Widad Kawar is pushing 80 and still collecting. 'My kids think I have a problem and that I need to stop,' she said. 'I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it is insecurity. But either way, I don't think I'll ever stop now.'
We sat in her large home in central-west Amman, and whichever way I looked, I could see at least 20 objects I wanted to squat to see, squint to examine, or stretch to touch. Each and every piece had a certain beauty and some kind of meaning.
Since the age of 15, when her family were pushed out of their homes in Palestine by Zionist forces, and when their lives ceased to become something they really felt they owned, she has had the urge to gather remnants of her heritage. Lest we forget.
Widad's family is from Bethlehem, and she explained the catalyst was seeing the poorer Palestinian women struggle to keep a cultural foothold. She watched as the women came into her town from their neighbouring villages - most of them forced into refugee camps, or to other parts of the Arab world. She saw that their beautiful clothing, and their individual stitches, fabrics and weaves that they'd developed -- each one specific to an individual Palestinian region or hamlet -- could be on their way to extinction, and that something had to be done to preserve it.
She started then, and is now globally famous for her collection of Arab clothing, jewellery, fabrics and other artefacts.
Two things struck me most: that she started with the rural culture, which is often the one to be noticed last; and that through her positive motion of preserving her heritage, she has not allowed room in her heart for hatred. When I asked her how she managed to avoid hate, she said it had struck her after reading Nelson Mandela's autobiography, that if she spent her life hating her agressor (in her case, the Zionist movement, and now Israeli government) she would end up poisoning herself. So she made a conscious decision to work in a positive way to preserve her own cultural heritage in the only way she knew.
The interview was a dream, for me at least, as I got to listen first hand to a woman who not only remembers 1948, when the first 'Nakbah' or 'Catastrophe' happened, but who could also give the most intricate details about the Palestinian village woman, and how it was she who has been responsible for the preservation of most Palestinian heritage that still exists. And so much of this is due to a strong will and work ethic, and embroidery.
It's an astonishing thought, and a great relief to someone such as me, that I never had to rely on my embroidery to preserve my heritage. But, I suppose you never know what's possible until you have no choice.
Life with Widad is never dull, and as a result I had to stop and start recording over a period of about 3 hours. Firstly, her characterful little terrier, Zizi, was present at Widad's heels during the interview, and she yapped whenever someone walked by the door. The phone rang constantly and the doorbell went at least 4 times with people coming to flog old Arab clothes and jewelery. A friend of hers popped in and stayed for an hour, which was fascinating. I sat there with the two octogenarians chatting as though we were the same age, and when the friend left, she invited me with Widad for her weekly ladies' breakfast the following day.
We agreed we'd go to her breakfast, and do the photographs afterwards, since the lengthy interview had left us no time for pictures and her house was so stuffed full with photographic potential, I knew I would need at least 3 hours.
We sat in her large home in central-west Amman, and whichever way I looked, I could see at least 20 objects I wanted to squat to see, squint to examine, or stretch to touch. Each and every piece had a certain beauty and some kind of meaning.
Since the age of 15, when her family were pushed out of their homes in Palestine by Zionist forces, and when their lives ceased to become something they really felt they owned, she has had the urge to gather remnants of her heritage. Lest we forget.
Widad's family is from Bethlehem, and she explained the catalyst was seeing the poorer Palestinian women struggle to keep a cultural foothold. She watched as the women came into her town from their neighbouring villages - most of them forced into refugee camps, or to other parts of the Arab world. She saw that their beautiful clothing, and their individual stitches, fabrics and weaves that they'd developed -- each one specific to an individual Palestinian region or hamlet -- could be on their way to extinction, and that something had to be done to preserve it.
She started then, and is now globally famous for her collection of Arab clothing, jewellery, fabrics and other artefacts.
Two things struck me most: that she started with the rural culture, which is often the one to be noticed last; and that through her positive motion of preserving her heritage, she has not allowed room in her heart for hatred. When I asked her how she managed to avoid hate, she said it had struck her after reading Nelson Mandela's autobiography, that if she spent her life hating her agressor (in her case, the Zionist movement, and now Israeli government) she would end up poisoning herself. So she made a conscious decision to work in a positive way to preserve her own cultural heritage in the only way she knew.
The interview was a dream, for me at least, as I got to listen first hand to a woman who not only remembers 1948, when the first 'Nakbah' or 'Catastrophe' happened, but who could also give the most intricate details about the Palestinian village woman, and how it was she who has been responsible for the preservation of most Palestinian heritage that still exists. And so much of this is due to a strong will and work ethic, and embroidery.
It's an astonishing thought, and a great relief to someone such as me, that I never had to rely on my embroidery to preserve my heritage. But, I suppose you never know what's possible until you have no choice.
Life with Widad is never dull, and as a result I had to stop and start recording over a period of about 3 hours. Firstly, her characterful little terrier, Zizi, was present at Widad's heels during the interview, and she yapped whenever someone walked by the door. The phone rang constantly and the doorbell went at least 4 times with people coming to flog old Arab clothes and jewelery. A friend of hers popped in and stayed for an hour, which was fascinating. I sat there with the two octogenarians chatting as though we were the same age, and when the friend left, she invited me with Widad for her weekly ladies' breakfast the following day.
We agreed we'd go to her breakfast, and do the photographs afterwards, since the lengthy interview had left us no time for pictures and her house was so stuffed full with photographic potential, I knew I would need at least 3 hours.
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