Aesthetic Explorations of the Mundane: An Interview with Salwa Aleryani

[Sleeper (2012) – Urethane foam and fabric.] [Sleeper (2012) – Urethane foam and fabric.]

Aesthetic Explorations of the Mundane: An Interview with Salwa Aleryani

By : John Warner

While urban sociality seems at times to be ruled by the constancy of everyday practices, at others that reliability is revealed as artifice by the capricious instability of our economic and political structures. The routine intimacies of our lives are punctured by the dysfunction of the material foundations that make them possible. In urban spaces in the global South, such as Sanaa, those ruptures may become so familiar as to be ritualized, serving as the basis for new forms of cultural expression and social action.

The work of Salwa Aleryani, a Yemeni painter and sculptor with a talent for intimate and insightful conceptualizations, negotiates this juncture between the commonplace and the extraordinary. In this interview, conducted over the course of a number of conversations and email exchanges in July and August 2013, Salwa addresses the relationship of her creative process to both singular personal experiences and broader social transformations.

Salwa Aleryani is an artist based in Sanaa, Yemen. Following a BA in Graphic Design from the University of Petra, she was awarded a Fulbright scholarship and later received her MFA in Painting from Savannah College of Art and Design. With a combination of interests in gendered space, dwelling, and public infrastructures, set against intimate objects and rituals, her work has recently taken a number of directions that are both parallel and divergent. Recently, she was in residence at Dar Al-Ma’mun Foundation in Marrakech and Art OMI in New York, and was awarded the Young Arab Artists Production Grant from the non-profit arts organization Al Mawred Al Thaqafy. Her website, with information of past projects and future showings, is found at: http://www.salwaaleryani.com/ 

John Warner (JW): Your work appears at times to challenge the boundaries of normative artistic practice in your homeland. How do you negotiate issues of authenticity and tradition in your art? How do you mediate between the conventions of a particular (local or national) artistic vocabulary and an appeal to more universal experiences? 

Salwa Aleryani (SAE): While some aspects of my work seem to challenge what is considered the norm in local practices, there are other aspects that operate very much within it. Whether that is an accomplishment or a limitation, I cannot say. I have often utilized common motifs and materials that have their local origins, such as plaster, which is used in traditional architecture throughout much of Yemen, but also just familiar things like brushes, mattresses, and utility bills that are identified locally in their particular form, but can be understood generally in function. In reality, in the process of creation, I am not explicitly concerned with the question of whether it speaks universally or not. It is a much more intuitive process than that. Broadly speaking, I have an affinity towards work that disappears into the background, but without being completely lost. I operate on this inclination, where the work slowly unfolds, allowing for multiple readings without the risk of being estranged. I rely on the fact that the art itself mimics its subject. At best, from where I stand, it occupies a modest space and is in closer proximity to an audience that stands at differing angles to it.

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[Once Upon a Pocket (2011) – Etched mirror on plastic brushes.]

JW: Your art seems to revolve around that which is most mundane. You coax the commonplace or ordinary—doormats, manhole covers, hairbrushes—into speaking to some of the most fundamental aspects of our lived experience. What is it about mundanity that makes it such a powerful artistic vehicle? 

SAE: Is it not easier to obsess over trivial and mundane things, compiled and collected stuff, and to take on their meanings? It is a practice that reminds me of John, a protagonist in Virginia Woolf’s Solid Objects who gives up politics after developing an obsession with mundane things. For him, “any object mixes itself so profoundly with the stuff of thought that it loses its actual form and recomposes itself a little differently in an ideal shape which haunts the brain…” I too am interested in the ability of mundane things to circulate, disclose, and be carried away as facts. This is suggested in Once Upon a Pocket (2011), a piece made from over twenty rectangular mirrored plastic brushes that are often sold by street vendors in Sanaa and, once bought, are kept pocket-close so as to not let a hair stray out of place. A mirror, for the most part, casts a fleeting reflection of a visible surface, whereas here it not only allows a glimpse into a concealed pocket, but also offers an etched image of it.

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[One Moment After (2011) – Plaster, wood, electric boxes, ink, and drywall.] 

JW: The “unseen” has been a theme in much of your work, manifested, for example, in the wood lattice that undergirds a plaster wall in One Moment After (2011) and the masbaha beads sequestered in someone’s pocket in Once Upon A Pocket (2011). Here, your art is literally a revelatory process. What do you find so important in this act of uncovering?

