A Visit to Sheikh Faisal Bin Qassim Al Thani Museum by Kate Lord Brown

Driving west of the city into the desert, I often passed a sign to 'Sheikh Faisal's Museum' on the way to Al-Samriya where you can ride Arabian ponies on the date farm, but it's only last month that a school holiday 'staycation' allowed enough time to visit. The museum has something of a legendary status among expats - it has, it's said, something for everyone. Islamic antiquities? A collection of dazzling quality and depth. Sports cars? Everything from some of the earliest cars in the region to a Formula 1 racer. From fossils to Crusader arrow heads, a passable homage to the 'Bar at the Folies-Bergere', Sufi drums, muskets, swords, butterflies, priceless carpets, calligraphy, furniture inlaid with mother of pearl, and an entire Syrian palace room rebuilt next to displays of dhows and aeroplanes. Among other distinctions it is the world's largest private collection of armory.

Sheikh Faisal generously opened his private collection of 15,000 objects from four continents to the public in 1998, and shared treasures amassed over 55 years of collecting. I was particularly interested and touched to see rooms devoted to other cultures and religions. As a collector of Islamic antiquities the Sheikh clearly has a marvellous eye, and the huge collection has been housed in a purpose built desert fort, constructed along traditional Qatari designs. 


After leaving university, my first job was as an art consultant, curating Orientalist and contemporary Arab art for collections destined for palaces and embassies - and this collection has something unique, I think. It feels organic - like each piece has been chosen with love, and there is a joyous quality to it. I was also surprised by the colour - living here you grow used to the bleached tones of sand, sky, sea, and grow thirsty for colour. I loved the exuberance of the carpets and textiles. 

The museum is both a noble, philanthropic gesture to preserve and share the region's history at a time when it is hurtling towards the future and developing rapidly, and the extraordinarily rich private collection of a man with a great eye for beauty. If you ever visit Doha, a visit will be the highlight of your trip - in the meantime, I hope you enjoy and are inspired by a short virtual tour. Here are a few of my favourite things:

 

A traditional Qatari interior

 

 

 

 

 

Dhows 

Sufi drum

 

 

Syrian Palace

 

Crusader arrow heads

Prince Ali Rida of Lorestan

If you are in Doha, you can call to arrange an appointment to see the collection. Entry is free, and there is no cafe or shop so pack plenty of water for the trip to the desert. Allow at least half a day for your visit. Further details: http://www.fbqmuseum.org/index.php/about-us.html

Window shopping in the museum - Michelle Lovric

So I was writing the scene in which Catullus stammers out his first love poem to Clodia. I was residing in his head, writing with his hand, but I suddenly realized that I couldn’t feel the paper under his fingers and I didn’t know how the stylus felt in his hands. And how bright was the light in his room where he scribbled after midnight?

No problem. In those days I lived at the intellectual end of Covent Garden. In five minutes I was in the Roman domestic department of the British Museum. I had my choice of oil lamps, found the perfect stylus, peered at the simulations of the rolled books. While I was there, I chose a divan on which the luscious but vicious Clodia would brutally seduce my young poet. Greedily, I noted the details of its decoration. Mentally, I told the guard, ‘I’ll take these. Bag ’em up.’

Physically, I took them home in my notebook, and now you'll find them in my novel, The Floating Book.

As an historical writer, I’ve always window-shopped in museums. You get to a certain point in writing a scene – often the second draft – when you need a more hands-on contact with the past. Many museums these days have Writers-in-Residence. But I am sure that for every paid Writer-in-Residence, you’ll find ten times as many writers of historical fiction window-shopping for their novels.

Conspicuous consumption is often a part of historical fiction. I think there’s a reason for that. Human nature has not changed over the centuries, and it’s generally agreed amongst modern writers that we should not render our written conversations incomprehensible to the modern reader by the use of period-perfect and hence now-archaic language. Therefore it’s the accessories that define the period and infuse our books with the provoking perfumes and stenches of the past.

So the writer of historical fiction turns interior decorator. We furnish our castles in time-correct taste, set our groaning banquet tables with non-anachronistic cutlery, polish our period-perfect weapons. We become bankers – filling our purses or pouches with the right coins of the realm.

We also become couturiers, dressing our characters in authentic costume (the names of the fabrics are so delicious: tarlatan, dimity, bombazine…) As my books are set in Venice, my characters tend to fall in the water or otherwise get themselves soaked, so I particularly need to look at the underwear to which they are frequently forced to strip.

At the moment most of my window-shopping is being done at the Natural History Museum in Venice. The delightful curator, Margherita Fusco, has shared so much with me; not least an 1898 abstract on ‘The Skeleton of the Monstrous Bird’ – but that’s another blog. For The Book of Human Skin, I’ve shopped for leather strait-jackets in the Museum of Madness on the island of San Servolo, and in the secret medical museum above Venice’s Ospedale Civile for diabolical obstetrical tools. The Querini Stampalia is good for 18th-century coffee cups, and the Correr Museum is currently helpful with accessories for the venditori ambulanti – street traders who walked around Venice hawking their peaches, figs, pasta and cherries. I found a finger-twitchingly handle-able book bound in human skin at the Wellcome Trust in London. For The Mourning Emporium’s quack medicines for women, I shopped at the Royal Pharmaceutical Society’s archives in Lambeth, where the curators hold valuable sessions during which you can sniff drugs from the past and handle their delicate, beautiful packaging. The Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons gave me a graphic illustration of ‘Phossy Jaw’ – phosphorus necrosis – the disease that afflicted the poor girls and women who worked in Victorian match factories – and provided the name for my tragic character Fossy, whose jaw is so damaged that she can express herself only with notes on her violin.

We writers can find much of what we need to furnish our books in published historical tomes. But I would contend that the pseudo-retail experience can generate fresher descriptions and be a great deal more enjoyable as well.

Any other writers out there willing to share their museum window-shopping expeditions? Looking at what I’ve written, I’ll admit that the contents of my window-shopping bag are on the grim side. Hopefully, some of you look for and find much prettier things than I do?


www.michellelovric.com

The Mourning Emporium came out in paperback on August 4th.

Museum bags from www.Treehugger.com