1988 - In the Memory of Time

Normand Biron. How did you come to Art?
Nja Mahdaoui. Quite naturally. Thanks to my mother and uncles, I was born into an artistic environment. Not that of classical painting, but rather of the traditions of calligraphy and silk weaving. Among my first gifts as a child, my father used to bring me reproductions of paintings, including some by Kandinsky, and ask me to decipher them, try to understand them and discern particular characteristics. Then came school, where I was drawn to everything that had to do with learning. This was around 1956 at the Catholic Missionaries School in Carthage, where I studied easel painting and the history and theory of art. Besides this institution, there was the School of Fine Arts which at that time was rather anarchic and little structured. Not having studied there, I started painting intuitively, until I met Dr. Averini, director of the Dante Alighieri Italian Cultural Centre in Tunis. It was through major exhibitions that he brought over from Italy, especially those of contemporary art, and through his art courses that my attention quickly turned to Italy. However, before going to Italy, I first travelled to France and visited the Louvre where I discovered all the great civilizations. It was love at first sight. Back in Tunis, at the Dante institute, a trip was organized to Palermo, where a show of my work was held at El Harka, one of the most dynamic avant-garde galleries in Italy. El Harka literally means “action” in Arabic. Many painters from Northern Italy used to spend their holidays there and eventually took over the gallery.

NB. And then came Rome…
NM. My deep wish to study art led me to attend the Accademia di Sant’Andrea for two years. At the same time, I was also lucky enough to experience the joy of working with authentic masters who were teaching courses to small groups without hesitating to welcome you. They respected my artistic approach and assisted me with the issues brought about by my strong cultural heritage. I ended up following the artistic trends of that time, until the day I met Padre Di Meglio, an exemplary person both in terms of his vast knowledge of art theory and his practical approach to art. He advised me to study the different techniques of calligraphy both of the Middle East and of Asia. I was shocked to realize the extent to which I would have to work in order to refine composition and make-up. It was through Padre Di Meglio that I first had a theoretical contact with my culture and became truly aware of the depth of the Arab and Islamic civilization.

NB. On calligraphy...
NM. In 1966 I returned to Rome where I saw many breathtaking classical paintings. During this period, I gave priority to gesture, which led me to lyrical abstraction. I needed to detach myself and denounce the tawdry, repetitive, postcard image that could be found in our art. In Europe, I found myself in another mould where, by seeking to tame gesture, I felt that I was losing something... Advised by Michel Tapié, the Cortina gallery in Milan agreed to show my large paintings called Concrétions. Yet, at the same time, there was a need to label me and to assert my origins and slip me into the melting pot of forms and styles described as “international”. This, for me, resulted in a very sharp awakening. Somewhere in my unconscious I felt myself a bearer of the letter, of the sign. The calligraphic form was, in a way or another, always present in my works.
        After leaving Milan, I stopped working in that direction and concentrated on finding a gesture of my own. This was primarily a phase of theoretical reflection. It is surely no coincidence that this questioning came at a time when many of us – from Iraq, Morocco, Tunisia – were trying to understand what we were. We wanted to be able to express ourselves in our own language, not repeating our cultural heritage and legacy but starting from this past without being enclosed in it; not imitating it but taking it into account in the pursuit of our own path. To generate this distance, we had to be open to everything that was being created then. At that time, I was questioning myself about how to take responsibility for my own culture. The matter was one of taking a stance and it became an attitude.
      Therefore, while exploring this considered choice practically and theoretically, it was crucial to stay alert, so as to avoid the fetters I had always fought against. I told myself something very simple – that I had to work, work, work; to express something in parallel to what was being done elsewhere, without breaking away from it. The idea was to try and act until the referent came and started from us. By changing it, a different platform for reflection became possible. Besides, we were able to undertake a rereading of ourselves, our legacy, our culture, while grasping what is essential in mankind. This approach would have to lead me to something new, or else I would remain imprisoned in self-satisfaction. My wish is to attain universality while bearing witness – in a way, like the Japanese – to my own culture.

