Austria: Unveiling the veil
Mehru Jaffer from Vienna | Monday, 2 June 2008
THE use of headscarves by Muslim women has become the most powerful symbol of the struggle between secularists and religionists alike. Politicians, in their struggle for power, have created misunderstanding among the public regarding the Islamic practice of covering the face and head by women.
According to Niluefer Goele, a Turkish sociologist, who works in Paris: "The Islamic veil crystallises new tensions between religion and secularism, piety and politics, feminism and Islamism. But first and foremost it points to the centrality of the use of the female body and sexuality to organise public life." Goele spoke at the recently concluded exhibition, 'Mahrem: Footnotes on Veiling', by nine male and female artists at the Kunsthalle Wien in Vienna. (Kunsthalle is a German term for an art gallery that mounts temporary exhibitions.)
Mahrem is a playful and associative commentary on the theme of the veil in the midst of the tension associated with this piece of cloth. The exhibition is a pictorial exploration of distinction between the private and public, concealing and showing, as well as the social acceptance and non-acceptance of the veil, whether portrayed as a sensuous sculpture of long concealing hair or used as a symbol implying forbidden territory," explains Emre Baykal, the curator. Mahrem is Arabic for 'male relatives of women'.
However, "In Turkish the same word covers a wider semantic field of all that is forbidden, secret, sacred and everything entitled to reverence and respect," adds Goele, who believes that the complex connotation of the veil needs to be redefined in a contemporary context. Both literally and figuratively, the Islamic veil is a curtain and, in popular perception, seen as that which hides and isolates. The veil is a reminder of the past, a return to backward ways of life and a symbol of fundamentalism. However, in modern life, women are increasingly crossing all boundaries of traditional segregation. Even with their head covered, women have entered secular spheres of education, sociability and politics to defy western notions of the private and public sphere. It is indeed ironic that veiling has made women even more visible on the global stage today.
Thus the installations follow the different dynamics of the veil -- from the traditional attempt to make women invisible to its modern sign of assertive piety. The veil is no longer a symbol of political Islam, but a sign of prestige for an increasing middle class population that indulges in conspicuous consumption but sees itself as pious. Given the controversy surrounding the Islamic dress code in Europe, artist Parastou Forouhar has played with pictograms to visually communicate what is on her mind. Born in Tehran in 1962, Forouhar is daughter of parents, among political dissidents murdered by the Iranian secret police in 1998.
In fact, in an earlier installation, not shown in Vienna, the artist had documented the on-going but futile attempt to get more information about those who murdered her parents. In the pictograms she presents the picture of a man for open doors.
Forouhar's 'Friday' is a large photographic work that highlights only part of a hand that is visible through the folds of a beautiful dark fabric. The flowing fabric, with its black floral motifs on a black background makes the viewer wonder if the hand is trying to hold the fabric in place or is about to tear it away from itself. In a culture of concealment, the Iranian-German artist concentrates only on what is able to reveal itself, nothing more. Bound into booklets -- like the sample pieces displayed at most furniture shops -- the patterns printed by Forouhar on fabric at another display, 'Eslimi', are ornamental at first sight. A closer look shows countless little knives, pliers and genitals to suggest that sexuality and violence exist side by side.
Another interesting exhibit, 'Chelgis' is a sensuous sculpture -- with long hair that flows beyond the feet -- concealed within a glass case. Inspired by the personal experience of Mandana Moghddam, a Swedish-Iranian artist, the concept weaves in 'Chelgis', the Iranian folktale of a girl with 40 plaits, who was imprisoned by a demon. According to the story, one way to destroy the demon that had terrorised the neighbourhood was to find the glass bottle containing the source of the demon's life. The question is whether Chelgis is aware that she keeps the demon alive, allowing him to unleash his sadism upon the innocent, by protecting the source of his life within the safety of her lustrous tresses.
The reasons for covering the head are multiple, as realised through the video installation, 'Women Who Wear Wigs'. A stylish modern women, who lost her hair to cancer and consequently wears a wig, narrates her story to Turkish artist, Kutlug Ataman, in the installation. 'Poster', a running video of three veiled women, highlights that even veiled women are able to have fun and enjoy a sense of humour. In the exhibit, three women take turns at the camera: two pose and one clicks. The photographer then gets into the frame and the third takes her place behind the camera. This exercise continues in the midst of much giggling.
Algerian artist Samta Benyahia uses sheets of electrostatic film to curtain the glass wall of the exhibition hall. It is possible to look outside from the intimacy of the hall but those on the street are unable to see what goes on inside. The entire screen is decorated with the traditional Andalusian floral motif, in sky blue, called Fatima, also a popular Muslim name for women. Interestingly, the screen gives the exhibition hall a 'mashrabiya'-like effect. At first used for a tavern visited by men for a drink and talk, a 'mashrabiya' is also a wooden screen used to separate the women's space from that of men's and to divide the private from the public, the sacred from the profane. However, the 'masharbiya' created by Benyahia, does not exclude women or men from enjoying the privacy of its premises.
