nº50 / 1:54 MARRAKESH 2020 / PART-I
What is behind the ochre wall? A three-day discovery at 1:54 Contemporary African Art Fair Marrakesh 2020. Interviews, reviews and the most prominent artists and art galleries of the last virus-free Art Fair.
Review by Zoltan Alexander
A VOYAGE THAT NEVER SHOULD HAVE ENDED
Interviews and featured galleries, artists by Zoltan Alexander
Interview with founder Touria El Glaoui of 1:54 Contemporary African Art Fair (London, New York, Marrakesh)
interview with gallery owner Nathalie Locatelli of Galerie 127 (Marrakesh)
Followed by a selection of satellite exhibitions throughout the city: Hassan Hajjaj and Ismail Zaidy at Riad Yima (Marrakesh), Eric van Hove at Voice Gallery (Marrakesh), Nicolas Lefebvre, Sara Imloul, David Daim (Paris) and Denis Dailleux (Cairo) at Galerie 127 (Marrakesh)
1:54 Marrakesh 2020 / © video by Zoltan Alexander ZOLTAN+MEDIA
I wonder if we have the right in our damaged society to enjoy beautiful moments and exceptions such as meeting artists, gallerists, curators and art lovers in order to guard against sentimentality. Maybe we should turn away from all known structures. What allows us to understand, to hope?
Writing about 1:54 is an easy job in London but not in Marrakesh. Whilst one could rigorously follow a short journalistic review format to cover art fairs, it is utterly impossible in Marrakesh; the mind wonders and breaks all known formats. The Fair is inseparable from the city and its people. The review turns into an ode.
No matter how many times you have visited Marrakesh, it will always make the heart beat faster. Upon arrival the hot air hits your face, the sun embraces the ochre city, the dusty pink, uni-colour buildings, the palm trees. It reflects on the pool of the Riads and makes Koutoubia Mosque solid red whilst the haunting muezzin invites you to pray.
The traffic noise drifts with the hypnotic Arabic music and goatskin-covered drums throughout the city. The air carries the steaming grills of fish, oil, burnt wood, a dizzying mix of citrus, magnolia and gasoline. In the narrow alleys of the Medina (the old city), one has to navigate cautiously between the crowd, stubborn donkeys, fast-speeding scooters, lost tourists, street performers and storytellers. Alongside the stores old men sitting in their traditional hooded caftans and fez accompanied by obedient pets and occasional tamed snakes.
When the night falls, you feel an opening up of life and most unusually stars appear in the clarity of the night sky.
The Moroccan circle, halqa, relies on storytelling, as well as improvisation and spontaneity. It has existed since the 11th century when Marrakesh was once a capital and medieval trading post. The city preserves the aesthetic glory of a forgotten time, it is magical, mesmerising and somewhere a bit dangerous as without noticing, it gets under your skin and you helplessly fall in love with its magic, never wanting to leave, it's a city that has seduced everyone from Winston Churchill to Yves Saint Laurent.
Marrakesh is timeless, mystical, musical and alluring. Moroccans have preserved forgotten centuries. Despite rapid modernisation, the Medina, surrounded with a 16km red wall, is an oasis. A city-in-a-city with its labyrinths, there are no signs of a fast-paced world or any high-fashion brands.
Guéliz (the new city), on the other hand, is radically different with its kaleidoscopic spectrum of culture, traditional and industrious market places, large buildings, noisy wide avenues from the French-era filled with Moroccan and European cafés. Restaurants, bars, as well as art galleries and mainstream fashion stores complement its European-style new architecture.
Further East of Marrakesh, La Palmeraie, could be another city with its waste-space and glorious palm-tree scenery, hidden luxury spas and private villas.
Marrakesh has been attracting artists for centuries. The city has recently been rediscovered as a cultural hub. Visitors do not come to see camels and belly dancers anymore; only the appallingly dressed tourists who do not pay much respect to others around them anyway.
As Bertolucci once described in his movie "Thé au Sahara":
"Whereas tourists merely pass through on a fixed schedule and hurry back home without taking the time to savour the details, travellers belong no more to one place than to the next, move slowly over a period of time, weeks, months, sometimes years, as the mood dictates. Travellers need never return." In that respect, I am a true traveller.
Maybe journalism should be similar, sentences conceived in their own time and rhythm, remote from impossible deadlines and rushed publishing. Maybe journalistic writing should be more like storytelling, personal, analytical, philosophical and fact-correct rather than a race. It's a language which is not fully ours yet. Our present time will tell.