Arab-American artist Heba Barazi’s ring-shaped jewellery tribute to Syria’s plants and flowers
Rym Ghazil
The National‘
Can’t speak of Damascus w A ring-shaped jewellery tribute to Syria’s plants and flowers ithout the jasmine trailing up my fingers,” wrote the Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani.
Anyone who has visited or lived in Damascus will agree with the legendary poet’s take on the delicate, mesmerising fragrance of white jasmine flowers, which line the streets of the Syrian capital, and are still a permanent resident of many Damascene homes.
Qabbani, who died in 1998, is revered as one of the Arab world’s most influential contemporary poets, addressing issues such as feminism, religion and Arab nationalism. He not only immortalised the essence of his country, but also paid special homage to its floral inhabitants, often treating the flower as a muse, such as in this touching ode to his home city, entitled Damascus, What Are You Doing to Me?:
“I enter …
A long tunnel of sparrows
Gillyflowers …
Hibiscus …
Clustered jasmine …
And I enter the questions of perfume …”
But long before Qabbani was extolling the virtues of Damascus, early Arab writers, along with European merchants and travellers, were praising its gardens. During its golden years as the centre of the Umayyad Caliphate, Damascus was known as the Garden of the World.
“Ringed by her orchards as a halo rings the moon,” wrote the traveller Ibn Jubayr of the city in the 12th century. T E Lawrence, best known as Lawrence of Arabia, remarked: “The silent gardens stood blurred green with river mist, in whose setting shimmered the city, beautiful as ever, like a pearl in the morning sun.”
The Syrian capital eventually acquired the aromatic title of Madinat Al Yasmine (City of Jasmine), and for the past decade, the country has held a special national festival in honour of this flower, to encourage citizens to grow this delicate bloom in their homes. Last year’s festival in September carried a more sombre tone, where alongside a bazaar and exhibitions, the flower was symbolically gifted to all the families grieving the loss of a loved one as a result of the continuing conflict in the country.
These darker images of Syria inspired the Arab-American artist Heba Barazi, who’s of Syrian descent, to try to recapture the culture, art and beauty of the country by focusing on its gardens.
From the famed jasmine to roses, hyacinths, Hibiscus syriacus (common hibiscus), Cedrus libani, tulips, carnations, cabbage flowers and numerous varieties of orchids, not to mention the sunflowers, gardenias, basil, thyme, mint and sabra, or prickly pear, Barazi selected the flowers and plants that most resonated with her. Three years ago, she created a studio in her home in Abu Dhabi, and started designing a collection of rings that referenced Syria’s floral heritage.
“Everything that has anything to do with Syria these days is doom and gloom,” Barazi explains. “So I was inspired to remind the world of the forgotten glory of Syria, a beautiful country with gorgeous nature and cultured, intellectual people, with a long legacy in art and literature. I used art to inject back some humanity and beauty, where people can rediscover a different side to Syria.”
Inspired by a line in one of Qabbani’s poems, “I am a ring jewelled by Damascus”, the self-taught Barazi designed a collection called Syria … Told Through Rings. Each ring in the collection is inspired by a poetic verse describing the beauty of Syria, as well as plants Barazi remembers from childhood visits to the country.
“I started with the Damascus jasmine, one of the most important flowers in Syria, which is symbolic of purity and gentleness, but also strength, because it has endured the test of time and turbulence,” she says.
Using polymer clay, with copper or silver, the artist – who’s also a mother of three, a scientist with a doctorate in molecular biology, and teaches human and plant physiology at Zayed University in Abu Dhabi – spent hours in her studio creating mini sculptures that can be worn as rings.
“I enjoy the challenge of both capturing the actual plant and then giving it an artistic twist, so that whoever wears it ends up carrying a story that they can fall in love with,” she says.
“Jewellery is quite intimate, and women form a special bond with their jewellery. In the West, influential women use their jewellery as a statement and communication tool. For example, the former US secretary of state Madeleine Albright used her brooches to send messages to other politicians while on diplomatic missions.”
