I never heard of Moorish revival architecture until I saw the Bloomingdale’s home store in Chicago. It is housed in a restored Masonic temple built by architects Huehl and Schmidt in 1912 for the Shriners.

The building was declared a historic Chicago landmark in 2001. After renovations, which included replacing the original domes, the Bloomingdale’s home store opened there in 2003.

According to the Medinah Shriners website, they, aka Shriners or Shrine Masons, belong to the Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine for North America (A.A.O.N.M.S.). They’re only tied to an Arabic theme through the imagination of its founders, Billy Florence, an actor, and Walter Fleming, a physician. Florence attended a party in Marseilles hosted by an Arabian diplomat. At the end of the party, the guests became members of a secret society. Florence returned to the States inspired by his Marseilles experience and worked with Fleming to create an exotic backdrop for the fraternity. They designed elaborate rituals, salutations, emblems, and costumes, including the Shriners’ distinguishing red Fez hat.

When the building opened, it housed the fraternity. They gathered in a red velvet audotrorium now filled with escaltors, $1,000 sheets, and a cool sound system designed under the constraints the historic status placed on renovations: no speakers mounted on the dome and floating floors.

The Shriners used to hold parades for children regardless of religion. They still work today towards child welfare and health issues.

The building is obviously Moroccan-inspried. I love the way the eight-point star is used in the stain glass windows like a head of a body.

I’ve been thinking about the number three lately. Not unusual if you consider how much three pops-up in our collective psyche: three cheers; red, yellow, green; the Holy Trinity; birth, life, death; three primary colors. Three expresses the tripartite wholeness of our universe. We instinctively recognize it. Three is a group. Less is nothing much really and more than three is excessive or redundant.

I started looking for three in Moroccan design. There is only one pattern I can think of that is clearly triangular. I call it water because it flows. I’m not sure what the formal name of the pattern is. I tried creating it a few times and realized I need a triangle grid, not square, to get the motion right. It makes use of a six-point star; two triangles, Seal of Solomon.

In Sumerian language, numbers were called man, woman, many. In Greek culture, the monad (one) and dyad (two) were considered parents of all other numbers. Like numbers, descriptions for colors also vary across time and from culture to culture. But all cultures have words for at least black, white and red. This limited vocabulary expresses that there is color, absence of color, and then infinite color. Three is the threshold to many. Three introduces infinity and infinite possibility.

There is no number like three. It is the only number of infinite many that is the sum of all numbers that precede it.

The first shape to emerge from the vesica pisces is the triangle. It is the first shape born of space (circles) and nonspace (point). It resolves the duality of two circles and lets surface forms emerge. Triangles are the surface of our universe. The pattern goes on forever. We ourselves are three parts, head, body, limbs. We recognize three within ourselves and within our world. It ties us, mysteriously, to the whole. Somehow, three becomes one.

I wrote an article about the story of two and the archway that is so common in Morocco and how it is formed by the vesica pisces. But two has no harmony. Two is a tension, and expression of polarity, a reflection of opposites. Two is the black and white; the yes-and-no world. There must be a third to resolve the tension of two and create harmony. The archway is nothing without the keystone. Two coming together make three. Like two chemicals introduced to each other, if there is any reaction both are changed and emerge as a third.

I look for three in Moroccan patterns. I mentioned one where it is evident. The other patterns don’t seem to pay the number three specific tribute. But three is in every pattern; the 12-point star, the underlying grids, the surface of our world. Anything that expresses the infinite or the interconnectedness of our universe and our lives makes use of the number three.

“This pattern is called ‘The Spider’” our guide said excitedly while gesturing towards a zillige-covered wall. “The Prophet Mohammad was hiding in a cave from his enemies when a spider came and built a web over the entrance. His enemies believed he couldn’t be in the cave because the web was unbroken. This is why it is haram (forbidden) to kill spiders and why this pattern is called named after the spider.”

I’m not sure when I first heard the story of the cave and the spider web. This time the story was told to me on visiting a 14th century medrassa in Fes. I was happy to learn the name for a zillij pattern. And I was intrigued to find another instance of the symbolism of eight within Moroccan design.

