Figure 1: A Young Prince and a Dervish
Figure 2: Label accompanying the image
The object that I have chosen to examine is an image titled ‘A Young Prince and a Dervish’. (Figure 1) It is displayed in the permanent collections of the Agha Khan Museum in Toronto. Little to no information beyond its name, geographic origins and the approximate year of its creation are listed on the description that accompanies it. (Figure 2) This is not an object that catches the visitor’s eye; indeed, at the time of the review, it was displayed on a side wall, with poor lighting, almost as an afterthought. Yet, I argue in this essay that it is this very lack of attention to it that belies the real importance of the object- the easy visual recognition it provides to the viewer as a distinct object with an Islamic[1] past. This quantitative reinforcement of the magnitude of the collection, through the display of objects that would otherwise not serve as an attraction on their own, is instrumental to the Agha Khan museum’s assertion of the ownership, as well as a dedication to preservation and maintenance, of artifacts from Islam’s past. The display of the control over these objects serves an ideational purpose- it validates the Agha Khan museum’s (and by extension, the Ismaili school of thought) claim to being a primary contender to represent Islam in the modern world. I begin with an analysis of the image itself, move on to an analysis of the material used in its creation, and conclude by positing that the image’s significance lies in the role it plays in helping the Agha Khan museum cultivate a specific, deliberate representation of themselves as caretakers, and therefore representatives, of Islam’s pasts and presents.
The image itself is rich in details. As the title suggests, the depiction is centered around a prince and a dervish. The prince appears engrossed in a book, while the dervish’s gaze is focused squarely on the prince. Quite noticeable is the absence of hair which serves two distinct purposes for the prince and the dervish respectively. For the prince, the absence of facial hair indicates his innocence and youthfulness. Indeed, the figure of the prince evokes the both the historical persona as well as the literary trope of the moon-faced youth. (Ridgeon 2012) For the dervish, the absence of any hair indicates his piety and renunciation of social norms. In terms of attire, the image is honest to the social conventions prevalent at the time of the painting- the prince is wearing colorful clothing with appropriate headgear whereas the dervish is dressed relatively simply in white. Further, prominent on the dervish is an animal skin (pūst) draped over his right shoulder while he slings his staff (ʾaṣā) over the left shoulder with the begging bowl (kashkūl) attached to it. We can also make out what appears to be a felt hat (tāj) and a short axe (tabarzīn) hanging from the belt. Indeed, the only thing out of place for this dervish is that he is fully clothed. All the objects on his person, otherwise, align fully with those of a qalandar. (Karamustafa 2007; 2015)
It is not clear what the relationship between the prince and the dervish is. Is this a regular interaction between these two where the prince is officially under the tutelage of the dervish? Or is the dervish officially under the prince’s patronage? Perhaps this is a chance encounter and the dervish has simply provided the book to the prince so that the prince may acquire a moral lesson that will serve him in good stead later. The prince’s person appears elevated above that of the dervish- this can be contrasted with the other depictions where the royalty is thrust into prominence by virtue of the miniature size of their audience. Enlargement, not elevation, serves as a marker of social status. It is possible that the elevation instead of the enlargement of the prince was a conscious choice and illustrates the transient and flexible nature of the social roles themselves. Regardless of how we view the ontology of the relationship between the two figures, what cannot be dismissed is the close proximity in which the prince and the dervish appear as well as the anxiety that the image poses for the curator. The image is successful in portraying both roles as intertwined, but the ambiguous nature of the relationship allows the viewer to speculate over the level of intertwinement.
A brief mention of the other aspects of the image is in order- namely, the landscape and the objects that dot it. The depiction of the image in a natural landscape is in conformance with established themes in medieval Persian art. Floral motifs adorn the matte and the landscape itself is also dotted with a variety of flora. A lone flask evokes the presence of wine, a common literary trope in both Persian art and literature. These objects, along with the figures discussed above, combine with the miniature style of painting prevalent from Turkey to India[2], to evoke distinctly Islamic associations in the viewer’s mind.
