Moayad Lingga: The ‘archi-visualist’
Moayad Lingga: The ‘archi-visualist’
A self-taught carpenter, he finds gratification in working with wood as his main material, add metal welding to the project and he considers it also a learning experience. As a carpenter, he has enjoyed opportunities “to work first hand on a number of design-build community projects,” for the past five years. In addition, he has had the luxury of building his own furniture for his studio. Lingga sets himself apart from others by being completely hands-on from start to finish of a project. In contrast to other artists who might send their concepts to fabrication shops to be made, he explains, “I tend to create, and fabricate my own art.” This is evident from his documented work which is available to view on his website www.moalingga.com.
In an interview with Arab News, architect Moayad Lingga lays out what architecture means to him, how he creates art to tell his story, and the reception his work receives.
First, what inspires you?
Most of my work inspiration comes from everyday scenes of modern daily life, though I tend to highlight controversial ideas that initiate conversation. These arguments are usually both positive and negative and the vibe that they create end up fueling me to produce the next controversial work.
You began sketching floor plans at the age of nine. What about architecture that captured your attention and not to mention dedication?
Frank Lloyd Wright once said, “Every great architect is — necessarily — a great poet. He must be a great original interpreter of his time, his day, his age.” Architecture is a form of art that I have always wanted to master because historically architecture represented nations, cultures, and religions. Nothing is more powerful than designing a structure, which tells a story about itself without the need of human narration.
When I was little I used to redecorate my bedroom at least once every couple of months by moving the bed and my desk around. I found it very refreshing and entertaining to have the freedom to basically live whatever lifestyle I was into. Sometimes I had my bed next to a sunny window, or moved it away so the sun would not bother me.
I grew up wanting to design and build for others. A while ago, my ultimate dream was to have the challenge of an empty room with a description of a style and a limited budget to design, build, and decorate. That dream came true in 2013 when I was commissioned by a close friend in the States to completely redesign his small restaurant with a budget of only $500 and a time frame of two weeks. I was able to create what I would call satisfying results with that limited budget. From that point, my next ultimate dream got bigger, and it is now to design and build a whole office space or company.
You explain that your work is a reflection of the story of who you are and where you come from. Why did you choose carpentry to deliver this message?
Carpentry is a skill set and a powerful tool if one can take advantage of it. Most, if not the majority, of my art projects were done by hand from recycled or trashed wood that was found thrown away in recycling bins or on the street.
When living in a place like Portland, Oregon (the greenest city in the States) wood is one of the primary materials used everywhere. This results in a lot of discarded left over or trashed wood despite being in good condition. I spent the last few years getting to know the different types of wood while working with a lot of different types to master the skill and to be able to come up with my own techniques to build anything. I find wood as a material beautifully appealing and it carries a weight (literally) of the idea of the project.
Also, what drew you to Islamic art specifically?
Personally, I believed that the best way to represent who I am and where I came from is through expressing my endless addiction to Islamic patterns as seen while growing up in Roshan of Al-Mashrabya in the old houses of the Al-Balad area in Jeddah.
I was able to incorporate a similar geometric style used in a recent project called “The Other Mehrab,” which allowed Westerners to be immersed in the shadow of Islamic patterns when standing inside of the Mehrab.
Which do you feel expresses your message the most, your Islamic woodwork or your graphics?
A mixture of both; even though I dislike to be titled one thing over the other, but every project starts with a sketch on paper, then graphically designed on the computer in 2D to 3D. Finally, I make the actual project out of whatever material best represents the idea.
This leads me to talk about titles. Whether I do carpentry, sculptures, graphic design, film, or architecture I prefer to be called just an artist. Metaphorically, I think all small acts in our daily lives from eating to talking are considered art. Humans were created to always strive to master at least one or two and try to be good at the rest. Therefore, I think of everyone as a born artist, and I think kids should be reminded/motivated to be artists in their lives.
The shows and exhibitions you have participated in have been mostly in America. How has your Eastern and Islamic influenced artwork been received by Western audiences?
First of all, I find myself lucky to have exhibited in American exhibitions, but it is unfortunate that I was never able to exhibit my work in Saudi even after endless tries.
Westerners have always been very curious about the Eastern world. So whenever foreign artwork is exhibited they tend to want to learn about the personal, cultural, political, and often the religious aspects of the work. They show excitement and acceptance, which I find very comforting to any artist because it allows the artist to work without limits or boundaries to the their ideas no matter how difficult it is to be accepted sometimes.
