T wo mosaic peacocks perch on a table at Mediterranean restaurant Rawa. The image is exquisite in the manner of peacocks, but particularly in the manner of mosaics. Each detail, each transition of color, in the life-sized tail feathers is rendered with a piece of stone no larger than a thumbnail, shaped and positioned by hand.
The peacocks inhabit a recent work completed by Mosaic Natural, the business started by Fayez Hammadi—who also co-owns and frequently cooks at Rawa—and his brothers. They made their first mosaic over 30 years ago in Syria. At that time, Hammadi was on his way to becoming a civil engineer—and one of his brothers a Master in Economics—under a dictatorship that would have made it difficult for them to practice their professions. They were also in their daily lives surrounded by mosaics that dated back to the development of the art form itself. Their hometown of Kafr Nabl had been built over the remains of ancient cities of the Byzantine empire, whose temples, dwellings and bathhouses were decorated with mosaic art. “We had a farm,” remembers Hammadi, “where we used to find the stone in the ground. We found very ancient pieces.” But Hammadi points to collections abundantly displayed in Syrian museums as the catalyst for their own efforts, first working together to assemble an image of “Mar Georgios”—St. George and the Dragon—on a 48” x 40” mesh canvas. It took 20 days to assemble and about as many to find suitable stone. But it sold well and quickly at the market, and a business was born.
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Many of their first mosaics were made with scraps from kitchen countertop suppliers. “We go to the factories. We get the leftovers before they throw them out. Leftovers because it’s easy to cut. Because you need small pieces.” They also needed different colors in adequate quantities and varieties to create pictures. “We found 10 colors—maybe 15”—between Turkey and Syria. As sales grew the business, the Hammadis became their own supplier in a part of the world where marble was relatively plentiful, with more on the horizon. Eventually, he says, “we [had] 42 colors. From around the world. From India. Brazil. Because India is very famous for marble. And Brazil also. They have two or three colors that are very good…” Their widening palette created its own demand, primarily from customers at galleries and kitchen showrooms. And that demand necessitated more hands to assemble mosaics. “We taught a lot of people to do this in my city,” recalls Hammadi. “We started very small, then in 2010 we had over 600 families working with us. And everyone taught everyone.”
Seated at Rawa, Hammadi demonstrates the first lesson in mosaic construction, deftly snapping pieces from a narrow strip of stone with a set of end-cut pliers. “If you want a piece like this? Rectangle? Square?” He snips off pieces in a trapezoidal shape to show how mosaic pieces form larger shapes, placing them in a perfect semi-circular line on the table. “That’s the idea of hand-made. In China, they do the same, but they use a machine. They can’t do this.” He cuts a diamond shape from one of his already tiny rectangles and gestures to a nearby mosaic replica of the Mona Lisa. “For the eyes. You see the eyes over there? We use very small pieces.” Hammadi estimates that one would need at least 5 years of experience before he or she could credibly copy the Mona Lisa in mosaic—and a close examination of her uncannily supple mosaic hands bears him out.
“But you get the experience slowly. It is not about oral
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