While living and working in an isolated, indigenous Moroccan village for 27 months from 2008-2010, I began weaving carpets and making a body of work based on my experiences. I was given the local name "Touria," became fluent in the language of Tashelheit (a dialect of the indigenous language across North Africa), lived with the women in their homes and caves, and put much effort into integration with their traditional way of life.
My carpet art evokes prehistoric cave paintings and modern day “untrained” artists, Lynda Benglis’s dripped paintings that puddle on the floor and the deconstruction of painting, and the pairing of postmodern painting and contemporary video with the ancient art of textiles. Amazigh carpets often appear gestural, dripping, and spontaneous, though they take months to weave and require painstaking attention to detail. As slow paintings, viewers examine time and technique. Some are misshapen, often not standard squares or rectangles, because of lopsided wooden looms. The carpets are valued for their warmth for sleeping, not for their tight weave, as are Oriental carpets. The objectives of my carpet art is to show work created outside of the traditional gallery environment, attempt to break down the hierarchy of the contemporary art world/art education/art market, and rearrange the common gallery space onto the floor. This work encourages the spirit of inclusion as my colleagues are cave dwelling nomads and subsistence farmers. The carpets are arranged on the floor with gallery lights also focused on the floor. This asks viewers to rearrange the common gallery space, shift our eyes downwards, and remove our shoes, symbols of humility and respect. The bare cement floor, which is usually trodden upon and left dirty, is swept sparkling clean and is the center of attention. Viewers are encouraged to sit and walk upon the floor art if they remove their shoes at the entrance to the gallery.
Arranged Marriage Sleeping Mat, was made with the help of my young village friends who married during the July wedding month. The carpet begins white on white, which is typical of Moroccan wedding blankets, and I add fertility symbols such as eggs, turnips, and a sugar cone. At the top, the face of the bride and groom is depicted above their respective sleeping spots, along with the cycle of the moon, a fire, Moroccan sequins, a patch of camel wool, and olives. It is woven of recycled fabric from wedding dresses and my torn up blue jeans and other used clothing that I collected. Studio in Hdida is a carpet I wove in honor of my carpet mentors and has their names woven throughout the carpet (Ytto, Fatima, Naima, etc). The symbols include feet, hands, an eye with tears, nomad tents and caves. It is made from wool from black sheep and camel wool collected from nomad friends. The weaving technique starts with flat weave, cedes in the middle to knotted pile, and then returns to flat weave, where I painted names and symbols onto the carpet with henna on a paintbrush. This carpet has naturally colored wool that I dyed in a kettle over a wood fire from roots and leaves I collected from the valley.
In harsh desert landscapes, carpets are the only furniture and this functional art helps families to survive. Newlyweds sleep on carpets, babies are conceived on carpets, and women give birth on the carpets. Children play and grow on the carpets. Often the elderly pass away on a stack of carpets. Literally the entire cycle of life takes place on the carpets, from conception to birth to death. These carpets were the inspirations and guides for my hybrid transitional carpets.
My experience making carpets and video in Morocco taught me about everyday sacred objects. For example, Zahra, the mother of the family of cave dwelling nomads, made beautiful and inventive carpet art out of nothing more than worn out family clothing and wool from her flocks on a loom of tree branches. Now when I sit on Zahra’s carpet in my California apartment, I am having tea and visiting with my old friend, erasing distance and time. It is magical that she can be with me, through the power of her carpet weaving.
My carpet art evokes prehistoric cave paintings and modern day “untrained” artists, Lynda Benglis’s dripped paintings that puddle on the floor and the deconstruction of painting, and the pairing of postmodern painting and contemporary video with the ancient art of textiles. Amazigh carpets often appear gestural, dripping, and spontaneous, though they take months to weave and require painstaking attention to detail. As slow paintings, viewers examine time and technique. Some are misshapen, often not standard squares or rectangles, because of lopsided wooden looms. The carpets are valued for their warmth for sleeping, not for their tight weave, as are Oriental carpets. The objectives of my carpet art is to show work created outside of the traditional gallery environment, attempt to break down the hierarchy of the contemporary art world/art education/art market, and rearrange the common gallery space onto the floor. This work encourages the spirit of inclusion as my colleagues are cave dwelling nomads and subsistence farmers. The carpets are arranged on the floor with gallery lights also focused on the floor. This asks viewers to rearrange the common gallery space, shift our eyes downwards, and remove our shoes, symbols of humility and respect. The bare cement floor, which is usually trodden upon and left dirty, is swept sparkling clean and is the center of attention. Viewers are encouraged to sit and walk upon the floor art if they remove their shoes at the entrance to the gallery.
Arranged Marriage Sleeping Mat, was made with the help of my young village friends who married during the July wedding month. The carpet begins white on white, which is typical of Moroccan wedding blankets, and I add fertility symbols such as eggs, turnips, and a sugar cone. At the top, the face of the bride and groom is depicted above their respective sleeping spots, along with the cycle of the moon, a fire, Moroccan sequins, a patch of camel wool, and olives. It is woven of recycled fabric from wedding dresses and my torn up blue jeans and other used clothing that I collected. Studio in Hdida is a carpet I wove in honor of my carpet mentors and has their names woven throughout the carpet (Ytto, Fatima, Naima, etc). The symbols include feet, hands, an eye with tears, nomad tents and caves. It is made from wool from black sheep and camel wool collected from nomad friends. The weaving technique starts with flat weave, cedes in the middle to knotted pile, and then returns to flat weave, where I painted names and symbols onto the carpet with henna on a paintbrush. This carpet has naturally colored wool that I dyed in a kettle over a wood fire from roots and leaves I collected from the valley.
In harsh desert landscapes, carpets are the only furniture and this functional art helps families to survive. Newlyweds sleep on carpets, babies are conceived on carpets, and women give birth on the carpets. Children play and grow on the carpets. Often the elderly pass away on a stack of carpets. Literally the entire cycle of life takes place on the carpets, from conception to birth to death. These carpets were the inspirations and guides for my hybrid transitional carpets.
My experience making carpets and video in Morocco taught me about everyday sacred objects. For example, Zahra, the mother of the family of cave dwelling nomads, made beautiful and inventive carpet art out of nothing more than worn out family clothing and wool from her flocks on a loom of tree branches. Now when I sit on Zahra’s carpet in my California apartment, I am having tea and visiting with my old friend, erasing distance and time. It is magical that she can be with me, through the power of her carpet weaving.