Ports of Refuge
Borrowed amidst criss-crossing tram lines, flat boulevards, narrow cobblestone streets, pitiless drivers of taxis, scooters, motorcycles and the 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, patterns and patterns of palms, tiles, 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 Alain Goraguer's excellent film score.
Coming back home, I discover that there is very little information available online 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. In fact, if I had a library of my own, I would have bought the book about Saladi's oeuvre 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 so far. It feels as if only a moment 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 set my shyness aside and 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