Tag Archives: Institute of Afghan Arts and Architecture

Spectacles

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It has been a few days since one of my students at the Institute is having a hard time reading and writing and his school results have gone down. We asked a few questions and we discovered that he broke his spectacles and his family does not have money to buy new ones (about 30$ between frames and lenses).

Another one is always tired; his eyes are red, and he struggles to focus. I called him to my office and asked him what was going on. He said that there is no problem, and everything is normal. For him normal means living in a tiny room behind the woodworking workshop of his cousin. After school he works there to earn a bit of money and then in the evening he goes for tuition. His family is in Kuduz, probably the most dangerous part of the country right now. I asked him to come and stay at the students’ dorm, but he declined the offer: I think he fears that if he moves out of his cousin workshop he’ll lose the opportunity to earn a little.

There is a boy who is emotionally unstable, his parents tell him he’s good for nothing and he only finds peace of mind when he draws. He told us: “People say I am crazy.” At the Institute, he’s just a boy like anyone else: he’s found his little world and a bit of tranquillity.

Another student is distracted and absent-minded, we catch him often staring at the void. His brother – to whom he resembles immensely – has been killed in a bomb-blast last year, it has recently been the first anniversary. How can we help him restore an emotional balance?

I have been back in Kabul only for three days and these are the stories that welcomed me. Yet again, a unique opportunity to put my priorities in order and remember not to take anything for granted.

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Make Hope

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At the Institute we are going through a period of transformation. Before we can start building new things, we have to do a lot of cleaning up and should not forget the bigger picture in spite of the frustration coming from tons of banal daily tasks.

Fear is often the first response to change along with great diffidence for those who want or have to promote alternatives.

Yesterday I was talking to my colleague, the real cornerstone of the Institute, about this complicated period: about what we are doing, what is expected of us and about how we need to keep focusing on the vision we are striving to realise. My colleague is a very serious person, a man of few words; discussions with him don’t divert from what is essential neither do they indulge in gossip or self-celebration.

The problem in this country – he told me – is that nobody looks at the future; people are not even sure that a future exists. That’s why we are all here holding on to the present, trying to get the most out of it for ourselves, for our own personal interest, without even thinking of a greater good.

I replied that such an attitude is an enormous obstacle for those who are working in education as they build in the present with an eye to the future.

It is a matter of bad habits – he continued. People are happy with what they have now, the little privileges they have accumulated and close off against anyone who tries to question them.

A bit discouraged, I asked: What are we doing here then?

Before averting his eyes and going back to work, he answered: We are here to make hope.

I just can’t stop thinking about this conversation. These two words – make hope – have completely changed the way I look at things. I have always thought of hope as a dimension of the heart and the soul; as a beautiful feeling, a source of optimism that may however run the risk to turn into a passive waiting for a better future to come. And now I discover that hope is something you can make.

I think this is the beginning of a small revolution. I came to the Institute thinking that I was here to revive the educational offer and now, all of a sudden, I find myself to be here to make hope. The weight of such responsibility terrifies me, but at least now I know that I am in a domain that is familiar: whether I succeed or not is a different story, but at least I can try – at least there is plenty to get my hands dirty.

 

Fare Speranza

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All’Istituto stiamo attraversando un periodo di trasformazione. Prima di poter cominciare a costruire bisogna fare pulizia e fare i conti con la frustrazione che nasce dalla banalità dei compiti quotidiani, senza perdere di vista la prospettiva di lungo periodo. La risposta al cambiamento è spesso la paura e la diffidenza nei confronti di chi, per volere o per forza, propone alternative.

Parlavo ieri col mio collega, la vera colonna portante dell’Istituto, di questa fase complicata, di quello che stiamo facendo, di quello che ci aspetta e del fatto che dobbiamo rimanere concentrati sulla visione che stiamo cercando di realizzare. E’ un uomo serio, il mio collega; una persona di poche parole. Le discussioni con lui si concentrano sull’essenziale, senza pettegolezzi, senza fronzoli e senza alcun margine di autocompiacimento.

Il problema di questo paese – mi ha detto – è che nessuno guarda al futuro, la gente non ha neanche la sicurezza che esista un futuro. Quindi siamo tutti attaccati al presente, a cercare di ricavarne il massimo, per noi stessi, per il nostro interesse personale, senza alzare gli occhi e guardare al bene comune.

Io ho ribattuto che questo rappresenta un ostacolo non da poco per chi cerca di costruire un percorso educativo che lavora sul presente in funzione del futuro.

E’ questione di cattive abitudini – ha continuato. Ci si accontenta di quello che si ha adesso, ci si arrocca su quel poco di privilegi accumulati e ci si chiude nei confronti di chi li mette in questione.

E quindi noi qui che ci stiamo a fare? Gli ho chiesto un po’ scoraggiata.

E lui impassibile, prima di rimettersi a lavorare, mi ha risposto: Siamo qui a fare speranza.

