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Until recently it was thought that the mathematical solution to the formation of nonreplicating patterns that go on to infinity had not been solved before current advances in Western mathematics. But the discovery of such patterns at several Islamic religious sites prompts us to ask why it mattered to the Muslim artisans of that day to solve the mathematics and create such patterns. Just as Western cathedral art represented a cosmological view so, too, we may conjecture that to these Muslim craftsmen the representation of a world that is full of individual elements that relate to one another in unique ways replicates in the visual world what Allah has created for mankind in the world of social relations. By linking the art form and the mathematics to this broader social vision, we may be able to understand why the masters of that age chose to represent on the walls of their religious structures this particular cosmological pattern.
This article explores how Islamic art was produced and used in Turkey within the context of modern warfare during World War I, the War of Independence, and the nascent Republic – a subject still relatively understudied in Turkish history, as well as in international cultural histories of modern warfare and histories of modern art in the Middle East. Drawing on previously overlooked visual and textual sources such as calligraphic panels, miniature paintings, war posters, and religious timetables produced during the years 1914–1924, we examine the ways in which Islamic arts were articulated with the experience of war through both individual actions and official policies, revealing how Ottoman artists tried to make sense of war and how Islamic genres and motifs were appropriated, and sometimes subverted, in the service of the nationalist cause. We show that far from exhibiting a sharp discontinuity, the transition from Ottoman–Islamic to Republican–nationalist artistic content was gradual, involving the reappropriation and repurposing of Islamic motifs and techniques in a manner that reflected the religious mindset of the elites and masses in the early twentieth century.
The article sets the discussion of Islamic art within the very animated discussions of the last few decades by many prominent scholars that have sought to pinpoint its nature and that have highlighted the twin dangers of over-generalisation and too narrow a focus. Given that the parameters of the discussion have undergone radical change, and the need to revise traditional paradigms, the article confines itself to Islamic art in the medieval period and the central Islamic lands, especially through the prism of nature. Problems of definition and of the usefulness of medieval texts, and the roles of abstraction and contemplation, are reviewed in turn and the article ends with an attempt to define more closely the aesthetics of a single branch of Islamic art, namely medieval Persian book painting.
The use of script as an aesthetic device is longstanding in Islamic art. Indeed, one of the earliest forms of Islamic art are terracotta oil lamps with text inscribed on their surface.2 These inscriptions are not merely decorative but also reference the light emitted from the lamps as a metaphor for revelation. As I will show, the use of script in Islamic art is not only meant to delight the eye; it is, moreover, a cognitively faceted aesthetic device. Following an overview of script as an aesthetic device in Islamic art, I survey its legacy in the contemporary art world of the Middle East.
Exhibitions of Islamic artefacts in European museums have since 1989 been surrounded by a growing rhetoric of cultural tolerance, in response to the dissemination of images of Islam as misogynist, homophobic and violent. This has produced a new public context for exhibitions of Islam and has led to major recent investments in new galleries for Islamic artefacts, often with financial support from the Gulf and Saudi Arabia. This Element addresses contemporary framings of Islam in European museums, focusing on how museums in Germany and the UK with collections of Islamic heritage realise the ICOM (International Council of Museums) definition of museums as institutions in the service of society. The authors find that far too often the knowledge of Islamic cultural heritage is disconnected from contemporary developments in museum transformations, as well as from the geopolitical contexts they are a response to.
In 2011 the Metropolitan Museum opened its renovated Islamic Art wing. In 2012 the Louvre opened its own new galleries on Islamic Art. Yet, neither New York nor Paris give any space to Asia beyond Moghul India. The Met’s Southeast Asia collection focuses on the Hindu-Buddhist “classical” period, while the Louvre simply does not have any objects from Asia, as these are exhibited at the Musée Guimet. This chapter suggests that the approach to the study of Islam in Asia in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries shaped an understanding of Islam as “foreign” to the region and vice versa, contributing to the idea of peculiar forms of Islamic devotion and beliefs in the lands beyond the Oxus/Amu Darya river. Illustrating the missed encounter between “Islam” and “Asia”, the chapter focuses on – and ultimately suggests ways to reconcile – the isolation of Islamic Studies and Asian Studies as two disciplinary fields of study.
