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Ginan Rauf

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Introduction: An Oral History of Zeinab Khalifa’s Life

There are stories worth telling and lives well worth contemplating. The individual life is always of intrinsic value and often an apt embodiment of the times. Oral history is particularly well-suited for exploring the interplay between the individual and society, between biography and history, between orality and writing as the Italian oral historian Alessandro Portelli has eloquently argued in his theoretical writings. Sometimes the individual is representative of the times and deeply engaged with a specific locale. And at times that same individual goes beyond both and opens up uncharted possibilities that are worth contemplating in oral histories.

Zeinab Khalifa, an innovative jewelry maker, experimental installation artist and socially committed entrepreneur, is one such individual. Born to a wholesale merchant in Attaba, a commercial district near the heart of historic Cairo, she attended what she describes as a “posh” American school. Zainab felt out of place in the school and had a greater affinity for the bustling street life that enriched her work both as an artist and entrepreneur. Yet, she recognizes that her traditional and progressive father had the foresight to educate his daughters in an American school.

Hers was a world not so much of binary oppositions as of fluid possibilities. Zainab’s mother, a pious woman with a heightened sense of social justice, managed a busy household that brought in a vast network of rural relatives. They came to the capital to run errands or seek help and found traditional hospitality in a strange city. Such repeated acts of hospitality in the private public sphere amounted to daily acts of remembrance, of recalling where one was and where one came from and what obligations one owed others. Later in her life Zainab would transfer the ethos of her mother’s world to the male-dominated workshops where she apprenticed as a jewelry maker.

This ability to cull values from her mother’s world and create them anew enabled Zeinab to chart a new path in a traditional trade. It was a world familiar and strange that she understood and had the social skills to navigate. She had returned to an old world but in distinctly new ways. At the same time, she sought to challenge and disrupt the exploitative practices that prevailed in the traditional workshops. Her critique hardly remained an abstraction. Once she acquired a workshop of her own, Zainab began to create a counter culture based on the dignity of labor. For her the well-being of the silversmiths became in- separable from the production and exhibition of the art.

It is no coincidence that her first gallery—Gallery Noun—was attached to the workshop and that her customers often enjoyed friendly interactions with the silversmiths who produced the jewelry. In other words, the space itself became a venue for enacting cultural change and for subverting the class boundaries that operated in the larger culture. Still, it would be misleading to confuse respect for labor with social equality. Social hierarchies still prevailed, even though class boundaries were constantly being renegotiated. What’s more, the handcrafted pieces were largely consumed by upper class women with disposable income and by international collectors in the global art market.

Her silver jewelry remains beyond the reach of the vast majority of Egyptians. Using silver, a more affordable and potentially more democratic metal than gold, hardly resolves this dilemma. Zeinab herself fully understands this dilemma, often arguing that jewelry makers need to experiment with more affordable materials and recycled metals. At the same time, she regrets that she doesn’t have enough time to do more installation art and reach a broader audience. It is- to echo her concerns- a form that frees her up to play more imaginatively with less expensive materials. Perhaps that is part of her unfulfilled longing to bring art back to the streets that nourished her talent as an artist in the first place.

Ultimately, jewelry making did unleash Zeinab’s imaginative powers. Drawing upon the diverse traditions of Egyptian jewelry making, she borrows Pharaonic, Islamic, Coptic, Bedouin, European, peasant, and African motifs to recombine and reinvent the traditions available to her. One might characterize her as a cosmopolitan artist nourished by multiple traditions without being bound or confined by any of them. Her evolving work is far too complex and sculpturesque to fit neatly into the stifling category of “ethnic” art. And her journey is far too radical to be deemed a return to her “authentic” cultural roots.

Zeinab Khalifa started her professional career as an apprentice working with traditional master silversmiths in Khan el-Khali, the heart of historical Cairo. In 1990, Zeinab started exhibiting single edition pieces in various galleries and cultural venues in Cairo. By 1997, she was producing conceptual art pieces. Zeinab distinguished herself as an installation artist, a jewelry maker and an entrepreneur with an international audience. In 2010, for example she had a solo exhibit ‘Jewelry as Fine Art’ at the Art Center of Northern New Jersey. Zeinab’s work has been acquired by collectors in America, Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. She currently runs a gallery and workshop that employs four skilled silversmiths in Heliopolis, Cairo. Khalifa has recently opened a gallery in Zamalek, Cairo where her unique pieces are exhibited and sold. Today, she still dreams of establishing a school to train skilled silversmiths and a future generation of jewelry makers.

