Museum for Islamic Art spreads the loving feel-good vibe in new exhibit

Hands up anyone who knows the word that has featured more than any other in pop and rock lyrics over the past, say, seven decades. In the absence of actual methodically researched statistical evidence, one wouldn’t go far wrong hazarding a guess in the direction of that most precious and ubiquitous of four-letter words – love.

Somehow the preeminent rock-blues guitarist-vocalist, who was elevated to apotheosis status by adoring fans who daubed “EC is God” graffiti on street walls in Britain back in the day, pops up in the Love Stories exhibition on display at the Museum for Islamic Art. Faux deification notwithstanding, Clapton comes into the discourse as I get a guided tour of the exhibition from curator Idit Sharoni.

The tale of Layla and Majnun is where the megastar British rocker slips into the Islamic fable riff.

“That’s a crazy story,” says Sharoni. “Eric Clapton was head-over-heels in love with Pattie Boyd,” she says, referencing the stellar 1960s fashion model. The only problem was that at the time, Boyd was married to George Harrison of The Beatles; and to muddy the relationship waters even further, Clapton and Harrison were good mates. Okay, that’s a well-documented snippet of British rock history. But what does that have to do with a tale of yore written by a 7th-century Arab poet that subsequently gained popular traction in Persian and other languages?

“We know that Eric Clapton read the story of Layla and Majnun – in English,” she adds a little superfluously. “He identified with Majnun [who fell victim to unrequited love]. His song “Layla” expresses his longing for Pattie Boyd.” Hence, the Arabic word majnun, which translates as “mad.” Had Clapton been less literate, his band at the time, Derek and the Dominos, a sort of supergroup that lasted not much more than a year and only released one album – which included the title track “Layla” – might never have left its mark on the global rock scene.

Needless to say, Majnun’s boundless ardor for Layla remained unconsummated, and he gradually adopted an ascetic lifestyle and even rejected Layla’s advances when she finally became single and available again. The loner’s solitary take on life is deliciously imparted in a diorama – one of several crafted for the exhibition – in which the slender young man sits in a meditative repose surrounded by an impressive array of wild animals that demonstrably feel at ease with the human presence in the desert.

THERE ARE some delectable works of art and artifacts in the exhibition, ranging from sumptuously illustrated handwritten 15th-century tomes to gorgeous glazed earthenware pictures and a simply astoundingly intricately decorated ostrich egg.

The latter is, in fact, not an ancient relic, dating back only to the end of the 19th century. But it is clearly the work of a master craftsman-artist with a light touch, and fully adept at producing evocative images and almost minuscule ornamental forms – adding richness to the scene taken from Khamsa by 12th-century Persian man of letters Nizami Ganjavi, considered the greatest romantic epic poet in Persian literature.

The name of the work – “five” in English – indicates the pentaptych structure of the collection, the best known installment of which is the aforementioned Khosrow and Shirin.

That is yet another love story with a sad denouement, and its risqué catalyst is prominently portrayed in the outsized oval-shaped exhibit – and in several other items on show – as Khosrow, atop a sturdy stallion, espies Shirin getting on with her ablutions in a river. The snapshot catches the startled damsel doing her best to hide her corporeal womanly charms from the intruder.

There is an abundance of pictorial gems in evidence at the museum. But, Sharoni explains, it was literature that drew her into the curatorial mix.

“This exhibition was spawned by wonderful, rare manuscripts we have in the museum collection. They mainly come from Iran, and they are all masterpieces.” That much is patently obvious from the aesthetics that adorn the ground-floor display spaces. I was not surprised to hear that there is an intriguing backstory to the literary treasures. “They were given as royal gifts. They were created in the royal courtyards and palaces of sultans,” she explains.

That stands to reason, as in those far-flung days, it was primarily the well-heeled who were literate. There was also a financial side to the enterprise. “They [royals] were patrons of the arts, and one of the areas they nurtured was manuscripts, illustrated manuscripts.”

It wasn’t just a matter of recording stories in concrete form so they could be promulgated and bequeathed along the generational line. “The aesthetic side was very important, too,” Sharoni notes.

THE CURATOR was keen to introduce the public to this yesteryear beauty for, it transpires, the very first time. “These works had never been previously exhibited,” she observes, dropping the amorous baseline into the curatorial equation. “The connection between all these wonderful artifacts was the fact that they all told love stories.”

