Latest news with #InjiEfflatoun
The National
27-05-2025
- General
- The National
New book details rich life of Inji Efflatoun beyond her time in prison
On the night of June 19, 1959, Inji Efflatoun stood alone on a Cairo street, attempting to hail a taxi. As a car finally pulled over, a group of men rushed her, seizing and forcing her into the vehicle. It was a sting. After months of living in hiding, disguising herself as a fellaha and flitting from house to house, the Egyptian painter and political activist had finally been arrested. Efflatoun's arrest marked a pivotal point. It signalled not only the beginning of her four-year imprisonment but a powerful new chapter in her artistic and political legacy. At Al Qanater Women's Prison, Efflatoun produced some of her most renowned works – paintings that captured the resilience of the incarcerated women and the brutal intimacy of confinement. She also recorded her famous memoirs onto cassettes, which were later transcribed and shaped her posthumous image. Though she recalled, in evocative detail, several phases of her life, it is her time behind bars that remains most closely associated with her name. But, as a new book reveals, Efflatoun's legacy and life were too expansive to be confined to a prison cell. The Life and Work of Inji Efflatoun is a project by the Barjeel Art Foundation, co-published with Skira. It is edited by Sultan Sooud Al Qassemi and Suheyla Takesh, who are the foundation's founder and director, respectively. The book presents, for the first time, an English translation of Efflatoun's memoir. The memoir elucidates several of her key moments. They begin with her early life in the Shubra neighbourhood of Cairo and her time at the Sacred Heart School. They touch upon her early mentorship by Kamel el-Telmissany, from whom she learnt that painting meant 'an honest expression of society and self'. She speaks about her involvement in political groups advocating for women's rights and anti-colonialism. She expresses her heartbreak after the death of her husband Hamdi Aboul Ela, a prosecutor who shared Efflatoun's political ideals and who probably died from injuries sustained during his arrest and torture. She narrates details of her arrest and how she managed to smuggle paintings out of prison. In short, the memoir describes a person who relentlessly defied confinement, whether the bubble of aristocracy, the constraints of gender norms or the physical walls of a prison. It portrays someone as fierce in her art as she was in her politics. For Efflatoun, painting and activism were not separate pursuits but shadows cast by the same flame. The memoir is translated from Arabic by Ahmed Gobba and Avery Gonzales, both former students of Al Qassemi at Yale University. He credits them with initiating the project. 'The book started when Ahmed wrote his final paper on Inji after he discovered that her family was from the same province of his grandfather,' Al Qassemi says. 'But her family were the landowners, and his family were the workers. And so there was this interesting relationship that was happening.' Gobba then proposed translating Efflatoun's memoir into English and began working with Gonzales. 'Initially, we were only going to publish the diary,' Al Qassemi says. The memoir is substantial, taking up a third of the 320-page book, and it is easy to see why it became popular when it was first published in 1993, four years after her death. 'Inji's life is fascinating,' Al Qassemi says. 'She came from an elite background and ended up forsaking all that privilege, choosing to be an activist, to stand up for the rights of the less privileged. She related to people who she fought for. There is no surprise that her book became quite popular, and that she's more known than other artists of her generation.' 'It started as a smaller project,' Takesh adds. 'Then we thought to commission one or two new essays on Inji's life and work to complement the memoir. One thing led to another, we kept discovering people's research, and eventually we ended up with nine new essays.' The essays explore the many facets of Efflatoun's extraordinary life. They examine her fearless activism and how her art served as both a personal outlet and a political expression, often reflecting the intensity of her struggles and convictions. Several essays consider her prescient sensibilities, as well as her active engagement with international networks of solidarity. The essays also touch upon her ties with the Soviet Union and her affinity with Mexican artists, particularly David Alfaro Siqueiros. Her exhibitions are portrayed not just as artistic milestones, but as acts of diplomacy that extended her reach far beyond Egypt. Efflatoun's personal life also finds its way into these essays. They trace the transformative nature of her marriage to Aboul Ela, a union that deeply impacted her, even as it ended in tragedy. Equally moving is her determined effort to learn Arabic – having been educated in French – which is framed as emblematic of her drive to connect with the fabric of everyday Egyptian life. 'We are also republishing three existing texts,' Takesh says. 'Two of them have been translated from Arabic. One of those is actually authored by Inji herself in 1972 as part of her participation in a conference in Tunis. The paper is about Egyptian modernist art, and she speaks about other people's work such as Mahmoud Said and Mohamed Nagy. She also situated her own practice within that constellation.' The book also features an essay by American artist Betty LaDuke, originally published in 1989. Written after LaDuke visited Efflatoun in her Cairo studio in the late 1980s, the piece presents a broad stroke of the artist's life before culminating with an interview that offers a rare, first-hand account of Efflatoun in her later years. Beyond the essay, LaDuke played a key role in shaping the book's visual narrative, contributing significantly to its rich collection of images. The Life and Work of Inji Efflatoun, in fact, draws from several private collections and institutional archives to present a vivid visual record of the artist's life, featuring her paintings as well as rare archival photographs. It is, quite possibly, the most comprehensive publication of Efflatoun's work to date, with high-resolution images that bring out the intricate details and textures of her paintings. As a whole, the book seeks to do justice to a painter who has too often – and unfairly – been reduced to her years in prison. 'One thing we did is expand on the two-dimensionality of Inji,' Al Qassemi says. 'Everything about Inji was about her arrest and time in jail. There were all these missing parts of her life. 'She spent four and a half years in jail, but she lived for many decades more than that. That's why we called the book The Life and Work of Inji Efflatoun. We actually go into parts of her life that have been completely neglected before.'