The symmetry of eight, according to Keith Critchow, is central to the genius of Moroccan pattern. Even though I read Critchow’s book “Islamic Patterns” I wanted more information on the role of symmetries of eight in Moroccan design, which is why I researched and wrote about the origins and meanings of the eight-point star.

The story of the spider web covering the cave isn’t in the Koran. That story is included in a hadith, stories covering the life events of the Prophet. The Koran includes 114 chapters (surah) including ones named after bees, ants, and spiders. In the Spider, it is written:

“The likeness for those who take to themselves guardians instead of God is the likeness of the Spider who buildeth her a house: But verily, frailest of all houses surely is the house of the spider.” (source)

In the hadith story, it is the fraility of the spider’s house that makes the enemies of the Prophet certain he couldn’t have entered the cave without breaking the web.

So what is the symbolism of the spider pattern? Strength? Fragility? Protection?

Stories of the mystical spider webs occur in multiple cultures. Just as the symbolism behind the eight point star is not uniquely Moroccan, I think the symbolism of the spider pattern is something more primal. The number eight helps us make sense of our world, like a compass with the eight familiar directions: north, north east, east, south east, south, south west, west, north west.

(You’re right, Gene. I posted the wrong photo but added the correct image to the beginning of the post. Others – the old photo is below.)

I found myself in a SUV driven by an American who was touring Morocco with his girlfriend from Chezh Republic. I assumed they were married and asked how long. “They aren’t married” my tour guide whispered “that’s why he laughed when you asked the question.”

We talked as we drove towards the Merinid tombs. “Moroccans sure like their walls, don’t they?” the man asked rhetorically. “They have walls around nothing. He told me” the American said in reference to our guide “that the holes in the walls are for birds.”

“Seems to me they would be for guns.” I responded.
“That’s what I said!” the American exclaimed excitedly.
“No, I told you they’re for birds.” the guide said with exasperation.
I replied that it seemed like a lot of work to do just for the birds. “And the guns would offer protection, which is the point of the exterior wall, right? Protection?”
“Well, you know Morocco. Nothing is done just as-is. Everything has to be beautiful.” the guide added as justification.

That almost seemed true. Morocco is visually ornate. But, Morocco is not ambitious. I can’t imagine a craftsman would complicate building procedures of an exterior wall just for the birds.

Detail of Bab Mansour in Meknes.

Later in Meknes, I began to appreciate the holes as bird homes. I watched mosquitoes fly in spirals in a sun beam in the garden. They nipped my ankles as I ate my lunch. They left marks along my daughter’s arms which she scratched until bleeding. As I watched birds fly in and out of the holes in wall around Bab Mansour I wished them a hearty meal of flies and mosquitoes. I thought of the owl, bat, and bird houses that were installed in my Maryland neighborhood to attract predators to control the mosquito and rodent population. Perhaps the holes were just for the birds?

“The holes are left when they remove the scaffolding used to construct the wall” the owner of Riad Safir later explained to me.”

Well, the holes in the wall are practical, even if not used for firing guns. As a by-product of construction procedures, they do make very functional and welcome bird houses.

Sitting on the beach in Restinga looking at the Mediterranean I imagine Phoenicians sailing their galley ships across from Lebanon to Morocco. The oarsmen could rest on a windy day like today as they sailed their ship westward towards Tingis, modern day Tangiers.

What did Phoenicians bring to Morocco? How did Phoenicians impact Moroccan design? These are questions without clear answers, but that make for lovely seaside daydreams.

According to Berber mythology, the town of Tangier was built by the son of Tingis, a goddess. Tingis was the wife of the giant Anateus, son of Poseidon, and later Hercules. She and the location of Tangiers are associated with the union of the sea and the earth ¹. Tingis was one of many Phoenician colonies in Morocco, the others being Lixus (Larache), Sala (Rabat-Sale), Zili (Asilah), and Mogador (Essaouria) ².