Beyond the overtly distinguishing miniature style of painting, there is not much in the image that could stand on its own. Thus, to inquire into why it is displayed at all, I turn towards the manner in which it is displayed. The image is found towards the very end of the permanent collection. It is lumped under a section titled ‘Northern Iran’. It shares a small wall with an image from the divan of Sanaʾi. Such an illustrious image as a neighbour only serves to further highlight the lack of information we have about the image that is the focus of this essay. The lightning in this section is dim to prevent a diversion of the viewer’s attention from either the main display area in the middle of the room or the main sidewalls where individual lights illuminate other more prominent images[3]. These curatorial choices lend credence to the argument that the only redeeming aspect of the image, at least according to the curators, is that it is visually identifiable as an adequate representative of medieval Persian art. Beyond such a recognition, the content or the materiality of the image is irrelevant or else it would have been highlighted either in the description of the image or in the manner in which the image was displayed.
The placement of the object in the museum is best read in conjunction with the wider politics of representation within which the Agha Khan group operates. The immediate visual recognition that the image provides is critical to the overarching aim of the Agha Khan museum. If we accept Flood’s (2002) argument that museums serve to reinforce and uphold state ideology, then we can view a museum with religious motivations as laying claim to a specific kind of religious interpretation, visible broadly through both its content- the objects that it catalogues and displays- as well as the form- the manner in which they are displayed. In this light, the Agha Khan museum appears to be vying to be a, if not the, primary representative- contemporaneously through the museum and historically through the objects displayed in the museum- of the Islamic traditions. This claim can be reinforced by the heralding of the museum as the first Islamic art museum in North America in popular press[4]. For the Agha Khan group that funds the museum, such pioneering activity is not unusual. Even as they make up a tiny minority of the Islamic population globally, their philanthropy, outreach and social programs all identify broadly with ideals of Islamic charity[5]. Thus, the museum is but one similar extension of this politics of global representation. The group is therefore no different than any of its competitors that includes states such as the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Islamic Republic of Iran to militia such as ISIS and Al-Qaeda. Though the aforementioned groups differ significantly in both the motivations of representation as well as the methods through which they engage with each other as well as the external world, they all share a preference for the deployment of symbols that can be easily identified with the tradition that is being laid claim to. The distinctly Persian style of the image makes it perfect to be deliberately deployed in service of such a normative claim. There is nothing interesting or unique about the image that deserves separate, individualized recognition. However, as the Agha Khan museum recognizes, it is the memory of a specific past that the image evokes in the viewer that nonetheless makes it valuable for any collector to hold on to.
Bibliography
Flood, Barry F. 2002. “Between Cult and Culture: Bamiyan, Islamic Iconoclasm and the Museum.” The Art Bulletin 84 (4): 641-659.
Karamustafa, Ahmet T. 2015. “Antinomian Sufis.” In The Cambridge Companion to Sufism, by Lloyd Ridgeon, 101-124. New York: Cambridge University Press.
—. 2007. God’s Unruly Friends. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press.
[1] I use the words Islam and Islamic as an overarching category within which a variety of traditions are subsumed. I use the term descriptively, and it is best understood as an encompassing and dynamic category.
[2] See F. R. Martin’s The Miniature Painting and Painters of Persia, India and Turkey from the 8th to the 18th Century (London: Holland Press, 1968)
[3] It could be argued that the curatorial choice, coupled with the contents of the image, actually serves to disguise an anxiety insofar as representations of the relationship between the dervish and the moon-faced youth are concerned. Such an argument is perfectly valid on its own, but due to the restrictions on length in this paper, I do not pursue this argument here.
[4] See The Guardian’s ‘Agha Khan Museum: North America finally gets a home for Islamic Art’ from September 16th, 2014
[5] See the official Agha Khan Development Network factsheet for more details.
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