Divine art can save us

These days Lydia has become very fond of what we nicknamed the “drum CD.” Its true title is “Orient-Occident 1200-1700.” The performers are musicians all the way from Afghanistan to Spain, who play traditional instruments such as the rebab (fiddle), tulak (flute), oud (lute) and daf (drum). Lydia likes the energy, the movement and the changing moods of this music, as I do. And much to my delight, she has also shown a remarkable openness to my CD of classical music from Azerbaijan, although she finds the singing ‘weird.’

A gentle resistance

Middle Eastern classical music is not very widely known and appreciated. It became neglected in its regions of origin when intellectuals in the early 20th century became so impressed by European culture that they began to regard their own culture as inferior.

I listen to it more these days, not only because of its unexpected child-friendly quality, but also because it speaks to my resentment against the stupidity and fanaticism that are currently taking hold in our own culture. People far too often think they know something, while in fact they only parrot the clichés and false knowledge others suggest to them. I fancy to think that the beauty and originality that can be found in Middle Eastern cultures could be some kind of antidote to that.

So to listen to this music is a gentle act of resistance, and one that is easily available to all subscribers to online music platforms. (Look for Jordi Savall and Hespèrion XXI’s “Orient-Occident” and for Ensemble Jabbar Karyagdy in “Azerbaijan Land of Flames.”) It takes some getting used to this repertoire, which moves back and forth between dynamic sections with a lively pulse and more reflective, evocative parts, but it’s very much worth it. The texts of the latter album are love poems inspired by nearby Iran, which produced a tradition of poetry that is unique in the world. Love is its central theme: love for God, the beloved and wine, all mixed together and stirred as in an imaginative cocktail drink.

Wisdom from the ages

Some forms of high art, especially art from faraway countries, do not give themselves away easily. It helps to be properly introduced to them. I was fortunate back in the day that Utrecht University offered an Introduction to Islamic Art class. The exam was impossible, but the lectures were a delightful stream of slides. Architecture from Morocco and Egypt to Bosnia and Central Asia. The “arts of the book,” such as calligraphed Qurans and highly detailed miniatures from India. Ottoman Turkish textiles, and metalwork in the shape of animals. Arabian and Iranian ceramics with different kinds of glazes as techniques improved.

What struck me most in Islamic art was the approachable, practical quality of it. During this time in my life I was involved in volunteer projects in grand European cathedrals – awe-inspiring, but far less practical than the open courtyard mosques built by the Muslims of those days. The prominent role of complex geometry and word art (calligraphy) in Islamic art resonated with me theologically as well: their complex symmetries and tranquil elegance each speak in their own way of God, the same God who forbade the making of graven images in the Ten Commandments. There is some wisdom here.

With all the hostility and polarization that are currently going around, I find it important to surround myself with music, art and wisdom from time periods and communities other than my own. They keep my thoughts in check, and recall good days that once were and for sure will come again.