The National
26-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The National
New book unfurls the rich life of Inji Efflatoun beyond her time in prison
On the night of June 19, 1959, Inji Efflatoun stood alone on a Cairo street, attempting to hail a taxi. As a car finally pulled over, a group of men rushed her, seizing and forcing her into the vehicle. It was a sting. After months of living in hiding, disguising herself as a fellaha and flitting from house to house, the Egyptian painter and political activist had finally been arrested. Efflatoun's arrest marked a pivotal point. It signalled not only the beginning of her four-year imprisonment but a powerful new chapter in her artistic and political legacy. At Al Qanater Women's Prison, Efflatoun produced some of her most renown works – paintings that captured the resilience of the incarcerated women and the brutal intimacy of confinement. She also recorded her famous memoirs on to cassettes, which were later transcribed and shaped her posthumous image. Though she recalled, in evocative detail, several phases of her life, it is her time behind bars that remains most closely associated with her name. But, as a new book reveals, Efflatoun's legacy and life was too expansive to be confined to a prison cell. The Life and Work of Inji Efflatoun is a project by the Barjeel Art Foundation, co-published with Skira. It is edited by Sultan Sooud Al Qassemi and Suheyla Takesh, who are the foundation's founder and director respectively. The book presents, for the first time, an English translation of Efflatoun's memoir. The memoir elucidates several of her key moments. They begin with her early life in the Shura neighbourhood of Cairo and her time at the Sacred Heart School. They touch upon her early mentorship by Kamel el-Telmissany, from whom she learnt that painting meant 'an honest expression of society and self'. She speaks about her involvement in political groups advocating for women's rights and anti-colonialism. She expresses her heartbreak after the death of her husband Hamdi Aboul Ela, a prosecutor who shared Efflatoun's political ideals and who probably died from injuries sustained during his arrest and torture. She narrates details of her arrest, and how she managed to smuggle paintings out of prison. In short, the memoir describes a person who relentlessly defied confinement, whether the bubble of aristocracy, the constraints of gender norms or the physical walls of a prison. It portrays someone as fierce in her art as she was in her politics. For Efflatoun, painting and activism were not separate pursuits but shadows cast by the same flame. The memoir is translated from Arabic by Ahmed Gobba and Avery Gonzales, both former students of Al Qassemi at Yale University. He credits them with initiating the project. 'The book started when Ahmed wrote his final paper on Inji after he discovered that her family was from the same province of his grandfather,' Al Qassemi says. 'But her family were the landowners, and his family were the workers. And so there was this interesting relationship that was happening.' Gobba then proposed translating Efflatoun's memoir into English, and began working with Gonzales. 'Initially we were only going to publish the diary,' Al Qassemi says. The memoir is substantial, taking up a third of the 320-page book, and it is easy to see why it became popular when it was first published in 1993, four years after her death. 'Inji's life is fascinating,' Al Qassemi says. 'She came from an elite background and ended up forsaking all that privilege, choosing to be an activist, to stand up for the rights of the less privileged. She related to people who she fought for. There is no surprise that her book became quite popular, and that she's more known than other artists of her generation.' 'It started as a smaller project,' Takesh adds. 'Then we thought to commission one or two new essays on Inji's life and work to complement the memoir. One thing led to another, we kept discovering people's research, and eventually we ended up with nine new essays.' The essays explore the many facets of Efflatoun's extraordinary life. They examine her fearless activism and how her art served as both a personal outlet and a political expression – often reflecting the intensity of her struggles and convictions. Several essays consider her prescient sensibilities, as well as her active engagement with international networks of solidarity. The essays also touch upon her ties with the Soviet Union and her affinity with Mexican artists, particularly David Alfaro Siqueiros. Her exhibitions are portrayed not just as artistic milestones, but as acts of diplomacy that extended her reach far beyond Egypt. Efflatoun's personal life also finds its way into these essays. They trace the transformative nature of her marriage to Hamdi, a union that deeply impacted her, even as it ended in tragedy. Equally moving is her determined effort to learn Arabic – having been educated in French – which is framed as emblematic of her drive to connect with the fabric of everyday Egyptian life. 