I’ve read that Phoenicians were the first to use the hamsa, the hand talisman that is so commonly seen in Morocco toady, which was used to honor Tanit, the lunar goddess and patron goddess of Carthage. Today the hamsa (five) symbol, is also known as the Hand of Fatima, or Hand of Miriam and has specific meaning in Judaic and Islamic cultures. ⁴.

One website calls the Phoenicians “Missionaries of Civilization.” The Phoenicians were one of the early implementers of the alphabet and their language is the precursor to North African Punic. They wrote many books, none of which survive, but which are quoted in ancient texts that survived from other cultures.

Phoenicians were known for their craftsmanship in metal, ivory, terra cotta, wood, glass, and stone. Yet, Phoenician art is not considered to have any identifying characteristics of its own. It embodies a variety of influences picked up from various cultures through trade, the dominant being Egyptian, Greek, and Assyrian. ⁵.

Besides their accomplishments in maritime trade and implementation of the alphabet, Phoenicians developed Tyrian purple pigment from sea snail shells, which was used by Greek elites to dye their clothing. Mogador (Essaouria) was one of the production centers of this pigment, which could only be obtained by trading with the Phoenicians.

So, what did Phoenicians bring to Morocco? The hamsa talisman? Craftsmanship skills in a variety of mediums? The alphabet? Eastern ideas and products? It is hard to say exactly, because just as archeologists argue of Phoenicians origins, one can argue over the origins of Moroccan design. Both the Phoenicians and Moroccan design are products of a world economy, ethnic diversity, and the movement of people, products, and ideas.

On our way to a friend’s house in Ain Atiq, we happened upon a fantasia. It was a competitive tournament, not a regular tourist attraction, so I felt lucky that we were able to witness it.

The horses were beautiful. I love the tassle under this one’s chin.

The gun shots were loud and frightening. No, that isn’t colored smoke. Its fire.

The riders stopped directly in front of the tent at the end of the field. Sometimes they fired their guns, sometimes they didn’t.

The tent was filled with male spectators. I bet they came early in the day to get the best seats.

The riders had a chivalrous air. One even posed for me.

Of course, I was interested in the tents set-up around the festival. They looked like portable hotel rooms. Each one was prepared for serving tea.

Some tents had sofas inside, others had only pillows. This one has an ocean view.

I wish I knew more about the symbols that decorated the exteriors of the tent. Were they equvilants to male and female signs for bathrooms? Tribal markings? Mere ornament? I just don’t know. I found a website that offers Moroccan tents for sale (sorry folks, no longer online) or for partys and events. They site includes information about the symbolism of the interior colors (red=power, green=religion, gold=wealth), and notes that the exterior symbols in black are representative of minarets and symbolize freedom and happiness.

Do you know something more about the symbolism of Moroccan tents? If so, please share by leaving a comment.

For more photos of the fantasia, visit my flickr photostream.

The guide, a man of about 20, at the entrance to kasbah was lying. He told me the café didn’t open until 6pm. It is in fact open from sunrise to sunset. But, I had a few hours to kill while waiting to meet with some friends and little else to do for a distraction as most shops were closed for lunch. I decided to follow him, interested in what he would show, tell, and expect from us at the end. He showed me his national identity card in lieu of a guide license. It showed was that he was a resident of Oudaya.

Within a few steps, I felt like I was in a neighborhood in Chefchouen, but in place of cool mountain air was a breeze from the ocean. Oudaya lacks the sophisticated boutiques of its Northern blue-and-white cousin. Here were only residential markets and an orange juice stand. Boys in half wet suits carried battered surf boards through the narrow streets, half of which was shaded from midday sun by the blue and white walls surrounding it. The walls were pieced by ornate doorways that hinted at the architecture and ambiance hidden within.

The guide tells me that the painted door style is Andalusian, not Berber.

We tried to stay on the shady side of the street. All we could see were doorways, walls, and a view of the ocean and river that separates Rabat and Sale.