NewsNetwork/WFS
According to Niluefer Goele, a Turkish sociologist, who works in Paris: "The Islamic veil crystallises new tensions between religion and secularism, piety and politics, feminism and Islamism. But first and foremost it points to the centrality of the use of the female body and sexuality to organise public life." Goele spoke at the recently concluded exhibition, 'Mahrem: Footnotes on Veiling', by nine male and female artists at the Kunsthalle Wien in Vienna. (Kunsthalle is a German term for an art gallery that mounts temporary exhibitions.)
Mahrem is a playful and associative commentary on the theme of the veil in the midst of the tension associated with this piece of cloth. The exhibition is a pictorial exploration of distinction between the private and public, concealing and showing, as well as the social acceptance and non-acceptance of the veil, whether portrayed as a sensuous sculpture of long concealing hair or used as a symbol implying forbidden territory," explains Emre Baykal, the curator. Mahrem is Arabic for 'male relatives of women'.
However, "In Turkish the same word covers a wider semantic field of all that is forbidden, secret, sacred and everything entitled to reverence and respect," adds Goele, who believes that the complex connotation of the veil needs to be redefined in a contemporary context. Both literally and figuratively, the Islamic veil is a curtain and, in popular perception, seen as that which hides and isolates. The veil is a reminder of the past, a return to backward ways of life and a symbol of fundamentalism. However, in modern life, women are increasingly crossing all boundaries of traditional segregation. Even with their head covered, women have entered secular spheres of education, sociability and politics to defy western notions of the private and public sphere. It is indeed ironic that veiling has made women even more visible on the global stage today.
Thus the installations follow the different dynamics of the veil -- from the traditional attempt to make women invisible to its modern sign of assertive piety. The veil is no longer a symbol of political Islam, but a sign of prestige for an increasing middle class population that indulges in conspicuous consumption but sees itself as pious. Given the controversy surrounding the Islamic dress code in Europe, artist Parastou Forouhar has played with pictograms to visually communicate what is on her mind. Born in Tehran in 1962, Forouhar is daughter of parents, among political dissidents murdered by the Iranian secret police in 1998.
In fact, in an earlier installation, not shown in Vienna, the artist had documented the on-going but futile attempt to get more information about those who murdered her parents. In the pictograms she presents the picture of a man for open doors.
Forouhar's 'Friday' is a large photographic work that highlights only part of a hand that is visible through the folds of a beautiful dark fabric. The flowing fabric, with its black floral motifs on a black background makes the viewer wonder if the hand is trying to hold the fabric in place or is about to tear it away from itself. In a culture of concealment, the Iranian-German artist concentrates only on what is able to reveal itself, nothing more. Bound into booklets -- like the sample pieces displayed at most furniture shops -- the patterns printed by Forouhar on fabric at another display, 'Eslimi', are ornamental at first sight. A closer look shows countless little knives, pliers and genitals to suggest that sexuality and violence exist side by side.
Another interesting exhibit, 'Chelgis' is a sensuous sculpture -- with long hair that flows beyond the feet -- concealed within a glass case. Inspired by the personal experience of Mandana Moghddam, a Swedish-Iranian artist, the concept weaves in 'Chelgis', the Iranian folktale of a girl with 40 plaits, who was imprisoned by a demon. According to the story, one way to destroy the demon that had terrorised the neighbourhood was to find the glass bottle containing the source of the demon's life. The question is whether Chelgis is aware that she keeps the demon alive, allowing him to unleash his sadism upon the innocent, by protecting the source of his life within the safety of her lustrous tresses.
The reasons for covering the head are multiple, as realised through the video installation, 'Women Who Wear Wigs'. A stylish modern women, who lost her hair to cancer and consequently wears a wig, narrates her story to Turkish artist, Kutlug Ataman, in the installation. 'Poster', a running video of three veiled women, highlights that even veiled women are able to have fun and enjoy a sense of humour. In the exhibit, three women take turns at the camera: two pose and one clicks. The photographer then gets into the frame and the third takes her place behind the camera. This exercise continues in the midst of much giggling.
Algerian artist Samta Benyahia uses sheets of electrostatic film to curtain the glass wall of the exhibition hall. It is possible to look outside from the intimacy of the hall but those on the street are unable to see what goes on inside. The entire screen is decorated with the traditional Andalusian floral motif, in sky blue, called Fatima, also a popular Muslim name for women. Interestingly, the screen gives the exhibition hall a 'mashrabiya'-like effect. At first used for a tavern visited by men for a drink and talk, a 'mashrabiya' is also a wooden screen used to separate the women's space from that of men's and to divide the private from the public, the sacred from the profane. However, the 'masharbiya' created by Benyahia, does not exclude women or men from enjoying the privacy of its premises.
NewsNetwork/WFS