SAE: Although the process of uncovering runs through my work, it tends to fluctuate in terms of what it embodies. At times, it follows a curiosity because discovery holds promise, and at others, it is an impulse to reconcile what is visible with what is hidden. Either way, I often return to it not because of its theatricality, but because of its capacity to facilitate a slower leakage of bits and pieces. To me, alongside the work you mention, Sewer Cover (2011) has this potential. It is made from a loosely cast soil cover embedded in carpet, and when you witness it crumble, it reveals a sequence of thoughts—one being the fact that the very material it is made out of is that from which it sets out to protect us. It is light in weight, but its immobility carries a burden similar to that of a heavy iron cast. Unashamed, it suggests that it is no longer reliable, and that at the slightest wind, it could blow away, leaving behind an unearthed cavity. Turned inside out, there is a sense of unease when it spills out of its boundary and recedes into carpet. Though, in every respect, dirt is not alien to carpet, still it intrudes on it. It does so in a way that seems familiar, as it would on a person that neglects to attend to cleaning his house over an extended period of time.

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[Sewer Cover (2011) – Soil and Carpet.] 

JW: Your piece Current View (2011) scrapes away formal surfaces to look at their structural underpinnings. The corroded framework and exposed empty spaces suggest that you view these structures as somehow unstable, incomplete, and potentially illusory. Given the rootedness of your art in the everyday experiences of social life, what does this piece attempt to communicate to us?

SAE: In a way, this work considers the possibility both of a structure that existed and crumbled over time and of one that is “new” and under construction, but abandoned midway through. While working, I would bury the elements in blocks of plaster, paying little attention to marking where they were located exactly, and then would desperately try to unearth them. In retrospect, through this futile exercise I struggle with the idea of disintegration verses abandonment, and how that could be read in the qualities of solidity and fragmentation of structures as we witness them today. These structures are edifices, again both new and old. They may have once stood high, but then fell into decay, or always existed as foundations, but were never built upon. Mostly, they are dwellings—they are intimate, private, and protected. Exposure is unwanted and a halt in their construction is an incompleteness of living.

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[Current View (2011) – Plaster, wood, ink and electric boxes.]

Essentially, if a wall shed a layer or two, a fissure chipped away, or a section came off, its inner elements become exposed and the foundation of its structure seem uncertain. I am interested in probing this uncertainty not to seek an answer, but to establish a quest. Also, like other public services screened from view, wires and sockets embedded within the walls and ceilings of our living spaces constitute a complex layer that is integral to their functioning. So, when an outlet is bare or abandoned, both domestic and public infrastructures come into question. In elucidating this incompleteness, I draw on my own experience of witnessing the gradual erosion of the built environment, the social structures to which we belong, and the infrastructural networks and technological systems on which we depend.

JW: Your Sleeper (2012) (see above), Where to Crash (2012), and other related works may be read as testaments to the subversive potential of everyday social practices. As opposed to statements such as Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc (1981), which averred the absolute structuring power of barriers, this body of work illuminates the transformative effects of children’s play and smoke breaks on one of the most widely visible mechanisms of state control in Yemen—the checkpoint barricade. Can you tell us about the context out of which this work emerges and the process through which it was created? 

SAE: Taking my work with doormats as a juncture, when I moved towards an outdoor context I became interested in the idea of feeling “at home” in public. The not-so-sudden increase in the number of roadblocks in Sanaa over the past few years, erected by state actors as well as non-state entities, coincided with a sudden observation on my part. Though they were deployed with the intention of deterring and shaping the movement of people, vehicles, goods, and weapons, those efforts at exerting control were frequently thwarted. Often, people would lounge, sit, or lean against them completely at ease, sipping tea and going about their daily activities. I was rather intrigued by this phenomenon and its connotations and wanted to both document and visualize it.

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[Where to Crash (2012) – Video Still.] 

My point of departure was the mattress paired with concrete. Alternating between soft foam, upholstery, and concrete seemed to trigger an odd conversation on the difference between resting and stopping, comfort and suffocation. While I still find that these interactions testify to the subversive potential of everyday practices, in the process I could not help but think that the hybridity also pointed to the possible dual outcome of this subversion. In one way, the impact of roadblocks may have been softened, but in another, our mattresses may have hardened. In other words, I am raising the possibility of this being a state of normalization rather than reclamation, where the hostility and power of these constraints becomes internalized, perhaps even embodied.

