When the past is reimagined: how ancient jewellery got a makeover

When the past is reimagined: how ancient jewellery got a makeover

by | Opinion

when the past is reimagined

How ancient jewellery got a makeover

Published January 28, 2026

Jewellery has always had a powerful role in connecting us to the past. But what if the jewellery we see in museum displays isn’t quite as ancient as we’re led to believe? Or what if jewellery made just a century ago is mistaken for something millennia older? It happens more often than you’d think.

In this blog, I’ll introduce my new research project Jewellery Between Worlds, that I conduct as Visiting Research Fellow of the Netherlands Institute for the Near East at Leiden University.

In this project, I take a closer look at how the boundaries between archaeology and ethnography blurred in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and how that blurry line continues to shape our understanding of ancient Southwest Asia. I’ll explore how ancient jewellery has been altered, how more recent jewellery has been mislabelled, and how museum displays influence what we think the past looked like.

Jewellery that time-travelled…the wrong way

Let’s start with the ancient pieces themselves. Many items labelled as ancient in museum collections were never actually excavated in controlled digs. Instead, they made their way into collections through the antiquities trade (sometimes legally, more often not) and without any archaeological context.

And that’s where the fun (or frustration, depending on how you look at it) begins.

People of the 19th and early 20th centuries often had strong ideas about what jewellery should look like. So ancient beads and pendants were frequently restrung into contemporary fashion statements. A 1920s-style flapper necklace made from Egyptian antiquities—reassembled to suit Jazz Age tastes. Or take the beaded necklaces from the tomb of Djehuty, now in Leiden: they were likely restrung shortly after excavation, without any real record of their original arrangement. You can see one of the necklaces in the image gallery below. One of the things I examine is if this was done by sellers, or by curators – or both.

Even on professional excavations themselves, jewellery wasn’t always recorded with care. Beads, in particular, were fragile and tricky to recover, because their stringing had long since disintegrated.

As a result, we’re often looking at reconstructions, at 19th or 20th century designs using ancient components – yet presented as ‘authentic’ ancient necklaces. Have a look at the two necklaces below: they are eerily similar in their design.

When 2oth century jewellery masquerades as ancient

The confusion runs both ways. Museum collections also hold pieces that are actually ethnographic (so, made in the 19th or early 20th century and used by local communities) but labelled as ancient.

That is because jewellery, for a very long time, has not been studied as historical source in its own right, but at best as accessory. What also isn’t helping, is that very often, museum curators were men.

The thing is that this misidentification doesn’t just muddle museum catalogues. It reshapes how we imagine the past, often with an unconscious bias: assuming that non-Western cultures don’t change much over time, and that what peasants wore in the 1900s must look more or less like what pharaohs wore thousands of years earlier. It’s an old trope, and one that has been remarkably persistent.

Dressing the ancient past in the present

Even today, our mental image of ancient Southwest Asia is still shaped by these missteps. People in movies, TV-shows or sometimes simply images set in the past, are only too often adorned with ethnographic pieces from very different periods and regions.

What interests me here are the different approaches to material relics of the past. The accuracy of a building can be checked against archaeological sources. The same goes for jewellery: there is a ton of evidence of what people wore in the past. But somehow, that rarely translates into reconstructions of that past.

And so 19th century ideas about both the past and contemporary cultures continue to persist in visualisations of the past – and that’s a dynamic I want to explore further in this project.

Jewellery Between Worlds – my new research project

Jewellery isn’t just beautiful—it’s a historical source. It tells stories of who wore it, when, and why.

But it also tells stories about us: the collectors, curators, and viewers who handle and interpret these pieces. When an ancient necklace is restrung into a flapper fashion statement, or when 19th-century jewellery is rebranded as ancient, we learn as much about modern tastes and assumptions as we do about the ancient world.

This entanglement of old and new, fact and fashion, archaeology and ethnography, is part of the story of both archaeology and ethnography about a century ago. I think it’s high time we start to disentangle those views: if we don’t, it becomes a flaw in the system.

