Kathrine Bakhoum combs her native Egypt, Muslim Africa south of the Sahara, the Maghreb (Northwest Africa), and the Middle East (the Orient, as Arabs and Middle Easterners refer to call it) for striking, kaleidoscopic faces and psychedelic costumes. And, the end result is a host of hallucinogenic oil paintings. Bakhoum's vignettes are invariably adorned with exotic accessories, ornaments and even objet d'arts. A translucent amber pendant, a blood red tarboush, or fez catches the eye of the visitor. Her creations belong to a surreal world, a bygone age. The onlooker is inundated with men and women draped in intensely coloured garments with the verve of gems — fire opals, stunning sapphires, beguiling garnets and arresting amethysts. The effect is dramatic. Their countenance and attire have an uncanny ability to charm. There is a mystique about Bakhoum's black and brown creations who dress in what looks like dressing gowns, both the men and the women. They are contemporary creatures wrapped in the not so distant past. How does Bakhoum navigate such a brilliant adventure into the past? The visitor of this particular exhibition is led into a kind of time warp, akin to Einstein's theory that time and space form a continuum. Her faces are familiar, even though their garb isn't. After all, I dare say that Bakhoum is more Parisienne than Egyptian. My introduction to this most sensitive and talented artist was at Bakhoum's Rêves d'Orient exhibition at Safar Khan Gallery in 2010. It was simply sensational. So it has remained, the sensual portraits and sensational colours. This exhibition is haunted by a sense of time passing. The purity of the portrayed creations of Bakhoum is what bewitched me. Bakhoum combines au courant with better manners than the French Orientalists of yesteryear. My inspection of Bakhoum's latest exhibition was a chance for me to be a part of going back to that particular genre, except that one instinctively understands that the artist has undoubted respect for her subjects. Bakhoum's creations come on canvas with an alluring aliveness. There is nothing of the eroticised Orient, an even though this accomplished contemporary artist is Egyptian by birth, and currently resides in France, she is not particularly infatuated with Egyptology as were the early French Orientalist painters. The langour and lassitude coupled with an insinuation of sexual drive and sensuality which runs through much French Orientalist painting is nowhere to be found in Bakhoum's creations. Her paintings are peopled with dignified human beings. They do not exude lust or carnal passion. But, Bakhoum, it appears, desires visitors to her exhibition to be distracted by her creations' clothes. They are ornate, decorous and distingue. Bakhoum paints in pastel. And, yet the paintings appear as if they are authentic oils. A particular painting caught my eye. It was of an Egyptian girl, so Bakhoum assures me, as if caressed by billowing robes against a Burmese backdrop. “I visited Burma, Myanmar, earlier in the year and I was so inspired by the beauty of the Burmese countryside and the simple elegance of the people that I decided to transfix an Egyptian girl in a Burmese setting,” Bakhoum tells me. “Mixing various aspects of different cultures such as dress, calligraphy, ornamentation and national symbols appeals to me,” Bakhoum extrapolates. “Mixing cultures in my paintings is my passion. No, I am not an Orientalist in the traditional sense of the word,” Bakhoum assures me. That was always a long shot. The exhibition itself is entitled “Le nouvel Orientalisme”. Something seems to be coming together as Bakhoum mixes and matches patches of particular cultures from as far afield as Myanmar, Madagascar, the Mediterranean, Japan, the Arab world and Africa south of the Sahara. The paintings are meticulously arranged. Safar Khan gallery certainly deserves praise for exhibiting the work of an exceptional living Orientalist of sorts, even though the artist vehemently denies it. “The Little Girl in Pink” is adorable. Yellows and reds predominate and in certain paintings some yellows have specks of red, deep arresting scarlet and crimson. Coating, Bakhoum combines talent, ingenuity and professionalism. Her portraits are decidedly androgynous. Men wear kohl to accentuate the beauty of their dark and delicious eyes. Her women, in sharp contrast, seem to resist the temptation of eye make-up. The majestic man in a red fez is dazzling. And, daubing a black Northwest African waistcoat against the blinding white of his turtle neck collar shirt which is vaguely reminiscent of an undergarment. Or, perhaps a chemise? I am not quite sure. Hollywood icons and posters adorn the background. Bakhoum uses the collage of movie posters with passionate profusion. Judging from his swarthy complexion and full, protruding lips he is African, perhaps Nubian, Sudanese or Senegalese. At first sight the fishes, alternatively painted red and black, that vertically line the left side of the pastel painting, easily escape the onlookers attention. The onlooker is inadvertently drawn to the handsome man himself. The girl from Madagascar is equally stunning. Donning a bold royal purple skirt, and another garment that is either a striking ruby red sarong, a vermilion tunic or a Halter shirt without the string. The black boy resplendent in the crimson robes of a cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church is arresting. Swathed in colour against the dark recesses of the background, exemplifies the poignant paint palette of Bakhoum's “Le Nouvel Orientalisme”. His head is bowed as if in confession. Indeed, most of the figures are sad and somber, or perhaps ponderous. Headdresses and hairstyles are meticulous. None of Bakhoum's creatures has unkempt hair. “The Peasant in Green” is marooned on a tea stained field. Subtle, symbolic sketches and collaged backgrounds are something of a trademark for Bakhoum. “Heaven of Dancers” is angelic. African ballet dancers, dressed on closer inspection in grass skirts, which black birds flying overhead. “They are all reaching for the stars,” Bakhoum explains. It is hard to imagine a tribute with more integrity to the silhouetted African dancers prancing about in utter abandon. The preponderance of portraits does not preclude the presence of ambrosial landscapes. “The Trees” are olive trees, Bakhoum assures me. They stand amid a wash of pastel pistachios and cashew yellows. A mirepoix, perhaps, the French cooking mixture of two parts onions and one part each of celery and carrot. This is entirely in keeping with Bakhoum's unequivocal relationship with colour. Katherine Bakhoum's exhibition “La Nouvelle Orientalisme” at Safar Khan gallery, Zamalek, runs through 28 December.
