The de-installed former Arts of the Islamic World gallery, May 2013.

We will do our best to keep you updated about the project and how it will affect movement around the Museum with signage. We have already cleared all objects from the former Arts of the Islamic World gallery, and soon you’ll get a behind-the-scenes peek at the project. Objects from the two collections will be on view on storage shelves in that space starting in mid-June. During the first phase of construction, you will be able to walk through this storage area while the adjacent galleries are dark.

This large-scale reinstallation project has also allowed us to collaborate with the Rubin Museum of Art. Museum-goers can see highlights of Asian art from Brooklyn across the East River in the exhibition From India East: Sculptures of Devotion from the Brooklyn Museum, which runs through July 14, 2014. We hope that you will head to Chelsea to learn more about the development of Buddhist and Hindu art across Asia during our temporary closure of the galleries here.

From India East is on view at the Rubin Museum through July 7, 2014 and features Brooklyn Museum objects.

More to come as our opening date gets closer, but we are looking forward to the new galleries. We hope to bring out objects from storage that we couldn’t show in the current galleries, such as Southeast Asian bronzes that require climate control, Japanese scrolls that are too long for the current casework, and an increased number of works on paper from across Asia and the Middle East. It’s a busy but exciting time in my department!

As Lisa mentioned, Othoniel’s work gives us a chance to explore the medium of glass across our diverse collections. While his work is unlike glass from the Islamic world in function and meaning, Othoniel has collaborated with workshops located in centers of glass production that hold particular importance to the medieval Islamic world. Beads in his glass sculptures were produced in Murano, Italy, home of the Venetian glass industry since the late 13^th century. Trade between Venice and the Islamic world, including the transfer of glass objects and technology, has been extensively documented. The glass bricks that form Othoniel’s The Precious Stonewall (2010) were manufactured in Firozabad, India, a center of glass production since the 15^th century that was founded by a Muslim ruler of the Delhi Sultanate.

Mosque Lamp. Egypt or Syria, 13th–14th century. Glass; free blown, applied, enameled, and gilded; tooled on the pontil. Bequest of William H. Herriman, 21.484.

Glassmaking technologies spread across the former Roman Empire, and some methods existed continuously into the Byzantine and early Islamic periods. Things we can sometimes see—a vessel’s shape, decoration, mold marks, imperfections, and pontil scars (left by a glassblowing tool)—can help us figure out how, and perhaps when or where, it was made. This excellent video produced by the Corning Museum of Glass demonstrates the process of free-blown glass, a basic technique used by glassmakers from antiquity to the present. Many of the glass beads and organic forms that make up Othoniel’s sculptures are also free-blown.

This mosque lamp, now on view on the second floor, is one of my favorite examples of a free-blown glass object in our Arts of the Islamic World collection for its enamel decoration. The Mamluk period (1250-1517 C.E.) in Egypt and Syria produced many fine examples of such glass lamps that were commissioned for mosques and charitable foundations. The illuminated glow of the lamp symbolized divine light, and mosque lamps were often inscribed with the well-known Sura of Light from the Qur’an. The inscription that encircles the body of the Brooklyn Museum example, however, repeats the phrase “the learned” in Arabic. Lamps of this type—characterized by a flared neck, a rounded body with handles, and a wide foot—hung from a mosque’s ceiling by chains. After the shape was set, enamel (made from finely crushed glass and an oily medium) was applied with a brush or reed pen, and the vessel was fired. The bottom of the Brooklyn Museum lamp was ground down and a flared pedestal was added at another point, but its intact wick is unusual among extant examples of Mamluk lamps.

Four Bowls. Iran, 11th–12th century. Glass; mold blown. Gift of The Roebling Society, 1991.41.1-.4

Aside from free blowing, another basic glassblowing technique involves blowing molten glass into a mold. These straight-sided round glass bowls in our Arts of the Islamic World collection date to the Saljuq period (1081-1307 C.E.) in Iran. While the four bowls are mold-blown, the transparent and aubergine (1994.41.1, above far left) and cobalt (1994.41.2, above far right and below) bowls were blown into a patterned mold to create a honeycomb pattern on the surface and bottom with a rosette in the center of the bowl.

