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Despite their complexity, Islamic geometric patterns typically fall under one of three primary categories: Fourfold, fivefold or sixfold patterns. These pattern types are based on the internal lines of symmetry found within them. When starting a pattern, a circle is drawn. This circle is then split into equal parts and depending on the number of these parts, either four, five or six, different distinctive characteristics appear. Generally speaking, one can tell the class the pattern falls into from the number of petal-shaped pieces which surround the central ‘starburst’, and the grid in which it resides. A star with six rays, or visually surrounded by six ‘petals’, belongs in the sixfold category. Sixfold patterns fit within a hexagonal grid. A star surrounded by eight ‘petals’ is part of the fourfold category – these exist on a regular squared grid.
Unlike with sixfold’s grid of hexagons, and fourfold’s grid of squares, pentagons – the shape derived from fivefold patterns – cannot form a grid from itself alone. Instead, other shapes must be added to allow for tessellations to occur. These patterns may seem far more complex. However, when broken down into its primary elements, they are relatively easy to follow.
“Geometry is really a universal language, everyone can – and does – relate to it instinctively,” he said. “There is a joy to be had in starting with a blank piece of paper and to draw lines and circles and end up with a pattern that is recognizable and beautiful. This process connects you very directly to a design heritage.”
Eric Broug
Islamic designs are typically built from an array of circles and squares, replicated, overlapped and interweaved, forming highly detailed, complex patterns. Despite these patterns often appearing different, with alterations varying in form and colouring, there are recurring motifs throughout.
The star, a regular geometric shape, and a motif central to many Islamic decorations, is significant for its symbolism. In Islamic iconography, the star illustrates equal radiation in all directions, arising from a central point. Within the Quran, the only visualization of Allah was a reference to light. It was said that “God is the light of the heavens and earth”. Thus it was only natural for stars, located in the ‘heavens’, and producing light that could be seen from earth, to attain such symbolic authority. These stars not only feature in Islamic patterns which decorate sacred structures, but also illuminate the pages of sacred texts.
In patterns, all stars, whether they are 6, 8, 10, 12, or 16 pointed, are formed from a circle, proportionally divided into equal parts. The centre of the star is also the centre of the circle, the base of its creation – where each vertex of the star meets the circle at its circumference. This circle, like the star, plays a meaningful symbolic role, with multiple religious connotations. Circles are one of the oldest geometric symbols, and throughout history have come to be used to represent unity, perfection and infinity, to name a few. Without a beginning or an end, the circle emphasises the one true god – Allah – who is infinite. Taking this a step further, the rays of the star are drawn outward, – formed from the circle – and are symbolic of the spread of Islam.
At the beginning of Islam – commonly dated by scholars to the 7th century – the first Muslims inhabited the deserts of modern-day Saudi Arabia. There they lived, and relied upon the aid of stars when navigating both desert and sea. Stars were also vital for Muslims in the act of prayer – the second pillar of Islam – better known as Salah. They were used to find the direction of al-Qiblah, from within the constellation they called al-Rakabah (using what is otherwise referred to as the north star and the little dipper), in order to distinguish the correct orientation for prayer. As a result of this practice within Islam, which had great significance in the lives of early Muslims, it is therefore no surprise that the motif became so central within the Islamic aesthetic – not to mention its geometric ties.
These shapes, together, with other forms of polygons, form complicated patterns with multiple symmetries, reflections and rotations. Such patterns are perceived as mathematical tessellations, which have the innate capacity to extend endlessly, and are thus capable of conveying infinity. Geometry has long been affiliated to the metaphysical, and was introduced to the world long before the establishment of Islam. By definition, geometry is a branch of mathematics, that focuses on exploring the affinity between shapes and space. Historically, this first became evident in the period between 2,000BCE and 1,000BCE, when the Egyptian and Mesopotamian civilisations existed. The Greeks, who the Muslims studied, also displayed mathematical acuity. They too came to associate the perfection of geometry with divinity.
Islamic ornaments – defined as the use of decorative patterns – feature within the framework of Islamic art, and can be broadly grouped into three fundamental categories:
– Geometric patterns consist of a collection of shapes, repeated and altered – that conform to geometric principles – which result in a strict cohesive design.