In 2026, I’ll be diving into storerooms and archives, to see if I can shed more light on how the the past and present came to be mixed up, and what we can do to educate both ourselves and the general public.

And finally: this is a self-funded position, meaning one I’m not getting paid for.  I think it’s important anyway, so I’m embarking on it regardless. If you feel like supporting me in this journey in other ways than by enrolling in a course, you can do so through this link – thank you!

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Find out more about the meaning of personal adornment in the e-courses!

More posts on jewellery and adornment? Browse them all here!

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The Bedouin Silver blog gives credit where credit is due! Transparent referencing and citing sources helps us all grow. Would you like to do the same and quote this article? Here’s how:

S. van Roode, [write the title as you see it above this post], published on the Bedouin Silver website [paste the exact link to this article], accessed on [the date you are reading this article and decided it was useful for you].

The Bedouin Silver Jewellery Blog: Sigrid van Roode

Sigrid van Roode is an archeologist, ethnographer and jewellery historian. Her main field of expertise is jewellery from North Africa and Southwest Asia, as well as archaeological and archaeological revival jewellery. She has authored several books on jewellery, and obtained her PhD at Leiden University on jewellery, informal ritual and collections. Sigrid has lectured for the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, Turquoise Mountain Jordan, and many others. She provides consultancy and research on jewellery collections for both museums and private collections, teaches courses and curates exhibitions. She is not involved in the business of buying and selling jewellery, and focuses on research, knowledge production, and education only. Sigrid strongly believes in accessibility of knowledge, and aims to provide reliable and trustworthy content: that’s why the Bedouin Silver blog provides references and citations.

This blog is free: if you’d like to support independent, self-funded research, please consider enrolling in a course or a jewellery talk, or donate here directly.

The proceeds directly support travel costs, book purchases, and the time needed to wite articles like this one: thank you so much for your support!

Behind the scenes of independent research

Behind the scenes of independent research

by | General jewellery topics

What it takes to be a jewellery historian

Behind the scenes of independent research

Published January 2, 2026

I thought I’d share a bit of real talk about life as an independent researcher – the part that is not often addressed because it is, in all honesty, not that glamourous. However, over the course of several talks with fellow self-employed specialists with similar experiences, I found that this is also the part that actually might need spelling out.

And so this once, I’m going to do just that.

I’m not employed by a university or museum: I work independently, which means I fund all of my research myself. That’s the unglamourous part right there. So how does that actually work? Let me take you behind the scenes into the nitty-gritty of the work!

Why I’m an independent researcher

I’m an independent researcher because this field is my passion, there aren’t all that many curatorial or lecturer positions at museums or universities available, and I believe I a have a useful contribution to make. That’s the simple truth of it. I chose this, and I love it.

Because I work independently, I don’t have an employer, which has lots of benefits, but also means I don’t receive a salary. I’m self-funded – in the most literal sense of the word. All research, travel, writing, and website maintenance is paid for out of my own pocket. 

Being an independent researcher in my case means running a business, with all the administration, responsibilities, and costs that come with it.

I’m breaking that down for you here, so you’ll get a feeling of how my work (and that of other self-employed specialists) operates.

The hidden costs of jewellery research

What does being an independent researcher mean financially? Here is what I spend resources on.

Let’s start with the very blog you’re reading. Keeping this website and the online course platform running costs, all-in, a substantial amount per year. Simply being visible online and having your infrastructure in place comes with its own baseline costs.

Then there’s travel: visiting exhibitions, or attending conferences all require resources. That’s not just the conference fee or exhibition entrance fees, but also hotels and transportation. I love conferences: it’s always great to meet new people, see old friends, and exchange ideas and knowledge!

Another ongoing investment is my own reference library. Over the years, I’ve built a significant collection of jewellery books and articles – and that continues to grow. With so much AI-generated content swirling around online these days, I find it important to turn to actual books: they offer depth and context that you will not find as easily online.

