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( Six ) Changing Discourses on Art and Gender I n this chapter, I will present the life story of actress ʿAbir Sharqawi. In the second section, the religiously committed artists’ own views on gender, art, and religion will be central. In the final section, I will highlight the changing discourse on art within the Islamist movement more generally, which resulted from the fragmentation of religious authority and the emergence of young preachers. the Spiritual biography of ʿabir Sharqawi The artistic career of ʿAbir Sharqawi started where that of Soheir al-Babli had abruptly ended, in 1993. When Soheir al-Babli decided to veil and to quit the play ʿAtiyya, the Terrorist, the director, Galal al-Sharqawi, was in big trouble. The advertisements for the next season were out, and the play was expected to resume very soon. He then decided to offer the main role to his own daughter, who had just finished at the theater department of the American University in Cairo. I interviewed ʿAbir in her father’s home in Muhandisin in 2005,1 six months after her return to the field of art.The huge room was decorated with blown-up images of ʿAbir with and without a veil, and of ʿAbir with her son. She apologized for the mess on the table and the many pictures of herself on the wall. She explained that she would never do this in her own house, but after her divorce she lived in her father’s house. She took my recorder in her hand professionally and related her story in a self-confident way: I am from a family of great artists. My father is a great producer, known throughout the Arab world. So from an early age, I was used to the the- changing diScourSeS on art and gender ( 147 ) ater. My vacations were spent on the stage of my father. They tried to keep me away from the stage and to make me choose something else, a doctor, an engineer, a teacher. My father is “sharʾi,” “Oriental.” His son can work in art, but not his daughter. He told me to finish my studies at the university first, and then we would see. It annoyed me, because I wanted to be part of my father’s world and be like the nice people I met through my father. [. . .] At the university I chose theater and a minor in psychology. I was serious, respected the theater, and was prepared to sacrifice a lot for my ambition. My father saw my efforts and acknowledged my talent , which would improve with further training. He became convinced of me.2 She then talks about her father’s problem after the departure of Soheir al-Babli: Soheir al-Babli told him: “The things I have done are haram, I veiled and quit your haram activities (il-haram bitaʿak).” My father was convinced that his work was not haram. All actresses were afraid to be compared with Soheir al-Babli because she was a great name. They feared it would cost them their careers. So he decided to bring a totally new face to the stage. Someone who was not afraid to be compared with Soheir al-Babli. People surrounding him told him I could be this person. I had just one week. I worked immensely hard. This was a golden opportunity. Of course I did it my way. Soheir was a comedienne and I am more the serious type.3 ʿAbir Sharqawi considered her first appearance on stage a great success. However , she felt unhappy outside the artistic endeavors of the university circles where she had previously worked with dedicated and serious students. When she started in “the real world,” it appeared to be not about “conscience,” but all about money. Even if the cast was bad and the script worse you did the job, she remarked. “You make people laugh, and take the money.” She summarized the style of work as “no headache about the message.” This was not the stage she had dreamed of and wanted to work on. It was commercial theater. [. . .] I was not convinced of the work I did. [. . .] Women had to be midallaʿ [spoiled]. She should wear revealing clothes in order to be successful on the market. She has to kiss, then she will be a star. That was more important than her talent. This was the situation at the time I started to work, ten years ago. Things have changed now. I stopped in...

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