Lebanese architect restores Bukhara as a city of new artistic exchange, in line with its Silk Road heritage

The historic city in Uzbekistan is hosting its inaugural arts biennial under the creative direction of Wael Al Awar

Mir-i-Arab Madrasa in Bukhara, a city intent on preserving its crafts without falling prey to over-commercialisation. Photo: Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation

“How do you protect Bukhara from becoming Samarkand?”

The question struck Wael Al Awar during his first visit to the historic city in Uzbekistan in 2021. The Lebanese architect was charmed by its centuries-old madrasas, lofty blue-tiled arches and engraved wooden columns. He held a deep reverence for the city’s crafts, its traditions of embroidery, carpet-weaving, ceramics and metalwork. But Bukhara, he feared, was at a critical juncture.

Samarkand, only a few hours away, was a cautionary tale. Its heritage was obscured by “over-restoration”, according to Al Awar, and the spread of shops and restaurants geared towards tourists. He worried Bukhara would also fall into those traps.

“What's wrong with Samarkand is that it's heavily over-restored and it's only catering to the tourist commercial market,” he says. “There's no value for real craft. That’s problematic.”

Lebanese architect Wael Al Awar, co-founder of waiwai design studio, won the Golden Lion trophy at the 2021 Venice Architecture Biennale for his work with the National Pavilion UAE. EPA

In preparation for the inaugural Bukhara Biennial, which opened on Friday and will be running until November 20, Al Awar began drafting a master plan to safeguard the city’s history.

The restoration was an initiative by the Uzbekistan Art & Culture Development Foundation (ACDF) and was led by Al Awar, co-founder of the Dubai and Tokyo-based architecture studio waiwai.

Al Awar's vision centred on a “cultural district”, a 30,000-square-metre area linking the city’s caravanserais, madrasas and public squares. The process took several years.

If the initial drive to revive Bukhara was driven by a question of protecting it from becoming Samarkand, the process of restoration was grounded in another question: how do you preserve or elevate craft?

The restoration process, Al Awar says, wasn’t about making a museum out of the city. He didn’t want to suspend Bukhara in its past, but to actively revive aspects of its Silk Road heritage. He wanted to make the city pedestrian-friendly and encourage new artistic exchange.

Salt Carried by the Wind, an insallation by Subodh Gupta in collaboration with Baxtiyor Nazirov, displayed in the centre of Bukhara's cultural district. Razmig Bedirian / The National

“We need to create a district where you prioritise culture over commerce, and create a platform that's really for the creatives of Bukhara,” Al Awar says. “That was the most important thing.

“Bukhara in the past was always a melting point of different cultures,” he adds. “Historically, it's a city of mixing. Mixing to them is not new. So, what happens if you bring in western artists and mix them with these local craftsmen?”

Al Awar worked closely with the city’s residents, many of whom were craftsmen who could trace the presence of their families in the city for centuries. He discussed their needs, how they envisioned the district and what it would take for their work to be valued, to be seen as more than a token or souvenir.

“A lot of them are my friends. They’re Bukharans. They love Bukhara. They’ve grown up here, their kids are here,” he said. “They’re happy that someone is trying to value their work, because their work is valuable.”

If the city stumbled into commercial pitfalls, its heritage risked being overtaken by souvenir stores and surface-level restorations. One solution was to focus on how people moved through the city and experienced it.

Untitled work by Wael Shawky and Jurabek Siddikov at the Bukhara Biennial. Razmig Bedirian / The National

Accordingly, asphalt roads were reworked as tessellated brick walkways, cars were diverted, and the cafes and restaurants redesigned. Even the lighting was overhauled, with minimal lamp-posts to highlight the architecture without overwhelming it.

“More important for me was the public realm,” says Al Awar. Pointing towards a walkway leading to the bazaar, he adds: “That was asphalt; cars and busses used to come all the way inside. So that was the biggest concern for me: how do we divert traffic and connect pedestrians all the way from here? Now you can walk all the way to the Grand Mosque and the Ark of Bukhara as a single pedestrian route.”

Al Awar is explicit when he says the project was not just for the Bukhara Biennial. The event was an impetus for the project, but the larger aim is to spotlight the city’s crafts and storied history while ensuring they remain a part of everyday life.

If anything, the biennial is a testing ground for the new cultural district.

“This district is not for the biennial, it has to be inclusive,” he says. “There is a biennial that brings people here to allow for conversations to occur with the outer world, but the platform is for the local people, to benefit the local crafts.”

The curation of the Bukhara Biennial certainly makes this ethos clear. The event is international in scope, but every artwork was made with the help of artisans from Bukhara and surrounding regions in Uzbekistan.

Navat Uy by Laila Gohar in collaboration with Ilkhom Shoyimkulov. The work is among those in the biennial that seek to bring a twist to traditional crafts. Razmig Bedirian / The National

For Al Awar, that collaboration was the point of the entire restoration, a way to propel ancient craft traditions into the contemporary age.

“The biennial is an instigator for these conversations,” he says.

The rehabilitation of Bukhara’s historic area is merely in its first phase, and there are expansion plans in the pipeline. Al Awar says he wants to bring more of the city’s historic structures into the cultural district, while also introducing more greenery, so the city can reprise its lush oasis past.

But there is a delicate challenge, which he says is the burden of many architects working in restoration: making sure “not to go too far”.

“As architects, we tend to sometimes want to overdo things,” he says. “So I’m trying questioning: are we going too far? Should we go back? Where do we stop?”

The end game, he says, is to allow the city to thrive organically and perhaps serve as a model for other cities in Uzbekistan, including Samarkand, to follow.