JW: The metaphorical dualism of darkness and light has long been used in the history of art, but your current project Where were you when the lights went out? addresses them more as lived material reality. How does this work bring the (un)predictability of electricity and the cultural practices that arise from its irregular presence to the center of a conversation about modernity? 

SAE: It comes from a place or rather a question of dependency, as well as of abundance. Yemen produces more than enough oil and natural gas to generate electricity for the entire country, but blackouts are now a daily occurrence in Yemen, with power outages lasting for hours, if not days, at a time.  The nature of the state, the flow of services, and what it means to rely on a structure that is unstable or on the verge of collapse. Weaving poetry into electricity bills, as I do in A moment in the dark does not blind us (2012), means mixing two languages that measure light and dark through different systems, but that nevertheless have a similar economy, which is that of resourcefulness. To add to that, against a backdrop of frequent blackouts due to acts of sabotage, a failing infrastructure, or otherwise, what happens when these two are placed parallel to each other? How is expressive language read against an exchange that is mostly reserved and perhaps even problematic? Is it an error that replaced numbers with letters or is it calculated?

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[A moment in the dark does not blind us (2012) – Passage from Pablo Neruda’s “Critical Sonata” – Ink on Electricity Bill.] 

When these questions arise the conversation comes in. Another part of the project takes sound into consideration, allowing an orchestra of generators to compose itself, the work carries an essence of romanticism that is in no way romantic because it is very much grounded in reality – a disruptive reality, which dictates that masses of generators run at the same time, when available, to compensate for this shortage. The mobilization of this noise pokes at this, and other nuances already found in the practices that people took on as a result of this shortage. If anything, the work does not seek to condemn. Rather, it looks towards the hopefulness in these gestures and, in a way, depends upon an abundant faith amid little expectation.

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[Where were you when the lights went out? – Generator on Jamal St. I – Color Photograph.]

Choking Mecca in the Name of Beauty — and Development (Part 2)

Mecca During the Hajj 

As the annual hajj draws to a close, millions of Muslim pilgrims in Mecca celebrate the four-day Eid al Adha together ritually, festively, and with a jubilant spirit of giving. They will pray, eat, and spend time with loved ones. Those who can afford it will give alms to the less fortunate. Most will resist the temptations of sleep in order to enjoy every remaining hour they have in the holiest of all Muslim places. Thousands of medical doctors and nurses flown in from the world over to run the temporary hospitals, clinics, and medical facilities for the month of hajj will begin returning to their everyday jobs. An even larger number of Asian butchers, intoxicated by the pungent stench of animal blood, will close down the seasonal slaughterhouses, leaving scores of cows and sheep that were sacrificed in vein to decompose in the scorching Mecca heat. Hundreds of military and undercover servicemen will report back to their bases, more relieved than their government that they were spared the consequences of any kind of attack, terrorist or otherwise. The sectarian tension that animates the pilgrims’ different religious rituals and practices will be suppressed, the non-Sunni (and non-Saudi) variant belittled and dismissed. Prices of goods and services will deflate to their pre-hajj rates. And Mecca, exhausted from tending to the daily needs of her three million devoted lovers, will ease back into her daily rhythm of unattended pedestrian and vehicular traffic; overwhelming noise and air pollution; unregulated demolitions of residential homes, mountains, and archeological sites; and multi-billion dollar construction projects designed to herald this old city into the 21st century (see part I of this post).

