Why I’m Creating Moorish: Ceramic Homeware That Celebrate Islamic Art
In 2006, I travelled to Istanbul with a few friends. It was my first time abroad without family, and I didn’t go in with much of a plan. On our first evening, we visited the Sultan Ahmet Mosque (also known as the Blue Mosque) to catch the evening prayer.
I remember walking into the prayer hall and being stunned. The columns seemed impossibly tall, the space vast, and the surfaces covered in intricate geometry and ornamentation. It was eeringly quiet yet comforting— just the deep recitation of the Imam echoing in a mostly empty hall. I had never experienced a space like it.
What struck me most wasn’t just the beauty, but the scale of thinking behind it. The architecture combined mathematics, symmetry, calligraphy, and craft — all working together with spiritual intent. It wasn’t simply decorative; it was the product of knowledge, experimentation, and imagination.
For the first time, I saw Islamic art not as something distant or ‘cultural’, but as a body of work that came from people who were genuinely pushing the boundaries of science, engineering and aesthetics. That trip changed the way I thought about my heritage.
I’m a second-generation British Bangladeshi from South London. Growing up, most of what I knew about Islamic design came through limited exposure, and I felt disconnected from this rich tradition. The history, complexity, and beauty I saw in Istanbul felt like something I hadn’t been given access to — and I wanted to explore that more deeply.
That eventually led to Moorish.
Why “Moorish”?
The word “Moorish” traditionally refers to the culture, food, art and architecture of the Moors — Muslim populations that once ruled parts of southern Europe and North Africa. But it’s a catch-all term that oversimplifies a much broader group of people — each with their own cultures, languages, and design traditions.
To me, “Moorish” is not a fixed identity, but an idea that can be reinterpreted. I use it in a more literal way: “Moor-ish” — as in inspired by the design traditions associated with Islamic civilization, but open to being mixed with other influences.
I want to reclaim the term to celebrate the diversity it represents — and to contribute something new to it. That means creating pieces that draw on Islamic geometric design and pattern-making, but reimagine them in modern forms that reflect other influences too — from mid-century European design to Korean and Japanese ceramics.
Why Homeware?
Homeware felt like the right place to start because these are objects people live with — things you see, hold and use every day. A cup, a plate, a light shade — these are items that can quietly carry meaning without being overwhelming. They make these design traditions accessible — you don’t need to visit a museum to experience their beauty. Instead, the patterns can become part of daily rituals.
For years after that Istanbul trip, I searched for pieces that carried a similar feeling — something rooted in Islamic design, but relevant to contemporary living. What I mostly found were heavy, gold-accented objects or souvenirs that leaned heavily on nostalgia rather than design thinking.
It didn’t fit the kind of home I wanted to create — one that was minimal but meaningful, contemporary but connected to tradition. The existing options demanded that you build your entire aesthetic around them, rather than complementing a modern home.
I wanted pieces that were meaningful but not out of place. Objects that reflected the beauty of Islamic geometry and calligraphy, but didn’t feel stuck in time. Something you could live with daily — whether or not you had any connection to its origin.
A Journey Through Moorish Design
That first trip to Istanbul kickstarted what became a quiet obsession. I found myself traveling to experience different expressions of Islamic art and architecture firsthand.
I wandered through the Alhambra in Granada, Spain, studying the intricate plasterwork and geometric tile patterns. In Morocco, I explored Fez and Marrakech, noting the subtle variations in zellige tilework and their mathematical precision.
Egypt showed me mashrabiyas (wooden lattice screens) and their play of light and shadow. In India, I discovered the seamless blend of Persian, Central Asian and local design traditions. Most recently, the Museum of Islamic Art in Qatar reinforced my belief that these design traditions aren’t just artifacts of the past; they’re a language that can be reinterpreted for today.
Each place deepened my appreciation for how diverse Islamic design truly is — and how adaptable its principles can be. What connects these traditions isn’t just a shared religion, but a mathematical approach to beauty, a reverence for craftsmanship, and a belief that everyday objects should be thoughtfully designed.
Who It’s For
While Moorish is shaped by my personal connection to Islamic design heritage, it’s not exclusively for Muslims. It’s for anyone who appreciates thoughtful design with cultural depth — whether you have a personal connection to these traditions or are simply drawn to their beauty and mathematical precision.
There’s value in creating things that offer a quiet reminder of where these ideas came from — and how relevant they still are. It’s also a way of sharing a side of Islamic culture that focuses on its contributions to art, design, and everyday beauty.
Looking Ahead
Moorish is still early in its journey. I’m starting with ceramics, but plan to explore other mediums and forms over time. I’ll also be sharing some of the stories, places, and references that inform the work — not just to promote the products, but to build a deeper understanding of where the ideas come from.
For me, this isn’t just about making nice things — it’s a way to engage with my heritage, give something back to it, and share it in a way that feels grounded in both tradition and contemporary design.
Thanks for being here.
