Cover Gulnur Mukazhanova’s The Shadows of Hope: Yesterday’s Past, Today’s Present (2022-23) (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Art, and Textile)

This new exhibition focuses on the persisting nature of textiles and ornaments in Central Asian history and contemporary art

There’s a Central Asian tradition pre-dating the spread of Islam to the region which entails filling a triangular fabric pouch with soil from a child’s birthplace, and leaving it with the child for protection until they become an adult. The custom was born when Tengriism, a polytheistic Turkic mythological belief system characterised by an adherence to shamanism and animism, was prevalent.

“After the Islamic Khanate established rule in the region in the 10th century, the tradition became to enclose protective Quranic verses in the pouch instead. It’s called a tumar,” says 26-year-old Kazakh artist Daria Nurtaza, who goes by Kokonja. At the Centre for Heritage and Textile Arts (Chat) at The Mills, Hong Kong, Nurtaza wore a leather variation of the traditional amulet that she has had since childhood. She was in the city in March to showcase an artwork in Clouds, Power, Ornament—Roving Central Asia, the first exhibition on Central Asian textile art in the Greater China region, running until May 21.

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Above Nurtaza and Bazargali in front of their "Will There be Freedom Then? (Erkindik Bola ma Eken sol Kezde?)" (2023) (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

Nurtaza and her friend and collaborator, 22-year-old artist Medina Bazargali, created the installation Will There be Freedom Then? (Erkindik Bola ma Eken sol Kezde?) (2023) for the show. Essentially a yurt created from felt, the work sits in the centre of the exhibition, connecting the themes it seeks to explore. The exhibition is a collection of installations, videos, sculptures, robes and embroidered works by artists from across Central Asia, using textiles and craft as points of departure to explore the multilayered history and complex cultural identities of the region.

Clouds, Power, Ornament is co-curated by artist collective Slavs and Tatars—who write, create and curate work within Eurasia, which they define as all places east of the former Berlin Wall and west of the Great Wall of China—as well as Beijing-based curator You Mi, Almaty- based independent curator and researcher Alexandra Tsay, and Wang Weiwei, curator of exhibitions and collections at Chat.

Wang has long been interested in the region, particularly the cultural shifts experienced throughout the Soviet era and after the dissolution of the USSR. However, when she began organising the show, she found herself in unfamiliar territory, so she enlisted Slavs and Tatars, Mi and Tsay’s assistance. “I realised Central Asia is kind of a forgotten land for the modern world,” says Wang. “Later, I found out they have such a rich textile tradition with distinct materials and techniques, and I wanted to showcase this because we’ve [Chat] never done an exhibition with Central Asian artists.”

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Above Installation view of "Clouds, Power, Ornaments" at CHAT, The Mills (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

The first step in planning the exhibition involved pinning down the locations that are included as part of Central Asia. People generally think of the region as Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan, but it more broadly extends from the Caspian Sea in the west to the borders of China and Mongolia in the east, Afghanistan and Iran in the south,and Russia to the north. The second step was identifying a theme common both to the region and Hong Kong; for Wang, that was both places’ transient nature and confluence of western and eastern cultures. “It’s Eurasia in a way,” says Wang, referring to both Central Asia and Hong Kong, places that serve as “a crossroads or meeting point for different people from different cultures”.

Clouds, Power, Ornament is as diverse as the variety of Turkic and Asiatic cultures in Central Asia, and draws upon the work of multiple generations of primarily female artists. It explores, for instance, a reverence for enchanted objects that existed long before magic carpets and lamps inhabited by genies entered the global mainstream via Disney. Including artists from a range of eras reflects both changes in how they interpret the significance of preserving traditions based on their circumstances, and the changes in region before, during and since Soviet occupation. By including a wide range of creative practices, the show demonstrates the endurance of the region’s artistic and craft traditions throughout a conflict-ridden history.

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Saule Bapanova’s "Univers" (2012), (Photo: courtesy of CHAT (Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile) Hong Kong)
Above Saule Bapanova’s "Univers" (2012), (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)
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Guzel Zakir's "Monobrow" series (2022) (Photo: courtesy of CHAT (Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile) Hong Kong)
Above Guzel Zakir's "Monobrow" series (2022) (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

Tsay, who curated the Ornament section of the exhibition, says ornaments and textiles serve as metaphors for the region. “When I started to work with the concept of ‘ornament’, I realised it’s so multilayered, and we want to tackle all these different layers.” She deconstructs these layers and addresses what the definition of an ornament is and the power they hold, with each work revealing a different layer. She further emphasises the critical—sometimes minimised—role of women in preserving these traditions. Noting that women are often considered “ornamental” or purely decorative, Tsay wants to “flip around the way we address and think about ornamentation—it’s the exact opposite of being solely decorative”, she says.