The guide discussed the symbolism of the wall colors and the various origins of the doorknocker styles. The Hand of Fatima (a feminine hand wearing a ring), Hamsa (stylized hand with two thumbs, Jewish origin), Hand of the Virgin (no ring, Portuguese), and scissors. The scissors, like the hand doorknockers, are talismans used to ward of the evil eye or bad luck. The scissors, also and more intuitively, signify a barber shop. One bizarre door was decorated with a variety of brass objects, including Roman chariots. It was the door of an apothecary of Egyptian origin.

Door of an Egyptian apothocary in Oudaya.

I ask and the guide tells me the blue color used on the medina walls represents the ocean and also serves as a mosquito repellant because “mosquitos only like yellow”. He tells me that the white paint on the outside of the buildings between the street and the curb symbolize both Islamic religion (white, he says, is for the Prophet) as well as pathways that have an exit. He shows me places where the same section where building meets curb is painted light blue, explaining that this color marks Andalusian homes and paths with no exit.

The white paint on the curb indicates this path
should have an exit.

I have never heard Andalusian used as a race. Certainly when the Moors were forced out of Spain, many Jews and Muslims settled in Morocco in towns like Chefchaouen and Rabat. I wonder if Andalusian means Jewish in this case. I know the guide, in the Moroccan tradition, will answer any question I may ask just. I know in advance that his answer won’t satisfy me.

He points to the gate to the Oudaya and says that the shell detail was a symbol of victory in the Almohad dynasty.

We go by Dar Baraka on our way to an open plaza that overlooks the Sale and the Bou Regreg river. There is sign with a gold cat on it. He explains that the cat represents luck and the gold represents wealth.

From there it is short walk to the café and gardens, which are, at 3pm, miraculously open.

The guide wants 170 dirhams for this short tour, an unreasonable amount of money. I offer him a bit more than he deserved because my daughter dropped a bag, the contents of which amount to close to his asking price, and he quickly back tracked and retrieved it for us.

Enjoying tea with my travelling companion. The charming open ledge isn’t very kid-friendly, but the gardens are great for toddlers.

Overall, the tour was a rip-off that was worth the time and money. If you want to go into Oudaya, don’t bother with a guide. It is a small, lovely, and relatively friendly, although the guide did shoo away one persistent beggar boy during our tour. Still, you don’t need to spend any dirhams to see it unless, like me, you are interested in what the locals have to say – historically accurate or not- about symbolism and history.

Once you see a Moroccan zillij masterpiece, you can spot the style anywhere. It is an art form that has been practiced for a thousand years. It is a unique specialization of Morocco and continues to thrive in Moroccan society within a contemporary creative framework.

This website is full of research related to understanding zillij, such as my research on the meaning of the eight-point star. On this page, you will find the following:

• Meaning
• Application
• History
• Resources for Further Study

Meaning

Zillij is an Islamic art that is based on learning, discipline, and faith. The geometric patterns reflect the Islamic belief that life is ordered by cosmic intelligence, even if people cannot always understand it. The abstract patterns reflect the Islamic desire to understand God’s creation through study rather than copy creation through representational art, which is shunned as a pathway to idolatry. Zillij patterns are constructed from archetypal shapes that have been refined by centuries of scientific study, artistic tradition, and religious belief. “Truthfulness—sidq—is in everything I make” said a modern zillij artisan in a recent interview.

Fundamentally, the purpose of zillij is decoration used to inspire the viewer into meditative reflection of the underlying laws governing the universe. Since Islamic tradition frowns on representational art, Muslims celebrate beauty through decorative arts, such as arabesques, textiles, architecture, tile work, and pottery design. The Prophet Mohammad is quoted as saying “God is beautiful and loves beauty.” The Prophet’s love of learning, appreciation of beauty, and directive to avoid representational art provided an ideal set of constraints for the creation and support of zillij art work. It is hard to imagine this art form arising from any other tradition.

Application

In Morocco zillij is used to decorate water fountains, home interiors, add architectural detail, and cover tombs. It is rarely, if unsuccessfully, liberally applied to the exterior of buildings. According to Zillij: The Art of Moroccan Ceramics, zillij is “the subtle application of man’s feelings through form and color, exactly as the house is designed to reflect his requirements. Zillij is an expression of man’s interior world.”

