades of Soviet prisons, and remind one of a Kafka novel when entered. There is that Lynchian feeling of madness hiding behind the wholesome exterior that many wear, and the social customs, especially of the confused youth, are baffling.

Meqdad Al-Kout and Mousaed ‘Moos’ Khaled’s work marinates in this strangeness. Every frame is laden with the specific oddness of Kuwait, each character carrying a secret grotesquery, such as the sexually frustrated engineer of Moaz (Banana) the tribunal of mustachioed smokers at the beginning of Shanab (Moustache) or the depressed and aimless Bo 6illi. The young filmmakers have been extremely prolific, making over twelve short films between them since 2007, displaying a unique visual vocabulary inspired by European auteur attitudes. Their control of tone is a specifically developed skill of theirs, as seen in the assuredness of the short clip from the “shinou ya`ni” Youtube series. The duo’s most recent work, a collaboration called Fulan, was shown at the Dubai Film Festival, and follows a happily unproductive Kuwaiti man through his day-to-day.

In this short interview, we get to know what makes the two filmmakers tick, and why deciding to make films in Kuwait is such an interesting endeavor.]

Faisal Hamada (FH): How hard is it for you to do film in Kuwait? What obstacles lie in your way? Considering these obstacles, what keeps you there when you could just as easily move to a place that is more conducive to the work that you do?

Meqdad Al-Kout: I would assume that making a film has its own difficulties and obstacles regardless of the place, but what makes Kuwait extra special is the fact that there is no film industry, no infrastructure, no film schools, and definitely no film culture or history (except for a few attempts by Khaled Al-Sideeq for example).

The only reason I do not want to start listing the obstacles is because I do not want to start whining. I believe if you really want to make a film, you will make it regardless of your situation.

The reason why I am still making films here is because the obstacles are interesting! I love making films and in Kuwait, the field is completely untapped. So the obstacles are also a very thrilling challenge and a muse to us.

Mousaed Moos Khaled: I cannot say it is especially hard or easy to make a film in Kuwait. It depends on the project itself. Some projects take days, some take months and some, well, are never made. The first obstacle that comes to mind is not having financial support in the form of art funds and the like. Making short films does not cost much in Kuwait, but you need a small budget to be able to make a film with better quality using professional equipment and crew.  We also have a very strict/random censorship department that is the epitome of bureaucracy.  Cinema, amongst other arts, is quite neglected by the government and cultural institutions. We have an institution for music and one for theater, but none for cinema.

As for moving somewhere else to pursue acting and filmmaking, well it has been on my mind for a couple of years now. But I have lived all my life in Kuwait, it’s the place that inspires me the most and it is where I draw my material from. I am not sure how am I going to function in the USA or Canada, for example. Maybe I will never find out, or maybe I will find out and never come back home!

FH: You make a specific point to engage with the Kuwaiti dialect in your films, instead of the more widely spoken dialects, or classical Arabic, or even English. What does the Kuwaiti dialect add to your films? Does the engagement with a specific dialect of Arabic make your films harder to translate?

Meqdad Al-Kout: I try as much as possible to make films about what I know. I grew up in Kuwait and lived here my entire life, so it is only natural that I make films about the people of this country and their dialect with which I am very familiar.  I would say that the Kuwaiti dialect does not add so much to the film as much as it depicts an honest realism and situations. Foreigners might find some things harder to translate, but film is a visual medium that portrays human stories and emotions, which all of us share and relate to, no matter what part of the world you are from.

Mousaed Moos Khaled: It gives the work its identity I guess. It comes from Kuwait and it is about people who live here and Kuwaiti society. Sometimes it is really hard to translate Kuwaiti to English because of the cultural differences. It is how we mostly communicate here. It is how we understand each other. Plus, I think if you make a Kuwaiti film with Kuwaiti characters communicating in classical Arabic it will look really funny. Actually, I might do that someday!

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[Mousaed Khaled. Photo from author]

FH: To what extent does autobiography factor into your films? What is your main source of inspiration?