Zeinab discusses her understanding of jewelry…

Jewelry is not simply an accessory. It is an integral part of a woman’s life. Some people think it is just a decorative artifact or a matter of female vanity. But it has traditionally played an important role in a woman’s life. A bride is given jewelry or what we call Sabka, during her engagement. It is considered part of her wealth. Families can also start buying gold for their daughters at a very young age and then sell it to finance her jihaz which is the trousseau purchased for a young bride at the time of marriage. It is really a way for families to invest in their daughters and to transfer wealth to them. The expectation is that the price of gold will go up and that it can then be resold for a profit during times of hardship or need. Sometimes there is a preference for gold coins or less elaborate pieces of jewelry. The idea is to invest in the gold itself rather than the workmanship. That is a very different thing from buying jewelry as wearable art. You might want to think of it as an insurance policy that gives women control over their financial affairs.

Zeinab elaborates on the role of jewelry in social rituals…

Jewelry can also be part of a larger belief system. A mother who has just given birth, for example, may wear a special kind of necklace called a musahhara that is made exclusively of agate. The necklace has a large heart-shaped piece in the center. It is believed that the necklace protects the new mother from future infertility. There seems to be a delicate interplay between jewelry and the vulnerable body. Jewelry has other protective qualities. Blue stones, such as turquoise, are worn to ward off the evil eye. Amulets are traditionally used to protect the wearer from evil spirits. I remember seeing women wear a rectangular piece called hijab al-ra’s over their scarves. It contains a hollow space in which Qur’anic verses are placed for protection. Jewelry provides a sense of comfort and security. So you see jewelry is not merely decorative! It is profoundly linked to the human psyche.

Zeinab talks about jewelry as a marker of identity and class…

Well, jewelry can enhance a woman’s social status. It gives her a place or makana in the social hierarchy. A woman adorned in jewelry, for instance, often projects an image of strength and confidence. I remember this one woman in my neighborhood who owned a coffee shop. She used to stand in the middle of her shop near the cash register managing the waiters who worked for her. She’d put her gold adorned arms on her hips and give orders to signal mastery of her social space. It was a ritual reenactment of her status as a woman of property. I have always associated big bulky jewelry with women who have stature and presence. The public display of gold signaled to the other merchants that these women had the resources to purchase goods and repay her loans. It consolidated her identity as a trustworthy merchant. Jewelry also situates a woman geographically. Certain types of multilayered necklaces or kirdans for instance are associated with specific regions of the country.

Zeinab describes her mother as a merchant’s wife…

My mother’s situation was quite different. She was not a merchant herself but a merchant’s wife. That is an important distinction. She was not out on the streets conducting business with other merchants. As the wife of a wealthy merchant she derived her status from something altogether different and that difference was reflected in the way she wore her jewelry. She used to wear a chain with a big gold Qur’an and a pair of gold earrings. This form of adornment imbued her with an aura of piety and respectability. She didn’t display jewelry as weight like the coffee shop owner. We lived in a busy household in Cairo. Relatives often came to Cairo to buy jewelry in preparation for weddings. Our house was a way-station for a vast network of rural relatives. It was a visually stimulating environment. These early experiences shaped my eclectic style as an artist. I have vivid memories of darker skinned Nubian women wearing gold jewelry. It made a beautiful contrast with their lovely skin. It made me love bold jewelry.

Zeinab reflects on the role of jewelry and female bonding…

My life changed when I got married. Things became difficult when I got married. We were constantly short of money. I had come from a background where it was important to be mujamala. That really means being hospitable in my home, exchanging gifts and lavishing small favors on a large network of friends. I am my mother’s daughter. Ours was a lively household. At that time, I was not working. I was busy raising my kids. My ex-husband was trying to establish his career as a director and I felt I had to give him my full support. I did not have an independent source of income so I started collecting antique pieces of silver. These were unique pieces that I’d find and then string together to make necklaces. I started giving them as gifts to my friends. My friends loved the designs. This exchange of gifts helped me expand my network and establish a customer base. Later on, some of my friends became enthusiastic collectors of my work. Jewelry helped me bond with my girlfriends. Jewelry became a medium for me to experience my vulnerability and my strength as a woman.

Zeinab feels an irrepressible urge to create…

I felt a surge of creativity well up inside me but I was also tormented by self-doubt. I’ll never forget the first five earrings I made from scratch. Initially, I didn’t have the courage to showcase the earrings or attach my name to them. My instinct was to step back, let the pieces speak for themselves and watch peoples’ reactions. I went to Noun Gallery that was owned by Nahed Abu el-Naga at the time and slipped them in-between some necklaces that I had recently strung together. My friend Eva Elias was the only person who knew that I had actually made the earrings. She thought they were really beautiful. I trusted her. Her response boosted my self-confidence. I was beginning to see myself as an artist with potential and I knew I had to act.

