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Every building has a story, says Abdul Senan, co-founder of an architecture and interior design firm called Immigrandesign. That story is what the UAE-born, Florence-based designer looks for when he first enters a house he is set to work on. First, Senan seeks out distinct characteristics; the position of the windows, lighting, the height and depth of the walls and ceilings. All of these elements tell a lot, as well as the collective experiences of the people and buildings surrounding it, he explains. 'When you go to Yemen you will see people living in houses that are centuries old. What I like is that people are living in a modern way but still retain their culture,' he adds. Senan remembers his childhood in Abu Dhabi as a city bursting from the desert amidst a clamour of construction, directed by imported architects. But it is the warm memories of childhood trips to the home of his parents in Yemen that he remembers most fondly. 'Yemen is one of the world’s oldest civilisations in terms of architecture and being brought up in a modern city like Abu Dhabi my eyes were always drawn to the amazing colours and shapes of the structures there.' Aged 13, Senan made a two day road trip through Yemen’s ancient district of Hadhramaut and from the bus window, he spied something like a mirage on the horizon. It was a city of skyscrapers lost in a parched rocky desert. 'I didn’t have any idea what it was so when I went back home I asked someone who was into history and what they told me fascinated me.' The city was Shibam, noted for its distinctive ancient limestone block skyscrapers, that are one of the world’s oldest examples of multi-storey architecture. Some blaze 11 storeys into the sky and their urban planning is still an essential lesson for any history-inclined civil servant. 'I was drawn into this architectural style more and more,' explains Senan. 'When I went back to Abu Dhabi I always used to take note of the form and structure of buildings and skyscrapers.’ Brought up in a mercantile household, where most talk was of business and not art, meant that although not actively discouraged from taking an interest in architecture, his knowledge of the subject was almost completely self-taught. 'Art was missing in our house,' he says, 'but I seemed to have an eye for it.' That’s not to say that there wasn’t inspiration at home; his father’s company traded antique Orientalist furniture and when the house was full of guests, conversation usually turned to the subject of Arabic and Persian design. 'From decorating my own space and having a clear idea of the colours I wanted to have in my room, it drew me closer into interior design,' Senan says. His conclusion is that interior design and architecture are an integral part of everyday life and impossible to ignore. 'It’s a way of presenting yourself to outsiders, even the colours we use in our rooms. Each country has a different way of using colour and design styles; you see this in France, in Italy, in England and in Scandinavia,' he elaborates. Although Senan talks about the distinct historical forms architecture have taken in parts of the Middle East, he still has his reservations about some elements of contemporary design in the UAE. 'In some parts, [originality in architecture] is missing.' It is one reason that he has spent the past ten years away from his UAE home, in Europe. After completing a Bachelor’s in architectural engineering at Cardiff University - the influence of which resonates in his slight South Welsh twang - Senan decided to concentrate his efforts on interior design with a Master’s thesis at the epicentre of Europe’s Renaissance movement in the 15th century. 'I came to Florence thinking I would be the loser one on the course who knew nothing about interior design but the course was interesting because it had people from different backgrounds who were just interested in interior design. I actually had an advantage because of my background in architectural engineering, where a lot of its principles are based on considering interior work.' Being the only Arab on his course was another trial for Senan, particularly in a country where interior designers are often only taken seriously if they are aged over 35 and Italian. These prejudices led Senan to form the aptly named architecture and interior design company Immigrandesign with his Kosovan business partner Arion Kabashi. It was a playful swipe at the pair’s immigrant status in the often conservative and rigid Italian interior design industry. Senan, still only 27, had already spent a year as an intern with one of Florence’s leading interior design houses before he started the company and now he has the chance to put his theoretical knowhow into practice. His first independent commission was to design a beach house in Abu Dhabi and it was a sharp lesson in the realities of construction. 'It was a big and challenging project,' he says. Later he was tasked with renovating a cottage in Scotland for people with special needs. 'The challenge there was that they wanted the home to look modern but at the same time Victorian and also specifically cater to the needs of the disabled people visiting and using the cottage. When it was completed, we presented it to a member of the British Royal Family and he really liked it. That was really encouraging and it made us proud. We then had the confidence to do our own thing,' he says. The pair are currently working on one of their most ambitious projects, a lamp that is inspired by the structure of a diamond and that takes on the concept of a rainbow prism. 'We did it in a contemporary way, we put an LED inside the structure and we decided to keep it minimal so you can adjust reflection of the light,' says Senan. The first product is being built and it should be displayed publically for the first time in April at the world’s most competitive interior design exhibitions, Salone Del Mobile in Milan. If all goes well, Senan hopes to market the product in Europe and then elsewhere, including the Middle East. 'Every architect wants to have his own name and make a stand in the interior design world. It’s not easy because there are so many interior designers and only a few stand out,' he says. He speaks of the high days of Islamic architecture as the region’s Golden Age and feels that more recent projects lack the verve and prominence of earlier Moorish and Ummayid styles. He even ponders on the idea of blending Yemeni architecture to fit contemporary needs. 'I would like to bring Arabic architecture more visibility so maybe this could happen by creating a studio starting in Europe and setting one up back home in the Middle East,' he explains. 'But first I still want to learn more, grasp and fully understand design.' Determined to make a difference back home from all that he has learnt abroad, Senan concludes: 'It might take about ten years to create my own way in design but hopefully when we grow bigger I will go back to the Middle East.' Photographer: Caterina Nasini

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In association with Cadillac, we travel to Marrakech to speak with French-born Redha Moali. After quitting his job as a banker at the BNP Paribas in Geneva, he founded Dar Al Mamun - an international residency center for artists and literary translators that also features an exhibition space and a social sciences library.

