Safia’s Wedding Chairs

Safia was getting married.  She lived “next door” and is the daughter of a beautiful tall blonde Catholic mother and an Afghan prince who was Muslim.

The solution was two wedding ceremonies.  This was more by way of honoring Safia’s family roots and traditions and was designed, as is often the case these days, by Safia and Rob, the groom,  with help from aunts, uncles and Dad.

The wedding was on a Saturday and we began the set-up on Thursday afternoon.  There were ample green swaths of lawn between our houses with which to work. The site was planned out and carpets were laid even before the tents were erected.  An early arrival was two tired looking dining chairs.  They had high backs with a center back splat, cabriole legs and less than crisp upholstered seats and finish.  At that time, when it came to faith and family tradition, I was a neophyte.  One might say a hardened neophyte because it took more than a single go round for me to understand the purpose of those chairs.

I finally understood.  What happens at an Afghan wedding is that the bride and groom sit in their own enclosed space and receive their wedding guests rather than what happens at Western weddings.  In other words, they sit still.  You go to see them.  They don’t circulate to greet you.

Once that sunk in and the gymnastics in my mind had somewhat calmed down, the thought process went something like: the bride and groom…in this ceremony…in these chairs?  Not going to happen.  A consult with the powers that be, and I had permission to design and make alternatives to these incongruous interlopers.

The circumstance was a bit like making a meal for half a dozen unexpected guests.  What’s in the fridge or the pantry is going to play a decisive role in the meal.  Painted white, the potpourri of ingredients came together quite well.  The chairs had an aesthetic which would speak to, and focus, on the occupants.  But they needed something more, like a bland meal needs more.  A lift of some condiments, some spices.

The idea of the sparkle of broken colored glass gave way to the colored glass beads.  At that late hour finding an adhesive was like finding that nice corkscrew we used to have.   Ahhh… just in time.