What happens when Quranic verses are turned – by a celebrated Pakistani artist – into gleaming, glorious sculptures?
SCULPTURE is kind of frowned upon in Malaysia, especially since Islam prohibits the depiction of humans and animals.
Apart from the demolition of Terengganu’s cheery turtle tourism icon a decade ago, this year, even the laying of wreaths at the National Monument (which depicts fallen soldiers) has become controversial.
This is a Quranic verse – in abstract form – says Pakistani sculptor Amin Gulgee, of this piece entitled Embedded Line III. – SAMUEL ONG / The Star
The injunction is meant to prevent the creation of latter day idols, but its extent has been debated. For instance, it was argued some months ago that even a large picture of Anwar Ibrahim at Selangor’s Batu Caves may be haram.
But what if verses from the Holy Quran are depicted in sculpture form? Would that be a more acceptable solution to the scarcity of quality public art works in our urban landscapes?
This is precisely what has been done by celebrated Pakistani sculptor, Amin Gulgee, as seen at his current exhibition, Drawing the Line, at Galeri Petronas in Kuala Lumpur.
Take his lovely Ocean II, in which a line from the Quran’s Surah Al-Rahman chapter – “Which of the favours of God can one deny?” – has been turned into a wave-tossed, gold-brown “sea” of metallic veneration.
“It’s a wonderful chapter in the Quran ... everything is a favour from God,” Gulgee enthuses, during an interview at the gallery.
In his Embedded Line I, II and III, the verse is deconstructed into sinuous, stylised silhouettes.
“I wanted something anthropomorphic, dancing from the ground, no longer supported by a base metal plate. This is the closest I have come to drawing,” says Gulgee of his work, mainly on vivid polished copper. He does not work from paper sketches, but translates mental images directly onto metal.
“The closest that Islamic calligraphy comes to sculpture is in architecture, where it is often used on buildings. But there really isn’t a tradition of sculpture in Islam,” he explains.
I ask him whether his incorporation of calligraphy into sculpture is his way of “getting around” the Islamic prohibition against depicting living things.
“No, not at all,” he replies. “Besides, sculpture (in Islam) can always be abstract. I chose calligraphy because not many modern artists deal with it. It’s just my obsession.”
And what a glorious fixation it is.
In Wall, he uses his other favourite Iqra Quranic verse – “God taught humankind what it did not know” – in a swirling vortex around some kind of cosmic “portal”, with echoes perhaps of the legendary whirling dervishes, spinning in ecstasy while seeking union with the divine.
In another work, Fragment, he has taken “noonn”, one letter from the whole Iqra verse, dropped its dot, and abstracted it into a single, supple piece. On the surface, carved in the square Kufic script of Arabic, the word “Allah” is repeated, and the whole piece soars heavenwards.
In Spider, a Quranic verse is deconstructed into letters that ‘dance’, suggesting that God’s revelations have their own power.
Or he deconstructs the whole Iqra verse, and breathes new “life” into Spider.
“The letters almost dance by themselves with their own energy, suggesting how the wonderment of God’s revelations have their own power,” relates Gulee.
Could something like these works be enlarged many times over into public sculptures?
“I would love to do that, so people could walk through it. That would be really exciting,” he says.
In the meantime, some of his sculptures are “architectural” in their own way, such as his Habitat and Metropolis II, which seem to depict semi-disjointed “rooms in the sky” suspended diagonally in mid-air. Was this his critique about the alienation of urban “vertical living” in skewed, unbalanced flats?
“Nothing like that ...” he smiles. “I love urban living. What’s wrong with being alienated?”
Instead, he is inspired by Pakistan’s commercial capital, Karachi.
“It’s my village, where I was born and bred. Whenever I need a charge I go into the bazaar for two hours of fumes, noise, rickshaws and camels,” he recounts.
“It’s a city of 16 million, a crazy, chaotic Third World city of extremely high energy, where people have to fight to live. But it has a certain ethos, even if a bomb explodes, life goes on.”
Perhaps it is this attitude to life’s – and Pakistan’s – ups and downs that has made him sculpt Alham-dullilah (thanks be to Allah) again and again and again, all over Habitat and Metropolis II, with inflexions of tone implied as the square Kufic script turns 90° corners on the works.
“The Kufic script is very graphic, almost like a geometric pattern,” he notes. “Some speculate that God is reflected in the orderly, almost divine, patterns of geometry and mathematics.”
And instead of being some oblique social commentary, the two works are simply part of his other obsession: pure forms, be they cubes or rectangles. Or circles, such as his little sculptor’s joke of the Cosmic Chappati.
He adds that this works are also about the concepts of zahir (external) and batin (internal): “It’s about what is evident and what is not. I kinda like the tension between the two,” he says in his delicious mix of American and Pakistani accents.
Gulgee’s fascination with Islamic art began while doing his thesis on Mughal gardens while studying Economics, Architecture and Art History at America’s renowned Yale University some 21 years ago.
The Towers II, inscribed with Arabic words, eerily resembles New York’s fallen Twin Towers.
He has exhibited extensively at home and abroad, including in the United States, France, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Oman and China.
Gulgee is not known for overtly political works, but the shape of Towers II, is eerily reminiscent of New York’s Twin Towers that fell in the 2001 terrorist attacks, and it’s permeated with Arabic calligraphy. It’s a brilliantly understated juxtaposition of zahir and batin that manages, without histrionics or hyperbole, to present its own ka-boom of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, questioning acts purportedly done “in the name of” Islam.
His “artist’s statement” says, “I work in order to understand myself ... I try to discover a balance with my inner self, my culture and my God.”
He declines to answer when asked if he is some kind of Sufi mystic, saying that religion is a “very private matter”.
In fact, that is also why he likes the simplicity of square Kufic script: “For me that’s the beauty of Islam, it’s a personal dialogue with God.”
His father, the renowned Pakistani painter, Ismail Gulgee, was mysteriously murdered last December, along with his mother.
“It was tragic of course. My parents were the most precious thing in the world to me,” he recounts.
“But I’m lucky to be an artist. Whatever happens, joy or grief, it can all go into my work. My workshop was a place of healing for me, I was very lucky to have it to hang on to. Ultimately, it’s about submission to the will of God.”
In his Ripping the Bird’s Nest I, II and III series cast in copper and brass, several rather sinister, disembodied hands tear apart the fabric of a nest in several places; I can only wonder if this is his response to the tragedy, as he declines to comment on that, too.
Gulgee was invited to Malaysia by Lim Wei-Ling, the director of Wei-Ling Gallery (which supplied images of Gulgee’s works), for his third exhibition here, after shows in 2004 and 2006.
Several of his works have been bought by local collectors. But will Malaysia inspire his future works?
“I was in Penang for the first time, I loved the feeling there, going through the antique shops, looking at Chinese medicinal tea things ... everything influences me, it all works in strange ways.”
‘Drawing The Line’ is on until Jan 18 at Galeri Petronas, Level 3, Suria KLCC. Opening hours are 10am to 8pm (closed Monday). Admission is free. Call 03-2051 7770 for more information.
Works from the Drawing the Line exhibition by renowned Pakistani artist, Amin Gulgee, who was inspired by Quranic verses. The exhibition is on at the Galeri Petronas, Petronas Twin Towers, until Jan 18. Images courtesy of the Wei-Ling Gallery, KL; captions by StarMag staff writer, Andrew Sia.