#rima dadenji

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Rima Dadenji, my personal impressions and details from ‘Christian Dior, couturier du rêve’ exhibition celebrating the 70th anniversary of the creation of the House of Dior, red pleated wool dress from the haute couture fall-winter 1947 collection, Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, mother and child, Aubervilliers, northeastern banlieue (suburb) of Paris, France, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, you know when beauty breaks your heart? when the seer, the seen, the light, the people, the movements, the colours, the sounds around and within form this perfect rhythm? it was this moment—ways of seeing: Fanta Sylla seen by Malick Sidibé re-seen by me, at Mali Twist — the largest-ever exhibition of Malick Sidibé’s work, Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain, Paris, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, matrice: pencil and ink on waxed canvas, my personal impressions and details from “Fortuny, un Espagnol à Venise” (Fortuny, a Spaniard in Venice) exhibition, private view, at the Palais Galliera, Paris, 2017. I love Mariano Fortuny’s work for various reasons, I’ll quickly jot down a few: Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo (1871-1949) was born in Granada, Spain (Allah gave me the tangible miracle I’ve been waiting, striving for, all my life, in Granada), his father, the Catalan painter Mariano Fortuny y Marsal (1838-1874), died when Mariano was three years old, the family then moved to Paris and later settled in Venice in 1888 (I’ve lived in Lido di Venezia and know the laguna by heart). Mariano Fortuny started out as a painter, then worked as a photographer, a furniture and lighting designer, a theatre and opera scenographer, a costume designer, before focusing on textile and fabrics and inventing new methods of textile dyeing and of printing processes onto fabrics (he was basically researching light). He was inspired by Minoan culture (I love Crete!), Japan (I love Japan!), and Islamic and Arab design. Palais Galliera completely omits the Islamic and Arab influences and changes it to Byzantine and Persian in their booklet although there are djellabas, abayas and burnous by Mario Fortuny exhibited within their retrospective - this intellectual dishonesty is very characteristic of the museum-curating industry in France. Not only was Mario Fortuny born in Granada, where their family house was filled with Hispano-Arab design, pottery, metalwork and armoury, and he often depicted Arabs in his paintings (see for example Arab chief) but Venice, at that time, had a long tradition of trade with Al Andalus and the Ottoman Empire — Mario Fortuny had extensive exposure to Muslim and Arab fashion and design in Venice as well. In fact Venetian architecture is very influenced by Islamic architecture. I studied a full semester in Venice (fall and winter and then I graduated there) and I still remember whenever the laguna was covered with fog, I’d get this instant visual illusion, like a mirage, that I was approaching Istanbul whilst on the traghetto, same in Piazza San Marco I’d get visual flashbacks of the Ottoman porticos around the holy Kaa’ba in Mecca. You browse any publication/documentation on Mario Fortuny in Spanish and in Italian (and perhaps even in English but I haven’t had the time to check) and you can read how of all non-Western cultures, the one Mario Fortuny appreciated the most was the Islamo-Arabic —it’s quite obvious when you view his entire oeuvre. He created textiles with Islamic Arabic calligraphy, like how demented must one be to willingly lie and erase this knowledge in a curated retrospective and therefore humiliate themselves (I’m fully using ‘demented’ here in its old Latin meaning). This erasure is appalling but not surprising, it’s actually the ‘default’ in any exhibition and publication related to Islam and/or Arabs, in France. It’s the country that censors, distorts, confabulates and obliterates the most (on par with the British). Lastly, Mariano Fortuny inspired Issey Miyake (whose work still fascinates me) with his Pleats Please, amongst others fashion designers. I love Japanese design, and I appreciate the gracious rapport between Japan and the Khaleej and their creative collaborations.

Fashion to me is how I present myself to pray to Allah, and how I choose to position and distance myself in society, many of Mariano Fortuny designs accommodates my preferences, and that’s why I love his work.

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Rima Dadenji, post-storm woodland devastation hike, the woods are blue, dark and deep and I have promises to keep series, prelude to the coldest winter 2013

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Rima Dadenji, the psyche of a geography — a desert somewhere on the moon, prayers upon the beloved whose heart was washed with snow, I look for design in nature, 2014

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Rima Dadenji, book of sakīnah, prayers upon the beloved whose heart was washed with snow—I look for design in nature, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, The Dead Scholars, from winter 2015 - 2016′ journal / excerpt: Fiends often ask me which current scholars would I recommend, where have I learned and still learn the proper aqīdah (which I will keep studying as long as I’m alive by Allah's will), where am I receiving the understanding from? The simple and absolute truth is: Allah is my Teacher, through ro’yas, through divine dreams. I pray al-istikhara and I am given tasks (or reminded of tasks I must conclude) in ro'yas. I make a mistake (not an intentional mistake, but a mistake out of genuine ignorance), I receive an immediate earthshaking and loving warning in a ro’ya with an explanation and a correction. I then research it until I understand. I progress in my discipline, I receive glad tidings. I do take lessons, information, and source/references from certain specific current scholars, but I don’t place my trust in them, except for one eminent scholar from Mauritania. A woman once asked him regarding a ro’ya she received about her dead mother. I was a witness to this scene. I felt a cloud of distress on the scholar’s face. He slowly rubbed his hands, nervously touching his ring, then he asked the woman: who abused your mother, your father or your brother? I stopped breathing at that moment. It turned out: both. The scholar slowly shook his head as if he was witnessing a fatal accident in slow motion: they killed her. No, she died from a heart attack said the daughter. The scholar said: no, that’s the medical diagnosis of death (which rarely tells the truth), what prompted the heart-attack is their lifetime abuse. They killed her.

