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[split]
‘Most of my work revisits Moroccan heritage, but there is a clear need to evolve traditional Moroccan art both in its techniques and in its graphic representation,’ Mourabit says. ‘Technically, it can be difficult to achieve my ideas in the traditional method whereas graphically, [my pieces] must adapt to the current taste. Although the Oriental ornament is fashionable, demand leans towards a graphic “light”.’
This lightness extends beyond the pristine graphic patterns that decorate her pieces, though. Each object, in its inherent fragility, seems to emanate a certain lightness too. After training in Paris at the The Duperré School of Applied Arts and the École Nationale Supérieure des Arts Décoratifs, Mourabit founded her own brand in 1998, and her designs have since become widely recognised and respected across Morocco. As such, her customers are largely Moroccan, though her designs have, of late, been catching the eye of the international design world.
When we meet, it is in Salé – one of Rabat’s sleepy dormitory towns. Mourabit is at the workshop of Ahmed Ben Mostapha, a master potter with whom she is collaborating on one of her lines. From one of Mourabit’s pencil sketches, the partners to and fro ideas as to how to incarnate the design’s form. In her pursuit for accuracy and refinement, Mourabit controls the design and decorative stages of the process but leaves the physical production of the clay vessels to the experts.
‘When I want to work with maalam [master craftsmen], I first show them my project. I ask for their opinion and then we work together on the technicalities of how to realise it. I respect their ideas and expertise, but the project must be carried out to match my designs. The artisan-designer relationship is important, one of mutual respect and of knowledge of the other. If there is no respect or understanding, the product will not be good. This is true of any project, big or small.’
The two are currently working on one of Mourabit’s signature designs, an egg shaped vase that forms part of her Alif collection. Usually Mourabit creates objects that are at once beautiful but that serve a purpose, like the elegant tagine dishes, teapots and tableware found in her other collections. Though the egg visually encapsulates Mourabit’s craft, it is quite unique in its purely decorative function.
‘Arabic art is essentially ornamental,’ she explains. ‘This form takes its cue from the shape of an egg – leaving no one indifferent towards it. I applied the same relief that can be found throughout the rest of the Alif collection. It’s much richer, more ornate, with more work going into finding its different textures. It’s the culmination of months of reflection.’
The egg starts life as a rather humble, six-pound clod of earthy white clay in Ahmed Ben Mostapha’s workshop. The cake is thrown forcefully down onto a surface and kneaded (also known as wedging) to evenly disperse moisture, making the clay easier to work with, and to eliminate any pockets of air.
Once the clay has been properly prepared, Ben Mostapha throws it onto his wheel to begin shaping it. Spinning on a wheel is the best technique to achieve symmetrical, rounded shapes. As the cake spins, the potter uses his hands to mould the clay into the egg shape of Mourabit’s design.
At this stage, the potter’s hands are the most important tools – his fingers constantly refine the vase’s shape. Once the clay has been whipped up into a vessel that resembles Mourabit’s requirements – 30cm in height, 26cm in diameter, egg shaped – Ben Mostapha uses a wet sponge to give the clay a smoother surface finish.
Once sufficiently dry, the vessel is then fired in a kiln at 1050 degrees over the course of nine hours – an intense process that requires the bisque to cool for another nine hours afterwards. The vessel can then be sanded and the guidelines for Mourabit’s decorations can be engraved.
The vase arrives at Mourabit’s Agdal atelier a blank canvas, ready for the designer and her team to put their stamp on. Mourabit employs six local women to work full time in the studio, all of who are intuitively agile with their hands (many having worked previously as henna artists – experience that serves them well when applying Mourabit’s intricate patterns).
The vases are painted with a base colour at the Agdal atelier rather than glazed at the potter’s workshop (coated rather than, in the usual way of ceramics, imbued with colour), giving the vase the depth of a matte finish. For this batch Mourabit has chosen a pigeon blue, to be offset with white, raised pattern work and enlivened with a textured band of silver leaf.
Mourabit’s assistants trace the lines of the patterns on to paper first, before fixing the vase into a rotating clamp to apply the pattern work – ceramics are an unforgiving material with no patience for creative deliberation. The detail and motifs of these patterns is where the visual ties to Morocco’s heritage lie. The tiny triangular shapes, for example, are references to the Berber symbol of womanhood.
Applying the pattern is delicate, precarious work; a white paste must be applied through a syringe by a steady hand. Using a special glue, gold or, in this case, silver leaf is affixed to the vase to serve as a central, focal stripe. This technique is not ancestral to Morocco, but rather a caprice of the designer, adding a touch of iridescence to an otherwise matte product.
In all, Mourabit explains, the production of the vase is a week-long creative process of kneading, shaping, drying, refining, painting and gilding. In Mourabit’s atelier, nothing is left to chance. Each object in her collection is painstakingly crafted to produce a final product that fills its space with a curiously weightless gravitas. The attraction comes from clear, elegant forms that discreetly pulse with meaning.
‘My creations call on the five senses: visually this is through reliefs, colours and finishes, but the feel of my pieces – its textures and materials – is also very important. I like to be a creator of emotions.’ she says.