– Curving plant-based elements – the arabesque – is based on rhythmic linear patterns.
– Calligraphy, presenting religious scripture fashioned in a stylised approach, is employed decoratively, as well as being a tool to impart knowledge.
These three ornaments are often found working together, in elaborate interlacing compositions, on different scales, and across many forms (examples include mosaic, stucco, brickwork, and ceramics).
Islamic art has, throughout history, largely opposed the creation of images. The exclusion of figurative images has been a direct result of the aniconism deeply rooted within Islamic culture. Despite not explicitly prohibiting human depiction in the Qur’an – believed to be the literal words of God, and the theological basis of Islam – the Hadith however, which presents the words and deeds of the Prophet Muhammad, clearly expresses a strong dislike for it.
If one were to create a figurative representation of man or god, this is considered an attempt to compete with God’s brilliance. This is particularly evident in an ancient Islamic edict, which states that “painters will be among those whom God will punish most severely on the Judgement day for imitating creation”. Idolatry is not permitted.
Given these constraints, and the potential fate of those who consider defying them – it is no surprise that Islamic artistic vocabulary leans towards abstract forms of expression – far more than many other cultures. Exploring non-figural art, geometric patterns and other Islamic ornaments were the most effective approach to conforming to religious scriptures, whilst still presenting magnificence.
It is undisputed that, in life, art is the mirror of culture, reflecting upon the beliefs and views of those who produce it. In this respect, the art of the Islamic world reflects both the cultural values of the religion, and the perceived view Muslims have over the universe and the spiritual realm. Within Islam, everything is attributed to the work of Allah, and all reality begins with, and centres on, Allah. In this sense, Islamic art serves to represent the spirituality surrounding the subject, instead of its physical qualities, in order to form a bridge, and in this way allow viewers to become closer to Allah. Through expansive surfaces, dressed in complex geometric patterns, Muslim artisans effectively articulate the language of the universe, and provide the means to cleanse both body and soul.
In my main degree, Architecture, I often have to make models of buildings and designs. With this comes a lot of waste. Now, whilst much of this waste is recyclable, including the materials used in this piece, I thought it would be far more interesting to create something from it. The idea for this piece of work just came to me, but, on reflection, I find it reminds me of Cornelia Parker’s Exploding shed. In her work, she hung the surviving pieces of a shed which had been exploded, courtesy of the British Army, and used a single lightbulb to cast fragmented shadows across the gallery walls.
Within my own work, I’ve layered the shapes and occasionally stuck them to mini platforms to add a sense of dimension and chaos, so to speak. Like that of Parker’s work, light in these final photographs plays a key role. Though on a far smaller scale, Its use here effectively casts interesting shadows, drawing attention to the layers I’ve built up and the depth created.
In today’s world, where consumerism is embedded into almost all world economies – and not just in developed countries, but now a global phenomenon – packaging, and it as waste, has become a global issue.
In the span of a year, over 300 million tons of plastic are produced. Of this, roughly 50% is for single-use purposes. Single-use plastics, employed in numerous products, across many industries, are synonymous with waste – often utilized for mere moments. It’s impossible to ignore the detrimental effects of such on our environment, occurring on a global scale. According to Plastic Oceans, an international non-profit organization, an estimated 10 million tons of plastic are dumped into our oceans annually.
The first man-made plastic was introduced to the world in 1862, in the Great International Exhibition in London, by Alexander Parkes. The metallurgist and inventor from Birmingham created what he named Parkesine. Derived from cellulose, the bio-based substance could be moulded to any shape when hot, and when it cooled, it hardened, retaining its shape. Despite discovering one of the most important materials ever created, he never found his fortune here. He did, however, spark the minds of countless inventors who, over time, worked relentlessly, perfecting formulas, and adapting the material, allowing it to become the most widespread building compound in the world.
The 20th century stood witness to a revolution in plastic production. Within a number of decades, plastic quickly gained popularity and, as an industry, increased in size dramatically. Being an affordable, yet highly desirable, material, its presence and application in the daily lives of people around the globe grew exponentially.