Zillij artisans today continue to be supported by commissions. Restoration work and new building projects keep them occupied as do commissions for zillij installations in private homes. If a family can at all afford it, they will likely add a zillij fountain, wall, or walkway to their residence.

History

The practice of zillij dates back to the eleventh century. The practice was likely inspired by Roman mosaics, remnants of which can be seen in the ruins at Volubilis. It is certainly influenced by Islamic belief and tradition, which warns against representational art for fear of idol worship. Whereas representational art may, according to the Islamic perspective, disfigure reality in the observers’ mind and lead to misplaced study and misguided worship, zillij, through a disciplined approach to space, line, and color, encourages the observer to reflect on the perfection of God’s creation.

Moroccan mosaics are unique in the Muslim world. The lines in Moroccan geometry are straight as opposed to the curved lines used in Middle Eastern art traditions. This straight line is thought to be an influence of pre-Islamic architecture, constructed by the Berber (Amazigh) populations before Islamic culture arrived in North Africa. The Moroccan line can be seen in both the hard edges of zillij tiles and the rectangular, not round, minaret of mosques.

Resources for Further Study

I am facinated by zillij and have gathered a few resources that have assisted me in learning more about this incredible artform. I will continue to update this post with additional information and resources as I find them. If you have other zillij resources to share, please leave a comment so I can share the information.

Websites

• Zelige Applet
  An applet that let’s you construct your own zelige pattern.
• Zillij in Fez
  Article about the art and history of zillij in Fes.
• Origin and Meanings of the Eight-Point Star
• Advanced geometry of Islamic art

Books

• Islamic Patterns: An Analytical and Cosmological Approach
  This book contains some heavy explanations about the origins and meaning of Islamic designs. I refer to it often for its many useful and accurate pattern templates.
• Zillij: The Art of Morroccan Ceramics
  A book about how Morocco uses Islamic patterns in pottery and tile and other artisan crafts. Contains lots of color pictures. This is the only in-print English-language book I know of dedicated soley to Moroccan zillij. Includes a very useful glossary of zillij terms, including tile shapes and pattern names.
• Arabic Geometrical Pattern and Design
  This book contains 190 linear plates of geometrical Islamic patterns, including Middle-Eastern styles. The collection of plates was originally published in French in 1879. It was republished in 1973. There isn’t any text in the book except for brief a publishers note.

Lesson Plans

• Moroccan Zillij: What Zillij Teachers About Islam
  A lesson plan for 7 to 12 graders and some other Morocco-related curriculum projects.
• Islamic Art and Geometric Design Downloadable PDF from The Metropolitan Museum of Art Designed to assist teachers with developing interdisciplinary lesson plans.

In Hay Riad, Rabat, there is a street that has new government buildings, including the wedge-shaped Institute for Amizigh Culture. At the end of this street is a gateway, an arched transition. I cannot read the Arabic mixed with the geometric ornament on the gate’s façade. But I know what the doorway represents. It calls attention to the action of coming and going, one and two, moving between the square (worldly) and circular (perfect).

Arched doorways are all over the place in Morocco. “Moroccans sure like walls.” an American tourist commented as we drove through Fes to tour the Merinid tombs, “They have walls that don’t have anything inside; that don’t surround anything!” His observation is accurate. But where there is a wall there is a doorway, and it is the doorway that matters.

Arched doorways in Morocco and the walls that hold them straight are found in homes, gardens, mosques, and even intersections. The door may guard nothing more than the momentary flow of traffic, but they always draw attention to the transition from interior to exterior, from public to private, or from one to many, such as when a street meets a roundabout.

An understanding of the story of the numbers one and two provides insight into the symbolism of the arched doorway and its use in Morocco and other cultures.

It takes two to create. Male and female; individual and society; point and line; a need left unfulfilled; a passion seeking expression. It takes some form of duality, conflict, or tension to spark-up the energy needed to combat life’s inertia with creation or creation’s attempt. It takes two circles to form the vesica piscis (also called mandorla or almond), which is the geometric construction behind the arched doorway.