The discursive sphere of Islam explored in this book emerges through the interaction of texts of many genres, elaborating faith and engaging with multiple previous, neighboring, and intertwined cultures, and disseminated through ritual, poetry, music, geometry, and painting. The ideas about perception woven through them suggest that the questions that we ask through modern, Euronormative frameworks of religion, art, and history often veil Islamic culture in the name of revealing it. This not only alters dominant understandings of Islam and its arts, but also destabilizes the presumed universalism of disciplinary art history. Positing the broader category of ‘perceptual culture’ against the analytic limitations implicit in the categories ‘art’ and ‘history,’ this introduction critiques the modern segregation of culture from religion as disingenuous. Rather than inviting a ‘Western’ reader trying to understand an Islamic ‘other,’ it situates the reader, regardless of faith or heritage, as a modern subject using historical theological, philosophical, and poetic discourses to enter an earlier episteme and engage with Islamic cultures of the past. The resulting study emphasizes interfaith communication and Sufism as central aspects of Islamic perceptual cultures. It reflects on the performative character of perception as experienced through the eye, the ear, or the heart.
This essay presents a reflection on a selection of collections of Islamic art in Europe and the Middle East, focusing on new installations that emerged in the last decade. While various approaches have been discussed in the context of new installations, chronological narratives still prevail. Perhaps, these are indeed the best way to introduce audiences unfamiliar with the material to its complex historical and cultural contexts. The overarching goal of many of these displays may be to create positive public engagement with Islamic art in a global context where Islam is often associated with war and destruction.
This chapter provides some hint of the richness and variety of the world's artistic traditions. Though art made in Europe since the Renaissance has had some distinctive features to make such recent and local developments an essential part of the definition would be ethnocentric and parochial. Royal art often functions as propaganda aimed at the people who pose the greatest threat to the king, those nearest him; it is his relatives and high nobles who must be made to feel the sanctity of his person. In Islamic art, writing occurs on all surfaces, from bowls to buildings, in a multiplicity of script variants, sometimes boldly legible, sometimes impenetrably patterned. Setting and audience matter because they are clues to the purposes that shaped a work, clues to the effect it was meant to have. The works of Buddhist art illustrates most of the functions on Seckel's list, and readers will probably have no difficulty supplying Christian counterparts for all of them.
This chapter provides an overview of Islamic art. The earliest mosques, such as the Prophet's mosque at Medina, or those of Kufa and Basra, were primitive structures, erected of perishable material. Three mosques had been erected during the reign of the Patriarchal Caliphs. The first was at Basra in 14/635 and the second at Kufa in 17/638. The third mosque was built by Amr b. al-As, the conqueror of Egypt, at Fustat in 21-2/641-2. The largest and probably the most beautiful Umayyad palace is Khirbat al-Mafjar in Jericho. The Great Mosque of Samarra, built by al-Mutawakkil is the largest mosque in Islam. Excavations by Soviet archaeologists in Samarqand and Afrasiyab, and by the Metropolitan Museum at Nishapur, exposed an interesting type of pottery. The Fatimids came to power in Tunisia and founded their capital Mahdiyya with its Great Mosque.
This chapter discusses the traditional approach of Islamic art of Iran, first architecture and architectural decoration, then the so-called minor arts whose importance is far greater than their slightly pejorative name suggests. Northeastern Iranian ceramics provide examples of figural representations. The subjects are riders, dancers, standing or seated personages holding flowers and pitchers, as well as a number of unidentified activities. The greatest originality of these representations lies in their style. A sketchy line outlines the main subjects with very little consideration for bodily proportions and at times with distortions which could be considered as folk caricatures or as wilful modifications of visual impressions. There is a fairly large number of objects in metal which are commonly assigned to the period between the fall of the Sāsānian dynasty and the middle of the 5th/11th century.
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