On a wall close to the American University of Beirut, a stencil has been crudely blacked out with a layer of thick paint. Although Beirut's walls were once considered acceptable forums for public expression, the city is changing. The critics disagree not simply with the presence of the graffiti, but its message too and Pascal Zoghbi, an Arabic typographer, was one of the first commentators to pick up on this trend. Zoghbi's interest in street art began in Europe, when he studied his Master's in typography at the Royal Academy of Arts in the Netherlands. 'During my stay I travelled all over Europe and graffiti was very prominent there,' he says. Quick to learn, Zoghbi began to pick up on the differences between typographic styles and more image-based forms of street art. 'When I went back to Beirut, I noticed the scene there was beginning to look stronger. So I spent time taking pictures of all the graffiti I found and wrote some pieces about it on my blog,' he says. 'I saw that the graffiti scene in the Arab world is much more in touch with the social and political status of the people. This is highlighted by the witty slogans on the walls of the region's capitals rather just than the names of the artists like in other parts of the world.' After three years of documenting the regional graffiti trends, Zoghbi was contacted by a European street artist Don Karl, to assist him on a series of workshops on Arabic style graffiti in Lebanon. Despite his relatively young age, he is only 32, Zoghbi has considerable experience in teaching, from the typography classes he leads at the American University of Beirut and the Lebanese American University. The graffiti workshops, however, put him in touch with the Lebanese street artists involved in the graffiti scene. After researching more, Zoghbi began to take a particular interest in the socio-political connections of graffiti in his home country from as far back as the 1970s and he also concentrated on different trends in Palestine, Bahrain and Syria. These observations resulted in a book published last year entitled Arabic Graffiti. It presents Zoghbi's studies of graffiti across the region and connects the dots between the slogans and coinciding social events that inspired the artists. In the book, he focuses on Arab and non-Arab graffiti artists and he illustrates the typographic and calligraphic elements behind their work. After printing the book in English and French, Zoghbi says he is looking forward to working on a second edition of the book in the coming years, as well as an Arabic translation. Zoghbi presents graffiti as an intellectual trend rather than a reckless act of vandalism by frustrated youth. He argues, that it speaks of social and political life in the Arab world. 'We selected artists who experiment in Arabic graffiti with thoughts that connect with events in the region.' There is also an aesthetic element to this regional style that has attracted non-Arabic speakers such as the UK's Mohammed Ali. These are artists catalogued by Zoghbi in his work but it is the actual art that draws him back to this part of the world. 'Now we are seeing some artists who are developing their own Arabic styles. It is still a young trend but it is growing to be very strong. For me, I think it is even more interesting than what is happening in the West. A lot of street art in Palestine is in Arabic but in Lebanon we are more used to using English and French, as that is what is taught in schools. However, in recent years we are beginning to see Arabic being used more and more.' Following recent events in the region, he also argues that it has never been a more dangerous time to be a graffiti artist owing to the powerful messages of their often gallows-humour slogans. This includes a study in the book of the colourful and ironic murals daubed on the West Bank's separation wall as well as the idioms that led to change in Egypt. 'It's all part of the message so we tried to make a link. For me it's very important to make this link because I don't see the need for graffiti unless it has a different message to say,' he adds. Zoghbi has highlighted the dangers graffiti artists are under in some parts of the Arab world through articles, but he also points out that some work included is simply for its artistic merit. He says the artists themselves are from a variety of backgrounds, but are most common amongst the graphic design community. 'Many designers are using this type of calligraphy in their design work and vice versa. What we are seeing is that styles of Arabic calligraphy are becoming more urban-inspired due to street art.' It might not be a surprise then, that Zoghbi sees Arabic typography as going through a similar renaissance, which can be seen in his contributions to the Khatt Foundation project, Typographic Matchmaking in the City. 29 Arabic Letters is Zoghbi's Arabic typeface response to these new dynamics. Its main mission is in creating new Arabic fonts and corporate identities in the Arab world. His work includes producing the Droid Arabic fonts for Google and the Corporate Mathaf type face for Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art in Doha. 'On my list for the future is to work on other books and continue my work with the Khatt Foundation,' he says. 'Personally, based on my academic experience, I feel there is a lack of books that deal with Arabic typographic guidelines from an educational perspective. I therefore think something like this will be of huge use to both students and professionals.' His broad experience in typography through his academic and commercial work, has put him in a good position to pick up on trends in lettering and he hopes that contemporary street art could be a way of strengthening Arabic typography. 'It is not just about the people who are writing on the walls but my own hope and willingness that the Arab graffiti artists will be inspired by Arabic calligraphy in their work and not just to imitate Western styles.' As Zoghbi highlights in his work, this is something which is already playing out in countries such as Syria, Palestine and Lebanon and looks set to move away from the peripheral and contribute more directly to the dialogue and changes in mainstream culture in the Middle East. Photography: Karen & Josette

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Close to the borders with Armenia, Georgia and Iran, the remote eastern province of Kars has been all but overlooked by Turks and tourists alike. In fact, if it wasn’t for the Nobel Prize winning author Orhan Pamuk, giving it the spotlight in his 2004 novel Snow, its inspiring landscape would have been left largely unknown to foreign eyes. But, thanks to the book, that features a poet-turned-journalist who travels to the dilapidated city of Kars to investigate a string of suicides, the treeless plains, castle, river and boulevards of Kars have elevated, at least slightly, into more cultural prominence. So too have the freezing temperatures and alpine weather. Snow falls incessantly across the whole region during the winter and it is such a defining factor that they named the place after it – kar means snow in Turkish and karsu means snow-water. It was then, perhaps, inevitable that sooner or later a ski resort would emerge from the shadows of this province that was ruled by the Russian Imperial Empire for 40 years and for a time during World War one was under the control of Armenian forces. With its thick, crystalline snow, Sarikamis - about 900 miles east of Istanbul - is an emerging location for adventurous skiers. A town of nearly 20,000 people, it is hardly the lonely outpost it once was and about three kilometres out of town, lies the expanding ski resort overlooking the 2634 metre Camurlu Mountain. In between the Pontic Mountains in the north and the upper reaches of the Taurus mountain range to the south east, Sarikamis is still a hidden gem on the skiing circuit. It is not far from Mount Ararat, the resting place of Noah’s Ark and it is easy to see why its geographical height gave the military an advantage during Russian rule. In the town itself, there is a strong military presence as well as endless rows of old Russian barracks a reminder that the location is on the edge of old empires. The Ottoman Army suffered a resounding defeat at the hands of Russian forces in Sarikamis in January 1915. Enver Pasha, who later helped overthrow the Ottoman Sultan, led a poorly coordinated attack to retake Sarikamis from the Russians. The Ottoman Army was forced to retreat in disarray through the snowy mountains, with many of the 60 - 80,000 men who died during the conflict freezing to death. The area was only returned to Turkey in 1921, with the signing of the Treaty of Kars. The agreement established the current borders between Turkey and Soviet Armenia and required Turkish troops to withdraw from an area roughly corresponding to the western half of Armenia's present-day Shirak Province. Following this, Sarikamis was finally returned to Turkish control. However, with all that unrest far behind them, visitors to the town and the ski resort are now free to enjoy the breathtaking and natural beauty at their leisure. Of course, if they are interested, it is possible to undertake a free history lesson in the process of wandering round the small town. Nine ski runs adorn the sides of the mountain, which is partially covered by a forest of pine trees and one of the world’s longest pistes has just been completed. The snow itself is known as crystal snow, which is only found here and in the Alps and the average snowfall during the winter is over two metres. The skiing season is roughly 120 days of every year between December and March. Alongside Camurlu is another peak Cibilepe, which has a five-staged ski run and soars 2500 kilometres into the bright blue sky. Most of the visitors to Sarikamis are Turkish skiers who come from the warmer west of the country and the number of English or Arabic speaking staff remains minimal. However, with several new hotels being built or in the planning stages, investment in the town and the ski restorts is growing. Within a few years, the town is expected to grow into one of Turkey's most popular ski resorts. Photography: Justin Vela