Motifs derived from Central Asian mythology, both decorative and sacred, are visible across multiple works, including Saule Bapanova’s Univers (2012), which features a circular pattern inspired by a mythological symbol that represents infinity; and Guzel Zakir’s Monobrow series (2022), which celebrates unibrows— looked down upon by western culture but celebrated in traditional Persian and, later, other cultures as a symbol of fertility and beauty.

 

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A still from Kasmalieva's original 2001 "Farewell Song" (Photo: (Photo: courtesy of CHAT (Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile) Hong Kong)
Above A still from Kasmalieva's original 2001 "Farewell Song" (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

Gulnara Kasmalieva understood the nuanced power within these symbols, motifs and patterns from a young age. When she was five years old, she was taught embroidery in school, an experience she describes as peaceful and meditative. “I felt like it was something I could get lost in, something that was mine.” In her village during the summer, girls were taught how to embroider on carpets; each pattern had a specific meaning and typically offered protective blessings, usually meant for the girls’ families. “It’s similar to how the evil eye functions,” Kasmalieva says of the designs. “It’s very deep; there’s always a spiritual and sacral meaning.”

In her work on display in the exhibition, which she made with her husband and frequent collaborator artist Muratbek Djumaliev, this sacral meaning is visualised through the documentation of her 2001 performance Farewell Song. In the original performance, the artist sat on a stool with a spinning wheel behind her, with threads attached to the wheel woven into her hair, turning it into a sort of textile, representing a fabric that had absorbed centuries of cumulative experiences belonging to generations of women. At the end of the performance, Kasmalieva cut off her plaits in a gesture symbolising the need to reclaim the national traditions that were erased during Soviet occupation and reinterpret them within the context of societal collapse and the freedom to define new liberal ideals.

 

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Above Gulanara Kasmalieva and Muratbek Djulmaliev with the installation in Farewell Song (2001) (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

Across the region, there is a particularly strong emphasis on examining one’s roots and understanding them in relation to the complex nomadic and Islamic histories, as well as the legacy of Russian expansion and Soviet colonialism. While far younger than Kasmalieva, who grew up during Soviet rule, Bazargali shares Nurtaza’s affinity for the past, and was clad in her grandmother’s old velvet jacket covered in traditional Kazakh embroidery at the opening of the exhibition. Tradition is a constant presence in the artists’ creative practices and daily lives, and they adapt it to contemporary circumstances.

While Nurtaza is part of a line of craftswomen who felted, wove and sewed, she has never formally learnt how to work with fabrics, instead working intuitively with
felt to create the yurt. The interior consists of a sitting area with Kazakh folk music playing in the background and a screen showing more than 20,000 AI-generated images of ornaments. “There is a connection between algorithms and ornaments,” says Bazargali. Just as algorithms allow communication between people who speak different languages but know how to code, so too do ornaments bridge cultural gaps. Both are “a universal language, but [AI is] an incredibly invasive one.”

Bazargali explains that patterns and decorative ornaments function as symbols and messages—or in other words, a mode of communication. Traditionally, many decorative objects and textiles were made with sentimental motives by women. For instance, a child’s blanket might be imbued with protective properties by incorporating a prayer and message using specific patterns; women would send messages to their parents through textiles after getting married and moving away. In this way, patterns and symbols in the textiles become a form of code. “Ornaments have no alphabet, but the perception is sensorial,” says Nurtaza. “It’s a knowledge- making process; a non-traditional way of seeking and imparting information.”