The second ring she designed wasn’t a plant, but one inspired by a seashell, which was a common theme in Qabbani’s poems, just as sea life is also an important theme in Syrian history. The third creation references basil and is one of Barazi’s favourites.
In the words of Qabbani: “If I make a small hole in my alphabet … water fountains will explode. And out of my letters will exude fragrance of narcissus, basil and wild thyme.”
“It was also one of the more challenging rings to make, because most of the plant is just green leaves,” Barazi explains. “To inject more interest in the design, I exaggerated the gradation of colour in the leaves from yellow to green, and incorporated the purple basil flower colour in the design.”
Next came the lush red Damask rose, which is not only cherished for its beauty and fragrance, but also harvested for its oil, which is transformed into rose water. “The royal rose has inspired many artists before me, and continues to inspire artists, poets and writers,” says Barazi.
The crusader Robert de Brie is believed to have brought the Damask rose from Syria to Europe between 1254 and 1276. Qabbani’s words perhaps best capture the significance of the bloom: “I come to you … from the tales of the Damascene rose, that depicts the history of all fragrance.”
Next on Barazi’s list was the sunflower, a humble yet delightful flower celebrated by artists around the world, including Vincent van Gogh, who said “the sunflower is mine”. Then came gardenia, which features heavily in Barazi’s childhood memories of her mother. “I would see her holding one or carrying a pot of gardenias around. Its scent has a very nostalgic effect on me,” she says.
One of the more difficult rings to create was the violet. “I wanted to make something extra special, because not only is it a lovely flower, but it is symbolic of Qabbani’s wife, Balqis, of her deep-blue-violet eyes, and of how much he mourned her after she died in a bomb explosion in Beirut [in 1981],” she explains.
Qabbani wrote of the flower: “My violet, do not embarrass me, your almond tree is now beyond my reach. I cannot afford your peaches. I have nothing to give to love, except the neighing of my sorrows.”
Then came the almond, which is a delicacy eaten green in Syria, with a sprinkling of salt, as a sour snack known as ouja, sold by street vendors every year around April. “It is one of those snacks we all loved to have at home when it was the season for it,” Barazi recalls. “It is also used in many dishes, and so it is an important nut that I wanted to design.”
The almond tree is suitably romanticised by Qabbani, who wrote: “What did you ask of me that I did not do? I built my swing on top of the star. And our promised home … I built from almond flowers.”
Barazi has also created a pomegranate ring, based on Qabbani’s lines: “And I can’t say her name, without my mouth brimming with apricot juice, pomegranate, berries and quince.”
The jewellery designer is currently working on a new ring, the red poppy. Depending on the amount of time spent producing them, rings range in price from about Dh950 to Dh1,950, and are sold at Mosaique in Abu Dhabi’s Nation Galleria. Part of the proceeds go to the Karam Foundation – one of the projects that the NGO supports involves helping female artisans in Syria sell their products to the international market.
“My hope for this project is that women who care buy and wear the rings. Not only will part of the money support Syria, but they will also be part of an awareness campaign that Syria is not just war,” Barazi says. “For people who have not heard of Syria, it is easy for them to ignore the suffering of the Syrian people because they can’t relate to them. Highlighting the culture and nature of Syria is a reminder of the humanity of its people, and that is something people can relate to. Every time a women wears a ring, it is an opportunity to pass on this message.”
Having previously conducted workshops at Manarat Al Saadiyat, Barazi is also working on a new collection inspired by the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque, which, for her, symbolises cultural preservation, as well as the diversity of the country. As her favourite poet proves, art, in its various forms, offers an opportunity to capture the spirit of a place.
“Qabbani used nature to tell a timeless story of the place, the people and culture that shaped him and inspired him,” says Barazi.
The power of a single flower is perhaps best illustrated by the fact that as Qabbani lay in a London hospital towards the end of his life, he requested that he be buried in Damascus, and wrote in his will these famous last lines about his place of birth: “The womb that taught me poetry, taugh
Source: www.thenational.ae