E’ da ieri che non smetto di pensarci. Queste due parole – fare speranza – mi hanno completamente cambiato il modo di guardare alle cose. Ho sempre pensato alla speranza come ad una dimensione dell’anima e del cuore; un sentimento bello, una fonte di ottimismo, che corre il rischio di trasformarsi in un atteggiamento passivo di attesa per il meglio che verrà. Il peso della responsabilità del fare speranza a tratti mi toglie il respiro, ma così, almeno, so di essere nel mio: che ci si riesca o no, è un’altra storia, ma almeno ci si può provare – almeno c’è di che sporcarsi le mani.

A Kabul la resistenza si fa arte

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trainingcraftsmenUn viaggio nella capitale afgana tra teatri occupati, tele in cemento e spazi restaurati. A cui registi, poeti e altri artisti, decisi a combattere contro ingiustizie e pregiudizi, ridanno vita.

Grazie Giuliano Battiston per questo bell’articolo che parla anche del nostro lavoro e dell’Istituto Afgano di Arte e Architettura.

Qui il link all’articolo.

A new adventure

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I have said many times, far too many times, that it was time for me to look for new geographies, to leave Kabul and go somewhere else. Instead here I am, writing again from Kabul where I moved back full time, the reason being a request that was impossible to say no to.

I have been asked to work as Acting Director of the Afghan Institute of Arts and Architecture in Turquoise Mountain.

The Institute is a little corner of paradise in the heart of the old city of Kabul, a modern structure built in mud and wood according to traditional techniques.

The school was founded ten years ago to respond to the risk that traditional crafts would disappear because of war, migrations and carelessness. At the onset of the Taliban regime, in fact, many traditional masters left the country for fear or lack of opportunities thus interrupting the cycle of knowledge transmission and creating a void that was difficult to fill. Those who had stayed back in Afghanistan were struggling to survive – Ustad Hadi, for example, who once was a woodcarver at the king’s court had ended up selling bananas in a wheelbarrow on the street to feed his family.

The initial mandate of the Institute was to gather the threads of a story that risked to be forgotten; today we have one hundred students who are learning the arts of calligraphy and miniature painting, jewellery and gem cutting, woodwork and pottery with the blue glazing coming from a local plant. They are girls and boys, between fifteen and twenty years of age, who are learning a craft and a trade, while contributing to the active conservation of Afghanistan’s cultural heritage.

Working in a school like this, preserving the stories from the past while looking at the future, is a serious challenge and a great responsibility. It is also a unique opportunity to think about the role of traditional knowledge – slowly sedimented across generations – in relation to the fast pace of contemporary society; to think about how to keep it relevant and sustainable without anachronisms or the romanticisation of an ideal past.

Una nuova avventura

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Ho detto tante volte, fin troppe, che era ora di cercare nuove geografie, lasciare Kabul e andare altrove. Invece eccomi qua a scrivere ancora da Kabul, dove sono tornata a vivere a tempo pieno. La ragione è un’opportunità a cui è stato impossibile dire di no.

Mi hanno chiesto di fare il direttore dell’Istituto Afgano di Arte e Architettura presso Turquoise Mountain.

L’istituto è un piccolo angolo di paradiso nella città vecchia di Kabul, una struttura moderna, ma costruita con legno e fango secondo le tecniche tradizionali. La scuola è nata dieci anni fa, per rispondere al rischio che le forme di artigianato tradizionali scomparissero per colpa della guerra, delle migrazioni e dell’incuria.

All’arrivo dei Talebani molti dei mastri tradizionali avevano lasciato il paese per paura o per mancanza di lavoro, interrompendo così il ciclo del trapasso delle nozioni e creando un vuoto difficile da colmare. I pochi maestri rimasti nel paese vivevano di stenti – Ustad Hadi, per esempio, che per anni era stato l’intagliatore del re era finito a vendere banane in una carriola per strada per poter sfamare la famiglia.

Il mandato iniziale dell’istituto era quello di raccogliere le fila di una storia che rischiava di essere dimenticata; oggi abbiamo cento studenti che imparano l’arte della miniatura e della calligrafia, la gioielleria e il taglio delle pietre dure, l’intaglio e l’intarsio del legno e la ceramica con l’invetriatura blu derivata da una pianta locale. Sono ragazze e ragazzi dai quindici ai vent’anni che, mentre imparano un mestiere, contribuiscono alla conservazione attiva del patrimonio culturale dell’Afghanistan.

Essere alla guida di una scuola del genere, preservando le storie del passato, ma mantenendo un occhio al futuro è una sfida seria e una responsabilità importante. E’ anche un’occasione unica per pensare al ruolo dei saperi tradizionali, sedimentati lentamente nel corso delle generazioni, in relazione al passo affrettato del mondo contemporaneo; per capire come mantenerli rilevanti e sostenibili senza anacronismi o fantasie romantiche su un passato ideale.