Khagineh - Persian Crepe with Saffron & Rosewater Syrup / April 8, 2025 by Mai .

Originally posted on September 28, 2018 by Shana Bahemat

12Gates is excited to present the first recipe in our monthly series: Food Friday. On the last Friday of each month we will be sharing recipes from the diaspora in connection with our cultures and histories. We believe food brings our communities together and offers space to revisit our memories through the recipes passed down through generations and generations in our families. As the writer for this series, this month I am pleased to share a recipe close to my heart and home for our first Food Friday.

Ease into fall with this comforting and flavorful Persian dish—Khagineh can be enjoyed for breakfast, dessert, and is for anyone who (like myself) gets random cravings for something subtly sweet. The texture is somewhere between a crepe and a fluffy omelette paired with a delicious homemade saffron rosewater syrup. What I love about this recipe is that you can make it your own and use ingredients that make it a bit more personal to you.

Khagineh is a recipe has been passed down through many generations in my family and comes from the northwestern area of Iran, close to Azerbaijan where my dad’s family is from.

My mom made this dish for the first time for me recently and after the first bite I was immediately curious to know why she had never made this before and what the delicious recipe was!

When I asked her how she learned to make Khagineh, still stunned from the first bite, she explained that she had a sudden craving for it and remembered watching her mom make it for her siblings and her for breakfast when she was younger. It had been over a decade, maybe longer, since she had enjoyed this dish and I was in awe of her muscle memory when she decided to make it again.

What I love about Iranian food is that each dish tells a story. Whether it comes from a specific region in Iran, a childhood memory, a traditional healing remedy, or traditional recipe within the family…there’s always a connection, a story to be told and retold. This is one of the many reasons why I enjoy replicating recipes and learning about different spices that are often used in Persian cooking, especially now in my adulthood. I have many jars in my kitchen full of spices, seeds, and dried herbs sent from my grandmother in Iran. Each ingredient makes its way through the postage in a big box, delivered to my parents home in the states, and later a few of those spices make their way to my kitchen. Including these recipes into my weekly cooking routine helps me feel connected to my identity and homeland. Today, whenever I make Iranian food, I feel like all my ancestors are in the kitchen with me.

I hope you all enjoy making Khagineh in your home as this new season unfolds.

Nooshe jaan!

Recipe Notes:

My mom doesn’t use measurements for her cooking. She generally eyeballs everything (as do I) but below I have provided the best replication of this recipe to help you make this dish.
Most of my ingredients have been sent to me from my grandmother, however, you can find quality ingredients on this list from any local Middle Eastern market.
If you would like to skip the step of making the saffron syrup, try using molasses as a substitute.
This recipe makes enough for two people and can be doubled if needed.

What you will need:

eggs, plain yogurt, all purpose flour, baking powder, salt, cane sugar, butter, saffron, rosewater, cardamom, cinnamon, and your choice of nuts (I used almonds, pistachios, and walnuts).

For the batter:

2 eggs
2 big spoon fulls of flour (I used unbleached all purpose flour)
2 big spoon fulls of plain yogurt
a pinch of baking powder and salt

Saffron/Rosewater Syrup:

1 cup of cane sugar
1 cup of water
1 tablespoon rosewater
saffron (start with a dash and work your way up, saffron is very strong!
cardamom (I used 4-5 cardamom pods, can also used ground cardamom)

Nuts:

Take a handful of almonds, pistachios, and walnuts (or nuts of your choice) and chop into small pieces. Toss them in a bowl with cinnamon and sprinkle them between the layers of the crepes.

Instructions:

In a bowl, mix the eggs, flour, and yogurt and whisk together. Mix well.
Place a nonstick pan on medium heat. Pour oil or melt a tablespoon of butter in the pan.
Pour the batter in the pan and cook for 3-4 minutes until the batter is no longer runny and the bottom of the crepe has a golden brown color.
Flip the crepe and cook on the other side for about 1 minute.
Place each finished crepe on a plate and set to the side.
For the saffron/rosewater syrup, in a small sauce pan combine the ingredients and gently stir together until syrup has reached desired thickness. Add water slowly as you stir the mixture to make sure you get the right consistency.
Sprinkle the mixture of nuts with cinnamon on each crepe and add desired amount of syrup. Fold the crepe and continue this step for each one until you are finished.
Serve warm.

Witnessing Sorrow and Hope: Contemporary Muslim Experience and the Internment of Japanese Americans at AAI / April 8, 2025 by Mai .