Please tell us about Tarajom.
Tarajom is the art of recollecting important values from the past and presenting them in a modern way. It started as a series of art pieces, each one talked about a part of my history but in a metaphorical sense shaped in an old saying, “idiom.” These designs were first created on the computer, than laser cut on wood. After receiving a large amount of feedback, I decided to print these designs on shirts. My plan was to use the shirts as canvases for my art to be displayed everywhere all the time instead of a singular wooden piece in a singular gallery. So far, I have over 15 different designs and counting. The end goal is to establish Tarajom as an international brand where my art can be sold and be a larger umbrella for young artist collaboration.
What do you feel you have to offer to the thriving Saudi art community?
It is definite that the Saudi art community is in continuous growth, as I can see from social media. I have not worked nor presented my work in Saudi so my expectations are almost unexpected. But to be completely fair, whenever I post a picture of a wooden piece on Instagram, I receive many private messages from people asking what my major is and if this is part of the practice for that major. This indicates to me a percentage of people who are willing to get rough and dirty working in a shop for the sake of making something meaningful and dear to them.
Who have been your biggest supporters?
My biggest supporter is my father, Dr. Marwan Lingga. My father was a big part of my inspiration to work with my hands. Even though my family is always supporting me physically, economically, and emotionally, my father gives me the hardest time due to his continuous constructive criticism. We may have our differences and ways of seeing the world today, but he tends to criticize my work for the sake of pushing me to do better and to rework the idea to make it stronger. Aside from family, my close friends, loved ones, and people who follow my journey are strong supporters.
Email: [email protected]
Cirque du Soleil in Saudi Arabia: The perfect tribute to a rich culture
- Crique du Soleil created a spectacular show in Riyadh
- They paid tribute to Saudi culture and heritage
RIYADH: The circus — a place that is almost synonymous with joy and delight. Since time immemorial, circuses have been places of celebration and glee, and few as much as the premier name in the industry: Cirque du Soleil.
The show has had a devoted fan in me since 2006, when I attended a performance of their production “Quidam” and my definition of the word “circus” was turned upside-down. Their unique approach to art, performance, costumes and music has secured their status as a household name and a benchmark for all other circus shows to be measured against.
On Sunday night, Saudi Arabia’s National Day, the circus brought their incredible acrobatics to Riyadh’s King Fahad Stadium and it turned out to be a night to remember.
Prior to the event, Cirque’s Vice President of Creation Daniel Fortin offered little in the way of spoilers but hinted that we would see something the likes of which we never had before. With the promises of exclusive new acts, music, costumes and stage tricks piquing my excitement, I joined a throng of green-and white-clad spectators flooding the stadium. Performing to a sold-out crowd, the show kicked off at exactly 8.30 p.m. and the magic truly began.
Barely five minutes into the show, something stole over me as I settled into the rhythm of the music, something I saw flickering over the faces of those in the crowd around me: Recognition. We were seeing ourselves, our identity, echoed back at us, but with a twist. We saw ourselves through someone else’s eyes — someone respectful and admiring.
As a Saudi youth today, it has become an unfortunately common occurrence to face negativity from various outsiders, born of ignorance or fear. It has become dreary and repetitive to have to continually defend my people and my culture from those who have no wish to understand us.
But at this show? I saw my country once more through the eyes of an outsider, but this time, it was different. I saw my culture and my heritage lauded, celebrated, delicately fused with that tangible Cirque du Soleil flair. The attention to detail was careful, almost loving, but also daring and outlandish. It was a glorious fusion of classic Saudi aesthetics with the ethereal, bizarre beauty of Cirque du Soleil.
The symbolism was not always obvious, sometimes it was subtle, constrained to the beat of a drum or hidden in a snatch of song. Other times, it was blatant and bold, in the sloping hump of an elegantly clumsy camel costume, or the billowing of the Bedouin Big Top in the gentle breeze. And yet, unmistakeably, I felt the Saudi influences in every note of the performance. It felt like an homage, and yet it did nothing to diminish its own identity. It remained unquestionably a Cirque du Soleil performance, only below the usual circus frippery, there was a ribbon of something else that lay coiled beneath the surface. Something bright, vibrant green. Saudi green.
The spectacle rounded off with an astonishing display of fireworks, so plentiful that for a moment, the sky glowed bright as day. To me, each one felt like a promise fulfilled. A dream achieved. A miracle witnessed. Here, on my own home soil, it was the perfect tribute to a rich and vivid culture.