NB. And how are the young Tunisian painters reacting?
NM. In Tunisia, a lot of new graduates from the School of Fine Arts are now slightly bewildered. They have attended the best schools in Paris and abroad, where they engaged in theoretical studies and even doctorate degrees. Yet, they feel challenged by what I’m working on, by the very subject that is dearest to me, namely, the gesture of the “craftsman-artist”, one I can never abandon, but willingly accept and work towards. Over the years, I have come to realize that my way of working is close to that of the craftsman.

           I’m not talking about the scribes, but about the golden age of calligraphers. One has to remember how they sat cross-legged at a low table, working not only on calligraphy, but on any artistic work. Craftsmen have preserved this ancient posture that creates a specific relation with the work, a way of laying it flat, allowing one to observe one’s own gesture, one’s breath. This awareness came to me through work, and why not?

              On the one hand there is the world of the “craftsman-artist” whose traces can be found everywhere, and on the other the world of the modern artist. Could then my truth be closest to that of the “craftsman-artist”? Even though the Western world has created and established this new easel-canvas-brush relationship, the older forms of art are still strongly present and alive around and within us.

              But how to seize the essence of something that is in danger of being lost? Among other things, I’m thinking about the wonders created in mosaics... Even though this art turned into an industry for economic reasons, the creative gesture still exists. The truth of our creation lies perhaps in the richness of our civilization more than anywhere else. Are we obliged to teach our children the artistic language of Paris, Berlin and New York? Through education one can discover these cultures, but it is essential not to dwell on their simple reproduction. Maybe we do not need to have the same cultural code of learning?

NB. On beauty…
NM. I don’t know whether it is internal or external. Beauty can be found everywhere. It has been demonstrated through art that there is an enormous difference between the beauty of a woman used as a model in a portrait and that of the work produced, which can be terrible. Our psycho-sensorial faculties can give us an equal sensation of beauty, whether we are beholding a pebble or a pair of shoes. It is dependent on the feelings and reflexes of each individual. Beauty is all around us, yet having the capacity to perceive it is another matter. This sensitivity can be awakened through countless means other than art itself.

 

NB. On colour...
NM. I am a child of the sun. We are assailed by the power of sunlight. It forces our pupils to contract, modifying the relations between colours. It is curious to observe that the farther we go into the Tunisian countryside, the more there is a need for a note of colour, which would be violent for a Northerner or a Scandinavian… While people in Europe dream of having more light and sunshine, we have too much of it. Actually, I wonder if it is not the very configuration of nature that is responsible for the use of specific colours in different cultures. In semiotics, the grammar of colour is something completely different. The difference between what yellow represents for the Chinese, a patch of red for the Belgian, or grey for the Saharan is quite extraordinary, almost metaphysical.

NB. I would be tempted to connect black and gold to death and celebration
in your work.
NM. It’s a cultural thing. I belong to the Arab-Islamic culture, while the notion of death being connected to black belongs mostly to Christians. For us, black is always included in the decoration for engagement celebrations without necessarily implying mourning, while corpses are wrapped in white. Gold has always carried multiple meanings. In the past, it was practically forbidden in Tunisia, like portraiture. I enjoy playing with its symbolism. I love this non-colour.

 

NM. And the inner colour of your graphic script?
NM. In my graphic work, I do not play with words, which are free calligrams. By choosing the letter whose source is Arabic calligraphy, I intend to free it through gesture. In working with the morphology of the letter, while detaching it from its linguistic content, I retain the framework and form that enable me to preserve the aesthetic ritual. This gives me the opportunity to plunge deep into history in an attempt to understand the development of these signs, some of which can be traced back to Aramaic.

 

NB. The Arabic script appears to have preserved the visual rhythms of the
language...
NM. Arabic calligraphy specifically allows for the dilution of shape, cursive and curves... The fact that calligraphy has not remained crystallized in a single school is fascinating. The diversity of the Arabic language flourished in several schools, especially in countries where Islam spread – such as Turkey or Iran... It is interesting to observe how the Arab philosophy and people from various places have contributed to this calligraphy. They embraced it and injected it with new blood, new form.

