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ISLAMIC ARCHITECTURE BUILT IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
on a hilltop overlooking the city of Granada, the Alhambra expanded throughout the fourteenth century when it housed the Nasrids, the Iberian Peninsula’s last Muslim dynasty. With the advancing Christian Reconquista, much of Spain’s Muslim population sought refuge in the southern region of Andalusia. Muhammad ibn al-Ahmar began constructing the citadel in 1238, the same year in which he founded the Nasrid dynasty and, not coincidentally, rose to power by establishing the Alhambra as a secure retreat for fleeing Muslims. A rugged structure on an equally rocky mountain terrain, the stone fortress served its purpose well. Its five-hundred-foot defensive walls and thirteen towers complemented and extended the Sierra Nevada’s massive grandeur. The resulting sense of protection conveyed to would-be enemies and conquistadores that attack was futile. The Alhambra’s prime location also meant that it was near enough to North Africa to request aid rapidly if the Christian monarchs attempted to invade. This advantage must have given the citadel a measure of added security as well as an implied invincibility. In contrast to its exterior, the fortress’ interior tells a different version of the Nasrid’s rule. The palaces reveal exquisite aspects of the private lives and tastes of those who lived within the citadel’s protective walls. For instance, the Comares Court highlights the use of muqarnas, crystal-like geometric stalactites made of thin plaster that extend downward from arches and cornices. The delicate shapes, hollow at the ends, form concave prisms that direct light and then reflect its dancing, varied hues. In the Court of the Lions, more than one hundred slender marble columns gracefully adorn the patio. Fragile honeycomb figures and arabesques form the scalloped arches that are supported by the columns. The Court of the Myrtles, like the Fountain of the Lions’ basin surrounded by twelve marble lions, reveals one of the Andalusians’ greatest scientific achievements as well as one of their most relaxing diversions: waterworks. The long reflecting pool mirrors the court’s seven arches and canopy without a ripple or disturbance, evoking a sense of tranquility
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and unfolding a greater sense of space. Still more technical expertise is evident in the Water Stairwell, which deposited the life-giving liquid down a man-made waterfall separated by three landings. At each landing, visitors could rest during their ascent or descent to reflect upon the engineering marvel. The obvious application of hydraulics also appears in the Royal Aqueduct, a network of pipes that made all of these systems and devices—irrigation, garden horticulture, fountains, and bathing facilities—possible throughout the complex. Finally, the lush gardens of the Generalife (Arabic: Jannat al-Arif [the Architect’s Garden]) created seven levels of paradise on Earth on the Alhambra grounds. Pools and greenery combined to reflect light and provide shade in an atmosphere of privacy and meditation. With clear views of Granada possible from the highest levels of these gardens, the walkways were—and remain—journeys of solitude and serenity. As a reflection of the Andalusians, the Alhambra mirrors their exteriors, which seem to be severe, while hiding the vulnerability—the delicacy—that they identified as the core of their identities. As their last hope for survival, the Alhambra’s exterior was just as necessarily barren and defensive as its interior was welcoming and life-enriching. By creating its graceful
__________________________________ Reem Elghonimi, a graduate student in the humanities in Dallas, TX, is a member of the Muslims for Peace, Justice, and Progress’ (www.mpjp.org) steering committee.
palaces, delicate arches, cooling fountains, and lush gardens, the Muslims focused on their own scientific and artistic achievements. In response to the expected wave of attacks that would dislodge them forever from their homeland of eight hundred years, a society that had formerly coexisted and intermingled (with resulting flourishing arts and sciences) chose to refine those pursuits for its own sole and internal appreciation and utilization. Though Muslim civilization in Spain ended, its pointer and indicator—the Alhambra’s architectural legacy—endures to tell the tale. Ultimately, any number of people will claim any number of lessons to be gained from the Muslims’ long period of convivencia in Spain. With much time and space between that world and our own, it is necessary not only to appreciate the medieval Iberian Peninsula’s historical dimensions, but also to pass beyond the simple nostalgia and emotion that is Islamic Spain, to see in it the complexities of identity that we also share today. Though many interpretations of the inward-looking Granadans exist, we cannot miss either the irony of their refinement or the delicacy of their manners and tastes, which characterizes exactly what survives of—and is beloved about—the Alhambra today. In their fragile existence, Andalusia’s Muslims could not share the elegant and aesthetic aspects of their religion and culture with society at large. That opportunity, when available, is undoubtedly a rare and tremendous privilege. It is worth noting that the face given by the last bastion of Islam in Spain to the outside world, one of harsh exteriors and unconquerable fortresses, did not succeed in protecting Spanish Muslims. But the hidden refined nobility of the Alhambra’s interiors did survive, somehow reminding us, chiding us, lest we move away from the story’s moral core: the choices we make about identity are not all-or-nothing. How will we use the mirror of the Alhambra? Will we choose to conceal or reveal the authenticity of who we are? Will it be the rough or the smooth side, the harsh or the gentle aspect? In that decision resides our hopes and efforts, our practical collective future. But even more importantly, our decision as to which one to adopt will either confirm or disprove to the West ^ the viability of our faith.
PHOTOGRAPH BY MAIT JURIADO; CC-BY-SA-2.0
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