These were tales that had chalked up plenty of mileage before the Persian artists and artisans got to grips with them. “These are stories that circulated in the ancient world, before Islam, long before they got to Iran. They were passed down through the generations.”

They include the compelling biblical episode in which Zuleikha, Potiphar’s wife, fell for the handsome Joseph in ancient Egypt and did her level best to seduce him. The romantic saga quartet is completed by another contribution from Azerbaijan-born Nizami Ganjavi, again from Khamsa.

This one goes by the name of The Seven Princesses, which depicts a certain King Bahram who accumulates seven wives, each from a different country. There is a twist in that tale whereby the testosterone-laden royal eventually sees the light and repents his wanton ways.

Despite the artistic cornucopia she found in the museum vaults, Sharoni says it was hardly just a matter of spending time in the archives and pulling out the stuff that caught the eye. There was an added-value factor to the subject matter she ultimately settled on.

“The exhibition engages in four love stories, and the uniqueness of the exhibition and the stories it contains lies in the fact that the Persian poets imbued these stories – earthy stories – with a spiritual-mystical dimension. They took love stories that have universal elements – love, yearning, longing, disappointment, betrayals, loyalty, and death.” That’s a potent storytelling toolbox.

All of that filtered through the Sufi prism. “Sufism is the mystical side of Islam,” Sharoni explains. “They see the ultimate divine connection in their death, the death of the lovers.”

No one ever said keeping relationships going is easy. “For the Sufi poets, all the woes that befall the couples, and everything they go through, according to the Sufi understanding of love, you have to endure these sorrows and hardships in order to achieve catharsis, rid yourself of your desires and ego, so that you are able to love God. That is basically the exhibition narrative.”

IN THE Arab world, musicians were not always afforded the respect their artistry deserved over the centuries. One Iraqi-born scholar once told me they were considered one rung lower down the social system ladder than prostitutes. But storytellers were in an entirely different societal hierarchy league.

They were revered and eagerly anticipated by locals when they rolled into town to spin yet another yarn from other – almost otherworldly – social, cultural, and adventurous climes. The Shahnameh – “The Book of Kings” – a meandering work written by Persian poet Ferdowsi between 977 and 1010 CE and considered the national epic of Greater Iran, is front and center in the exhibition. The longest epic poem created by a single author, it retells the primarily mythical and partly historical past of the Persian Empire from the creation of the world until the Muslim conquest in the 7th century.

Sharoni has woven some contemporary creations into the exhibition fabric, with a video of an actor proffering a concise version of the tale of Joseph and Zuleikha, originally scripted by 15th-century Sufi poet Abd al-Rahman Jami. “The idea was to edit the full tale down to three minutes,” she says.

Naturally, the visual format was there to be sensorially exploited, to convey some of the storyline sensibilities to the visitor in more user-friendly terms. It is also a neat aperitif for the current museum experience. “You hear the actor tell the story, like the traditional storyteller, with hand gestures and with great drama. Then you move onto the original manuscript, and then to pictures and objects connected to the same story.” It indeed does the experiential trick.

Nevet Yitzhak’s two-channel video installation Alashan Malish Gherak (“For I have no one but you”) brings the core exhibition theme closer to the here and now while addressing bifurcated romantic realms. As you stand in the corridor, betwixt two display areas, you can watch a beguiling clip of feted Egyptian musician/actor Farid el-Atrash performing a ballad dripping with undisguised pathos. That clearly feeds off definitively human corporeal passion. Glancing in the opposite direction, you see footage of Sufi whirling dervishes spinning their way into divine ecstasy. The dancers’ ascent to higher spiritual levels is spelled out for us with eye-catching graphic elements that trace the infinity sign climbing heavenward.

The complementary diptych succinctly conveys the terrestrial-celestial exhibition anchor. “On one side, we see Farid sing a song of love between a man and a woman. That signifies earthly corporeal love, which is why there is a carpet on the floor in front of the screen, which symbolizes the ground, domesticity – something with which we all identify. On the other side, we see the Sufi dancer gaining a state of ecstasy, which enables him to shed his earthly desires. In so doing, he can bond with the divine love.”