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For the third consecutive year, the Cartier Women's Initiative Award is showing its acknowledgement and support for projects run by female entrepreneurs in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region. The awards target those who are in their initial stages of their businesses. The initiative’s mission is to show recognition and support for women entrepreneurs in their initial phases by offering them the necessary funding and coaching. The focus on women entrepreneurs who are just starting up has much to do with how the beginning stages are the riskiest part of their journey. It also celebrates the spirit of originality through role model entrepreneurs, and wishes to create a global network or female entrepreneurs and encourage peer interaction. Eighteen finalists representing the top three projects from across the globe will be selected in the initial phase of the competition. Shortlisted candidates will be invited to France, where the final round of the contest will take place. The final task includes submitting an elaborative business plan and presenting the projects in front of the Jury. The finalists will also be invited to the Annual Global Meeting of the Women's Forum. Each individual plan's quality and the extent of the verbal presentation's eloquence will determine the selection for each Laureate from every one of the six regions. At the end of this, six Laureates - one each from Latin America, North America, Europe, Sub-Saharan Africa, Middle-East & North Africa and Asia-Pacific will walk away as the winners, receiving an additional year of coaching and $20,000 in funding. Last year, the Awards witnessed an impressive recognition of seven female Laureates from Bolivia, France, Rwanda, Indonesia, the United States and the United Arab Emirates. Iba Masood, founder of Gradberry, the UAE-based career portal received the honor for her original and sound business plan last year. Masood's project originated from the concept of something she went through herself - the difficulty of obtaining a job after graduation. Thus, in November 2011, she created Gradberry to cater to the needs of graduates and undergraduates who have zero to two years' worth of non-academic experience. The 2013 application for the Cartier Women's Initiative Award is available online for prospective entrepreneurs. The criteria for participation include the business being for-profit and original as well as led by a woman whose start up is between one to three years old. Photography: Supplied

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From shisha cafés to Arabic restaurants, from stores selling halal food to imposing new mosques, the results in China of the modern-day recreation of the ancient Silk Road are, in some cities, hard to miss. More than a millennium since Islam reached China courtesy of Arab traders, making an impression that lasts until today, the world’s most populous nation is once again drawing in travellers from the Middle East. They are arriving thanks to the opportunities offered by a vast nation that is continuing its spectacular economic ascent - even if the pace is slightly less breathless than in the 2000s. Today, traders come from Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Yemen and elsewhere in the Middle East in search of the plethora of goods that China is able to make more cheaply than almost anywhere else on earth. Guangzhou, the southern metropolis located within China’s factory belt and Yiwu, a city to the south west of Shanghai that contains the world’s largest small commodities markets, have drawn in Arabs in greatest numbers. For most of the Arabs found in these cities, China is just a temporary home, a place they visit up to a few times a year to buy cut-price plastic flowers, picture frames, earrings and machinery made in the manufacturing heartlands of south and south east China. Yet to some, the Middle Kingdom has become much more than a place to visit a few times a year to source goods. Among the thousands that travel there on an annual basis, a small number are putting down roots and the communities where they are settling are changing as a result. Some are busily learning Mandarin as they establish themselves as the local representative of their family’s Middle Eastern-based trading company and others have bought restaurants and other establishments or are setting up their own China-based businesses after marrying local women. Statistics are not readily available, but in Guangzhou the number of foreign Muslims is believed to number in the tens of thousands. In Yiwu the figure could be even higher. Scratch beneath the surface and Arabs engaged in fields other than trade can occasionally be found in China, even if their numbers are still small. There are the Palestinians who studied in the capital at China’s expense on scholarships two decades ago and who have stayed on as journalists. Then there are the late teenage and 20-something students joining the wave taking Chinese classes in the universities of Beijing, Shanghai and elsewhere. The presence of Arabs in China has also helped reshape the culinary landscape of their favourite cities. While most large Chinese cities have a sprinkling of restaurants selling halal Chinese food, in the likes of Yiwu or Guangzhou their numbers are multiple times greater and cuisines ranging from Lebanese to Yemeni can also be found. At these cities’ shisha cafés, Arab visitors and residents gather of an evening to discuss the day’s events. The influence of these Muslim Arabs does not feel out of place, not least because Islam’s history in China dates back to 1400 years ago, when the religion was first founded. It was back then that the first Arab Muslims are believed to have arrived in China for trade, not unlike their modern-day counterparts. The Silk Road, the system of trade routes that attracted them to China, can ultimately be traced back more than two millennia. Like today’s Arab emigrants, some stayed on and intermixed with the Chinese population, with far-reaching effects. Today, many members of China's largely Muslim Hui minority, although sometimes described as indistinguishable racially from the Han majority, claim descent from these early Arab traders. There are an estimated 35,000 mosques in China, catering to a Muslim population that numbers around 20 million. Many of them are Hui, the predominately Muslim ethnic group that has spread across all of China but who are found in large numbers in central China's Ningxia region. The others are Uighurs, concentrated in Xinjiang province in the far west. Estimates suggest that around two thirds of mosques being completed in China now are of Arabian design, in contrast to the Chinese temple-style places of worship that used to predominate, especially in the eastern provinces. Among them is a vast new Arabian-style mosque recently completed in Yiwu, where Arab residents and visitors worship alongside the Chinese Muslims who have flocked to the city to work as translators, waiters or salespeople. While the facts on the ground are enough to show how strong the 21st century Arabic influence is in parts of China, statistics back them up. In 2004, trade between China and the Arab world stood at US$36.4 billion, and by 2011, the figure had grown to US$195.9 billion, a jump of more than one third. The expansion barely slowed in 2012, with US$111.8 billion-worth of business between the regions in the first six months - that is more than one fifth higher than for the first half of last year. With trade growing apace, it seems as though the 21st century migration of Arabs to China is likely to continue far beyond the boundaries of Yiwu and with this, much like during ancient times, the cultural influences will also infiltrate the shores of East Asia. Photography: James Wasserman

CanvasCollective

In the region-wide Samsung Galaxy Note initiative Canvas:Collective, launched in collaboration with Freej animation creator Mohammed Saeed Harib, regional creatives were invited to express themselves through art and design. The results are in and they're bold. Brownbook produced the video in collaboration with Samsung and Mohammed Saeed Harib.