[split]
‘Most of my work revisits Moroccan heritage, but there is a clear need to evolve traditional Moroccan art both in its techniques and in its graphic representation,’ Mourabit says. ‘Technically, it can be difficult to achieve my ideas in the traditional method whereas graphically, [my pieces] must adapt to the current taste. Although the Oriental ornament is fashionable, demand leans towards a graphic “light”.’
This lightness extends beyond the pristine graphic patterns that decorate her pieces, though. Each object, in its inherent fragility, seems to emanate a certain lightness too. After training in Paris at the The Duperré School of Applied Arts and the École Nationale Supérieure des Arts Décoratifs, Mourabit founded her own brand in 1998, and her designs have since become widely recognised and respected across Morocco. As such, her customers are largely Moroccan, though her designs have, of late, been catching the eye of the international design world.
When we meet, it is in Salé – one of Rabat’s sleepy dormitory towns. Mourabit is at the workshop of Ahmed Ben Mostapha, a master potter with whom she is collaborating on one of her lines. From one of Mourabit’s pencil sketches, the partners to and fro ideas as to how to incarnate the design’s form. In her pursuit for accuracy and refinement, Mourabit controls the design and decorative stages of the process but leaves the physical production of the clay vessels to the experts.
‘When I want to work with maalam [master craftsmen], I first show them my project. I ask for their opinion and then we work together on the technicalities of how to realise it. I respect their ideas and expertise, but the project must be carried out to match my designs. The artisan-designer relationship is important, one of mutual respect and of knowledge of the other. If there is no respect or understanding, the product will not be good. This is true of any project, big or small.’
The two are currently working on one of Mourabit’s signature designs, an egg shaped vase that forms part of her Alif collection. Usually Mourabit creates objects that are at once beautiful but that serve a purpose, like the elegant tagine dishes, teapots and tableware found in her other collections. Though the egg visually encapsulates Mourabit’s craft, it is quite unique in its purely decorative function.
‘Arabic art is essentially ornamental,’ she explains. ‘This form takes its cue from the shape of an egg – leaving no one indifferent towards it. I applied the same relief that can be found throughout the rest of the Alif collection. It’s much richer, more ornate, with more work going into finding its different textures. It’s the culmination of months of reflection.’
The egg starts life as a rather humble, six-pound clod of earthy white clay in Ahmed Ben Mostapha’s workshop. The cake is thrown forcefully down onto a surface and kneaded (also known as wedging) to evenly disperse moisture, making the clay easier to work with, and to eliminate any pockets of air.
Once the clay has been properly prepared, Ben Mostapha throws it onto his wheel to begin shaping it. Spinning on a wheel is the best technique to achieve symmetrical, rounded shapes. As the cake spins, the potter uses his hands to mould the clay into the egg shape of Mourabit’s design.
At this stage, the potter’s hands are the most important tools – his fingers constantly refine the vase’s shape. Once the clay has been whipped up into a vessel that resembles Mourabit’s requirements – 30cm in height, 26cm in diameter, egg shaped – Ben Mostapha uses a wet sponge to give the clay a smoother surface finish.
Once sufficiently dry, the vessel is then fired in a kiln at 1050 degrees over the course of nine hours – an intense process that requires the bisque to cool for another nine hours afterwards. The vessel can then be sanded and the guidelines for Mourabit’s decorations can be engraved.
The vase arrives at Mourabit’s Agdal atelier a blank canvas, ready for the designer and her team to put their stamp on. Mourabit employs six local women to work full time in the studio, all of who are intuitively agile with their hands (many having worked previously as henna artists – experience that serves them well when applying Mourabit’s intricate patterns).
The vases are painted with a base colour at the Agdal atelier rather than glazed at the potter’s workshop (coated rather than, in the usual way of ceramics, imbued with colour), giving the vase the depth of a matte finish. For this batch Mourabit has chosen a pigeon blue, to be offset with white, raised pattern work and enlivened with a textured band of silver leaf.
Mourabit’s assistants trace the lines of the patterns on to paper first, before fixing the vase into a rotating clamp to apply the pattern work – ceramics are an unforgiving material with no patience for creative deliberation. The detail and motifs of these patterns is where the visual ties to Morocco’s heritage lie. The tiny triangular shapes, for example, are references to the Berber symbol of womanhood.
Applying the pattern is delicate, precarious work; a white paste must be applied through a syringe by a steady hand. Using a special glue, gold or, in this case, silver leaf is affixed to the vase to serve as a central, focal stripe. This technique is not ancestral to Morocco, but rather a caprice of the designer, adding a touch of iridescence to an otherwise matte product.
In all, Mourabit explains, the production of the vase is a week-long creative process of kneading, shaping, drying, refining, painting and gilding. In Mourabit’s atelier, nothing is left to chance. Each object in her collection is painstakingly crafted to produce a final product that fills its space with a curiously weightless gravitas. The attraction comes from clear, elegant forms that discreetly pulse with meaning.
‘My creations call on the five senses: visually this is through reliefs, colours and finishes, but the feel of my pieces – its textures and materials – is also very important. I like to be a creator of emotions.’ she says.