Becoming an apprentice in a traditional workshop…

My kids had finally grown up. I was thirty-nine years old. It was no longer enough for me to collect antique pieces and string them together. The most productive years of my life still lay ahead of me. The idea of getting professional training at the hands of a master silversmith captivated me. I was making the return journey to the world that I had emerged from, the world that had nourished me as an artist. I became an apprentice in a traditional workshop or warsa. In Muhammad Hassan’s workshop I wanted, above all, to be taken seriously. So I made a point of investing my own money in the workshop. I bought my own raw material to practice on and sometimes I would even help Usta Hassan market his pieces. The mujamala in me went into full gear. I would often treat the workers to lunch. It gave me credibility. They could see my passion for jewelry making. I was investing my time, my money and my energy in the trade. In a way I had to improvise and create my own educational path in a traditional setting.

Completing my trajectory…

In Usta Hassan’s workshop I learned welding techniques. The wiring techniques I learned from him proved invaluable in the long run for my artistic development. I had become a self-directed learner and I decided it was time for me to move on. I asked around. I approached a traditional Arabic jeweler named George. He taught me how to turn silver sheets into pieces of jewelry such as rings and earrings. We worked together for about two years before I made the transition to a large-scale workshop that employed craftsmen with specialized skills. The collaborative atmosphere in this workshop helped me broaden my creative abilities and take risks. I could always count on a skilled silversmith to help me execute a bold design that initially seemed impossible. That was reassuring. It could be as simple as setting a stone in an usual way. An experienced silversmith would say, “it’s doable” and you I’d just run with it. I learned how to work in concert with specialized silversmiths.

Zeinab acquires a gallery of her own…

Gallery Noun was first started by a woman named Nahed Abu el-Naga. She ran the gallery and introduced artists of my generation to the public. There were talented artists including Hazem el-Mestikawy, a world-renowned sculptor, and Omar el-Fayoumi, a portrait artist. I had my first solo exhibit in Nahed’s gallery. Then she decided to leave and suggested that I take over the gallery. Gallery Noun now became my space. I wanted to turn the gallery into a center for the revival and development of traditional Egyptian crafts. Every month I would have an exhibit at the gallery for a different craft. One month, for example, we exhibited handmade traditional toys made of wood and recycled materials. These were the kinds of toys you could find in popular neighborhoods. The people who came to the gallery loved them. The toys sold really well but nobody thought it was worthwhile to invest in this popular craft and take it to the next level. I was very disappointed that no investors came forward to make this happen. The toy maker eventually died. I have a collection of his works.

Integrating the workshop into Gallery Noun…

Three years later I moved my workshop to Gallery Noun in Heliopolis, a suburb of Cairo. I brought a craftsman, Nady to work with me. He is still working with me. Nady is particularly skilled at making filigree jewelry. That is his strength. Sometimes I think clever craftsmen are attracted to me. (She laughs.) They know that I value their skills and they value the recognition they get in my workshop. So I will say to Nady, “Nobody can produce a piece of filigree jewelry like you.” Or I will turn to Ismail and say, “Only you can use the chisel to give a piece such depth and form.” Ismail’s work is three dimensional. It is important to highlight what distinguishes each craftsman as a maker. I want them to have pride in their work. Then there is Emad who is particularly good at helping me figure out the technique needed to create a particular piece. The idea is to encourage collaborative work by bringing together a diverse set of skills. The workshop is a space to hone the skills of silversmiths through apprenticeship. It takes a long time and a lot of effort to invest in these working relationships.

Zeinab reflects on the working conditions of craftsmen…

Unfortunately, many of the traditional workshops that produce handmade jewelry have closed down. The craftsmen moved to bigger factories. The salaries were higher. The hours were better. There was more stability. You see the problem is that the merchants own the shops where the jewelry produced by the craftsman is sold. The merchants have purchasing power. They are the ones who provides the craftsman with the raw material needed to make a piece of jewelry. By the time the craftsman turns the raw material into a finished product, he will have lost a little bit of silver. The merchant does not take that into account. What is worse, the merchants pay for the workmanship in small installments. That means the craftsmen never have enough cash to buy their own raw materials. They are always at the mercy of the merchants. It is a vicious cycle. The workers also lack the formal education and social confidence to market their own products. We do not have an intermediary class to help to fulfil this vital function.

Zeinab creates an alternative culture in her workspace…

I do things differently in my workshop and pay the silversmiths a fixed salary. They also have health insurance. That is a big deal because the trade can be really tough on their health. I once wrote a research paper on this subject. If you want to keep the trade alive,  you have to invest in the workers and give them a living wage. It is also important to boost their morale because they work long hours. Our work is grueling. It is in my interest to keep them happy because it takes me a long time to train them. Now don’t get me wrong I have nothing against big factories that work with molds and depend on mass production. Jewelry making is a complex industry with a large global market. I am all for diversification. But my lifework is to enrich the tradition of handmade jewelry and to introduce innovations.