Bowl. Iran, 11th–12th century. Glass; mold blown. Gift of The Roebling Society, 1991.41.2

The Romans had developed mold-blown glass centuries earlier, and the technique was employed across the Islamic world. These four bowls were probably formed from so-called full-size molds because it appears that their basic shape was not modified after removal from the mold. Molten glass on the end of a blowpipe was blown into a hinged full-size mold, so the pattern of the mold appeared in relief on the glass. The vessel was removed from the mold and finishing touches, such as a rim or handle, were added. The iridescent film now present on surface of these bowls is due to decomposition and previous burial. An acidic environment would cause the certain elements of the glass to undergo a chemical reaction in which the glass would separate into layers, forming a thick iridescent outermost layer subject to flaking.

Free- and mold-blowing are basic techniques for forming glass objects, and both are still in use across the globe today. Even though glass from the Islamic world and Othoniel’s glass sculptures hail from very different moments in time, they were made from the same material and with similar basic techniques.

Installation view of tile panel in Connecting Cultures: A World in Brooklyn.

The tiles in the panel were likely made in Damascus, Syria, an important provincial capital after its conquest by the Ottomans in 1516. Damascene ceramics workshops were influenced by a style of vegetal decoration associated with Iznik, Turkey, a center for ceramic production in the Ottoman Empire, but they adapted color schemes to include cobalt-blue, turquoise, green, and purple. (For an example of Iznik decoration, see this ornament in our Arts of the Islamic World gallery.) Motifs and brushwork on ceramics from Damascus at this time are generally more relaxed than on Iznik examples, where imagery was court-controlled.

We do not know in which building the tiles now at the Brooklyn Museum initially hung. Many buildings from the same period, such as the Darwish Pasha Mosque built by the Ottoman governor, and other museum collections (i.e., The Met and the V&A) include examples of similar tile work.

Darwish Pasha Mosque, Damascus, Syria, 1574, detail of portico showing two tile panels to the west of the entrance (©Michael Greenhalgh, image via Archnet.org)

As Kerith mentioned, the tiles were assembled into a panel upon arrival to the Museum in 1939. Such reconstructions were commonplace during the early 20^th century. Numbers on the tiles and breaks in the decorative scheme suggest a larger original. (Can you spot breaks? It took me awhile at first.) Perhaps damaged tiles were removed and existing ones rearranged, or perhaps the panel includes tiles from various sources. We only know that the tiles came from multiple firing batches due to differences in glazing.

Installation view of “Connecting Places” wall in Connecting Cultures: A World in Brooklyn.

You might assume that all museum objects look now as they did upon creation, but this is often untrue following subsequent interventions. This composite panel is a piece of architecture from Syria that now—approximately 400 years later—functions as a standalone art object on another continent. The reuse of architectural elements has been common throughout Islamic architecture, but they undergo further changes when removed from buildings altogether. Pieces entered European and American collections and museums in the twentieth century, and adjustments occurred for various reasons by those possibly unfamiliar with their original use.

In Connecting Cultures, works are hung in a collage-like formation or “salon hanging.” You get a sense of the panel as an art object conversing with surrounding objects. It appears six feet above the floor on the wall devoted to the theme “Connecting Place”—a completely different placement and environment than in the Darwish Pasha Mosque. In Brooklyn the panel is surrounded by a 17th-century sandstone panel from Mughal India, aTunisian Roman–periodmosaic, and paintings depicting places as diverse as Niagara Falls, Cairo, and Europe.

While these tiles now hang differently than originally intended in a museum far from Damascus, I hope that their inclusion in Connecting Cultures, particularly in relation to the theme of “place,” encourages you to consider the interesting conversation provoked by their proximity to other representations of “place” as well as the significant effects of places—Ottoman Syria, private collection(s), and the Brooklyn Museum—and human agents upon these tiles.

