Painter Nazli Madkour, whose latest exhibition is currently on show, talks to Heba Elkayal She was once as far removed from art as one could imagine: an economist at the headquarters of the League of Arab Sates. Today, Nazli Madkour is one of the leading contemporary women artists in Egypt, rightfully earning herself much admiration by art critics and fans for the emotional engagement and compassion her paintings display. One of Madkour's favourite motifs is the traditionally attired peasant fellaha woman, amidst scenes that evoke the serenity of Egypt's countryside. In her latest exhibition, showing in Safar Khan throughout the month of February, Madkour has assembled a collection of paintings showing the innovative versatility of her work. The exhibition comprises large portraits of heart- shaped faces, soft in their adolescent curves and doe eyes. The women depicted in many portraits appear to be young, facing a future of hardship and little joy with vacuous eyes and forced smiles. Other portraits depict older women tending the field and carrying water. But apart of women, young and old, the exhibition also includes some still lifes and landscapes. In one painting, we encounter what appears to be a mother and daughter duo standing silently, staring past the viewer, and again, like many of Madkour's women, they seem to have little to say directly to the viewer. "They have eyes that don't look you straight in the eyes. I think this is a sign of submissiveness, of not being able to dare or say what they really want to say," Madkour says. The paintings on show are not provocative, in the sense that they do not seek to stir anger at the conditions of underprivileged women in Egypt, but rather render a novel approach to one's perception of the women depicted. There is something so noble in the stance of a subject, in the tilt of a head, or the jaunty walk across a field: as a viewer, one recognizes a sense of dignity and courage. They are not poor in spirit, as they have been ascribed by Madkour a regal air, where a bucket of water on a woman's head looks like a golden crown. "I deal with the conditions of Egyptian women mainly because as a woman I can feel what they go through," says Madkour. "I have great sympathy to my subject-matter, and I often feel very angry at the way these women submit to their lot. In earlier exhibitions, I used to show greater anger at women, because I wanted them to rebel against their miserable conditions, to show less submission. Since then I have taken a more philosophical point of view. I am still sympathetic, but my sympathy has acquired more poise. Perhaps, now I am more resigned to accept them as they really are, rather than trying to impose on them my viewpoint." Madkour recognises that her paintings reflect changes in her personality "Naturally my concerns are reflected in my paintings. I am now more inclined to search for an inner self, an inner serenity focusing on subtle beauty, and not on the more outwardly aggressive manifestations. I want my paintings to converse with the viewer rather than hitting him or her on the head. It is my ambition also to reach the optimum economy with colour, though I have been lately using more colour than before. Now, I don't use colour in a striking manner, or so I believe, as my colours are more subdued and diffused, a little bit like water." Madkour's style often departs from the conventional. Her colour choices clash and compliment in a manner that is both novel and non-abrasive. "At the beginning I used much earth tones, it was closer to what I saw visually at the outset. Now I'm trying to get to the inner vibrancy within any one person, and those inner feelings are not conveyed in earth tones. There is often a clash between the immediate outside colours and the colours within. This development in my perception of colours came about gradually, I didn't fully realise this as it was happening. I painted women initially in earth tones, ochre, browns, beiges, and just a drab of colour here and there. But as I was delving more into the human nature of the women I painted, subdued and pensive as they were, I could sense a more exuberant part, which I believe is characteristic of Egyptian women in particular," Madkour says. Her use of vibrant colours, and the exaggeration in the usage of canary yellows and fuchsia pinks are manifestations of the spirited character she endows on the women in her portraits. Neon greens and lilacs juxtapose one another on "Ishtar," a painting that depicts the Levant goddess of fertility with a peasant woman in a pose of supplication on a very large canvas. Madkour's most powerful paintings are those that are considerably large, or those that bring one emotionally close to the spirit of a subject. "Ishtar" is a piece that Cherwet Shafie, the owner of Safar Khan Gallery, says is a reminiscent of the whimsical and poetic sense we encounter in a Chagall painting. Yet there is also something about Madkour's paintings that evokes sanctity and hushed whispers of respect. Sweeping strokes with pastel chalks in greens and lilacs lend her work a sense of the ephemeral as she blends fertility goddesses with the land they endow with fertility. Madkour has painstakingly reassessed what one can do with colour and themes deemed by some artists as cliché. She does not fret about working with subjects such as goddesses, flowers and landscapes, but simply reconsiders the surprising possibilities that lend themselves to her as she allows both her style and technique to develop, a process which she strives to develop by working systematically every day in her studio in situ, drawing and reading various sources on art history, theory and philosophy to compensate for the formal art education she did not receive. "I am constantly developing, though often this development is an inner process that evolves from within the work itself. This is a difficult process, because you try to let go of things you are good at doing, from your comfort zone, and chart new less familiar grounds. And as you do that, you ask yourself: is this what I want? For what comes out at the end of this process is not necessarily what you wanted at the beginning. It's a process of trying to discern what you need from what you found out during this journey in self-exploration," Madkour concludes.