Meqdad Al-Kout: I started out when I was young making films about things that happened to me in my life, but then quickly moved to being interested in other people’s stories. The last three films I made are inspired by real stories about people outside of my life. I have to say that the challenge of living in Kuwait is an inspiration on its own. For example, a stroll in one of our governmental buildings is enough material for ten feature films and two TV shows, give or take.

Mousaed Moos Khaled: A lot I would say. I draw a lot from my humble experience on this planet. From observing, interacting and reflecting. I get inspired by a lot of things. Mostly films, music and comedy (TV or standup). I get inspired by hearing people share stories, and also by reading. As John Cleese put it once, “I try to be as knowledgeable as I am before I die.”

FH: Your work does not have much of a precedent in Kuwait, and in the Gulf region at large, I would argue. What drove you to make the kinds of films you make? Do you consider an audience who would appreciate it when you are making it?

Meqdad Al-Kout: I guess whatever result comes out in those films is a collective of things I have seen or heard in Kuwait, plus the kind of films I like and certain authors. I do not have a good answer to why I am making these kinds of films instead of doing something else. It could be celestial. I do not have a specific type of audience in my mind when I make a film. I know eventually this film will be shown to different people from different places and different mentalities, so I try to focus on making it the way I feel it.

Mousaed Moos Khaled: Everyone likes a certain genre or style of filmmaking because they personally connect with it somehow. You learn more from the directors you like and they influence your work because it is how you get familiar with storytelling tools.

As for the audience, well, we do have them in mind while making the films because without an audience you have nothing. We do hope they like it and we try to be as “clear” as we can.

FH: When I saw your work, and maybe it is because I know Kuwait, I immediately saw the ‘Kuwaitiness,’ whatever that means, of the work. However, your themes and aesthetics do not have a lineage in Kuwait.  Do you deal with accusations of being ‘Westernized?’ How do you react to, and deal with these accusations?

Meqdad Al-Kout: I think it is mainly because generally in this region there is no history of visual aesthetics. Poetry and prose have been the dominant form of art since forever. So, for us to start portraying our stories with visuals, we end up being influenced by Western artists and their techniques. I have not ever been accused of being westernized. I try as much as possible to be honest with showing the Kuwaiti culture as it is, regardless of the visual language that is used to show it.

Mousaed Moos Khaled: True. Definitely Westernized (or maybe globalized?) because there is no other alternatives to that when it comes to cinema in Kuwait. All the books on cinema for example come from the USA and Europe (translated to English.) And I try to watch as many films as I can from all over the world. I guess that is what shapes the image of what cinema is to me. The tools are the same all over the world, but the subject matter here is Kuwaiti.

FH: There seems to be a burgeoning art-film ‘scene’ in Kuwait with similar concerns and approaches. Can you speak a bit about this community? What is your relationship to the elder statesmen of the Kuwaiti cultural scene, such as the writers and actors of the 70s and 80s?

Meqdad Al-Kout: Mousaed is one of the few people in Kuwait that share my approach about film, if not the only one. I find it really hard being in any community in Kuwait due to my lack of interest in communities in Kuwait. I do however try to get in touch with artists who share our concerns, namely Thuraya Al-Baqsami whose short story “Winged Sofa” inspired one of my short films. Khalid Al-Sideeq is the renowned Kuwaiti director of “Bas Ya Bahar” with whom I still keep in touch.

Mousaed Moos Khaled: We have a group that works together on several short films a year. Though we might differ a lot in approach, we share one goal. We rotate our positions according to what is needed in any project. I personally have acted, written, directed, was a production manager, edited and brought food to the set. And almost all the guys in our group have done the same.

As for writers and actors from previous generations, unfortunately we are not in contact with them. Most of them have either quit working or do a project every three or four years. One well-known Kuwaiti producer, who worked on Hollywood-related projects years ago, still thinks we are kids playing around. He came on Alwatan TV once and during his interview and said, “Kuwaiti filmmakers should stop dreaming. There won’t be a cinema industry in Kuwait.”