An Islamic tile panel from Damascus, Syria (39.407.1-54) underwent extensive conservation for the installation.  Previously the tiles had been assembled, set into concrete, and put into the wall of the Islamic Galleries.   Losses and cracks were filled with plaster and painted a flat, medium brown.  A common restoration for the early 20^th century, this resulted in a panel that weighed over 800 pounds!

After Treatment, Panel of Tiles, 16th-17th c, Damascus, Syria, Gift of Alan Devereux, 37.409.1-.54

Since this structure was so cumbersome, the tiles were removed from the cement backing.  We used a power saw to cut them apart along the grout lines, carefully avoiding the tiles, and then cleaved them from their backings.

Tiles were separated from the backing by inserting a chisel into air pockets between the tile and the cement after the tiles were cut out of the panel with a power saw (39.407.27)

After all of the old restorations were removed, we examined the tiles. Variations in technical characteristics between tiles indicated they could be from different sources.  Many were broken and a few had smaller fragments of similar tiles inserted into losses.  Several numbering systems were on the backs of the tiles and some were higher than the 48 tiles that existed in our construction, suggesting that the panel may originally have been larger.

These observations made us consider how the tiles should be displayed.   Rearranging, cutting, and inserting fragments of mismatched tiles to make the pattern continuous had been widespread techniques for reconstructing tile panels, but was the current condition an accurate reflection of how the panel would have originally looked?  Would leaving it fragmentary with missing tiles ruin the aesthetic?

In a previous restoration, fragments were inserted into trimmed tiles to create a complete tile. Here, the pattern is the same, but doesn’t quite match (39.407.46, .50)

We decided that all the tiles and fragments would be included in the new display. Tiles would be individually mounted without grout or restorations.  The effect was that they would be separate objects, but each an integral part of a larger collection.  This also allowed for changes that cement and mortar does not—tiles can be removed, displayed and examined separately without having to disturb the entire panel.

Art handlers perform a test hanging of the tiles before installing them in the galleries.

In creating this new mount, we were faced with another challenge:  the panel would be installed over 6 feet above the floor.  The mount would need to be easy and safe for installation, but satisfy concerns about the appearance.  The tiles were mounted in columns on to backing boards, so that eight tiles could be installed at a time.  When the boards were pushed together, they created the entire panel.

The newly conserved Islamic tile panel is in the “Connecting Places” section of Connecting Cultures.  Tell us what you think! Were we successful in presenting a complete object?  Do you miss the cement and grout of a traditional tile panel? Can you see the inserted fragments?  Do the losses detract from the overall appearance?

Look for conservators and other Museum staff serving as “connectors” in the gallery to find out more about the objects in the installation.

This panel discussion, held Saturday June 13, 2009 at the Brooklyn Museum, addressed the production, collection, and display of Sufi-inspired artist books. Zahra Partovi, whose artist book Fragments of Light II is featured in the special exhibition Light of the Sufis, discussed her art in conversation with collaborating book artist Kelly Driscoll, Hagop Kevorkian Associate Curator of Islamic Art Ladan Akbarnia, and Principal Librarian Deirdre Lawrence.

Vincent has been the primary leader in the overall conception, design and production of these books, pulling together incredibly talented artists and artisans to create them. The books, all inspired by the Sufi poetry of Rumi as translated by Zahra Partovi, are a jewel in the crown of our artists’ book collection and remain wonderful examples of how contemporary art can carry on the essence of traditional art.

How did these wonderful books come into the Brooklyn Museum collection?