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A photomontage of a typical western outfit made up of jeans and a checked shirt is overlapped, piece by piece, with shots of a traditional Emirati kandoura. At first glance, the image might be taken for a page in a scrapbook, however it is part of a Master’s thesis about the concept of fusion between East and West. Salem Al Qassimi, graphic designer and founder of Sharjah-based design house Fikra, composed the image as part of his book Arabish about architecture and language, that emphasises a new hybrid culture emerging in the United Arab Emirates (UAE). The notion (Arabish is the mixture of the words Arabic and English) began life as a thesis study Qassimi wrote during his time at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD). The study was constructed from a series of projects and experiments under the umbrella of design. ‘I used graphic design as a vehicle to investigate, document and comment on the transformation of culture in the UAE. When I started my design thesis I was reading books such as Arjun Appadurai’s Globalization and listening to culture studies professors who influenced the way I was thinking. It really changed the way I understand culture.’ The process also helped the designer readdress his own opinions on citizenship and nationhood and the relationship between seemingly contradictory communities in his home country. Arabish discusses the notion of cultural integration and how the relationship between the different communities not only creates dialogue but spurs on intellectual and economic growth through shared experiences. The idea developed when he was in the US, due to his surroundings. ‘Being a foreigner in America I was the familiar one in a foreign place, because I had grown up with American television and cultural influence, but for Americans I was foreign in a familiar place. I removed myself from the UAE and looked at the country as an outsider. I used to say the UAE was losing its identity but now I think it’s making a new identity for itself and this has influenced my thinking.’ He began the Arabish project by asking people in America who had little knowledge of the Middle East about their thoughts on the UAE and this helped him deconstruct his own perceptions of the country. He then began collating the results into visual collages of the elements of culture that he saw emerging. Concentrating on photography, typography and graphic design, he presented his thesis as a precursor to the book that followed. Just as Dubai’s panorama is under a state of constant change, Arabish is also a work in progress. Its idea is rooted in the principle of Dubai as a city of movement and progression and thus Qassimi says he is constantly revisiting and revising the work until he feels it is at a conclusive stage. ‘The three categories I focused on were dress, culture and urban landscape and how these three have been changing dramatically over the past generation,’ he explains. ‘It’s all documented in Arabish, which is ongoing. I am still developing it and it will still be taking form for many years to come. At this point it documents everything I have found out so far and the book will be changing.’ For Qassimi, Dubai’s landscape is one positive sign of Arabish in action. Its sleek skyline of glass-framed high-rises, punctured by the slim minarets of chalk white mosques, sums up a city at ease with eastern and western ideas. Qassimi believes that such aesthetic changes are a defining moment in the narrative of the city and also constitute an essential symbol of progress. ‘The younger generation of Emiratis are not just experiencing a hybrid between Arabic and English but a whole global culture. If a culture does not change, adapt and evolve, then there’s something wrong. It means it is not moving forward, it is not adapting to what is new.’ At 28, Qassimi himself is very much part of this younger generation and his design studio, that he founded in 2006 before his studies, is in part addressing the needs of his peers. ‘All my thoughts and ideas are based on my experiences and research through Fikra. I try to feed these into each other. My background, the way I was raised, my studies, living abroad and coming back, my Arabish thinking needs it all to feed back into Fikra and what I do,’ he says. Fikra started as an essentially Arabic-Emirati design brand with its main focus on binding Arabic and Latin scripts. Qassimi says that post-RISD, it has evolved into a bicultural bilingual graphic design studio. ‘The way Fikra works is through the ideas of my post-graduate self,’ he says. ‘Now I can consciously say that Fikra is bilingual and bicultural, adapting to both a nowadays and a mainstream form of Emirati culture. This all plays into Fikra’s work both aesthetically and conceptually.’ Fikra involves itself in educational programmes that offer workshops on design as well as a project that is mapping out creatives in the Middle East region. ‘Each of the projects that we are currently working on is influenced by my Arabish thinking. Arabish is more than just a research topic, it is a way of life and a way of thinking for me,’ he says. ‘I ask myself before taking on any project, what does this project mean to me, to the UAE and to the region?’ With a part-time role teaching at the American University of Sharjah and a massive project to develop the theme and identity of the UAE National Pavilion for the Venice Biennale in June 2013, Qassimi is certainly playing an active role in developing the national identity and sharing his knowledge with his community. ‘I would like to continue to be involved in long-term cultural research projects as well as arts and culture projects. Design is also about learning. I want to be learning new things constantly and continue my journey as an educator.’ Photography: Natalie Naccache

SAMSUNG

In collaboration with Samsung and Freej animation creator Mohammed Saeed Harib, this video introduces the Galaxy Note Canvas:Collective initiative.

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In association with Cadillac, we travel to Doha to speak to with social entrepreneur Aysha Al Mudehki. She is the executive-director of INJAZ Qatar - a non profit organisation in Qatar to prepare students to become business savvy leaders. When she is not busy with her day job, her time is spent pursuing personal interests. She has co-hosted the Doha Film's Institute TEDx and is founding member of the Doha-based Roudha Centre, a non profit entrepreneurship for women.

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Somewhere between a magazine and a journal, The Carton is dedicated to introducing the concept of Middle Eastern food culture from an artistic angle. Jade George and Rawan Gebran, who grew up together in the UAE, launched the magazine from their two offices – one in the back room of a fibreglass factory in Abu Dhabi and the other in a converted workspace in an old apartment in their native Beirut. Delving into regional culture from a culinary standpoint, The Carton has wider aims than just tantalising the taste buds. 'We use food as a medium to get messages across about culture from social issues through to politics and anthropology,' says George. 'Food traditions are very strong in the region. We wanted to push the subject's limits and see how far we can go with such a narrow topic.' In a world where publishers are continually trying to broaden their scope to target the commercial market, The Carton stands in the opposite direction, remaining independent and aimed at a smaller, niche market. The publication's focus is directed towards untold stories with a personal and poetic narrative. Now in its fourth issue, stories such as Eating Picon in Prison – one writer's food diary during fourteen days in a Lebanese prison and a conversation about the innovation of the zaatar croissant, have intrigued readers across the region. 'We want to reach people who are being completely ignored in publishing,' explains George. Pages filled with images of mouth-watering Middle Eastern cuisine and hand-drawn sketches from Sara Ali, the resident illustrator, The Carton is striking and has a sleek design. It is occasionally shocking too – the summer 2012 issue featured a photo shoot in a slaughterhouse with Lebanese experimental rock band, The Johnny Kafta Anti-Vegetarian Orchestra. In bloodied butcher aprons, the band stands alongside a skinned and suspended cow with its insides exposed and its discarded head at their toes. The shoot was a challenge in many ways, the founders explain, but the band wanted to collaborate on something particularly unusual. 'It was a traumatising experience for me,' says George. 'Some of us came out and said we would never eat meat again, but it was important to show what happens with the food we eat; the real deal.' Gebran picks up the trail, underlining the importance of presenting a frank discourse about all aspects of culinary culture. 'When you have steak tartar in a restaurant, here's what's happening behind the scenes. That's food culture. That's where you're getting it from,' she says. The publication also travels beyond the regional borders to the Arab diaspora. Recent issues have seen expats such as Lebanese Australian haute couture designer Joe Challita and Melbourne-based Lebanese chef Joseph Abboud, whose connection and memories to the Middle East exist through their relationship with food. They hope to continually expand this coverage. George and Gebran have self-financed the publication from their own savings which has allowed them to remain completely independent. With a small team that includes British writer and editor Natasha Stallard as managing editor and Ali, who is British Iraqi, as an illustrator, it is clear this is a project born out of passion. 'I think to make a publication like ours you need to be really loving it,' Gebran says. 'You can't be doing it and thinking it's a job. If we had an office to go to that was like a prison I don't think the product would be as good as it is now.' Since the first few issues, The Carton has gradually built up a regional network of contributors who want to offer something more authentic to the topic and the region. As such, the coverage area is also growing and the magazine now includes stories from Oman, Morocco, Iraq and Jordan. 'For me it's very flattering when people we don't know contact us and say they love the publication. They know we don't have a budget but they want to contribute anyway,' Gebran says. Where other creative projects often maintain a handful of issues of real quality before having to change direction and become more commercial to sustain themselves, George and Gebran see The Carton as a chance to experiment and ascertain whether there is space for this kind of publication. Being lovers of print, the girls have also joined the international slow journalism movement, that is keeping print going, away from the mass market and with high quality niche publications. 'A lot of people say print is not going anywhere,' George says. 'You just need to find an alternative way to use it, work harder to locate your reader and deliver something of real quality. You need to up your game.' Slow journalism is about doing things properly, organically, specialising in a subject and covering topics not covered anywhere else. With their publishing house Art and Then Some, George and Gebran are beginning dialogue with like-minded publishers and hoping to build a market for independent print publishing. 'If we set up a community, this kind of challenge becomes divided and shared,' Gebran says. 'It's basically like a louder voice,' George continues. 'If everybody comes together we can pitch ideas to big budget people, negotiate with printers and have print-out weekends.' It is an ambitious idea, but the pair are hoping to build the foundations of a community that will revive the whole culture of print in the region and realign its purpose. 'It's not a trend, it's a counter trend,' George says. 'We're constantly swimming against the current, but its happening elsewhere and we thought it could be done in the Middle East where there's so much talent and creativity.' Photographer: Sami Omar Alamoudi

