Cartoonist George Bahgory talks to Sayed Mahmoud about his muse, Umm Kolthoum Some days after his recent exhibition at the Picasso Gallery in Zamalek ended, I went to see George Bahgory at his studio off Maarouf Street in Downtown Cairo. The street, a stone's throw from the fashionable Talaat Harb Street, is filled with mechanics and panel beating shops. You might think it too rough and tumble for an artist seeking concentration. I thought Bahgory must have selected this area to be close to his residence, across from the nearby Odeon Cinema. I was mistaken. He later told me that he had chosen the studio because he wanted to be among the people. "I don't see myself as a slick artist. I want to be seen as the people's artist," he said. The first person I asked for directions to the address took me to a two-storey house that was crumbling rather than run-down. The front gate opened into a tiny lobby, where a narrow staircase led to a well-lit flat containing several small rooms. One emerges from the reception room onto a large roof with a view of the bustling Downtown madness. Where else would an artist who lived for years in elegant Paris wish to live? The studio is full of books, mostly works of art by famous international artists. Quite a few are literary books, including some by Bahgory himself including Bahgar Fil Mahgar (Bahgar the Expat), Al-Rusum Al-Mamnuah (The Banned Paintings) and Ayqunat Faltas (The Faltas Icons). I laughed when I looked at the shelves of books, because I remembered something Bahgory wrote in the preface of his book, Bahgar Fil Mahgar to the effect that he never reads the books his friends, now eminent literary figures, give him, although he pretends to have done so. The walls of the rooms, painted in baby blue, are covered with paintings and sculptures, some by friends of Bahgory. I recognise a sketch by the late Hassan Suleiman. But the one painting that grips my attention is a reproduction of the famous one by Bahgory of Umm Kolthoum -- in carpet form. Bahgory says it was made by a carpet folk artist from Foua in Kafr Al-Sheikh. I walk round the studio, trying to find an answer to the question of why an artist would do what Bahgory did in his recent exhibition. Why dedicate nearly 70 per cent of the paintings in one show to one face, that of Umm Kolthoum? In the promotional material for the exhibition, Bahgory said he was not trying to paint the diva, but something else. "I am not painting Umm Kolthoum, but her voice, for to me her voice represents an important phase in modern Egyptian history. Voices can enchant us before our eyes catch on with passion and love." In the exhibition Bahgory seemed to render the diva's monthly concert as if it were a communal ritual, turning Umm Kolthoum into an icon, a never dying relic. I ask Bahgory if this were true. "You're right," he replies. "The exhibition is a visual front for a memory that is eroding now. Egypt is suffering from Alzheimer's, and I was trying to revive its memory." Bahgory started his career as a cartoonist with the magazine Rose El-Youssef in the late 1950s, working alongside the best cartoonists and illustrators of the time: Salah Jaheen, Ahmed Hegazi, Bahgat Othman, Zohdi El-Adawi, Mohi El-Labbad, Nabil Tag and Salah El-Leithi. This was a generation that saw cartoons as a weapon for social and political change. The artists believed in the ideals of the Nasserist era, in national liberation, and in women's rights. This is perhaps why Bahgory views Umm Kolthoum as an embodiment of the struggle of Egyptian women, the little peasant girl who rose high with her talent, traversing the barriers of class, rubbing shoulders with monarchy, and then embracing the people's revolution. In the early 1970s, when revolutionary zeal had ebbed and the counterrevolution -- to use the words of Ghali Shokri -- had begun, many artists left the country. Bahgory was to spend years in France before coming back to Egypt. The years of exile were filled with one voice, he says. "I'd walk around all day, then come home to a humble studio and the voice of Umm Kolthoum as my sole solace. I'd listen to her songs on cassette or Arabic radio stations and recall the dozens of images and events that made me what I am. This is how the voice of Umm Kolthoum came to be synonymous with nostalgia to me." I suggest this must be the way the French feel about Edith Piaf. "Piaf is great, and I like the way the French get attached to her, very much in the same way we Egyptians feel about Umm Kolthoum," Bahgory agrees. He continues to work in Pablo Picasso's cubist style, but the playfulness of the cartoonist is always there, as well as his willingness to infuse quite a bit of emotion into his characters. "I draw with gushing emotions. Perhaps because I grew up as an orphan, I maintain this boundless love for Umm Kolthoum as a mother figure." Bahgory admits that this love was not always boundless. He went through a period of rebellion against the public adulation of the diva, and expressed his sentiment in cartoons that alienated Umm Kolthoum. It was at this time that he received a call from another icon of pop culture. "All the artists at [the weekly magazine] Sabah Al-Kheir knew that the late Bahgat Othman liked to imitate the voices of public figures. Bahgat would often make prank calls to his friends, pretending to be some big shot or another. So one day I get a call from someone claiming to be the famous singer Mohamed Abdel-Wahab, and I get quite abusive on the phone, thinking it was a prank. Then I discovered it was Abdel-Wahab himself." After Bahgory had apologised profusely to the great singer, Abdel-Wahab told him that Umm Kolthoum was displeased with a cartoon in which Bahgory had depicted her singing while the audience had fallen sleep, tired of her endless repetition of the same lyrics. "Back then, I didn't like her repetitive style, although now I find it utterly enchanting," he said. Umm Kolthoum remained angry with Bahgory until by chance she met him at the Sheraton Hotel. "So, George, when are you going to stop being naughty?" she asked. Sheepishly, he replied: "I only get naughty when I listen to you." Then he made a flattering drawing of the diva that appeared on the cover of Sabah Al-Kheir. This happened more than 40 years ago, and Bahgory recalls the exchange with a passion that somewhat explains the choices he made for his last exhibition. "I used to listen to Umm Kolthoum and feel better; now I paint her and feel great. With every stroke of the brush I recall an Egypt that I don't want to disappear. I painted Umm Kolthoum 40 times and sold 30 of those. So I am not the only one who thinks of Umm Kolthoum as an icon." Of the many paintings he made of Umm Kolthoum, there is one that is still Bahgory's favourite. It hangs behind his desk in the studio and it shows Umm Kolthoum as if embracing the sky. "I painted this one during the time Umm Kolthoum and Abdel-Wahab were getting ready to release Enta Omri [You're my Life]", the song that the media got very excited about at the time, calling the event the Encounter of the Century." In this picture, Bahgory drew not only the diva but also her audience and band, including the great musician Mohamed El-Qasabgui. "I was friends with most of the diva's band, and the way they talked about her was really something. They considered her the queen and saw themselves as her court attendants. That's what she was really. And that's how I want her to be seen."