A new beginning in Zamalek…

The new gallery in Zamalek, a more cosmopolitan area in Cairo, gave me access to a larger international audience. This space is important to me because it is a living embodiment of my insistence on producing, exhibiting and marketing my own work. I have always been determined to take my fate into my own hands and not allow any merchant to exploit my talent. I have been equally determined to escape the stifling role of an iconic artist. That posh scene just isn’t for me! I am a humble woman who is serious about the craft and practice of her art. I want to be of service to the trade and to make a living. My aim has always been to immerse myself in the diverse traditions of Egyptian jewelry making and to borrow from Ancient Egyptian, Islamic, Bedouin, Nubian, peasant and Coptic motifs and to give them a surprising new twist.

Zeinab’s final reflections…

The decline of traditional workshops implies that there are fewer places for an apprentice to learn how to make hand-made jewelry. It is a shame. I consider myself an innovator whose work has been nourished by these traditional workshops. We cannot let all that just die out. You know, in the end, jewelry is a wearable art with a long history going all the way back to ancient Egypt. (Her voice softens.) We have a word in Egypt, dalal that captures the sophistication and sensuality of a woman wearing her jewelry. A well-designed piece of jewelry flows naturally with the body and can produce a playful flirtatious effect. A pair of bangles worn together, for instance, produce a jingling sound and signal a woman’s presence. It is a way of saying, “Look, I am here.”

But you know my lifework is not complete. I want to pass on my cumulative experiences to the younger generation. My dream is to establish an institute in Darb al-Ahmar, a district in the heart of old historic Cairo with a maze of alley ways, to train young men and women as traditional apprentices. The apprentices would be given instruction in design and encouraged to innovate, and to continuously revive the jewelry making tradition. A museum and gallery would ideally be attached to the institute in order to facilitate the exhibition and marketing of the handmade jewelry.

Reference:

Dalal: coquettishness, coddling spoiling. Tender or affectionate flirtation.

Hijâb al ra’s: A piece of jewelry, sometimes rectangular in shape, worn over a woman’s scarf containing Qur’anic verses for protection. It serves as an amulet.

Kirdan: A multi-tiered necklace sometimes containing multiple suspended pendants often worn by rural women.

Khan el-Khalili: A major market or souk in the heart of Islamic Cairo. It was built in 1382 by the Emir Jaharkas el-Khalili in Fatimid Cairo. The souk is an important tourist attraction.

Jihâz: A bride’s trousseau.

Mahr: Dowry. Payment or sum of money given by the groom or his family to the bride. In Egypt the payment is usually used by the bride’s family to purchase furniture or furnishings for the marital abode.

Makâna: Social standing or rank.

Mujâmala: Act of courtesy or civility. In Egypt the term is used to describe a woman who fulfills social obligations with a complimentary flair.

Musahhra: Necklace worn by a mother who has just delivered a baby. It is believed to prevent future infertility and functions as a protective amulet.

Gallery Noun: pronounced like the English word “noon”

Sabka: A gift traditionally given by a groom to his bride at the time of engagement or marriage. The sabka is most often a piece of jewelry, it can be a gold bracelet or a diamond ring depending on the economic circumstances and class position of the couple.

Usta: Term of respect used for a highly skilled craftsman

Warsha: Workshop

GINAN RAUF received a joint MA degree in Near Eastern and Judaic Studies and Women Studies from Brandeis University and a PhD in Comparative Literature from Harvard University. She has taught writing, oral history, Arabic, and comparative literature in institutions of higher learning in the United States and abroad including the American University in Cairo, Al-Quds Bard, the University of Connecticut, Rutgers and Brandeis. In addition to being a passionate educator, she is an avid art collector, community activist, oral historian, photographer and committed mom.

BHAVNA SINGH received her BFA in applied art and design from the College of Chandigarh in India. In 2001 she came to the United States where she continued to develop her skills as an artist, printmaker, book designer, print and digital graphic designer and curator. For the last ten years she has been freelancing as graphic designer and art instructor. Bhavna is currently working as a UXD designer in Citibank. In addition to her professional work, she has taken up the cause of graphic design, social media and digital promotion at the Art Center of Northern New Jersey in her capacity as a volunteer.

Acknowledgements:

Bhavna and I are both delighted that Zeinab Khalifa has generously shared her life story, unique experiences, vast knowledge and beautiful jewelry with us. As an avid collector of her work, I have watched Zainab grow as an artist, an entrepreneur, a friend and above all as a human being committed to her trade and forever remain grateful for her friendship and mindful of her handmade jewelry in Egypt and beyond.

Photography Credits: Jewelry Photos: Sheriff Rauf

Zeinab Khalifa, Pg 1: Nadine Khan