Originally posted on January 9, 2017 by Max Dugan

Abstract:

Against the backdrop of the internment of Japanese Americans, Curator Atif Sheikh and Asian Arts Initiative have brought together diverse artists to elucidate the Muslim experience in contemporary North America in the show I Bear Witness. Using the thematic device of “palimpsest,” a manuscript that has been recycled for new writing, the show features excerpts from Good Luck Soup and multi-media work from contemporary artists. The included artists discuss the dehumanizing discourse in the United States, as well as the potential for triumphant hope, best exemplified in Saba Taj’s prophesy of a spectacularly queer intersectional messiah’s defeat of a Trump-monster. I Bear Witness’s celebration of innovative Muslim American artists and message of hope in the face of our current predicament is of the utmost importance to us today.

Intro:

We necessarily experience all art in its specific context; unfortunately, our current context is rife with xenophobes depicting Muslims as the “dangerous other.” In light of the sudden national discourse, Asian Arts Initiative’s show I Bear Witness is almost too relevant; the artwork’s intellectual and emotional articulations about our current predicament sometimes eclipse their craft and creativity. That written, I Bear Witness transcends as a testament to the creative power of intersectional people, almost all of color, and their work’s capacity to challenge the hate in our world. Curator Atif Sheikh brilliantly gathers perspectives that reveal the many sides to the United States’s current predicament, ultimately providing viewers sadness, frustration, and, most importantly, hope.

I Bear Witness is currently hung at the Asian Arts Initiative at 1219 Vine Street near Chinatown. The show features the work of Amina Ahmed, Josh Begley, Ambreen Butt, Hasan Elahi, Sham-e-Ali Nayeem, Saba Taj, and Patricia Wakida hung on every wall of the gallery space. The artwork is accompanied by four iPads, each of which contains excerpts from Good Luck Soup, a film about the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II and after. The film is very significant to understanding the show, serving as a palimpsest for the curated pieces—the next section will elucidate the meaning and importance of “palimpsest.” Ranging from prints, to paintings, oblique to pointed critiques, each artist distinguishes their work both stylistically and thematically. I Bear Witness’s polyvalent curation ultimately reveals the complexity of the dehumanization we are all witnessing in the United States and abroad.

Curator Atif Sheikh’s framing of the show as a palimpsest guides viewers to the realization that the United States has been here before (albeit sans iPhones and, frustratingly, avec echo-chambered social media). For those of you who, like me before this exhibit, do not know the word’s meaning, the Oxford English Dictionary defines a “palimpsest” as “a parchment or other writing-material written upon twice, the original writing having been erased or rubbed out to make place for the second; a manuscript in which a later writing is written over an effaced earlier writing.” In the same way that scribes recycled papyrus to pen new writings, Sheikh engaged the United States’ internment of Japanese Americans during World War II to understand our contemporary predicament. This palimpsest lens amplifies the pieces’ respective themes and illuminates their layers.

The iPads provide attendees numerous vignettes of the interment and post-internment experience, thereby offering the original source on which the artwork is written as a palimpsest. These narratives deal variously with the post-camp experiences, camp experiences, and many individual anecdotes and perspectives. For everyone interviewed there was some traumatic episode or theme. In spite of the inhumanity of the internment, the power of humanity is such that many interviewees found silver linings. For one Eva Hashiguchi, that was the disparate West Coast Japanese community coming together, or meeting her future-husband. For another, that was a guard on watchtower duty retrieving a paper airplane stuck on barbed wire. Still, many recall PTSD symptoms or the suicides that took place in the internment camps. Importantly, the variety of narratives complicates the artwork’s interpretation while also providing an excellent canvas, or, in this case, manuscript on which to understand the contemporary Muslim experience in North America.

To begin the palimpsest mode, Hasan Elahi and Patricia Wakida’s pieces deal directly with the darkness of the internment camps. Wakida’s print I Am An American: Family No. 25344 sets the internment camp’s mood with its barbed wire and Japanese American citizen resigned in their predicament as the “other.” In Fifth Horseman, Elahi superimposes an enormous flag over a black-and-white image of an internment camp from the guard tower. While Elahi’s piece is initially striking in its contrast of our symbol of freedom with imprisonment, the image’s ambiguity allows it to be any prison. The viewer might assume it to be an internment camp, but it could also be a contemporary prison of the industrial kind, or a camp for whatever marginalized group is our future’s scapegoat.

Joshua Begley’s digital art piece Profiling thematically overlaps with a reoccurring theme in the Good Luck Soup excerpts: the irrational and highly biased interpretation of the Other’s reality. In the same way a Japanese farmer’s electric fence is perceived as a secret code device, mosques and Muslim homes are perceived by the government to be epicenters of some highly-fictitious construct, such as “Radical Islamic Terrorism.” Begley’s montage of these very surveillance photos reveals the government’s Islamophobic activities, while simultaneously showing those spaces’ benignity.

