Influenced By The East

Islam and Western Art Exhibition at The British Museum London

I walked into the exhibition hall, with its subdued intimate lighting suggesting a tomb, or a womb, and I immediately felt a strange mix of detached familiarity and nostalgic homecoming. Twenty years ago I had left this all behind me when I packed up and left the Middle East under  traumatic circumstances. I had reluctantly and angrily washed my hands of it, turned my back on 13 years of living it, and yet, passing through this collection of orientalist art, so familiar to me, something deeply personal tugged at my heart.

I had spent so many years studying these Orientalist painters and created a collection of art which, like theirs, could be perceived as indulgent fantasy and escapism. Yes the scenes I painted for the most part had very little to do with my real world, yes they were imagined or embellished places and settings I wished to live in (and those who bought my paintings always said the same thing). Places of serenity, sanctuary and aesthetic beauty. In that sense they were true to my emotional experience of the Muslim world.

You know how things of an unwelcome nature (crudely but perfectly described as clusterf**ks) tend to happen in 3s? Like you’ve just finished off writing a long beautifully polished article, and suddenly your monitor grunts and then flashes the blue screen of death. Soon after, your always reliable old wagon decides to break down, in the fast lane, as you’re rushing to an important appointment, and right there overhead an ordinarily cloudy January sky decides to switch to a code red thunderstorm. You’re thinking arghh what next!

These clusters can also occur more favourably. At first you think, hmm what a coincidence. Then you join the dots and ask yourself, is something trying to tell me something? Is that “something” a separate and external force beyond me, or…is it emanating from within me?

My cluster of 3s happened immediately after going to visit this exhibition last year at The British Museum..( you know, those hallowed halls stuffed with amazing artefacts stolen from other countries.. but that’s altogether another topic!). It was spooky. What struck me was that presently, in yet another period of flux in my life, this connectivity with a time in my life which had been very turbulent, yet very creatively nourishing, was sliding into my present consciousness. Curling around my shoulders, like a complacent cat flexing its claws in my flesh.

But there wasn’t any nightmare in this cat weighing on me. This was my past passively tapping on my shoulders, telling me it had never left me. So much psychoanalytical babble talks about letting your past go in order to build your future, positively. Well and good, but I think you never can let your past go, it’s part of you, stitched with concrete thread into your epidermis. I think it’s not so much the letting go, its the reconciling with one’s past which builds a solid platform for progress. This is what struck me while watching an interview with #EltonJohn where he talks about how after his sudden rise to stardom, he felt lost and creatively dried up. He said he felt a need to retrace his steps, go back to his roots and tap into the creative spirit which had initially propelled him. I was left wondering, do I need to do the same? At a time in my lifelong career as an aspiring artist when I am feeling a little rudderless, do I need to go back in order to go forward?

I’m not posing that question for answers; that’s a personal affair. I’m just curiously poking around for shared experiences.