The long road that leads into Ankara’s Middle East Technical University (METU) cuts through a campus that seems like a city of its own. Lined with pine trees and lush greenery, the whole area is a welcome relief from the urban sprawl that constitutes so many cities in Turkey and alongside the campus is a whole plethora of restaurants, shopping centres, sports halls and tennis courts to complement the academic setting. When the university first opened its doors in ,1956 students had to pick their way through muddy paths for quite some distance from the capital to receive their education. The site was empty prairie land and located in a barren region of central Anatolia. The choice of plot was made by a famous American urban planner, Charles Abrams, who was hired by the US government to look for a perfect location for a new university. The US was trying to expand, not only its militaristic power in the region, but also its economic authority and focus was on urban development and architecture for education. Although Cairo and Beirut were in the running, Abrams settled on Ankara and METU became the first higher education institution in Turkey to be based on the American model. Today, the land allotted to METU is around 45 million square metres and it is one of the region’s thriving centres of learning. Baykal Gunay, a professor of City and Regional Planning at METU’s Faculty of Architecture, remembers fondly the early days of the institution. ‘The building was not complete when we moved in; those were very cold days,’ he says recounting tales during his time as one of the first students at METU. But things soon warmed up with the university’s plan to plant trees and clear the air polluted by Ankara’s industrialisation. Consequently, verdant surroundings sprang up around them. ‘We got some aid from the army for planting the trees and even today we have a [tree] planting day every year,’ Gunay says. Nowadays, the campus has around 1.5million pine trees and METU’s forestation project won the International Aga Khan Award for Architecture in 1995. In a clearing through the pine trees is the Faculty of Architecture. It is regarded as one of the best design- based institutions in the region and it proudly boasts some of the highest quality architect graduates and urban planners. The faculty was the first building on the campus and it was revolutionary in its style. Not only was METU the first campus university in Turkey, but this type of educational facility was constructed without a corridor to connect all rooms together. ‘Maybe 60-65per cent of the building is reserved for other common space where we host activities: exhibitions, different events and demonstrations,’ says Professor Guven Sargin of the Department of Architecture. According to Yigit Acar, a PhD student and research assistant in the same department, the building was designed in a way to teach the students the basics of architecture. ‘The space can be used for learning. In terms of materials and light the space shows the students how the light works on different elements,’ he says. The large space of the wider university campus is divided by a long walkway with grass lawns and communal spaces on either side of it. Known as the alley by students and professors, Sargin says it is a fascinating backbone of the overall campus. ‘All the surrounding educational facilities were located in a way so that there was a direct connection between the faculty buildings and the common areas.’ Although the buildings themselves are mostly large, concrete edifices - tributes to the brutal architecture that was in vogue from the 1950s until the 1970s - Sargin says they create a link between the interior and exterior of the structure. ‘These buildings were considered to be pretty experimental at the time of construction,’ he says, ‘[and they created] many courtyards to produce a sort of a dialect between interior and exterior. There are many windows and you see the outside world and the landscape.’ With the building of METU, a new technique, called exposed concrete, was applied in Turkey for the first time. All the older buildings utilise this technique and the university’s architects - a married Turkish couple named Altug and Behruz Cinici - purposely used very rough elements and construction methods. ‘They wanted to show all the architectural elements and materials as they are,’ says Sargin. ‘They didn’t want to hide the materials behind secondary or tertiary materials such as plaster.’ Mixed between the university’s original buildings are newer, modernist buildings, such as the Technopark complex for science and research (the first in Turkey) and dormitories. The large number of common spaces and the homely atmosphere make students and staff feel part of a family, according to Nil Uzun, an associated professor of city and regional planning at the Faculty of Architecture. ‘We share the same space. We share the whole campus. We are a big family,’ she explains. Elif Muratoglu, second year City and Regional Planning student, agrees. ‘This is not just a school. It is your home. Your friends here are your brothers and sisters, your teachers are your mothers and fathers.’ The jewel of METU’s five faculties and 40undergraduate programmes is the Department of Architecture, which attracts students from all over the world, including countries throughout the Middle East and even as far as China. The language of education is English and the university has a number of sister-school relationships with other international universities. This year, The Times newspaper also selected METU as one of the top 100universities in the world, increasing its global stature and status. Although the university was founded in conjunction with the US, it has been a bastion of liberal academia in Turkey since the beginning of the 1960s. Today, METU is still a place where new ideas and critical thinking are encouraged and it is one of the finest institutions in Turkey, says Sargin. ‘It is a research-based institution and along with the high quality of formal education, research-wise it is one of the best educational establishments in Turkey at which to pursue an academic career in different fields,’ he says. Photography: Justin Vela