Moving beyond the bittersweet silver lining, Saba Taj prophesizes the triumph of a spectacularly queer intersectional messiah over a Trump-monster in her spectacular work The Return of Hazrat Isa, Queer Remix. An enormous panel of canvas covered in every color, glitter, and spray paint, Taj places a heroine Isa (“Jesus” in Arabic, with messianic connotations) at the intersection of symbolic figures: (1) to her left, a hybridic man-peacock extending blue nerve-like structures to Isa; (2) to her right, a hybridic woman-peacock extending golden nerve-like structures to Isa; (3) through her, a column extending the height of the canvas with the seventh and eighth ayat of the Qur’an; (4) from her head, a swirl of intense blue clouds that intimate power. Present is a monster composed using Trump’s image, impaled by a sword emanating from flowers of paradise at the base of the piece. Combining punk aesthetic, mythical imagery, and Islam, Taj shows the power of intersectionality and innovative reinterpretation.

Throughout the show, I pondered on the power of collaboration to liberate. If I Bear Witness had been single artist it might have been easier to digest and understand the creator’s perspective; however, the conclusions drawn might also have been one-sided. As a curated exhibition featuring multiple perspectives, any understanding of the show reinforced our current predicament’s polyvalence. There is no simple solution to contemporary dehumanization and polarization, and no uniform response. Sham-E-Ali Nayeem’s poetry and photos reveals the sadness felt by Islamophobic xenophobia and Amina Ahmed’s noose hangs over a grave to which we all witness, whether or not we can bear it. At the same time, Saba Taj produces an image of pure power and hope: the defeat of a meager orange monster by the overwhelming intersection of mythical heroes, Islam, and myriad articulations of gender. The beauty of the blue emanating from her heroine’s head is the color that powers a revolution. In bringing together so much in a single show, I Bear Witness exemplifies for our nation a path forward: collaborating with the Other, celebrating coexisting realities, and cultivating hope amidst trauma.

Although I Bear Witness will be open at Asian Arts Initiative until January 20th, 2017, the closing reception, featuring a multi-sensory performance by art collective Ta’sheeq, will take place on Friday, January 13th.

Max is passionate about everything Islamic and Islamicate, especially as it manifests in North America. Currently, he is the Program Coordinator for Al-Bustan Seeds of Culture, and a Group Leader for the Interfaith Center of Greater Philadelphia’s Walking the Walk program. In the future, he hopes to become a scholar in fields related to Islamic studies, Islamicate cultures, or religious studies.

An Artistic Supplication to the Supplier / April 8, 2025 by Mai .

Originally posted on October 31, 2016 by Max Dugan

In her latest show at 12 Gates Arts, Madad, Amina Ahmed employs a minimalist, Islamic spiritual aesthetic to saturate her pieces with themes, questions, and Islamic feminism instead of pigments, textures, and shapes. The polysemous title itself symbolizes the coexistence of many ideas, with madad meaning variously “a supplication intended to seek the extension of divine grace” (Persian), “to extend or stretch” (Arabic), or “measurement” (Hebrew). Like the multiplicity of the show’s title, the individual works simultaneously explore different themes; specifically, art- making as spiritual orthopraxy, Islamic feminist theory, and the infinite (the Divine) and the finite (the rest of it all). Experiencing a show as rich as Madad is akin to undertaking a long meditation: even days after seeing the works, the personal truths that emerged still resonate.

Curation and Method

Madad itself is a collection of twenty-five pieces divided between 2 walls and a short platform–the walls each house ten pieces and the platform five. Most of the pieces adorning the walls are on paper—watercolor, handmade, architectural, and gessoed—using a variety of media, including fire, to create patterns and designs. In addition to guiding the show, the word madad/مدد also composes many of the patterns and forms; for example, madad/مدد is the central design for the Islamic geometric pattern in “The Meeting.” Similarly, in “Extend Your Saving Grace,” madad/مدد is repeated over and over again to create a feminine form—the meaning of this piece will be explored further in the next section.

Ahmed’s formal training in traditional Islamic geometry is apparent after a close look at her work, exemplifying the Hebrew meaning of madad; “measurement.” The tick marks and straight lines connecting intersections of loose, but perfectly circular curves give away the Ahmed’s essential tools: a compass and a straight edge. While her exploration of artistic media and the show’s progressive themes are strikingly contemporary, many of the techniques that produced the works existed a millennium ago. In this blending of tradition and innovation, Ahmed makes her Islamicate heritage relevant and responsive to our time.

