While the Sultanate of Oman tends nowadays to figure rather prominently in the news on account of various diplomatic ripples near the Strait of Hormuz, the New Tretyakov Gallery is currently hosting an exhibition entitled Pioneers of Omani Art. For the discerning lover of painting, this offers a singularly rare opportunity to become acquainted with Omani modernism—a phenomenon as spirited as it is self-contained, blossoming at the fortuitous intersection of traditional Islamic culture, local identity, and European artistic currents.
A Mark on the Blackboard
One naturally wishes to begin with the laconic yet mesmerizing work by Moosa Siddiq al-Musafer, Untitled (see on the top).
Its textural, profound charcoal-grey background irresistibly calls to mind that famous historical photograph of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk standing by a school blackboard, chalk in hand, personally inscribing the letters of the new Turkish alphabet. Here we find those very same chalky, almost vibrating smudges and that unmistakable sensation of an epoch shifting gears.
The central motif of the composition is, of course, the crisp and graphic crescent moon—a symbol now firmly cemented in the popular imagination as the emblem of Islam and the state heraldry of numerous nations. Yet the historical irony of the matter lies in the fact that, long before the advent of Islam, the crescent was cheerfully employed in the iconography of Ancient Egypt and Phoenicia, where it served to represent the goddesses Ishtar and Artemis-Diana. Paired with a star, it figured as the insignia of the Kingdom of Pontus and the Byzantine Empire, eventually falling as a legacy to the Ottomans along with the title of Kayser-i Rûm. It only assumed its modern Islamic significance following the Arab conquest of Sasanian Persia, when Caliph Umar adorned the Kaaba with captured ornaments.
The Anatomy of Dedikodu
An altogether different psychological climate is broadcast by the canvas The Gossip.
The artist works in a deconstructed, almost cubist idiom. Before us stand anthropomorphic figures whose anatomies hint now at mechanical contrivances, now at architectural fragments. But the true focal point here is the geometry of glances and gestures. To the right, a tight cluster of profiles—whispering, craning their necks, and pointing accusing fingers. To the left, a solitary figure gripped by profound despair or a deaf defensiveness, clutching its head in hands.
Anyone even casually acquainted with Middle Eastern or Turkish manners will instantly recognise that which the Turks encapsulate in the wonderfully expressive word dedikodu (“gossip, tittle-tattle,” literally translated as “he said and made it stick,” like a brand). This is no mere harmless chatter behind one’s back; it is a formidable engine of social coercion in a traditional society. The painter captures this suffocating atmosphere with genius: gossip here is almost tangible, literally constructing a cage around the victim and robbing them of oxygen.
Calligraphy and Doors
Mohammed bin Abdullah bin Ismail al-Farsi (al-Sayegh) , in his Calligraphic Composition, draws upon entirely different roots.
The first thing that strikes the eye is the employment of a carved wooden lintel positioned right across the middle of the canvas, transforming the frame into the likeness of an ancient doorway. In the East, a door has ever been a portal separating the profane sphere of the street from the sacred interior of the home and domestic sanctuary. Meanwhile, the plastic rhythm of the letters—interweaving into brilliant, contrasting knots—recalls the traditions of shamails, those decorative wall panels featuring calligraphically rendered suras from the Quran or sayings of the Prophet. The artist deconstructs calligraphy, transmuting the text into pure abstract emotion while carefully preserving its spiritual, talismanic essence. That weathered fragment of old wood renders the painting wonderfully tactile, binding the high art of Arabic script with the vanishing material everyday life of old Oman.
A Celebration Woven in Veils
Our review concludes with a work of astonishing tenderness, impressionistic in spirit: Zafat al-Kitha.
And what, one might ask, is the meaning of this enigmatic title? Zafat (Arabic: زفة) refers to the traditional Arab wedding procession—the ceremonial entrance of the bride, surrounded by her bridesmaids and musicians, as she approaches the guests. It is the principal and most theatrical component of an Arab wedding. Specially composed for the occasion, the accompanying song extols the bride’s beauty, frequently weaving in the names of the newlyweds and their respective families. The bride paces very slowly amidst applause, the thrum of drums, choral singing, and traditional wedding ululations. The hall is plunged into darkness while brilliant spotlights fixate upon the bride, often accompanied by sparklers and smoke machines designed to conjure an utterly fairy-tale atmosphere. Al-Kitha in this context alludes to the traditional Omani women’s head covering (veil).
The artist achieves a marvellous visual effect: the women’s faces seem to loom through semi-transparent, luminous squares reminiscent of veils or framed vintage photographs. The central figure of the bride is arrayed in magnificent traditional garments, while in the foreground white blossoms either drift downward or burst forth like fireworks. This canvas is an ode to the traditions and festive culture of Oman, rendered in light, almost watercolour-like strokes.
The exhibition at the New Tretyakov Gallery on Krymsky Val runs until August 16, 2026. I warmly recommend dropping in to witness first-hand how Arabic script, Byzantine crescents, and modernist forms intertwine to create a unique, inimitable Omani style.
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