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To Sara Taibah, her illustrated characters are more than just doodles. She believes that some of them are alive and contribute to her creative side, while more mischievous figures spark bouts of excitement and anger. For this, the graphic designer created an imaginary pharmaceutical concoc- tion, known rather aptly as Mokh, meaning brain in Arabic. She says that the intended use of the medicine is to grant good traits onto the user and get rid of negative ones. The packaging of the medicine was part of a university project. She used the plus and minus symbols to denote the potion’s intended effect and her unconventional designs are one of the reasons that Taibah is considered to be one of Saudi Arabia’s most promising and unconven- tional graphic designers. Her personal and individual approach to design developed over a lifelong interest in the subject. She says she takes inspiration from the world around her. ‘Art isn’t just about any painting with a concept, it is everywhere and it has a million forms, if not more. So I believe I’ve been practising it forever,’ says Taibah. Despite her strong grounding in illus- tration and design, this outsider view of art has given Taibah a sense of vivid, unbridled freedom with her creations and a versatility in her work as a graphic designer. Hailing from Saudi Arabia’s west coast, the designer is currently embarking on a Master’s degree in illustration at the University of San Francisco, which she says has helped push her out of her comfort zone to become more experimental. ‘I would never ever choose to live in another city. Living here is indescribable; there are crazy people with whom I fit in just perfectly. There’s always something going on and it is extremely inspiring just walking around this city,’ she says. Taibah’s Saudi Arabian hometown of Jeddah might be a huge contrast to her adopted US home but she says San Francisco’s general ambience reminds her of the Red Sea city. ‘The link between San Francisco and Jeddah is actually the thing I love most about Jeddah and its diversity. I really love being exposed to other cultures; it keeps building my personality in a very interesting way.’ It also offers the designer a quick hop over the sea to Egypt, another destination that she turns to for inspiration. Still, it is the region of the Hejaz that continues to in- spire Taibah and forms the base of much of her work. This can be seen in Beity, translating to My Home, a book that came out of a university book design project and features some of Taibah’s illustrated characters amongst photos that tell the story of her family. This close bond with her family and friends in Saudi Arabia continues to inspire her. ‘With my family’s sup- port and the circle I’m in, I manage to be as creative as I can and live this way.’ This circle includes graphic designer and street artist Sarah Mohanna and indus- trial designer Ahmad Angawi, who are both making big ripples in Saudi Arabia’s pool of design talent. Inspiration for Taibah also comes from more estab- lished artistic entities such as the Edge of Arabia art collective and Riyadh’s multifunctional contemporary gallery Ala’an Artspace. ‘I believe the design industry in Saudi is already becoming so interesting. I’m very proud of what is going on there,’ she says. Despite the 13,000 kilometres between herself and her friends in Jeddah, she says she keeps up-to-date with the Saudi arts scene through social networking and shares her latest creations with friends through her blog written under her pen name, Lastika. ‘My people in Jeddah are creative, active, very involved and most importantly they are exposed and open to the arts scenes around the world,’ she says. Jeddah was the setting for Taibah’s first published book entitled JUNK. A port city, characterised by its relatively open society and long history of movement between people, Jeddah was an ideal backdrop for the story. The name JUNK came about, the designer says, when, during the making of the work, the designer’s mother referred to it as junk and that she should wait to publish it only when she improved as an illustrator. ‘She had a point, but I wanted people who would check out JUNK to fall in love with how much personal- ity there is in this book and meet the lonely ice-cream cone and the octopus girl [characters].’ These colourful figures are inspired by the melting pot that is Jeddah and although it is written in Arabic, the dialogue switches frequently between the Saudi, Egyptian and Lebanese dialects -a technique that makes it easier for the artist to transmit her often abstract ideas. ‘My quirky little characters seem to be fed up with the frivolities and contradictions of the society they are being brought up in. As a Hejazi female I grew up around diversity and with people from different backgrounds,’ she explains. She says that JUNK is something of a sketchbook for her ideas as an artist and that her planned second book should be a more structured and formulated experience for the reader. Working as a freelancer, or a free soul, as she de- scribes the practice, gives her the freedom to pick and choose the projects she works on and so keeps her style defined. She says it also presents her with the perfect opportunity to combine different elements of design and illustration that she has learnt over the years. Yet there are evident disadvantages: ‘Working as a freelancer is difficult for sure, that’s why being social and always knowing what’s going on is very healthy for me as an artist,’ she states. Asked if local freelance designers struggle to find work in Saudi Arabia with so many creative industries dominated by expatriate workers, she responds: ‘I think it’s never difficult for a hard worker. A designer should always learn more and look for chances. Sometimes opportunities come but you always have to go out and get what you need, whether it’s from inside or outside sources.’ Photography: Unnikrishnan Raveendranathen

Superpool

In association with Cadillac, we travel to Istanbul to speak with Gregers Tang Thomsen and Selva Gurdogan. They are a new wave of urban architects and the driving force behind Superpool - an architectural studio in Istanbul that uses good design to solve social issues.

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There was a time when the Arab army was the best in the world. Led by military leaders such as Khalid ibn al Walid, the warriors commanded a number of conquests and missions in the Arabian Peninsula. Under the caliphates of Umar and Abu Bakr they also conquered the Persian and Byzantine Empires despite being consistently outnumbered and frequently underequipped. It was a time of glory and one that Vince Ghossoub and Radwan Kasmiya take great pride in remembering and celebrating. The pair – Lebanese and Syrian respectively – have spent the last few years developing an online game to revive these historical heroes and now, from their base in Hangzhou, in the Zhejiang Province in Eastern China, they are continually working on improving and expanding the game experience. 'Games are in my opinion the most advanced and complex forms of art and so, they are an expression of one's culture and a cultural product by themselves,' says Ghossoub. 'In Knights of Glory we are taking real characters from the past and transferring that knowledge. It is a way of educating people about our history and the Arab Conquest, without actually forcing it upon them.' Ghossoub and Kasmiya founded their company Falafel Games in 2010. They are still the first people to have ever produced a fully Arabic-themed browser-based massively multiplayer online (MMO) game and they hope that Falafel Games will become the leading producer of online games for the Middle East and the Muslim world.

'In the US, the games follow fantasy lines and superheroes whilst in Europe you find medieval and modern warfare stories. In Asia, you have three Kingdoms and plenty of kung-fu so in the end, it was inevitable that from the Middle East you will have some Arabian style cultural pronunciations to add to the gaming sphere,' says Ghossoub. And being in China, where 75 per cent of all online games are made, has certainly sped up the process. Ghossoub relocated to Beijing five years ago to study for an MBA. He was living in Ohio but says he was bored and wanted a change. 'Curiosity took me to China,' he says. 'I was in the US looking for something new to learn so I thought I would try China. I came ready to leave within two or three months if I had to; I have been here ever since.' Citing Beijing as a global second to Silicon Valley in terms of an environment to foster internet start-ups, Ghossoub calls China's capital as 'pretty much a centre of gravity for technology, internet and gaming'. So, in China and with more exposure to the idea of gaming and spurred on by his new business skills, Ghossoub linked up with Kasmiya and began working on the concept.

'On a personal level, making an Arabic game had been my dream since I wrote my first game code at elementary school,' says Kasmiya. 'I believe that game culture is an interactive, positive, social experience for players of the same language and as we are working with a very interesting period of history, that common background unites our users as well.'

Currently the game has more than 100,000 users with many thousands playing simultaneously every day. It is a free-to-play strategy game where you build your own city, build up resources and an army and go to battle. The idea is to colonise other player's towns and conquer cities. The details and characters are from real historical battles and the endless game is peppered with mini cultural quizzes and puzzles to increase both player knowledge and character strength. 'We wouldn't do a game that didn't embrace our history and our culture,' says Ghossoub. 'We will always make Arabic games for a profit if we can and for a loss if we must; it is our raison d'être without it we wouldn't exist.' Their passion is so far paying off. In 2011, Knights of Glory was voted the best browser game by the readers of the biggest game news portal in Arabic and is heavily promoted by the MBC Group who provide them with advertising. 'If we manage to survive during the next two years, I am sure we will succeed on being the leader of our market,' muses Kasmiya. 'We are doing our best to keep floating and indicators from both the players and the market looks promising, but we never feel relieved. Vince and me are extremely paranoid.'

Such drive and self motivation will keep the men going into what they believe to be a slightly uncertain future, but one thing is for sure – they are set on staying in China. 'Generally speaking the output of cultural products in the Arab world is tiny and this is what drives me wherever I am in the world. China inspires me even more because the Chinese are very good at preserving history and this gives me more drive,' says Ghossoub. 'I also think there is not enough exchange of people between China and the Middle East – it is not comparable at all, in terms of impact, to the Silk Road – so I hope that more people from our region come and discover what there is out here.' Photography: Anne-Sophie Heist

