Islamic geometry: the construction of beauty

In our post about Islamic geometry, wonder | wander | women attended Samira Mian's class on drawing patterns from the palaces of Agra and the Alhambra. It's been a while but we haven't lost our love for those beautiful combinations of art, spiritualism and science.

In the months since then we've returned over and over to the work that we did, contemplating the methods and lines of Islamic patterns: the traditions of different countries, the under-and-over weave, and the mathematical symmetry that makes up the construction of beauty.

The math is so precise in fact, that I made a mistake with my first pattern and omitted one row - and a whole different pattern appeared instead of the regular row of hexagons we expected.

After the workshops I followed Samira on Instagram, and she writes about how Islamic design incorporates ancient geometric concepts like Archimedes' Triangle. A single pattern is made of several of these triangles in different sizes forming a balance.

The eight-fold rosette is a simple-looking pattern with a surprising amount of math and engineering behind it, so it can be duplicated, enlarged and tiled endlessly. The mathematical formulas behind it helped ancient artisans and their apprentices repeat the pattern without mistakes.

The rosettes have a basic structure but can be made into any sort of pattern: angular, elaborate, floral, or as clean as you like. Once you master construction, the possibilities are endless.

Not being an ancient Islamic architect, I struggled a lot. Having such a hard time reminded me of geometry class in school, having to prove a triangle or polygon had equal sides or that an angle on one corner of a triangle was twice as acute as the angle on the opposite corner.

Still, it's very satisfying to watch a pattern take shape from a forest of squares, circles and lines. If our math classes had given us the chance to make a little art as well, maybe my grades would have been better.

Because of my Mermay project, I chose a pattern from the Alhambra. The basic unit of this pattern is a quarter piece which can be rotated to create a full square tile.

Of course the construction is only the opening act to my favourite part: the painting! Despite its universal formulas, Islamic pattern is not the same everywhere: the designs of Morocco are not the same as those of the Hagia Sofia, the Mughal palaces or the kingdoms of Islamic Spain. They also have their distinctive colour schemes and combinations.

Strangely once I added some squares and filled in the colours, the pattern I ended up with struck me as a bit Native. To me it looked less like the patterns I had seen in the great palace in Granada and more tribal. Maybe my Filipino sensibilities had intervened.

It just goes to show that even when the process is as methodical, repetitive and carefully engineered as possible, there is still a wide range of expression and the capability for surprise. This is what makes Islamic art just as much an art as it is a science. Either way, it's a joy.