Art-Making as Islamic Orthopraxy

While analysis of Ahmed’s method could consist of technical details, her art is packed with a spiritual awareness that reveals a profoundly religious artistic practice. To guide the viewer to consider this, Ahmed introduces the show catalogue with the following statement:

One arrives at a state of beholdenness when one sees deeply into everything that is given. Being beholden binds one to the Giver, leaving one in a state of ecstatic bindingness. The binding can never be whole while one lives, and so one is filled with longing. A longingness that leads once again to the joy of beholdenness. One’s work becomes a gift to the Giver, made from and of this eternal cycle.

This passage elucidates that for Ahmed the art-making process is necessarily intertwined with devotion, the two actions dialectically developing one another in the same way that one’s work is “a gift to the Giver.” In this sense it is orthopraxy, a righteous, pious action. Viewed through this lens, the art transforms from beautiful objects into an exploration of (or perhaps for) the Beautiful or the Essence that resides in sublime beauty.

Ramah and the Feminine

In addition to madad, another word informs much of the exhibit: rahma. Although the word itself only appears in one piece in the form rahman, it elucidates the Islamic feminism underlying much of Ahmed’s work. Rahma, derived from rahm, which means “womb,” is for many Muslims associated with mercy and compassion because of the phrase that precedes recitation of the Qur’an and, for many externally-observant Muslims, any public address: bismi-llah ar-rahman ar-rahim, which translates to “in the name of God, the merciful and compassionate.” That one of the most frequently repeated Islamic phrases contains words directly connected to an exclusively feminine function, childrearing, is an important consideration for Islamic feminist theory.

Viewing Ahmed’s work through a lens of rahm (again, “womb” with all of its Muslim connotations) enables the viewer to see the pious femininity dripping from the pieces. The elliptical flower petals created in the constructions of geometry are transformed into vulvic symbols created by this sacred practice of geometry. The ambiguous collection of madad in “Extending Your Saving Grace” becomes the feminine form that wears a crown composed of the words ya Allah ya rahman ya rahman (“Oh God, oh the most merciful, oh the most merciful”). Through this subtle, layered allusion, Ahmed extols the holiness of the feminine, and invokes a concept, rahm/”womb,” that some Islamic feminists, such as Amina Wadud, have employed to assert the spiritual superiority of the muslima to the muslim.

The Infinite and the Finite

Ahmed also explores the infinite and the finite. One of the principal ideas underlying sacred practice of geometry is that the patterns created in the constructions of geometry could continue on infinitely, in the same way that the Divine is infinite. Even the “The Meeting”, which only contains four madad/مدد could be extended on indefinitely. Many of Ahmed’s works continue this theme. For example, the circular patterns created in “Raindrop Reverberation: A Wound is Where the Light Enters You” could continue on indefinitely—just, as it seems when viewing them, the ripples created by a droplet striking surface of water.

However much potential there is for the infinite, Ahmed includes limits in all of the pieces. There is, of course, the fundamental limit of the frame or paper’s end. Rejecting those natural limits, Ahmed deliberately imposes borders in all of the

pieces. In “The Meeting”, the patterns conspicuously end after one iteration. Similarly, in “Raindrop Reverberation: A Wound is Where the Light Enters You” the endless ripples are impeded by a circumscription. Considering the frequent emphasis in Islamic geometry on the infinite potential of these designs, Ahmed’s choice to restrict her patterns seems anything but incidental.

Perhaps the omnipresence of limits in madad is a reminder that we humans are fundamentally limited in this life. We seem to have the capacity to be infinite—we were, after all, made in the image of and filled with the breath (ruh) of God—but very much do not. Still, in the presence of Madad one feels they are somehow closer to the Essence. In the same way that looking into a room filled with sunlight intimates the sun, Ahmed’s work provides insight into the sublime, beautiful Divine

All images courtesy of Emily Ganser.

Lived Experiences / April 8, 2025 by Mai .

Originally posted on May 23, 2016 by Atif F. Sheikh & Kira Anderson

“For all its risks and possible dangers, making meaning of loss is a necessary art, one that for us also creates constructive, even ethical, possibilities for living in (and not just despite) such an unsteady world.”
Rev. Dr. Hal Taussig

As artists seriously get into showing the mirror to society, the audience realizes that in most cases where change is needed, reality is ʻuglyʼ. Blood stains, death, war, dishonesty, corruption in politics, separation, racism are all painful situations that scream out to be acknowledged. When that is dealt with in contemporary art we witness creative ways of expression that can help heal and transform. Experiences of trauma and loss, the transformation of the artist himself or herself—culminating in an interpretation of that trauma within their art, causing an empathetic understanding in the viewer of things that surround us but what we conveniently evade—is what the exhibition Lived Experience is about.

