The Arts of Persia & Other Countries of Islam — Edition Insights

From Exhibition Guide to Philosophical Treatise

The most striking shift occurs when Kevorkian moves from describing objects to expounding on Islamic mysticism. He introduces Jami's poetry—'Though in this world a hundred tasks thou tryest, / 'Tis Love alone which from thyself will save thee'—and then offers his own interpretation: the 'Keynote' of Muhammadan art is 'a merging of physical and spiritual.' This passage reads less like a catalog entry and more like a lecture. The pace slows considerably: where earlier sentences were short and directive, here they become longer, more speculative, and laden with abstract nouns. The text seems to forget its own occasion, the exhibition, and instead pursues a theory of artistic inspiration.

Quoted Voices and Borrowed Authority

Kevorkian frequently cedes the floor to other writers. He quotes Lord Curzon's description of the Chahar Bagh garden at length—'Water conducted in stone channels ran down the centre, falling in cascades from terrace to terrace'—and cites Professor Browne on Hindu mysticism. These quotations introduce a polyphonic quality: the booklet becomes a collage of voices. The effect on pace is uneven. Curzon's detailed, topographical prose slows the reader down with its accumulation of visual specifics, while Kevorkian's own summaries often hurry past objects with phrases like 'fine examples' or 'important series.' The reader must adjust to each new speaker's rhythm.

The Object as Afterthought

Despite being an exhibition booklet, the text spends surprisingly little time on individual artifacts. The stucco bas-relief excavated at Ray (Rhages) is mentioned almost in passing, and the Mughal painting of the Timurid princes receives only a caption. Instead, Kevorkian dwells on context: the history of the Chahar Bagh, the philosophy of the Bridge, the lineage of rulers. This imbalance suggests that the booklet's primary purpose is not to describe what is on view but to frame it intellectually. The pace is thus meditative rather than tour-like; readers expecting a room-by-room guide will find themselves instead in a discursive essay on the meaning of Islamic art.

Readers should approach this text as a hybrid: part exhibition notice, part aesthetic manifesto. The shifts in voice—from brisk logistics to lyrical quotation to philosophical argument—are not flaws but deliberate choices that reflect Kevorkian's ambition to educate as well as invite. Pay attention to when the prose speeds up (listing objects) and when it slows down (quoting poetry or expounding theory). These changes in pace reveal the author's priorities and the booklet's dual identity as both a practical guide and a work of personal reflection.