Ports of Refuge
Borrowed amidst criss-crossing tram lines, flat boulevards, narrow cobblestone streets, ruthless taxis, scooters, and all-too-daring pedestrians—there is a little café-shop that always brings me a sense of peace in Rabat. When I walk in, everything hushes, and then the sounds, smells and sights gently pick up again.
Wandering recently between the shop's teas, spreads, shawls and postcards, a book caught my eye. Without much thought, I flipped open the thick hardcover and encountered humanoid birds, exuberant vines, patterned tiles, palm fronds, and other leaves. I was immediately enchanted by the drawings, watercolors and paintings of Abbès Saladi.
There is something about Saladi's work that makes me think of the film La planète sauvage. I could actually imagine an exhibition of Saladi's drawings set to the film score composed by Alain Goraguer.
Browsing online, I discover that there is very little information available about the artist (perhaps there is more out there in Darija). Much of his work is in private collections and auction houses. I decide that I will gather a few facts from the book in the shop and create a Wikipedia article (one day, hopefully). In fact, if I had a library of my own, I would have bought the book about Saladi's art right then and there.
These sort of encounters remind me why I set out to travel in the first place. And there have been so many of them so far. It feels as if only moments ago I was admiring Gerard Sekoto's yellow houses in Cape Town and now I am admiring Saladi's sinuous bird people at the other end of the continent. These encounters have only multiplied as I have learned to seek them out. But perhaps what I need now more than anything is time to sit with all of these paintings, poems, bits and pieces of art.
- Andrea