Side note: contrary to what some might assume (and a few people even have told me outright), reviewing books for this blog isn’t a budget-friendly way to expand that library! In fact, it ties directly into the biggest investment I make in my work: time.

Why time is my most valuable asset

Time is the one resource I need for everything I do. Researching, writing, creating courses or social media content: all of that takes hours, days, even weeks. 

Researching and writing a blog article, including creating the images to go with it, can take up to 3-4 hours. That’s because I include references and want to make sure you get solid information on jewellery. Compiling my monthly Newsletter (subscribe here if you haven’t already!) takes up half a day. The absolutely lovely feedback I receive after each and every emailing tells me that that is time well spent!

However, it’s time I can’t spend elsewhere earning an income.

That is, by the way, why I’m always surprised when asked to give a talk or consultation for free. I truly love sharing knowledge, as you know, and I do my best to keep much of it accessible – but just like everyone else, I have my housing to pay, groceries to buy, and the heating bill to cover. If I could pay my mortgage by delivering a talk at my local bank office…well, let me just say there’d be a lot of jewellery-savy bankers out there by now!

The same goes for book reviews. Receiving a review copy is always a joy: opening the package, flipping through fresh pages, and diving into a new publication is truly exciting. I adore books! But make no mistake: it’s also work. Reading a book with a reviewer’s eye, placing it within the wider field of jewellery studies, and writing a thoughtful, contextual review can take several days.

Long story short: what you see on the blog is the final stage of quite a bit of unseen work behind the scenes. The same holds true for, for example, performers: you don’t see the amount of time spent practicing, studying, inspecting and mending outfits behind their flawless performance.

Sigrid van Roode presents a talk about jewellery from Lebanon in the National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden

The hidden costs of talks

That unseen work behind the scenes is also applicable to talks and lectures. Let’s pick that apart, too, because the amount of work for a talk behind the scenes is not always immediately apparent.

A talk does not begin and end with the hour spent speaking. For in-person talks for example, the travel time to and from the venue may be substantial and take me a full day, even in a tiny country like mine.

Preparing a lecture, especially when it is built from scratch, takes multiple days of research, writing, and assembling a carefully structured slide deck. I don’t just slap some pictures on a slide and be done with it: I want the audience to really enjoy the talk.

So, when you book me (or any independent researcher) for a talk, the fee may seem high for a single hour at a podium, but is below minimum wage for the full working week behind the scenes needed to prepare. That’s the reality of working in the humanities – if I were in tech or sports, I suppose no one would blink twice if I charged the actual time involved.

I think it’s necessary to be honest about the amount of work that goes into preparing a talk, not only to you, but also to ourselves as humanities scholars: if you’re reading this as a speaker and it resonates with you, it’s time to acknowledge that presenting a talk is not something you just wiggle in the rest of your workload.

No grants, no salary: how do I fund my work?

I cover part of these costs through my online courses, which make an important contribution to keeping this work going. If you have taken one of them: thank you so much, honestly!

In addition, I work on commissioned research, such as inventorying and correctly describing museum collections, or writing a dedicated article or book.

Bookings for talks and courses are also a valuable source of support, but, as I explained above, the fees do not cover the actual amount of time involved.

Besides, and that’s another thing you might not think of in the first place, there’s this little thing called taxes. That fee I charge for a talk or a consultation? Nearly half of that goes to income taxes. Unglamourous, I know.

Why I’m sharing this, and how you can help

Why am I sharing this with you?

Not to complain – far from it. I chose this path, I’m proud of what I’ve built, and I love what I do.

Being an independent researcher doesn’t mean swanning around amidst sparkling jewellery.

It means working hard to respectfully study, share, and preserve cultural heritage through careful research and teaching. There is a lot of Orientalist mythmaking out there, and a surge in AI-generated content not necessarily based in facts, so I will continue to do my best to serve you human-researched, factually sound information on jewellery history.

If you’ve found joy, inspiration or insight in my blog articles, Newsletter, or social media content, and would like to support me in other ways than by enrolling in a course, you can do so directly through this link.