 

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Above A look inside Bazargali and Kokonja’s yurt (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

While the work of well-known artist, Azerbaijan’s Faig Ahmed, isn’t included in the exhibition, the fact he is known for his large, over- the-top, glitchy carpets is another illustration of the significance of textiles as a communication method in Central Asian art, and that from the Caucasus region (southeastern Europe comprising Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan). “In his work, the carpet functions as a coded language,” says Nina Levent of Sapar Contemporary in New York. Levent and her co-founder Raushan Sapar initially opened the gallery to introduce Central Asian artists to the western art world. “Faig has this view of carpets as a source code for civilisation,” she says of pieces in which he produces incredibly old, traditional patterns that have persisted throughout history and become canonised through repetition and preservation. “But then there’s always a part of his work starts to look disrupted, as if it’s disintegrating—like there’s a glitch in the system.”

In this way, Ahmed’s work uses the idea of a carpet as a socio-political system, reflective of the Central Asian contemporary position at a unique nexus
of technological development, globalisation and a movement to reclaim traditions erased during Soviet rule. “It’s one thing to disrupt something you don’t understand; it’s another thing to innovate within something you understand deeply,” says Levent, adding that this is especially true for nomadic cultures, whose constant movement
triggers the need to preserve a sense of identity but also activates the need to adapt.“For Mongol or Kazakh cultures, those that have been nomadic for centuries, textiles are a way of carrying your culture: everything is rolled up and taken with you.”

 

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Faig Ahmed’s Yahya Bakuvi (2021) (Photo: courtesy of Sapar Contemporary)
Above Faig Ahmed’s Yahya Bakuvi (2021) (Photo: courtesy of Sapar Contemporary)

Asel Khadyrakhanova applies a literal interpretation to understanding textile as language in her discomfiting video Soz Joq /Speechless (2017), which is on view at Clouds, Power, Ornament. It highlights the linguistic and cultural changes that have been imposed on Kazakhstan throughout its history. It shows a word being stitched in Arabic; the stitches are taken out and stitched again in Roman letters; then the process is repeated again, this time resulting in Cyrillic text. The phrase
is then unpicked completely, but the scarring—both literally to the cloth by the needles, and the metaphorical disruption of history—remains.

Disrupting established historical narratives and reinterpreting them in the current climate is a common theme among the artists in the show. Robes on display made by Uzbek artists Dilyara Kaipova and Noolodin, in collaboration with artisans from the Fergana Valley in Uzbekistan, are a statement on globalisation. Kaipova’s kaftans often have contemporary symbols, such as the Batman logo and danger signs, arranged in a way that is reminiscent of traditional, often ikat-like designs. Ikat is a textile-patterning technique created by dyeing fabrics, which was developed and popularised in Indonesia, and spread via trade routes throughout the continent. “She interrogates traditional patterns but launches a conversation about contemporary symbols,” says Levent, who represents Kaipova.

 

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Above Gulnur Mukazhanova in front of The Shadows of Hope: Yesterday’s Past, Today’s Present (2022-23) (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

Gulnur Mukazhanova also addresses the nexus of tradition and modernity in the context of globalisation and industrialisation. The Kazakhstan native adds an East Asian twist to The Shadows of Hope: Yesterday’s Past, Today’s Present (2022–23), a large installation occupying the main halls of The Mills. In this work, she both bridges and disconnects different fabrics and ornamental elements through technique and conception. The first of two fabric panels is a collage made from cut-outs of textiles sourced from Hong Kong, alluding to the city’s previously robust textile industry. The second part is a textile abstract painting crafted by traditional Kazakh means from hand-felted wool. Mukazhanova’s tactile work serves as a metaphor for the transition of craft and culture from an old, localised practice to a globalised, modern one.

 

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Above Kaipova's ikat inspired robes at CHAT (Photo: courtesy of Centre for Heritage, Arts and Textile)

Younger generations of Central Asian creators like Nurtaza and Bazargali are finding themselves in the position of having to reinterpret and redefine culture. “In traditional culture, the ornament had its own meaning, it was its own language,” says Nurtaza of the many traditions and customs that were stamped out during Soviet occupation. “What we are trying to reproduce now can’t [give them] the same role they used to, but we need to tackle the disappearance of all these things.”

Reinterpreting tradition in these unexpected ways means it is being protected. While rugs and embroidery were once vessels designed to carry tradition forward, there are now more creative and technological means by which artists can express their traditions and cultures. As Levent puts it, these artists hold a significant cultural position and play a crucial role in preserving their heritage by “working at the intersection of tradition and modernity; at the intersection of arts, crafts, and design. They come to innovate within a tradition that is centuries old, having understood this tradition but also their current circumstance.”

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