In the food industry, it became vital. The material was not only cheap and versatile but also worked effectively in storing food – allowing produce to travel further and stay on the shelves for longer. In time, we grew not only to appreciate this, but to expect the convenience it provided. Thus, as global demand grew, food systems became less local. Greater amounts of food became processed and the packaging industry, in tandem, had to develop in order to keep up, and keep food fresh tasting and edible. Whilst packaging is essential to meet the needs of people, and accounts for a huge proportion of global trade, it holds little concern for the environment – on which it has such a significant impact.
Despite plastics clearly being a problem at the end of their life, it’s important to state that at almost every stage of their lifecycle, including their production and refinement, greenhouse gases are emitted.
In this collection, which I’ve titled ‘Trash’, I’ve taken a series of casts of plastic food packaging from products that I’d bought, ate and went on to discard. Completed in plaster of Paris, they seek to represent the lasting impression that plastic has within our environment, lasting for several hundred years (post disposal), juxtaposing its incomparably short working-life. In doing so, this acts as a continuation and development of my earlier work on party poppers.
Visually, I have to credit Rachel Whiteread, who I’ve studied in the past. I’ve always admired the simplicity of her work, and her considerate treatment of her subjects. Her work, typically in the form of casts, endeavour to highlight and expose what’s not present – making the invisible visible, often taking an impression of the space that surrounds an object.
Sadly, my custom lampshade is no longer with us. After being destroyed accidentally, I wanted to commemorate it. In this piece, I wanted to draw the attention of the viewer to the functionality of the lampshade – which in all 49 of these lamps (and lampshades), remains the same. Despite its looks, which made it stand out of the crowd, it performs the same as any of these.
Similar to my previous work on the poppers, I wanted to create two GIFs to accompany the final piece. Simple as they are, beside each other, they effectively illustrate the differences in how light is perceived between the original and my altered form.
In retrospect, this piece isn’t as finely in tune with the found object brief as you would imagine, particularly where the lampshade is concerned. Instead of altering the lampshade itself, I’ve removed it and fashioned a new one altogether. In this context, light itself acts as the found object, altered accordingly through the creation of alternative pathways.
At the beginning, when I was exploring possible ‘found objects’, I was really interested in working with something that I could remove from its natural state, alter and adapt, and then place it, back it where it had been. In doing so, I aim to highlight the role of the object, however mundane that is.
In my case, I chose a rather shoddy bedside light, and through refabricating its lampshade, I aimed to conceive a new and unconventional form, creating new pathways for the light to travel down. The original lampshade, a drum lampshade, is completed in a ductile plastic, wrapped with fabric and held together by two circular wires that form at each end. Light is primarily released from the top and bottom, effectively illuminating the surrounding area, whilst also protecting human eyes from the direct glare of the bulb. In my alteration, it was important that whatever form it would take, it should adhere to these basic principles.
My alteration…
I decided early on that I would create it using modelling card, and that I wanted it to take on a ‘sculptural’ appearance – one that would juxtapose with its original, orthodox form.
To do this I began by cutting an abstract shape, and, one by one, added more pieces together, forming the base to the 3 dimensional structure, and then I started working upwards. Despite being a collection of fragmented geometric shapes, I could see an organic form coming together – one that reflected the tree-like framework. This was not intentional, but I embraced it nonetheless. Over the course of its construction, each shape had to be cut one at a time, often taking measurements mid-air which posed difficulties in ensuring accuracy. As a whole, the process was long and tedious, often having to re-cut shapes multiple times to assure that they could fit together snuggly.
In its finished state, I really like how it turned out. I think it would be interesting to see what it could look like in other materials, and how each of those could/ would affect the ‘experience’. Such materials might include coloured glass, metal or perhaps wood. Technically, with this form completed, replicas could be easily made, taking measurements from the shapes already custom-made.
The work included in this blog post is a continuation of the last. To accompany the manual and poster, which relies upon graphics alone to communicate the idea, I wanted to model the product itself. Using 3D modelling software known as Rhino, I’ve created what I imagine to be the packaging of my product, SPRÄNGA, which in Swedish translates to “BLAST”. In this rendering, the product features 100 party poppers, to be bought for any occasion. The packaging, much like that of most Ikea products, is simple and to the point. This packaging would of course be entirely recyclable, minus the plastic film which would wrap around it.
Above, using the modelled party poppers, I’ve outlined the simple steps once again. Applying a silver rendering, in an attempt to add to depth.