Expressions of grief without resorting to violence can have the power to expose our collective human ties and responsibilities; in the words of Judith Butler: “[in grieving] are we returned to a sense of human vulnerability, to our collective responsibility for the physical lives of one another?” The artists in this exhibition have interpreted grief, trauma and loss in their own diverse ways, but they all converge on the ability to understand our own responsibilities in creating the sense of loss as well as our power to do something about it.

Boloʼs Saks Afridi and Qinza Najm have re-created contentious man-made borders from around the world in the form of floor installations on which the viewer can walk. This challenges the status quo of international borders by letting individuals disturb the boundaries. While each piece alludes to a specific geographical border, “[t]he inspiration of the work comes from both our global experiences of moving from country to country over the course of our lives. You can say we’ve spent our lives crossing borders.” (Bolo, about Ghosts of Empire). The realities of the borders are indeed different from that imagined by Boloʼs installation, but the work puts into full view the possibilities of change and transformation. Not only does the installation serve as an enactment of a rejection of oppressive borders, it also brings to attention the historical arbitrary nature of many of these borders. As people walk atop the work, changing it as they please, they are also perhaps reminded of how the actual borders were created and of the trauma inflicted upon those who endured them.

Vered Snearʼs Trauma/Drama is a complex work on many levels of interpretation, be it on the level of the performers in the video, the viewers, or the artist. Additionally, there are interpretations inherent in the piece itself that critique the socio-political situation in Israel/Palestine; using the tunnels under Israeli/Palestinian control lines as the device, Snear creates a narrative of ʻtraumaʼ. The trauma in question was captured in a Youtube video posted by an Israeli girl, who expresses her anxiety about Palestinians. Snear has deconstructed her monologue by having multiple performers ʻperformʼ the original text, and thus challenges us to see her fear or trauma in a new light. “The re-performance of her script portrays and reflects the ʻtraumatizedʼ, as if there were a traumatic registry within cultural memory to draw from, de-masking trauma as part of an ideological formed condition that exceeds the experience of an individual.” (statement, Trauma/Drama). Deconstructed in this way, does the trauma still maintain its one-sided narrative or is the audience also forced to see the invisible other sideʼs trauma?

Julius John Alam has created melancholic shrines to the victims of senseless violence in Pakistan—particularly the victims of the notorious blasphemy law that is used against powerless and innocent people. In “The Dead Keep Silence,” Alam has created for each victim in the news, a book made of fabric that has been covered in ash as a remembrance of murders by burning. Most of the blasphemy cases involve allegations of burning Islamic holy texts, although Alamʼs books have no text, opening up a world of interpretations. Alamʼs other work in this show is the text piece ʻThe candle kept burningʼ written with charcoal to give the impression of ash, under a lit candle. The ash represents the burned victim Shama and her husband. Shama also translates to ʻcandleʼ. As Shama burned and continues to burn, this work speaks directly to our inaction. Julius states about his recent work, “I simply want to nurture a goodness which is a fragile and powerless everyday care for other human beings.”

All the contemporary works of art in this exhibition interact with each other at critical junctions of international historical and cultural markers in time. Each artist has reacted to their own processing of trauma, noticed their reaction to the awareness of othersʼ trauma, and subsequently slowed the process down into their resultant artworks that offer the audience an aesthetic, less traumatic and at times nurturing chance to confront otherwise unpalatable situations with a sense of spaciousness.

Lived Experiences was on view from May 19 – June 15, 2016 at Twelve Gates Arts in Philadelphia. Atif Farooq Sheikh is co-founder of 12G and resident curator. Sheikh orchestrated the first 12G experimental video art festival and co-curated the first perform(art)ive, a contemporary performance art biennial in 2015 in Philadelphia. Kiira Anderson earned a BA from the University of Vermont, where she was a student of John William Seyller. Her senior projects included an installation titled Offering that was inspired by time spent at the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia in Delhi, as well as a research paper on modern calligraphic painting in/نیاز Pakistan. In January 2012, she started producing show cards and writing for Twelve Gates Arts, and she is currently residing at a Tibetan Buddhist retreat center in Vermont.

/ April 8, 2025 by Mai .

“Two things that caught my eye on 2nd Street in Old City tonight”

Originally posted on December 16, 2013 by damonabnormal on Tumblr