               I have deliberately distanced myself from the verb, the word’s dialectical content. Being neither a copyist nor a writer, but an artist, I had no intention of making use of famous texts that I worship. At a certain point, I started using the letter, which responded with all its curves and shapes, because I respected the various balances of its morphology in the spatial play of composition. Due to its inexhaustible potential, I explored this in sculpture, tapestry, bas-reliefs...

              I have explored questions of belonging and transcendence. I hung my parchments on the walls of a large room and filmed the reactions of two visitors, one European man and one man from my own culture. Each of them behaved in an interesting way on entering the room and seeing these works. The latter went close to one of them in order to take possession of it: it was something he believed he could read and thus possess through reading. He found himself troubled as he was unable to read, and eventually, he realized that the problem was one of aesthetic nature. The work is elevated to the universal through the artistic gesture. Being able to reach the universal by freeing the letter from its imprisonment in the word is something of utmost importance in my approach.

 

NB. Painting and writing, gesture and tradition...
NM. The artists’ approach has dismantled the codes of academism. Painting has perhaps transcended its limitations in order to breathe and expand, dropping the definite form – the bird, the landscape... Oddly, this forsaking of the signifier/signified reminds me that my letter carries no message, but has a significance of its own. In fact, what I love is the gesture. In the freedom of creation, I want to work towards rigour, to test my limits of being human and a man, but not to flirt with anarchy in the name of freedom. Freedom is precious; it can either swallow us up or be a life companion, if respected.

 

NB. Your themes?
NM. Free! I never title my works. The absence of a title reflects my desire not to condition the viewer, who is thereby free to engage in a dialogue or to walk away... I want the initial reactions to emerge solely from what is before his or her eyes. The viewer has to transcend the level of the simple glance in order to penetrate and feel the work. It is a question of emotion and vibration and not one of pre-established references.

NB. On gesture...
NM. I dwell on the boundary between life and death: life holds death by a thread and death is omnipresent. I tell myself with each work, regardless of its size, that it is a privilege to be able to add to creation. This sensibility, this power in my hands, may be material – at the limit when a concrete sculpture is created – and yet so ephemeral… Everything is held by this thread of life, the thread of the creative gesture. We are ephemeral ourselves. Whenever I hold a work in my hands, I have the feeling that it is never completed. Even when signed and hung on a wall, it still partakes in the unfolding creation. The gesture is carnal, sensual, metaphysical. Can we really talk about creation without gesture? Everything created passes through the carnal.

NB. And what about performance?
NM. It is limited in time. I have written on the human body after having experimented with all known materials, from wood to bone… Nonetheless, my interest in the human body does not lie in the search for a new material, but in a reflection on the ephemeral. In my culture, the body has always been taboo. I have tried to create an ephemeral work in which the body accepts to be part of a work in progress. The choice of women came by itself thanks to the natural understanding and complementarity between male and female. I played with this fusion. Where do men/women begin and end and viceversa? They are naturally linked. The human being, as a whole, comprises both the feminine and the masculine. These Arabic calligraphy letters, when placed on the body, take on several dimensions. The body, marked with ephemeral signs that will be erased when in contact with water, becomes a work that can no longer be objectified, as it is called upon to exist only for the elusive time of the lived instant – unlike tattoos, which are permanent signs. Through movement, the body creates graphic compositions that transcend me: I am no longer their master.

NB. What is dearest to you?
NM. I don’t think I can answer this question. There is the love of one another... Another thing I can think of is, if somewhere in the world they attempted to suppress genuine creation it would undoubtedly hurt me. And if, for instance, they were to prevent a poet from expressing himself I would really be affected.

 

NB. And on internationalism?
NM. Creation has always been an individual matter as we are only witnesses of a particular time and place. Seeking to destroy these testimonies would be dangerous for the future. Instead they should become international, universal... The future will be built on a present that becomes aware of its past; a future compelled to a communitarian and universal endeavour. One should therefore avoid self-isolation, as those who think they have something precious and lock themselves away with it are doomed to self-destruction. Universalism lies in the understanding of the grammar of the other.