Every contribution – big or small – helps to keep the research going and the blog running.

That’s the unglamourous part of being an independent researcher: I hope this peek behind the scenes has given you some insight in the realities of what a jewellery historian does, besides looking at jewellery!

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Find out more about the meaning of personal adornment in the e-courses!

More posts on jewellery and adornment? Browse them all here!

Join the Jewellery List and receive new articles, jewellery news and more in your inbox!

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Discover more on jewellery today!
The Bedouin Silver blog gives credit where credit is due! Transparent referencing and citing sources helps us all grow. Would you like to do the same and quote this article? Here’s how:

S. van Roode, [write the title as you see it above this post], published on the Bedouin Silver website [paste the exact link to this article], accessed on [the date you are reading this article and decided it was useful for you].

The Bedouin Silver Jewellery Blog: Sigrid van Roode

Sigrid van Roode is an archeologist, ethnographer and jewellery historian. Her main field of expertise is jewellery from North Africa and Southwest Asia, as well as archaeological and archaeological revival jewellery. She has authored several books on jewellery, and obtained her PhD at Leiden University on jewellery, informal ritual and collections. Sigrid has lectured for the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, Turquoise Mountain Jordan, and many others. She provides consultancy and research on jewellery collections for both museums and private collections, teaches courses and curates exhibitions. She is not involved in the business of buying and selling jewellery, and focuses on research, knowledge production, and education only. Sigrid strongly believes in accessibility of knowledge, and aims to provide reliable and trustworthy content: that’s why the Bedouin Silver blog provides references and citations.

This blog is free: if you’d like to support independent, self-funded research, please consider enrolling in a course or a jewellery talk, or donate here directly.

The proceeds directly support travel costs, book purchases, and the time needed to wite articles like this one: thank you so much for your support!

Arabic kohl and its material culture: history, tradition and UNESCO recognition

Arabic kohl and its material culture: history, tradition and UNESCO recognition

by | General jewellery topics

Arabic kohl history and tradition

Arabic kohl and its material culture: UNESCO recognition

Published December 12, 2025

Kohl eyeliner has just been recognised as UNESCO intangible cultural heritage.

In December 2025, kohl was inscribed on the UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. That is hugely significant, because it recognises the importance of the heritage of adornment. Like henna, which I wrote about in an earlier blog, kohl is much more than a beauty product: it is a practice, a tradition, and a form of expression. So, let’s take a closer look kohl, and what its material culture can tell us about beauty, identity and memory!

Why did UNESCO recognise Arabic kohl as intangible cultural heritage?

First, let’s look at what the World Heritage inscription actually says. The UNESCO description highlights the multi-layered role of traditional kohl in Arab societies:

‘Arabic Kohl is both a craft and a social practice that is integral to the lifestyle of Bedouin and nomadic tribes, as well as rural, marshland, and fishing communities in the Arab region. It is a fine black powder used as eyeliner by people of all genders, serving not only as a cosmetic but also for protection against wind, sand and sunlight. A part of everyday life, special occasions and religious rituals, it is made from natural ingredients, with the preparation varying according to local environments and lifestyles. Kohl is made either at home or in gatherings, mostly by women, who transmit the related knowledge and skills to their daughters and granddaughters. Arabic kohl is typically stored in decorative containers called ‘makhala’, which are often passed down as family keepsakes. The practice is also transmitted through oral traditions, community events, schools and cultural institutions. In addition to being a symbol of community identity and a key part of daily beauty routines, kohl is used as a physical and spiritual healing remedy. It promotes dialogue and fosters meaningful exchanges between nations and communities of women. Kohl-rimmed eyes also serve as a strong form of female expression, particularly in societies where only eyes are visible due to face coverings.’ [1]

This powerful recognition shows that Arabic kohl is a living, breathing tradition. It’s about the how, not just the what. Like henna, the art of applying kohl is not just make-up or beautification. It’s a system of knowledge passed on through generations.

Which countries submitted the nomination for kohl as intangible heritage?