Today, this year’s three million foreign pilgrims will return to their countries of residence without having experienced Mecca as a living city. Once home, they will gather around family, friends, and neighbors and proudly narrate their once-in-a-lifetime journey to Umm al Qura, the mother of all cities. They will remain, as with pilgrims of years past, oblivious to the thousands of Meccans who have been displaced from their centuries-old homes; to the hundreds of landowners who have been stripped of ownership rights with minimal or no compensation (contrary to government claims); to the destruction of the material life of the religion whose tenets they have flown thousands of miles to fulfill. They will remain blind, and silent, to the violence being done to Mecca and its residents in the name of their comfort and safety, in a hyper-capitalist, “War on Terror” Saudi Arabia. But I should not be quick to judge. After all, the majority of Muslims who perform hajj do so only once in their lifetime, during which they give their undivided attention to religious rituals. Few can afford to go to Mecca more than once, with the average price of a 6-day hajj package from Indonesia starting at $3500, or $5500 for those hailing from the United States. Pilgrims who do return rightly experience many of the tangible changes in positive light. The Mecca of the new millennium is a stranger to that of the 1980s and 1990s. Today, even pilgrims who do not frequent the five-star hotels that hug the Grand Mosque have easy access to clean and safe bathrooms. The prayer areas in the Grand Mosque have been expanded more than threefold in the last two decades. Rates of infectious disease and hajj-related casualties have dropped drastically. And modes of transportation, while increasingly more expensive, are slowly but steadily improving and catering to the growing numbers of pilgrims. The Mecca that the pilgrims do (and should) experience is one that is safer, easier to travel to, and more comfortable for religious visitors and tourists. But are these much-needed basic accommodations too much to expect from the world’s largest oil exporting country? Does improving sanitation, transportation, safety measures, and prayer space- what the Saudi government deems necessary for a better hajj experience- truly require the demolitions and hyper-luxurious development projects sanctioned by the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques? 

The answers to these questions are not self-evident. Rapid urban development and the race towards taller, bigger, more fantastical, metal and glass buildings have become unremarkable global architectural phenomena. Whether in Indonesia, Nigeria, Turkey, Tehran, or Egypt- all major pilgrim-source countries- such development trends are largely seen as an embodied vision of a modern, and hence forward-looking future. But this level of haphazard destruction and redevelopment taking place in the holy city of Mecca, and the attendant changing forms of modern religious experience, should give us pause. It should force us to imagine the social, political, and historical consequences of a Mecca without historical artifacts that date back to the time of the prophet Mohammad and his successors. In other words, a Mecca that- outside the Grand Mosque- does not have an Islamic material heritage. It is the power of petro-capital that allows government-allied contractor companies to change the topographic nature of Mecca, despite the fact that it is not religiously sanctioned to cut a tree on its now-desecrated soil. As it is articulated here, petro-capital reveals itself to be especially spectacular, destructive, and exploitative. This articulation provides a seductive platform from which to critique the religio-political alliance that brought the modern Kingdom of Saudi Arabia into existence in the early 20th century, one that in many ways continues to sustain it. But in this post I am interested in the many realities that petro-capital forecloses, whether in terms of lives and livelihoods; pasts and possible futures; and especially, the vibrant voices of protestation that are silenced on a daily basis.   

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Views from the Saudi Edge

Not everyone considers the glamour, glitter, and simplicity of modern architecture an embodiment of progress. Indeed, a few pilgrims from Turkey, Pakistan, and Indonesia have gone back to their home countries and criticized the alienating developments they had witnessed during their stay in Mecca. But by and large, the most invested critics of Mecca’s makeover were (and still are) Saudi citizens: writers, academics, architects, historians, religious scholars, and archeologists. The latter group, in turn, can be divided into two categories: 1) citizens of, or from, the Hijaz region, with strong ties to either Mecca or Medina; and 2) citizens from the Eastern Province. Critical Saudi voices from the central region of Najd, where the capital is located, are missing.[1] Most Najdi colleagues and friends I have spoken to are not attuned to the alarming changes taking place in Mecca. Many of them have not performed hajj or ‘umra for over a decade and have not visited Mecca since. Those who have believe, like many of their compatriots, that the end result of development work in Mecca is for the greater good, regardless of any “collateral damage.” The implicit assumption here is that even if the Saudi government makes mistakes and is driven by capital gains, it would ensure all development projects in Mecca and Medina are carefully and conscientiously planned and implemented. In any case, to the best of my knowledge, no Najdi voice has publicly criticized the government’s urban redevelopment plans in Mecca.  

In this post, I will focus on the critics who fall under the first category, those who are originally from the Hijaz and/or have strong ties to Mecca and with whom I am mostly familiar.[2] Their criticism of the government’s negligent and profit-oriented policies in Mecca dates back to the days of the late King Fahd, who commissioned the largest ever expansion of the Grand Mosque. But their voices have grown increasingly louder in the last eight years as rumors of the complete overhaul of Mecca started to materialize when demolition and construction works began on the southwestern front facing the Grand Mosque. As news of the Saudi Binladen Group’s (SBG) development plans reached the public, some of the critics arranged awareness and strategic planning meetings with Meccan land and business owners, scholars, and residents. Their numerous attempts at speaking with figures of authority at the SBG and the Mecca Municipality were ignored. The contractors conducted business as usual, ignoring residents’ calls for an explanation. 