Back in October 1998 the Brooklyn Museum held an exhibition entitled Royal Persian Paintings, The Qajar Epoch, 1785-1925 curated by Dr. Layla Diba. This exhibition was one of several that Brooklyn has featured over the years and an example of the Museum’s long standing interest in Islamic art. The Library collection is also rich in this area due to a series of grants from the Hagop Kevorkian Fund and donations such as the personal library of noted Islamic scholar Charles K. Wilkinson whose selected acquisitions are on view in the newly reinstalled Islamic Art galleries.The Library has a collection of artists’ books, ranging from multiples to limited editions to unique works, many of which relate to the cultures represented by the Museum’s object collections. Many of the books published by Vincent FitzGerald & Co. fall into this latter category as they resonate so well with the Islamic collections here.

I first met Vincent FitzGerald and Zahra Partovi in the Dieu Donne Galleries in 1999 at an exhibition entitled Dialogues in Collaboration: the publications of Vincent FitzGerald & Co. I remember being swept off my feet by the books on view and wanted to bring some of these books into the Brooklyn Museum collection.  Both Vincent and Zahra recognized the Museum’s longstanding interest in Islamic art and knew their books would fit in well with our collections.

Through the generosity of anonymous donors and guidance from Vincent we were given nine books created by Vincent FitzGerald & Co. The books demonstrate in a beautiful way that thirteenth-century Persian poetry can be made intellectually accessible to a present-day audience. Since we acquired these books we have featured them in exhibitions such as Working in Brooklyn: Artists Books in 2000 and they have been a favorite of visiting teachers, students and artists in the Library Reading Room. Both visually challenging and intellectually stimulating, these books speak to the future of the book as a vibrant tool for communication while being works of art in themselves. The Fragments of Light series is the most recent example of innovative ways Vincent and his collaborators challenge the definition of the book.

Come visit and see these great books in person!

To give the designer, Lance Singletary, a sense of what I imagined, I picked up a couple of paint swatches from the hardware store and he took it from there. I can’t stress enough how important these conversations with the designer are, because if Lance didn’t “get” what kind of vision I had for the space, it would have ended up looking a lot different than what you’re about to see in this video. He will explain how he came up with the subtle details that make for an extraordinary change on a relatively modest budget. It’s been an intense project that came together in an incredibly short period of time, thanks to the help of a whole team of people— curatorial staff, conservators, editors, designers, painters, electricians, art handlers, maintenance staff, technology staff, the security staff who kept an eye on me on many a late night at the museum, and more (I really hope I haven’t overlooked anyone here!). Ultimately, though, you will have to come see for yourself when the galleries open to the public on June 5, 2009—in the meantime, check out this “behind-the-scenes” video of some of the reinstallation:

I chose to do research on this piece for purely aesthetic reasons as well as to satisfy my own curiosity. The drawing seemed different from other Islamic drawings I had seen, and I wanted to find out why. When you can devote your time to researching one particular object in depth, you come across an incredible amount of interesting information. Unfortunately, limitations on text length mean it’s not possible to share every bit of available research with the museum’s visitors, so the goal in writing a label like this is to convey a large amount of information in a clear and concise yet simultaneously interesting way. The most difficult thing is deciding what you want to focus on.

Compared to the other drawings in this installation, “Man with a Sword” seems oddly rigid and geometric, which is unusual when so many Islamic drawings are driven by the smooth, graceful brushwork style inspired by Islamic calligraphy.  As I discovered in my research, this work was created in the tradition of Islamic astrological drawings. The Book of Fixed Stars, written by the Iranian astronomer ^cAbd al-Rahman al-Sufi in 964 CE, would have provided ample source material for the artist who created “Man with a Sword”: it is filled with anthropomorphic representations of different constellations. For me, the most interesting thing about Al-Sufi was that he was one of the first to translate Greek astrological works into Arabic and compare the two cultures’ constellations; Boötes, the likely inspiration for this piece, was referenced as early as Homer’s Odyssey (ca. 700 BCE) and appears in numerous ancient mythologies as a hunter or herdsman. This became the focus for my label-writing, since I thought that other people would find it interesting as well.