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The word transformable is not one you would typically associate with luxury jewellery, but then Van Cleef & Arpels isn’t your typical jewellery house. Founded in 1906 when Estelle Arpels, the daughter of a precious stone merchant, married Alfred Van Cleef, the son of a lapidary and diamond broker, what started as a small family business went on to dress the fingers and décolleté of socialites, celebrities and royalty around the world. The world’s most glamorous women are enchanted not only by the quality of the legendary house’s pieces, but also the poetry of collections that belie their technical complexity. From the outset, Van Cleef & Arpels set as its guiding principle to appeal to a woman’s changing whims. It toyed with the notion of convertible jewellery, designing a one-off pair of bracelets that could be conjoined to form a choker for socialite and fashion plate Daisy Fellowes. The Secret Timepiece followed in 1930. Full of mystery and elegance, Secret is a jewelllery collection of watches which plays with the idea of concealing time from view. An ode to feminine duality, this watch features a diamond case that conceals the dial. It is a bracelet and a watch at the same time. In the 1950s, the house officially introduced the concept of transformation to its permanent collections, with a multifunctional piece that can metamorphose into a new piece altogether. Estelle and Alfred’s daughter, Renée Puissant, had applied the design concept of the zipper to create a necklace that zipped flawlessly into a bracelet: the appropriately named Zip^TM necklace. The gold and diamond Zip^TMnecklace became a sensation, heralded for its artistic and technical triumph. More importantly, it established an unlikely link between Van Cleef & Arpels and the great couturiers of the world. Just as haute couture fashion houses could mould fabric with beauty and movement in mind, Renée had proved a jewellery house could do the same. But fabric is arguably much easier to manipulate than gemstones and metal; only with extreme precision and the finest quality material would the Zip^TM necklace be flexible enough to function properly and sturdy enough to hold its precious jewels in place. What Renée designed was nothing short of technical magic. Like every great design, the Zip^TM necklace has seen reincarnations. In Van Cleef & Arpels’ 2005 Couture collection, it was set with ribbons of rubies, emeralds or sapphires, and worn as a long necklace; in 2011, four new models introduced an element of Art Deco inspiration. Not content with just one masterpiece, the house has illustrated its expertise with other transformable pieces. The gold Passe-Partout necklace, embellished with gemstone flowers, converts effortlessly from a bracelet and belt into multiple typologies because of its detacheable clip. The Souffle des Nuages necklace consists of a detacheable clip that can be worn seperately, while the Lotus and other Between-the-Finger Rings appear to bloom before its wearers eyes. All illustrate the house’s devotion to the concept of renewal. And now those pieces, along with dozens more, will be on display at the Van Cleef & Arpels exhibition on the transformability of jewellery at Design Days Dubai. The event, which takes place in Downtown Dubai from March 18 to 21, will coincide with Art Week, the Middle East’s most celebrated art and design fair. This exhibition recognising the iconic house’s impact on the art of jewellery will mark the second year Van Cleef & Arpels’ has participated as a luxury partner and sponsor. Visit the event to capture this moment in time. Like its revolutionary collections, Van Cleef & Arpels is bound to continue its evolution. Photography: Supplied

tiff_feat

It is a cherished occasion that is celebrated in a multitude of ways across the world, but with the same simple message: to take a moment to say thank you. To honour Mother's Day today, we take a look at how one Emirati family chooses to celebrate the tradition with Tiffany jewels, a timeless expression of gratitude to pass from one generation to the next. Photography: Mike McKelvie

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When Senan Abdelqader travelled to Germany to study architecture in 1983, he had a clear goal in mind. His plan was to return to his hometown of Taibeh, a small village in the north of Jerusalem, to make his mark. 'I opted for architecture due to its utilitarian impact on urban evolution. It helped me comprehend aspects of human progress which I regarded as a means to help me promote the rural society that I left with the intention of returning,' he reflects. Working in a city far removed from the architectural mainstream, Abdelqader has not always enjoyed the support needed to hone his craft. According to the 53-year old, there is a lack of an institutional apparatus in the Arab communities in Jerusalem that disallows the development of architecture. 'The role of an architect is complex; you find yourself working in a system which is systematically trying to block your ideas instead of supporting you and nurturing your creative thinking,' he laments. As a result, this has made the achievement of urbanisation in Arab neighbourhoods and towns close to impossible. It is this premise that forms the basis of his design of the Mashrabiya House. Located in the village of Beit Safafa, the house is comprised of eight apartments and was built as a contemporary re-interpretation of traditional elements of vernacular architecture, whilst at the same time providing innovative solutions for the surrounding social and cultural landscape. Completed in 2006, the project stands as a testament to the architect's resolve to work in a subversive manner, against the system to realise his ambitions. 'Beit Safafa is segregated and disconnected from the city. With Mashrabiya, I wanted to establish an urban housing alternative, by offering apartments for rent and also serving as a catalyst for urbanity,' the University of Kaiserslautern graduate explains. Built on a steep plot overlooking the Jerusalem skyline, the building is covered in a modern interpretation of mashrabiya; the traditional latticed window screens found in Arab architecture. Loosely translated to 'absorption of light' or 'filtered view', the screen is not only aesthetically appealing but also serves practical functions. In the past, the main use of mashrabiya in accommodations was to maintain the privacy of the inhabitants, mainly the women. It was incorporated so as to enable residents to look out without being seen. Therefore, it separated indoor from outdoor spaces, thus giving those present inside the house an advantage over those in the public space outside. Occupying 1700 square metres, the house is big and it stands out among the rest of the stone structures in the village of Beit Safafa. In keeping with the system's British Mandate that dictates the use of stone-cladding on all buildings, Abdelqader created a mashrabiya made from stone. 'This is not a mere stone house like many other buildings you see in the area. The law of using stone was imposed by the British in order to preserve the historical air of the city - the way they liked to perceive it. Indeed, the screen in the house uses Jerusalem stone, but in a manner that calls against the imposed law, by shifting the stone bricks and disconnecting the entire façade from the building. So the house is a contemporary structure and simultaneously calls against the colonialisation of Palestine,' he explains. Additionally, while striving to maintain cultural continuity, Abdelqader also managed to incorporate concepts of sustainability into the design of the Mashrabiya House. Set apart from the building, the stone envelope around the screen creates a semi-transparent effect, allowing light and air to filter through the house. On the upper levels of the apartment building, there are even larger openings cut out of the screens in order for dwellers to take advantage of the view from above and allowing for better ventilation. A concrete retaining wall, another typical feature of traditional Arab homes is carved into the hillside along one side of a steep slope, forming a stone clad-platform, similar to a deck, with sunken courtyards that act as light wells. This deck accommodates Abdelqader's studio and workshop and a newly opened art space – Gallery for Palestinian Cultural Representation - thus separating the working units of the house from the living areas above. The Gallery, according to the architect, 'is still in its early stages but when open, it will exhibit ideas that come out of our office.' Always conscious of urbanisation, Abdelqader explains that there were biographical elements that guided his choices in his professional life. 'Urban identity and its cultural implications have always been an integral part of our household, so my parents supported my decision and encouraged me to go to spend time in Europe.' His time in Germany enabled him to relate to Arab culture through encounters with other students from his region. 'I emerged from the position of rural minority and was exposed to cultural activity managed by the exiled elite in Germany,' Abdelqader reflects. The architect reveals that after graduating, he obtained a job at a local architecture firm, which furnished him with a significant sense of professional confidence and cultural assimilation. 'It was precisely the success in Europe that gave me the emotional recognition of the need to return to my family and the society from which I came from,' he says. The ambitious Abdelqader has plans to build a community and culture centre in Beit Safafa as well as approximately 2500 residential units in Jabal el-Mokaber, a neighbourhood in the south east. He is currently working to break free from the system's bureaucracy that disrupts the expansion of Arab communities in Jerusalem. 'We need to maintain the Palestinian identity without outside interferences. I am hoping to collaborate with educational and practical parties from the Arab world and I am also waiting for the day when our Palestinian communities will be part of the bigger universe,' he concludes. Photography: Tanya Habjouqa

Murat Bozok

In association with Cadillac, we travel to Istanbul to speak with restaurateur Murat Bozok. Soon after graduating from business school, Bozok pursued his dream and travelled to the States to study gastronomy. After working with the likes of Gordon Ramsay and Joel Robuchon, he returned to his homeland and opened his restaurant, Mimolett, in 2009.