Some critics began to voice their tempered opinions in Saudi newspapers (all of which are state-owned and censored), most notably in Al-Riyadh and Al-Madina. Others hosted weekly or monthly lectures and meetings in their homes, some of which were open to the public while others were not. They would discuss the latest developments and any new information they managed to obtain in order to paint a clearer picture of the holy city’s future. Several people managed to video document the whole city, filming every neighborhood, historical and archeological site, cemetery, and other places of interest, before, during, and after demolition or construction. Still others collected oral history interviews with Mecca’s old residents and citizens to preserve the city’s history. Some of these can be found online upon a detailed Arabic search. The majority of these dissenters wrote official complaint letters to high-ranking members of the ruling family. As mentioned in part I of this post, several offered comprehensive urban redevelopment plans for Mecca, ones that would truly accommodate all pilgrims’ needs, while respecting Mecca, its residents, and its environment. Their plans, however, were shelved.[3] Until last year, when this opposition group came under the government’s continuous radar, several small, silent protests were reported at targeted construction sites in Mecca. At first the protesters were ignored. Soon enough, as their numbers grew, they were peacefully forced to disperse by Mecca’s police and private security hired by the construction companies. While all critics have received warnings, they have suffered different fates depending on how publicized their criticism has been and how well connected they are. Some have had their passports rescinded and are banned from traveling for an indefinite period of time. Others were banned from writing in local newspapers- partially, on anything related to development plans in Mecca/Medina, or completely, on any topic. The latter were banned from publishing in all print media, and from teaching at schools and universities. And the government and its allies attempt to discredit them all by labeling them heretics, rendering their “behavior” an effect of their Sufism, Shi’ism, or simply, their untrue Sunnism. In all cases, they are branded threats to national and societal security and completely isolated. 

Capitalist interests almost always prevail, but these critics continue to make their voices heard in one way or another. Evidence to that is the government’s increasing announcements on matters that pertain to the futures of Mecca and Medina. In many ways, Prince Khalid Al Faisal was appointed governor of the Mecca Province because he was regarded as someone who would know exactly how to deal with these abovementioned challenges. In early 2009, less than two years into his appointment, Prince Khalid attempted to ease the growing tension in the holy city by including Meccans in the decision-making process. He encouraged the people of Mecca to voice any concerns, complaints, or commendations, anonymously, via a special online page on the Al-Madina newspaper. He announced that the page would be open to the public for one month, and promised that he would incorporate their comments into the new urban policies he sought for Mecca. While it is not clear if the Prince actually incorporated the comments, let alone read them, this, along with increasing government justifications of what is going on in Mecca, indicates the level of visibility that these critiques have attained. The latter are also evident in the increasing number of articles on Mecca’s urban redevelopment in local newspapers and blogs. Perhaps this is just the natural progression of things, as urban plans materialize into giant architectural disasters that encroach on people’s spaces and everyday lives. Either way, it is now going to take much more government effort and capital to show that these development projects are not profit-driven, that they are actually being done for the “comfort and safety” of pilgrims, a refrain I have heard several times over the last week alone. In the end, Mecca’s newest landmark, the “Muslim Big Ben,” a clock adorned with the gold crescent, the Saudi coat of arms at the center, and “God is Greatest” in Arabic calligraphy on top, is illustrative of all the spectacular development projects that will choke Mecca’s Grand Mosque. As friends keep pointing out, the $800 million clock, which local and international media have been raving about since one of its four faces was put into work during Ramadan, is the symbol of petro-capitalism par excellence.

 

[1] So are critical voices from the northern and southern border regions of the Kingdom, two frontiers that are almost completely ignored by the government and by other Saudis.

[2] I will not provide references or links to any of these critics’ websites, articles, journals, and photos in an attempt to protect their identities and keep their important avenues of protestation under the Saudi censors’ radar.

[3] The government- in a move that reifies the “foreigner-complex” so prevalent in the Gulf- is only now commissioning foreign, largely Western companies to draw up an urban plan for Mecca. By the time the plans are ready and approved, many of the construction projects will be almost completed and it will be too late to bring about any serious change, at least in Central Mecca.