#queer muslim

#MuslimArt | #Ramadan2016: Ultimi due giorni di Ramadan e penultimo post di questa breve serie dedicata alle opere africane e diasporiche influenzate dall'Islam.

Dal sajjada al velo, dalla khamsa alla calligrafia, le/gli artiste/i riprendono diversi elementi della tradizione islamica nei loro lavori, offrendo occasioni di dialogo non solo su temi religiosi ma anche sociali, culturali ed identitari.

Oggi continuiamo con BISMILLAH, dell'artista sudafricano IGSHAAN ADAMS.

Artista multidisciplinare, Ighsaan Adams ha trovato nell'arte un senso d'identità, riflettendo nelle sue opere il proprio vissuto di persona ’coloured’ nel Sud Africa post-apartheid, di persona omosessuale e di persona musulmana cresciuta da una nonna cristiana.

In ogni suo lavoro, queste sfaccettature identitarie vengono incanalate nel processo creativo; e l'Islam, più delle altre, appare costantemente nelle creazioni dell'artista, dando modo ad Adams di raccontare la sua storia personale attraverso l'utilizzo di metafore artistiche.

Nella performance Bismillah (“In Nome di Dio”), Igshaan Adams inscena la propria morte, e il padre – con cui ha avuto da giovane un rapporto conflittuale – prepara il figlio alla sepoltura secondo il rito funebre islamico: lava e profuma il corpo dell'artista, e lo avvolge in tre sudari bianchi.

La morte e le cure amorevoli ricevute rappresentano la fine del risentimento provato da Adams nei confronti del padre, e la rinascita, frutto del perdono, del rapporto tra Adams padre e figlio.

«The performance has allowed me to fully forgive my father and cleanse me from my negative feelings towards him. Following the first performance, I truly understood what the Bible means with ‘forgive and forget.’ I was able to forgive my father and felt a feeling of rebirth and renewal.»

‪#‎MuslimArt‬ | ‪#‎Ramadan2016‬: A pochi giorni dalla fine del Ramadan, continuiamo la serie dedicata all'arte ispirata dalla fede islamica.

Oggi però non condividiamo un lavoro di un'artista africana, ma un volto diasporico all'interno del progetto fotografico JUST ME AND ALLAH: un lavoro della fotografa pakistana-canadese SAMRA HABIB, che da voce alla comunità LGBTQ musulmana in Nord America e in Europa.
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LEILA, Berlino.

«[…] I am a blackarab, meaning that my mum is North African from Algeria and my dad is Caribbean. I didn’t grow up Muslim, as we were practicing Buddhism with my dad. My mum used to fast during the month of Ramadan and it’s the only time we practiced Islam. Even though my mum was born in a Muslim family, politic of assimilation in France was running the life of people with a Muslim background while she was growing up.

I have always been a spiritual person and the first time I got to know a bit more about Islam was when I was 16. I was in the library and picked up the Qu'ran and read the French translation. I read it in three weeks. I talked to my Muslim aunty about it and she gave me some books about the life of our beloved Prophet Mohammad (sws). I started reading more and more about Islam and fell in love with it. When I was 20, I decided to become a Muslimah. I started wearing the hijab when I was 25. That was a big decision, especially in an Islamophobic country like France. I am a social worker and a special needs educator and it became a struggle to find a job in Paris. My life in France became hell on earth.

As time passed, my hijab was more than a symbol of faith, it became a symbol of resistance and a political symbol. My hijab is political, my hijab is resistance. I am covered in tattoos so when people see me with a hijab, they’re always shocked. Some non-Muslims like to tell me that I shouldn’t have tattoos or dress this way. They’re becoming the Mufti of Paris. I just want to say “it’s between me and Allah!”
[…]
Since a young age I knew that I was queer and to be honest it never caused me any problems, maybe because I didn’t mention it and it was not even necessary. I started asking myself questions growing up in my Muslim community. When you hear things from people that you share the same faith with who reject a part of you, it hurts.

Being queer and Muslim is not a disease. We are lacking a safe space for us. We are meeting up a lot in really small groups but it’s still not enough. Some of us are scared and it’s not easy.
[…]
My dream would be to create a space for young queer people of color. A space where they can be themselves and grow up feeling proud with no guilt or no crap like that.»