Sanaa feature

While its ancient core seduces the visitor with ease, even inside the concrete sprawl that surrounds the old city's walls, surprises lurk in unexpected places and it is the incongruous mix of very old and very new that makes Sanaa one of the essential destinations in our region. Upon entering the centuries-old gate of Bab Al Yemen, the old city's cacophony immediately overwhelms. Six-storey houses tower over rambling stalls of the charmingly chaotic market and shopkeepers peddle their wares in the shadow of mosques dating back almost 2000 years. As the buzz of motorbikes competes with the sound of the call to prayer, it is incredibly easy to get lost in Sanaa's labyrinthine souq and even easier to get distracted by the sights and sounds around you. But, if you manage to keep your bearings, then housed in a historic building in the midst of it all, is the city's National Art Centre. Offering room after room of canvases gracing bare stone walls, it is a quiet sanctuary from the surrounding commotion and it gives a visitor an overview of contemporary Yemeni art. 'This place is about incorporating contemporary trends whilst also reflecting our culture and our history,' says Zaki Al Osaily, a Sanaa-based artist. 'The inspiration may be from anywhere - Europe or Japan, east or west - but in the end, Yemen lies at the heart of what we are doing.' The centre houses an eclectic mix of paintings and prints, drawing from a plethora of influences. But at heart, the art is unmistakably Yemeni, as is the setting. The hewn walls and mediaeval arches provide an incomparably dramatic backdrop and the stunning view from the roof is almost an attraction in its own right. Stepping back outside and stumbling across stall after stall of everything from antique jewellery to handmade kitchen utensils, you will be confronted by Sanaa’s Great Mosque. Dating back to the seventh century and studded with the remnants of even earlier buildings, the edifice stands just east of the old Ghumdan Palace. Like the rest of the city, its secret lies beneath the surface. In 1972, historians discovered the Sanaa palimpsest housed here. It is one of the oldest Quranic manuscripts in existence and is found to have been written within 15 years of the death of Prophet Mohammed. Wandering through Sanaa is indeed, like taking a path through hundreds of years of history books all in the course of a day and ultimately, it is the general atmosphere rather than any particular site that is the star. The timeless setting renders even quotidian tasks in the city centre nearly cinematic. Out in the suburbs however, and in stark contrast to the gingerbread homes of its historic core, modern Sanaa is a repetitive muddle of easily forgotten apartment buildings and car-clogged streets. However, it does give the more creative residents the chance to make their mark. In an attempt to break the concrete monotony, Murad al Subay, a recent graduate of Sanaa University who is passionate about art, took to the streets of the capital this spring, paintbrush in hand and started a project called Colour the Walls of Your Street. Raising the bar on the art of graffiti and removing its status as vandalism, Subay organised a weekly event for youngsters to get together and express themselves. Now, the deluge of paint has spread across the city and walls have been plastered with personal slogans and statements. Some have been recast as billboards for messages of unity and tolerance. ‘The goal is to use art to bring us together,’ says Subay. ‘With this project, I think we are seeing the signs, however small, of a real positive change.’ The young sneaker-clad Yemeni says that he sees a divided and cynical society around him and he is hoping that through art, he can bring diverse groups of people together to quietly blaze new paths. The bursts of paint are a fitting metaphor for the basis of the Yemeni capital’s cultural vanguard. Delving a little deeper and amidst a group of walled villas, the headquarters of the Al Sakkaf Culture and Art Foundation is nearly hidden amidst the swarm of recent construction. A collaboration between businessman Adnan Al Sakkaf and architect Saba Al Sulayhi, the building, which is more often than not referred to by its informal name of The Basement, houses offices, a boutique, a café and a large performance space. The space, that is the source of its second name is its most important feature as it is one of only a handful of such venues in Sanaa. As such, this light-bathed hall has developed into a centre of the capital’s cultural scene. It has become the virtual capital of cultural life in Sanaa,’ says Abdulaziz Al Saqqaf, the nephew of the founder. ‘Places like this are crucial in developing a real cultural community in Yemen, giving a central space where people can meet and share ideas.’ Each week, the Sakkaf Foundation’s Thursday morning salon fills with a mixed crowd that ranges from ageing intellectuals to college students, who gather for performances from poets and musicians and discussions led by Yemeni academics. But whilst it is popular for specific events, it is The Basement’s role in providing an open atmosphere and a sense of community that has earned its acclaim in an otherwise largely conservative Sanaa. ‘Places like this represent a recent development,’ explains Taysir Hassan, a designer whose boutique is housed in the building. ‘This place is a space for young painters, poets and other artists, especially women – that is incredibly important.’ Across town, in the working class neighborhood of Shumaila, Osaily’s gallery sits virtually incognito. Tucked into a storefront and across from a vacant building, it is nearly indistinguishable from the outside and blends in with nearby workshops of carpenters and mechanics. It is only the flash of colour emanating from the unassuming window that hints at the gallery inside.Like many of Yemen’s artists, Osaily is largely self-taught. A flight engineer by training, he threw himself into his passion after an early retirement, carving out a footprint in Sanaa’s close-knit artistic community. Inside the surprisingly inviting space, an unfinished painting sits on an easel and it is surrounded by walls hung with works by Osaily and his colleagues. Save for the sounds of Fairouz singing in the background, there is a definite quiet. Apologetic about his humble base, Osaily notes that its distance from the city’s centre has proved advantageous for attaining a peaceful working environment. For its well-connected owner, the gallery is a placid retreat and since he established himself, he has opened his refuge to a number of younger colleagues, who now share his work space. Brandishing a recently completely canvas, Shifa Al Shuaybi beams as she reflects on life as an artist in her home country. ‘Working as an artist in Yemen is hard but things are changing,’ she says. ‘Inspiration is everywhere here: from places to politics to the people themselves.’ So, while Sanaa may lack the well-developed art scenes of other cities in the region, she acknowledges there is still room for her and the others to pave the way forward. It is vitally important that she stays put because, she says, there is no place like home. As Imam al-Shafa’i, the Islamic jurist who established one of the four Muslim schools of thought once said: ‘Sanaa must be seen, however long the journey.’ Photography: Juan Herrero

Building Blocks

Urban Series | Redha Moali

Master of Type

Hit the Slopes

Unearthing Tomorrow’s Talents

The Modern Trade Route

Canvas Collective

Culture Connects

Canvas Collective II

Urban Series | Aysha Al Mudehki

Nourishing Narratives

Forming Generations

Illustrative Lives

Urban Series | Superpool

Knights of Glory

A Magical Metamorphosis

Ode to Motherhood

Layered Living

Urban Series | Murat Bozok

In Gingerbread Houses