7. Artisan

This morning I’m on another walking tour with Momo, but it’s a private group with four new friends from Chile who were part of the National Geographic Photography Expedition.  Last night we had a farewell dinner and our final class with Massimo.  As part of that, we were asked to submit our ten best images to him for critique.  He then selected three of our ten to share with the group in a slideshow.  I have to admit, when he told us about this nearly two weeks ago in Casablanca, it was a bit intimidating.  The idea of having my images critiqued by a National Geographic photographer in front of my fellow photographers was unnerving.  As it turned out, it wasn’t as bad as the visions I had in my head.  But it wasn’t good either.  It was somewhere in between.  There’s room for growth, which I already knew.  I’m still learning and need to acquire more sophisticated technical skills to someday have what it takes to be published in an issue of National Geographic.  That’s a big dream of mine.  Actually, it’s huge.  It’s been my dream ever since I was a little girl.  I would pull the magazine out of the mailbox and study it for hours.  Everyone has dreams, some more monumental than others, but seeing my work within the pages of that gold-framed magazine is one of mine.  Who knows, with continued dedication to developing my artistry, it could become a reality.  The elderly gentleman I’m now being introduced to fuels my hope.  His name is Mr. Abdelkadar Ouazzani, and he is the only man in Morocco who still makes silk brocade fabric by hand.  His work is exquisite — he used to make kaftans for royalty.  Mr. Ouazzani’s business is located in a very unassuming shop, tucked into a corner somewhere in the maze of alleyways of this chaotic medina in Fez.  It’s quite dark in here, but to my left I can see a framed photograph.  Momo tells me it’s of Mr. Ouazzani receiving a pin of recognition from the king of Morocco.  I study the photograph and the warm emotion in Mr. Ouazzani’s face.  I then look to Mr. Ouazzani and smile.  He smiles back.  As Momo teaches us about the process Mr. Ouazzani’s uses to create fabrics with his bare hands in this tiny workspace, he adds that his work is on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.  I try to process how his work might have traveled through the same doors that I walked through and made it to all of the way to the MET.  It’s mind-boggling because that location on 5th Avenue could not be more opposite of this Moroccan medina.  What an incredible accomplishment.  Momo tells us that Mr. Ouazzani learned his craft from his father, who learned it from his father.  It makes me wonder whether it was a skill he wanted to learn or just a means of making a living and keeping the legacy of the family business alive.  Either way, his recognition was as a byproduct of many years of hard work and dedication to his artistry.  I find his story inspirational.  Perhaps someday my recognition will come too.  Maybe I’ll see “Photo by Lisa Brighton” underneath an image in one of the world’s most recognized magazines…  I get tears in my eyes imagining this…