The nomination for kohl as intangible cultural heritage was submitted by a number of countries: Iraq, Jordan, Libya, Oman, Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Tunisia, and the United Arab Emirates.

Although these are the nations that submitted the nomination, I’d invite you to bear in mind that the practice of kohl exists in a much wider region and in many different forms. The practice of kohl is also not limited to Arabic communities, but is part of many other cultures, too.

Just one example: the oldest form of kohl known to date comes from ancient Egypt, where eye make-up palettes appear at the end of the 4th millennium BCE. Egypt, however, is not among the countries that submitted the nomination of this cultural heritage – that does not automatically mean kohl doesn’t exist in Egypt. That is not what this inscription on the Intangible Cultural Heritage list claims: it is a recognition of a living cultural practice, and in this case, the scope has a narrower geographical reach than that of the actual practice itself.

(but with that long history of kohl, I was personally surprised to see Egypt did not join the nomination)

Kohl as a living tradition

Kohl, obviously, is not a thing of the past, but a living practice. If you have ever visited anywhere in North Africa or Southwest Asia, you’ll have seen it on offer and in use. The recipes vary widely, but the basic goal is the same: to create a smooth, fine black powder. This could be made from something as simple as burnt charcoal, lamp black or pot soot (sarral kohl) or more specialised substances like antimony or galena (athmad kohl).

Application methods of this powder also varied: from saliva and water for everyday use, to rosewater and orange blossom water for more luxurious occasions. In some traditions, aromatic resins such as burnt ambergris, frankincense or ‘ūd (aloeswood) were added to the mix.

The material culture of kohl: containers, adornment, and meaning

Where there’s kohl, there’s a container [2]. These are generally called makhala, and the needle used to apply kohl to the eyes is known as merwad. That’s the same word used for the needle to apply perfumes: merwad means stick, needle.

Besides practical containers, makhala are very important in ceremonial use. In Beit Dajan, Palestine, brides would dance on their wedding while holding their kohl container: person, adornment, social status and object are one and the same.

Elsewhere, kohl was a popular gift from pilgrims returning from the Hajj. This was antimony kohl (athmad) mixed with water from the ZamZam well. Their function here extended beyond cosmetics: they combine religious concepts of purity and cleanliness with adornment.

How kohl containers reflect local values

The form, decoration and materials of kohl containers vary across the region. In some areas, they belong more to the realm of jewellery, made of silver or copper, and intended to be seen. I’ve written about similar practices in Afghan vanity sets in this blog.

They may even have gendered distinctions: men do not generally wear adornment, but kohl is worn by men, women and children. Men, too, had to carry their kohl containers on their person. In those cases, the containers took the shape of masculine attributes: silver bullet-shaped containers or versions of gunpowder horns. That is not to ‘hide’ the fact that men use make-up: kohl containers simply take the form best suited to their wearer.

In other regions kohl containers are part of dress and costume, the container itself covered in fabric. By studying the decoration of these containers and comparing them to regional jewellery styles, we begin to see where these objects fit into personal adornment. Were they worn on a person? Displayed in the house? Kept in private, away from prying eyes? These questions help us understand what these containers meant to their users.

Kohl as identity, resistance and care

While kohl enhances beauty, it also has protective and healing roles, both natural and supernatural. Natural ingredients such as antimony were considered to strengthen and purify the eyes. It also protected against evil spirits, and applying it is an act of purity and cleanliness in itself. This ties into a wider tradition where adornment is protective as well as decorative. If you have been following this blog for a while, you know that is a theme that recurs across jewellery, scent, textiles, body aesthetic and more!

Kohl: a world heritage of adornment

Kohl’s inscription as World Heritage is a recognition of an ancient practice. And as with henna, recognising kohl as intangible cultural heritage brings attention to the people who keep these practices alive: the women who prepare it, apply it, teach it, and wear it. Because heritage is not just objects: the objects are only the material component of something much larger.

