Fall of the sword, stroke of the brush

Photographer Sherif Sonbol captures the convergence of source and influence that resulted in Mudejar art
Touring the newly inaugurated Spanish exhibition trail for the Euro-Mediterranean venture Museums without Frontiers (MWF), the words of my friend Ashraf echoed in my ears. In a burst of patriotic gusto, Ashraf had declared to me that he loathed the Pyramids, arguing that they do an injustice to all the other artistic and cultural traditions of Egypt. Even the monumental funereal temples of ancient Thebes are shadowed by the undying fame of the last standing wonder of the ancient world and nothing, not Egypt's magnificent old churches or its rich Islamic tradition, will displace the pyramids in the minds of people around the world as the definitive Egyptian experience.
Travelling to Spain to take in the latest addition to the Museums without Frontiers project "Islamic Art in the Mediterranean," I was told that the place to go was the Alhambra palace complex, nestled along the Sierra Nevada mountain range in Granada. Friends and colleagues all asked if I was going to Granada and cooed appreciatively about the Alhambra and waxed lyrical about the beaches. Alas, it was not on my itinerary, and admittedly, I felt a little jipped. I departed with the impression that no matter what I saw, I would not have seen Spain without the Alhambra. I soon discovered, though, that the Alhambra was no more than a kind of Islamic Spanish pyramid. The art and architecture of Spain, its intoxicating mix of cultural forces, is a historical tapestry of conquests and legacies of which Granada is only one fine example.
Nowhere is this clash of cultures more prominent or superbly writ large than in the artistic style known as Mudejar, a term derived from the Arabic word mudaggen, meaning "he who has remained in peace," and referring to the Muslims who stayed behind in Spain after it was captured by Christians in the Reconquista of the Iberian peninsula. The mixture of European Christian traditions of the north and the inspired aesthetic elements of Islamic art developed in the south gave birth to a distinctive breed of churches, palaces, houses and the like. It is this particular manifestation of Islamic art that is celebrated by the MWF in Spain.
Thanks to the Museums without Frontiers programme -- an offshoot of the 1995 Barcelona Conference -- numerous cultural associations have sprung up among the 15 European and Mediterranean countries and the MWF currently runs 16 separate projects designed to highlight and preserve the cultural heritage of the region, of which "Islamic Art in the Mediterranean" is one. My last encounter with the project was the recently opened exhibition trail in Morocco, and trails are already open in Turkey and Portugal.
Once in Spain, and exposed to the Mudejar style, I was transfixed by the seemingly incongruous yet beautifully executed confluence of Christian and Islamic art. The meeting of the two can only be understood in the context of the region's history. Prior to the seventh century, all of Spain was under the Visigoths, but under the Umayyads the lion's share of the Iberian peninsula was absorbed into the Islamic empire and in 756 Spain became an independent emirate that would eventually become the caliphate of Córdoba. During the 10th century, the city of Córdoba was a grand world capital -- a cosmopolitan and culturally advanced city comparable with Constantinople.
Despite the brilliance of the Islamic south, Christian rule hung on in the north. Though the Moors would remain the dominant power until the 13th century, Christian kings were constantly engaged in a tug-of-war with Muslim rulers. Tides began to turn in the 11th century, when the Christians began to recapture territories. The Christian border was reestablished all the way down to the Mediterranean coast of Andalusia (Al-Andalus). The reversal culminated with the recapture of Granada, the original beach-head of the Islamic conquest, in 1492.
In the early days of Islamic rule, the blending of artistic styles was pronounced, as it was in other areas of the conquest. Native tribes of the Arab peninsula and Berber tribes of North Africa brought little in the way of a solid artistic tradition and hence developed styles specific to particular regions, taking from existing cultures and materials at hand. During the Reconquista, many formerly Islamic regions were allowed to remain as such, instead paying a tribute to the Christian king. Muslim subjects were not required to convert and the local language, legal systems and, notably, the artistic milieu, remained the same for quite some time.
Europe was still in the Middle Ages, and the northerners were in store for a big surprise when they took back their old territory. They were greeted by graceful and sophisticated buildings, one of which remains one of the most important examples of Islamic architecture: the Great Mosque of Córdoba. As the Christians reclaimed their lands, social contacts developed between the conquered and the conquerors -- although which was which, by this point, is an open question -- and an interesting reintegration brought forth a unique cultural phenomenon known to us as the Mudejar style.
The triumphs of this cultural romance are showcased by the Museums without Frontiers Mudejar trail. Newly installed Christian overlords in Spain found their Muslim subjects to be gifted builders and craftsmen, who dreamt up stunning artistic methods using readily available and inexpensive materials, such as red brick, plaster, wood, and colourful, glazed tiles. Islamic artisans were commissioned to erect forts, luxurious palaces, churches and towers. They did so adhering to Islamic tradition but inevitably, what they created was something completely new. Buildings appeared with elements of the Romanesque, Gothic, or early Renaissance styles embellished with classical Islamic decorations: stylised plant and flower motifs, geometric patterns, symbols and stars, as well as Arabic epigraphs. All were implemented in the repetitive, rhythmic patterns typical of Islamic art, swirling and winding around every edifice, surface and corner.
In the MWF guide to Mudejar Art, Spanish historian Gonzalo M Borras Gualis calls Mudejar art and architecture the "chain of connection" between two cultures. The Mudejar era of building was entirely different from that of the period when many a royal alcazar (a palace or fortress) was transformed into the playground of Christian kings and great mosques were turned into cathedrals and churches. Mudejar works were almost always executed at the request of Christian leaders, who chose to employ Muslim engineers out of reverence for their artistic skill.
Some of the most striking examples of Mudejar work I saw in Spain were in Aragon, near the border of Castile. I was struck by three red brick churches, each designed to function both as a place of worship and a kind of military base to defend their respective villages. These churches look nothing like Spain's old Romanesque cathedrals, but are instead boxy, with pitched roofs, and tall, square bell-towers similar to the minarets of Morocco and those of the early Islamic periods in Egypt. In one, the Santas Justa y Rufina, both the exterior and interior surfaces are decorated with gypsum carvings. The pliable building material was formerly unknown to the West, but was widely used by Muslim builders who traditionally refrained from using statues or images of living creatures for decorative purposes.
What I saw at the Santas Justa y Rufina was typical of Mudejar art. Muslim builders used gypsum not only to create archways, classical pediments, flanking pilasters, and a side pulpit in a floral gothic motif, but also statues of Christian saints. The mixed style is repeated in the Church of Saint Martin, where a Romanesque entrance is graced with a delicate inlay of blue and white ceramic tiles in geometric patterns, which are repeated across the upper half of the façade. The subtly radiant reflection given off in the sunlight again reminded me of Morocco.
What struck me the most about the third church, the Santa Maria, was the surreptitious mark of Islam left by Muslim engineer Yusuf El-Domali. Unlike other churches, the Santa Maria has no columns. On the painted wooden ceiling of the vestibule, El-Domali added not only his own name, in Latin letters, but a conspicuous Arab inscription: the first tenet of the Islamic faith. "There is no God but Allah, and Mohamed is His messenger."
The Museums without Frontiers project is an ambitious one. The idea, though so simple, has produced some exciting results. There is no "museum" per se, but rather a continuous flow of cultural identity throughout the region -- in this case, that of Islamic art. The project's vivacious and tireless coordinator, Eva Schubert, describes the concept as one in which the country or region is a "venue." The programme produces a guide, sets up signs, and sees to it that the landmarks are easy to find and well taken care of. They may seem like small things, but they are most likely the difference for many a hapless traveller between actually seeing a site somewhat off the beaten track and skipping it all together.
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