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intently into my eyes as if to say; “I understand; I’m listening to you with
reverence” when I tell him something of import; or the way he nods his head
with a subtle rhythm matching the measure of my words are all quite
appropriate。 Now that I’ve reached this age; I know that true respect arises not
from the heart; but from discrete rules and deference。
During the years Black’s mother brought him frequently to our house
under every pretense because she anticipated a future for him here; I
understood that books pleased him; and this brought us together。 As those in
the house used to put it; he would serve as my “apprentice。” I explained to
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him how miniaturists in Shiraz had created a new style by raising the horizon
line clear to the top of the border; and that while everyone depicted Mejnun
in a wretched state in the desert; crazed with love for his Leyla; the great
master Bihzad was better able to convey Mejnun’s loneliness by portraying
him walking among groups of women cooking; attempting to ignite logs by
blowing on them or walking between tents。 I remarked how absurd it was that
most of the illustrators who depicted the moment when Hüsrev spied the
naked Shirin bathing in a lake at midnight had whimsically colored the lovers’
horses and clothes without having read Nizami’s poem; my point being that a
miniaturist who took up a brush without the care and diligence to read the
text he was illustrating was motivated by nothing more than greed。
I’m delighted now to see that Black has acquired another essential virtue:
To avoid disappointment in art; one mustn’t treat it as a career。 Despite
whatever great artistic sense and talent a man might possess; he ought to seek
money and power elsewhere to avoid forsaking his art when he fails to receive
proper pensation for his gifts and efforts。
Black recounted how he’d met one by one all of the master illustrators and
calligraphers of Tabriz by making books for pashas; wealthy Istanbulites and
patrons in the provinces。 All these artists; I learned; were impoverished and
overe by the futility of their lot。 Not only in Tabriz; but in Mashhad and
Aleppo; many miniaturists had abandoned working on books and begun
making odd single…leaf pictures—curiosities that would please European
travelers—even obscene drawings。 Rumor has it that the illuminated
manuscript Shah Abbas presented to Our Sultan during the Tabriz peace treaty
has already been taken apart so its pages could be used for another book。
Supposedly; the Emperor of Hindustan; Akbar; was throwing so much money
around for a large new book that the most gifted illustrators of Tabriz and
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