Works on paper are light sensitive, and can only be displayed for a few months at a time. Drawings of the Islamic World will be on display until April, however, so there is still time to see “Man with a Sword” in person!

Traveling Coffer, ca. 1250. Lacquer over leather, bamboo, wood, metal mounts, 17 1/4 x 28 3/8 x 15 in. (43.8 x 72.1 x 38.1cm). Brooklyn Museum, 1996.68.

That object (1996.68), pictured here, is a lacquer painted, tooled, and gilded traveling coffer that belongs to the Asian art collection. It might seem a little odd that a curator specializing in the arts of the Islamic world would choose a Chinese work as her favorite, but I love this piece because it contains so many visual and technical features shared between the arts of China, Iran, and Central Asia-possibly even Tibet. Medallions containing real and mythical animals, as well as floral and vegetal motifs appear in a series of panels framing each section of the object and cornered by various cloud collar forms. The central medallion at front depicts a landscape with a fantastical lion chasing a brocaded ball, a common motif in Chinese art, but which reached Iran and other Islamic lands probably through the movement of textiles carrying the same motif. Many of these animals carry auspicious meanings in China, related to wishes such as longevity and prosperity; sometimes the meanings traveled westward, especially when Mongol rule in Iran under the Ilhkanids (1256-1353) and in China under the Yuan (1271-1368) connected the two regions more directly. In fact, radiocarbon dating tells us the coffer was produced in the mid-thirteenth century, which corresponds to the Mongol invasions in China and the subsequent formation of the Mongol Yuan dynasty. In other cases, motifs had existed in both contexts and could symbolize different things; the confronted phoenixes appearing in the central medallion of the coffer’s lid have long histories in both China, where the phoenix is called fenghuang, and in Iran, where it is known as simurgh.

Traveling Coffer (detail), ca. 1250. Lacquer over leather, bamboo, wood, metal mounts, 17 1/4 x 28 3/8 x 15 in. (43.8 x 72.1 x 38.1cm). Brooklyn Museum, 1996.68.

The remaining surface of the object is densely decorated with foliage or geometric patterns using the techniques of qiangjin (“engraved gold”) and giangcai (“engraved color”) developed under the Song. In this technique, gold leaf or powder and pigmented lacquer are added to lines engraved into the lacquered ground. Lacquer objects played an increasingly significant role in the artistic exchanges between China and Iran during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and carving techniques used in Chinese lacquer were translated into exquisitely carved woodwork in Iran. What is fascinating about the Brooklyn Museum coffer is that it represents a Chinese decorative technique and even individual Chinese motifs, but its overall decorative composition is much more closely connected to the decorative tradition of Iranian manuscripts and bookbindings, which inspired much of the art and architecture of the Islamic world. Some scholars have even linked works like this to lacquerware recovered from Tibet. These multiple cultural associations are not unusual given the connections the Mongols enjoyed as a result of their vast territorial expansion as well as their support of Tibetan Buddhism.

So who would have made such an object and what would its function have been? The first question is an easy one to answer, since an inscription in Chinese characters under the flap of the front lid reveals who made this trunk and where:  “Made by the Ou family of Wenzhou, Xinhe Street, Anning Ward.” Wenzhou in Zhejiang province was a center for lacquer production since the preceding Song dynasty (960-1279) was in power. A description written in 1147 of the Northern Song capital at Kaifeng even mentions lacquer transported approximately 600 miles specifically from Wenzhou. As the name of this family is not a common Chinese name, it is possible that the Ou family originated in Central Asia, and perhaps that they were Muslim artists living and working in Wenzhou; Muslim communities are certainly known to have been formed in China after the advent of Islam in the seventh century. As for the coffer’s function, we can only guess; the wealth of auspicious motifs on its surface suggests a wedding trunk as one possibility. If you have a better idea, however, I would love to hear it!

The Silk Route between China and the Islamic World is on view until the end of May 2009; it will return as a long-term installation in September 2009. Please come and see the several other beautiful and interesting works included in the exhibition!