'We are also republishing three existing texts,' Takesh says. 'Two of them have been translated from Arabic. One of those is actually authored by Inji herself in 1972 as part of her participation in a conference in Tunis. The paper is about Egyptian modernist art, and she speaks about other people's work such as Mahmoud Said and Mohamed Nagy. She also situated her own practice within that constellation.' The book also features an essay by American artist Betty LaDuke, originally published in 1989. Written after LaDuke visited Efflatoun in her Cairo studio in the late 1980s, the piece presents a broad stroke of the artist's life before culminating with an interview that offers a rare, first-hand account of Efflatoun in her later years. Beyond the essay, LaDuke played a key role in shaping the book's visual narrative, contributing significantly to its rich collection of images. The Life and Work of Inji Efflatoun, in fact, draws from several private collections and institutional archives to present a vivid visual record of the artist's life, featuring her paintings as well as rare archival photographs. It is, quite possibly, the most comprehensive publication of Efflatoun's work to date, with high-resolution images that bring out the intricate details and textures of her paintings. As a whole, the book seeks to do justice to a painter who has too often – and unfairly – been reduced to her years in prison. 'One thing we did is expand on the two-dimensionality of Inji,' Al Qassemi says. 'Everything about Inji was about her arrest and time in jail. There were all these missing parts of her life. 'She spent four and a half years in jail, but she lived for many decades more than that. That's why we called the book The Life and Work of Inji Efflatoun. We actually go into parts of her life that have been completely neglected before.'
Mada
19-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Mada
Museum, market and a missing C: My visit to Art Cairo 2025
I had barely stepped into Art Cairo 2025 (February 8-11, 2025) when the first work struck me: 'This is an early Inji Efflatoun!' It felt like running into a long-lost friend, though I had never seen the painting in real life before. The 1941 piece was unmistakably from her dark surrealist period — the kind of work that has resurfaced in recent years with the renewed interest in Egyptian surrealism. Beneath it was another painting from her prison years (1959-1963). While I could date both, the labels did not bother to provide that historical context. I turned around, and there, to my left, was a large-scale painting by Tahia Halim (1919-2003). Another corner, and suddenly, an iconic Zeinab Abdel Hamid drawing — a study for her famous aerial view of a teeming street. My eyes did a full sweep of the booth: Naima Shishini (1929-2018), Gazbia Sirry (1925-2021), Marguerite Nakhla (1908-1977), Amy Nimr (1898-1974), Menhat Helmy (1925-2004) — a roll call of Egyptian women artists. My eyes glazed over, and I started taking photos of each work — panicked art historian behavior. Who knows when these works will next appear, and where? Then, a wave of terror. Who owned these works? And why were they on sale? Before I could spiral into full-blown panic, the booth attendant intervened: 'No, no, we're not a gallery. We're the museum.' 'The museum?' I blinked. 'Yes, the Museum of Modern Egyptian Art.' 'At the Opera House?' 'Yes.' It took a moment to recalibrate. The museum dates back to 1928, when the Société des Amis de l'Art, chaired by Mahmoud Khalil, organized its first landmark exhibition, L'Exposition d'Art Français au Caire: 1827–1927, which became the museum's foundation. Over the years, the museum has been relocated several times: it was demolished in 1962, where the Steigenberger now overlooks Tahrir, and its collection was stored in Dokki for decades before reopening at the Opera House in 1991. While it is now open to the public, it had been closed for a couple of years, for another round of renovations, which were, predictably, subpar. Ironically, the museum's display at the fair was far better than its actual premises. The Museum of Modern Egyptian Art had been given a booth, side by side with commercial galleries (25, to be precise), at a fair where art was being sold — an odd, albeit novel arrangement. But why? 