What if furniture in the guest hall of traditional house could talk?
By Dr Laila Abdel Aal Alghalban
“I’ve been hanging on this frame for years, my pleats are bearing dust, and my colours are fading silently, bearing the weight of time. I’ve been starving for the bustling family life in the other part of the house: the company and kids’ giggles,” whispered the curtains. “I think I’m not fortunate to stay here in this dark, cold place; only occasional visitors saw us: the relatives, the neighbours, and guests.” “You are not alone, my inmates,” muttered the hand-crafted, gold-coated chairs. “We envy the chairs in the living section of the house; they do their job, unlike us; we are preserved in this museum, frozen in time, only for show, rather than utility.” The carpets, lambs, paintings and ornaments huddled:” hold on, dear friends, look on the bright side; we are revered, dignified pieces; we are a crucial part of family’s façade to conceal their insecurities, and a sanctuary for social validation, prestige and fulfillment.” “In the past, only few people saw us, now our photos along with our owners have so much visibility; we become their digital facade.” Then, the nish (the glass china cabinet) interrupted: “I’ve been stuffed with dishes, cups and silverware for decades without tasting foods or drinks; I am a silent visual language. Like you, I am the essence of the spectacle over utility principle that lies behind my very existence.” The ornate mirrors interrupted “calm down, friends; the house owners are no different from us; they willingly put themselves in the prison of herd mentality to satisfy the ‘group gaze.’ They undergo a psychological state called deindividuation, trading space and comfort for satisfying social expectations and maintaining an idealised image, a façade, for outsiders. They fall victims to the binary thinking of them (the visitors, and the community) vs. us (the family), and classify us as “sacred/for guests”, not “profane/for family. Thus, we are blessed, chill out!”
Icon, index, symbol
The American semiotician Charles Sanders Peirce distinguished three types of sign: icon, index and symbol. In an iconic sign, the object (the signifier) resembles what it represents (the signified). A case in point is the photographs of late family member on the walls of the guest hall. Denotationally, photographs resemble the actual people, but connotatively, they honour late people’s memories, signifying that they are still alive, never forgotten, never absent. An index sign relates the object and its signification causally or contiguously, like a broken cup whose fracture is a trace of previous use and mishandling. A symbolic sign stands for a signified meaning not through resemblance, or causality, but through an arbitrary set of socially agreed upon conventions: receiving guests in a well-furnished, clean place is a symbol of hospitality, prestige, and formality. Props are silent storytellers of a person’s persona. Using minimalist smart furniture, simultaneously, acts as an icon of de-cluttering, an index of automation, and a symbol of detachment from the past. Younger adults’ flawless digital profile is the modern china cabinet that projects a curated image of an independent, open-minded, competent person.
Humans are born actors, hardwired to perform on the stage of life. What is displayed on the stage is different from the world of the backstage; this is exactly our life.
A life not lived
In front stage life or a reception hall in a home, breaking a cup, or staining the fabric of chairs is a tragic loss, a real nuisance. No problem! The Japanese Wabi-Sabi art philosophy, as a freeing perspective, can save the day. I guess it fits perfectly here. Wabi-Sabi celebrates imperfection and temporariness. Wabi encodes modesty, simplicity, asymmetry and satisfaction, while Sabi means respecting aging, weakness, and flaws. Repairing a broken vase with gold lacquer, or the scratches on a wooden table is no big deal; such flaws are traces of a life actually lived. Wabi-Sabi is a unique form of attachment, we develop over time, to things, nature and aging; they deserve due gratitude for being part of our lives. We age. So do our things. We ail and weather. So do our things. The older we get, the more beautiful we become. So do our things. It seems that guarding front stage props is an unconscious defensive mechanism for hiding behind a perfect glass cabinet or flawless digital profile.
Painting a socially impressive façade
A. J. Greimas’ semiotic square can explain this opposition of front stage vs. backstage life by increasing the number of oppositions derived from the cardinal one, and thus capturing its essence not as a binary but as a set of relations. The front stage side of the square yields its opposite “Not front stage” (seeking authenticity and shunning pretense). Similarly, backstage gives “Not backstage” (adoring exposure and deception). Semiotic square helps us explore the tension between our real life props (cars, homes, clothes, accents) and the staged life, where we pretend to be happy, wealthy, and successful. Our cars, homes, clothes, accents, plastic surgeries, become semiotic signs, props in the theatre of life.
Examining the traditional and modern domestic spaces in Egypt, according to Greimas’ semiotic square, reveals that they are determined by two opposing values: “connection to the past” (the traditional houses) vs. “disconnection from the past” (modern houses in gated communities). In between lie the negation of each extreme: selective front stage and nostalgic backstage. Older and younger adults keep negotiating between authenticity in some situations and fake behaviours in others, between breaking up with traditions on some occasions and developing nostalgic sentiments to the traditions and cultural heritage of the community on other occasions.
Stockpiling
Traditional Egyptian houses must have storage spaces, saving piles of unused towels, bed sheets, clothes, foods, and kitchenware. This is not for show; it is a typically Egyptian tradition; Egyptians have a knack for preservation: stockpiling, mummification, tombs, etc. Accumulation is not necessarily out of scarcity; Egyptians have a special attachment to things. This may explain why they are vehement stockpilers of no longer-used things as well, usually stored on balconies and roofs.
The new generations usually disdain and mock their parents’ and grandparents’ semiotic systems. For them, spending one’s life guarding something, instead of using it, is incomprehensible. The nish, the salon, and the guest bathroom are being replaced by minimal furniture and automation. Young adults align with global trends of interior design that signify competence, success and eco-responsibility. Contemporary mobile lifestyles, especially digital nomadism, boost reshaping young generations’ perceptions of houses and necessitate shifting to more real, authentic domestic designs. This semiotic shift is being widely promoted by a torrent of advertisements and movies, where modern, smart houses are portrayed as the supreme symbol of a modern, smart, and successful life.
However, human nature is the same; we are performers on life stage; our theatrical props vary, but our objective is the same: searching for a façade.
Dr Laila Abdel Aal Alghalban
Professor of Linguistics
Faculty of Arts
Kafr el-Sheikh University
Email: [email protected]