The scholar kept repeating: الظلم ظلمات يوم القيامة He urged the woman to contact her estranged brother and father to warn them of the upcoming punishment and damnation, and to repent by all means. Repentance is not an easy path of saying sorry and giving alms. Repentance is the most harrowing and lingering journey, because when it’s sincere: you don’t stop repenting and feeling the agony. The scholar then gave a khutbah highlighting Allah’s wrath on those who abuse. How many men *and* women abuse and wrong women and girls, believing they will get away with it? The majority. I always say evil has no gender, because I have seen evil within all genders. Walking home that day, I couldn't engage in any conversation, I kept telling myself: he knows, he knows Allah's wrath. Beyond his outstanding traditional scholarship and work, this scholar is blessed with the wisdom of knowing Allah. Knowing Allah's mercy *and* wrath. Rare are the ones who know Allah’s wrath without experiencing it themselves. You don’t need a scolarship to know Allah. You need a clean heart. Clean from arrogance and envy.

This is when I began trusting the scholar.

You see, this age is replete with personalities - sometimes mistaken for scholars - some are privileged with the right Western curriculum (totally irrelevant in traditional Islamic scholarship), with the covert fundings and agenda, enjoying good physical health: praying, fasting, performing multiple umrah and hajj, travelling East and West giving lectures and interviews, presenting, debating, penning articles, volunteering with the standard photo-ops, are easy tasks for them. They’re ubiquitous, in real and virtual life, the same faces, over and over and over - with little to no fluency in Arabic - but what is more flagrant and sinister to witness: they don’t know Allah to fear Allah. Why they’re chosen by the worldy powers or simply “qualify” is obvious to the ones versed in politics, history, and Islamic eschatology. But when I see their faces and mute their voices, all I can think of is: how are you not afraid of Allah? How? Is it blood that runs in your veins or else? (common expression in Arabic when facing narcissistic or psychopathic behaviour). Have you never washed and buried a dead body, witnessing their deeds (good or bad) being revealed in the process? 30, 40 years alive on this earth and not once was your arrogance shaken?

So when my friends ask me: Rim, which scholars do you recommend to follow? I say: the dead ones. The dead scholars. The dead scholars whose husn al khatima is documented, may Allah have mercy on them and perfume their graves. We are blessed with a unique tradition of scholars, with Aisha bint Abi Bakr (may Allah be pleased with her) being the first Islamic scholar, contributing more than two thousands hadith. I, personally, am very attached to the dead scholars whose lives were marked by ro’yas, by divine dreams, because it’s when I started reading their manuscripts that I began uncovering the meaning of the ones I received in adolescence and throughout my 20s, I slowly began realising that Allah was always there with me, until the full epiphany that Allah loves me: that I worship Allah Who loves me. This epiphany enabled me to take ownership of my Iman, ushering years of miracles, but that’s a different story to tell, or not to tell. Winter 2015 -2016.

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Rima Dadenji, the psyche of a geography, Chefchaouen, Morocco, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, autumn, sounds of a horse approaching at night. We stared at each other for a little while. I did not pet. I was intimated by the gaze. I will never forget that gaze. Soon, a series of events (its apotheosis: vimeo.com/189387899) would trigger a set of decisions ushering a radical change into my life: galloping horses becoming a huge part of my 2015 and 2016 years within a farm that nurtures rescued horses (among other souls). Horses are some of my best teachers and witnesses. Excerpt from  2014' journal.

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Rima Dadenji, Hermès à tire-d’aile, Les mondes de Leïla Menchari, my personal details from a private view (exhibition from 8 November to 3 December 2017 at the Grand Palais), Paris, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, feathers on your skin, 2013

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Rima Dadenji, post-storm woodland devastation hike, the woods are blue, dark and deep and I have promises to keep series, prelude to the coldest winter 2013

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Rima Dadenji, playtime with the mobile phone studio, at the Mali Twist exhibition, a retrospective paying tribute to the beloved photographer Malick Sidibé, at the Fondation Cartier pour l'Art Contemporain, Paris, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, of tenderness - mother and child, fleeting moments, Aubervilliers, northeastern banlieue (suburb) of Paris, 2017

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Rima Dadenji, sat on the carpet, watching Dolce Vita Africana (watched it twice in a row), a joyous documentary film by Cosima Spender about Malian photographer Malick Sidibé, one of my very favourite photographers, if not my most favourite, my heart was shaken from the beauty of the collective wudu’ scene, so so beautiful, my eyes then face were full of tears shining like opals in the dark theatre, at the Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain, Paris, 2017