'Because people don't know the museum,' the representative attending the booth explained. I looked around for a brochure, a book, something to frame this as a pedagogical effort rather than a peculiar sales pitch. Nothing. Just paintings. This is the sixth edition of Art Cairo, held this year at the Grand Egyptian Museum. The fair is the realization of the vision of Mohamed Younis, management consultant and founder of Azad Gallery in Zamalek (established two years prior to the fair), who saw an opportunity in 2019 to create an international art fair in Egypt. Open to the public, with VIPs comped and visitors paying LE350 per ticket, the fair sprawls across three halls. The museum booth was the first — pleasant — surprise, followed by three others that stood out: one dedicated entirely to Egyptian artist Samir Rafei (1926–2004); another run by a Lebanese gallery showing a small selection of Egyptian work, including two exquisite watercolors by Samuel Henry, who converted to Islam in 1961 and became Adam Henein (1929–2020). The works have a bit of a shrouded history. I learned informally through conversations that they were drafts for a commission of icons (which was later retracted) for the Coptic Church of the Virgin Mary on Marashli Street, designed by Ramses Wissa Wassef. Titled Samuel and Jesus, the works are delicate, ethereal icon-like studies of figures in soft washes of color, with precise feature details — reminiscent of the finely rendered hands in frescoes from Akhenaten's era. Did I want to buy them? A portion of the sales would support young Lebanese artists. The third booth presented itself as part of a new initiative by collector Rasheed Kamel, titled Through a Collector's Eye, which will rotate works from private collections at Le Lab, a contemporary and collectible design gallery, as well as in future editions of the fair, showcasing an array of works 'from the SWANA region.' The works on show included two pieces by Effat Naghi (1905-1994) and Hamed Abdalla (1917-1985). With trepidation, I reflect on the corpus of Egyptian modernism, often wondering about the swift shifts in provenance, the continuous absence and disappearance of its works from public collections. In this sense, I share the sentiment of concern and 'cultural obligation,' the term used to describe the mission driving Kamel's initiative. By this point, my initial excitement was beginning to settle. The displays — not all, but most — were roughly mounted. Paintings were hung slightly off-kilter, lighting was haphazardly angled, casting stressful reflections on the works. And my personal pet peeve? Badly transferred vinyl lettering. If you insist on a dramatic label, 'Egyptian Surrealism Icon' (Rafei), at least make sure it's straight. Still, for those works alone, the fair was worth visiting. Beyond these highlights, the fair unfolded with galleries from Cairo, as well as Ramallah, Jordan, Damascus, Dubai and others hailing from Europe. Some were familiar, but most were not. Many galleries — Egyptian especially — leaned into an effort to showcase 1990s-born artists, though, regrettably, none stood out. Much of the work felt overdesigned, packaged for sale. A genre that appears is necessary, because it weans neophyte collectors into buying at a lower price point, but much of it I simply classify as counterfeitish modern art. Booth attendants hovered, price lists at the ready, before you could even make eye contact with a painting. It felt like a date coming on too strong. Familiar motifs abounded — plenty of ancient Egyptian references, inevitable homages to Egypt's cultural icons (Umm Kulthoum, naturally, again and again). Some works verged on the derivative, conveniently reminiscent of artists like Helmy El-Touni, friendly attempts but paling in comparison to a few of the original works also on show (returning to the first booth). Curiously, there was an abundance of sarcophagus-themed works. Then there were the tiny but very unfortunate mishaps, like the only Syrian gallery accidentally omitting the letter 'C' from Damascus on its signage. I am not its audience, but the language used is steroidal — glitzy AI-esque. What is 'an unrivaled chorus of history' and an 'experience that melds venerable wisdom with dynamic energy'? The fair, as self-proclaimed, definitely leans into 'a sensational fusion of history and contemporary art.' Then there's even more overkill fodder, like the fair being dedicated to hashtag peace-to-all-nations, olive trees, border transcendence, vague solace and connection — are they trying to allude to Palestine without mentioning it? There is an accompanying program — not very exciting to me — though I commend the effort of streaming the talks live on Instagram. I tuned into one while stuck in traffic once. The atmosphere? A steady crowd drifting through to soft electronic music for lounging. Young couples with strollers, a new class of collectors, moneyed. The energy was carefully curated, even if the fair itself felt like it was still finding its footing — awkward and ambitious. Oh and, tucked away where everyone is absolutely going to miss it, there is a series of ten paintings by young teens — some of the most authentic flickers of work — odd, quirky. A cross in a house, surrounded by black and blue flying fish. An awkward apologetically smiling earth-like head of a bureaucrat holding an ankh like a microphone. A parachute lifting off with a parcel. The works, created through a community art workshop, were planned in collaboration with Alwan wa Awtar, a Moqattam-based NGO that has spent the last 20 years using art as a critical tool to break the poverty cycle for underprivileged youth. Subtle and unexpected, they were a weird reality-check.