Man and Woman

In Darija, the Arabic dialect spoken in Morocco, the word for two is juj, which means pair and husband. That Moroccans use the word juj for two as opposed to the standard Arabic word for two, ithinin, speaks to the ancient roots of Moroccan design traditions. Sumerians, one of the earliest human civilizations and one of the early inventors of language, saw the number two as male. Sumerians didn’t have numbers as we know them, rather language and numbers were the same. They used the terms woman (one), man (two), and many to describe quantity. There is a rationale to this impractical approach to numbers, which was provided later by Greek philosophers.

One

The ancient Greeks called one, the Sumerian woman/mother, the Monad, which represents unity, perfection, and wholeness. The physcial expression of the Monad, written in the sand by ancient geometers, is a dot, which expanded becomes a circle (this is where the design part begins). The circle, using the geometers’ tool the compass or a string attached to a stick anchored in the sand, is the parent of all other shapes, just as one is the parent of all other numbers. But it is a parent that only recreates itself. For when a number is multiplied or divided by one, it remains the same (1x1x1…x1=1). In this way, one is the common denominator of the universe.

Two

For creation to take place, the Monad needs another. But one can only recreate itself. This means that one, physically expressed as a circle, needs another circle. Consequently, creation in the world of geometric design begins with two circles overlapping like a dividing cell, a configuration known as the vesica piscis (Latin for “bladder of the fish”). It is also called mandorla, which means almond in Italian. In Moroccan, the corresponding shape is also called almond, luz, and is used in constructing geometric designs.

The vesica piscis is also a yonic symbol in Indian culture and can be interpreted as an opening womb associated with virgin birth. The vesica piscis is a geometric construct that gives birth to other shapes and numbers.

Within the two overlapping circles of the vesica piscis, there are born two points that connect to form a line. This new line is the physcial expression of the number two, juj, pair, husband. Called Dyad by the ancient Greeks and seen as an element of chaos, two, the line, creates both a boundary and a link. It rests between the one (Monad, perfection, mother) and the many (3, 4, 5…and all those numbers represent), so that it pulls towards perfection and wholeness and also towards multiplicity and the unknown.

Parenthood

The ancient Greeks considered the Monad and Dyad the parents of numbers, not actual numbers themselves, similar to the way the Sumerians saw numbers as man, woman, and many. The Greeks added a reasonable explination to the idea of parent numbers. The physical representations of one and two, the dot and the line, are only one dimensional, mere concepts. As explained by Michael Schneider in his book Beginners Guide to Constructing the Universe

Nobody can hold a true point or line in his hand. Likewise, no one or two points or angles will create any actual form by themselves. But an ongoing interplay beginning with a point and line is all that is required to construct the world’s geometric patterns.

Through the expression of one and two, the woman/mother and man/father, we get a pair juj, but not a new creation. The vesica piscis gives us a visual of a line poking the insides of a delicately opening circle (hint, hint). Ultimately, new creation comes from this pairing, be it a new shape from point and line or new life from woman and man. The archway is a reminder of transitioning from one, wholeness, simplicity, the safety of life behind the womb, to the infinite many that comes with a pairing, juj and the creative urge the pairing of male and female represents. Or, it can be seen as a funnel that takes us from the world of the many back to the world of the One, which is the particular meaning of the arched doorway used on mosques, churches and other sacred buildings. The archway in the above photo funnels two lanes of traffic into one.

Bravo for reading this far! As a reward, the following diagram, which is worth way more than a thousand of my words. The following has been extracted from Schneider’s book, shows how a vesica piscis is used to create an arched doorway. (At least now you have an appreciation for what the vesica piscis represents).

In constructing the doorway, the almond-shape made by the vescia piscis is squared off as it meets the ground. In nubmer symbolism four, which is visualized as a square, represents the earth. So, the structure and shape of the archway is also a meeting of the heavenly, perfect circle, the creative tension of its pairing, and the meeting of the divine creative energy with the square earth.

To learn more about numbers and their role in creation, I highly recommend Schneider’s book, Beginners Guide to Constructing the Universe. It is a dense read, I am only up to the number four, but I find it hard to write about the subject of numbers and their connection to our lives without quoting him directly. It seem he has said everything and said it well. The book changed the way I view math, philosophy, life, doorways to intersections, and walls that surround nothing.

Also, if you enjoy any of the content on this site, please visit a sponsored link or leave a comment to help me justify the time I spend writing. Thanks!

My guide tells me that the color of Fes is blue, but I say its grey. The color of Fes is grey like the clay used to make Fasi pottery and tiles; the grey of pollution and plaster work; it is the grey of the crumbling medina walls. It is a particular shade of grey that is more a complex taupe than a simple mixture of black and white. The color of Fes is the color of creative inspiration. With 50,000 artisans and 15% of the population working in the craft trade, Fes is a specialized source of human creative energy. It is amazing what can be made with Fasi grey.

The grey of Fes is transformed into tiles, which will
be colored and used for zillij, geometric mosaics.

There is no shortage of color in Fes. Colorful geometric mosaics, bright silk textiles, and glimmering metal work delight the eye. But there is no shared understanding of the symbolism of color use in Morocco. Whereas textile artisans may agree on the proper way of processing vegetable silk threads, the meaning of the colors used in their work escapes common definition.

The earliest examples of zillij, geometric mosaics common to Morocco, use a limited color palettes, usually two (black and white) to five (black, white, ochre, green – these four are most traditional – and eventually blue) colors. As a wider range of colors were made available, artisans quickly introduced a multitude of colors into their work. For this reason, I am not convinced that the limited color palette of early zillij and pottery had a particular symbolic value, but was a matter of availability.

However, my guide points to a zillij spider pattern on the wall at Medersa Bou Inaniya, which was built in the mid-fourteenth century, and explains: “The blue is for the sky, which is meant to inspire viewers to think of heaven. The yellow is for gold, which represents spiritual wealth, not monetary wealth. Green is the color of Islam. White is purity. Black the depth of life.”

Later, we stop by an embroidery shop in the medina. Two women work diligently on the table cloth designs. The man has his assistant show me some napkins soaking in bleach. “You cannot bleach the color out of these threads” he explains to me. This fact alone motivates me to buy. When showing me samples to chose from, he states “Blue is the best; it is the color of Fes.” When I ask why, my guide repeats that it represents the sky and heaven. The shop-keeper offers another interpretation: the blue represents water. Indeed, the location of Fes is at the edge of the Middle Atlas Mountains and the rivers that result from the flow of water from nearby mountain tops. The natural bounty of the location certainly must have been a motivating factor to its founders, who established Fes in the ninth century. The stunning public water fountains found in the medina speak of the cultural importance of water. Water and flowing steams are the necessary components of life and are part of the Islamic vision of Paradise. (In Rabat, during a tour of Oudaiya the guide told me the blue used to paint the walls was representative of the ocean and that it also functioned as a mosquito repellant since “mosquitos only like yellow.”)

I offer another interpretation. I read in a guidebook that the city of Chefchaouen, famous for the blue-painted walls of its medina, was green, the color of Islam, until the Jews arrived with a supply of and preference for blue pigment. Couldn’t it be the case with Fes, which boasted a large and often politically-connected population of Jews, that the blue color was inspired by the Jewish community? The men hum to themselves and acknowledge the possibility.

What do I know about color symbolism in Judaic culture? Exactly nothing. I believe it takes us back to the begining; back to the sky. And so it is with studying symbolism in Morocco. Not only is everything open to interpretation, but there exists such strong and diverse cultural traditions that you can quickly find yourself researching Judaic culture or the art history of Mesopotamia for the answer to a question that seemed to be a local one.

But I can appreciate Moroccan art without fully being able to pin-down its meaning, the origins of which is locked in pre-history. I purchased a round table cloth and six napkins decorated to with blue embroidery common to the Fasi style. Yes, it is amazing what comes from Fasi grey.