Kohl and its containers form part of an entire system of knowledge, care, expression and identity: if we look at them as one component in a network of beliefs, actions and objects, we learn so much more!

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Find out more about the meaning of intangible personal adornment in the e-courses!

More posts on jewellery and adornment? Browse them all here!

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References

[1] See the UNESCO inscription here https://ich.unesco.org/en/RL/arabic-kohl-02261

[2] See Paint it, Black by Jolanda Bos (2019): the only book to date with an extensive overview of kohl containers from past to present.

The Bedouin Silver blog gives credit where credit is due! Transparent referencing and citing sources helps us all grow. Would you like to do the same and quote this article? Here’s how:

S. van Roode, [write the title as you see it above this post], published on the Bedouin Silver website [paste the exact link to this article], accessed on [the date you are reading this article and decided it was useful for you].

The Bedouin Silver Jewellery Blog: Sigrid van Roode

Sigrid van Roode is an archeologist, ethnographer and jewellery historian. Her main field of expertise is jewellery from North Africa and Southwest Asia, as well as archaeological and archaeological revival jewellery. She has authored several books on jewellery, and obtained her PhD at Leiden University on jewellery, informal ritual and collections. Sigrid has lectured for the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, Turquoise Mountain Jordan, and many others. She provides consultancy and research on jewellery collections for both museums and private collections, teaches courses and curates exhibitions. She is not involved in the business of buying and selling jewellery, and focuses on research, knowledge production, and education only. Sigrid strongly believes in accessibility of knowledge, and aims to provide reliable and trustworthy content: that’s why the Bedouin Silver blog provides references and citations.

This blog is free: if you’d like to support independent, self-funded research, please consider enrolling in a course or a jewellery talk, or donate here directly.

The proceeds directly support travel costs, book purchases, and the time needed to wite articles like this one: thank you so much for your support!

The Ottoman-style kirdan in the Middle East

The Ottoman-style kirdan in the Middle East

by | Objects

Ottoman jewellery

The Ottoman-style kirdan necklace of the Middle East

Published July 24, 2025

The Ottoman Empire stretched over large parts of North Africa and Southwest Asia. This centuries-long colonisation resulted in jewellery forms that are found all over the region. In this blog, I’ll show you a particular piece that is found with variations throughout the Ottoman world: a choker-like necklace.

What is a kirdan necklace?

The kirdan necklace is a choker-style jewel that forms part of the Ottoman jewellery repertoire. The original ornament is of a type widely used in the 19th century. With regional variations, it was worn from Tunisia to Turkey as well as beyond, on Cyprus, in Greece, and in the Balkans. In the cities, wealthy urban ladies would wear theirs in gold; rural ladies would resort to gilt silver or simply silver, depending on the fashion and traditions of their region.

The ornament consists of a choker-like band of repoussé segments. These may be fastened on to a fabric band, which is tied around the neck or closed with a loop-and-knot, or strung together to form an interlinking band itself. Usually, from the choker multiple pendants are dangling, and it is in the variations and differences of these that we may see regional preferences.

Regional variations of the kirdan

This ornament is generally called kirdan, but goes by many names. Let’s look at some regional variations next!

A postcard from Tunisia, showing a woman in traditional dress and jewellery. She is wearing the chiriyya necklace and pennanular brooches.

The chiriyya in Tunisia and Libya

In North African jewellery traditions, notably in Tunisia and Libya, this ornament went by chiriyya (also spelled chairiyya). In Tunisia, they are worn notably in the southeast, from the town of Sfax onwards. [1] In Libya, they were mainly produced in Tripoli, by artisans who catered to the east coast of Tunisia as well as to Libyan towns and tribes as well. [2]

The choker had a yellow fabric backing, on which the individual segments were sewn. In the centre of the band a square ornament featured. From the choker, large pendants were suspended, and in the centre one or multiple crescent-shaped pendants, executed in filigree, fell onto the chest.

The chiriyya notably does not carry coins, and does not have a central element on the band itself, which sports only the repoussé segments.

Detail of the central part of an Egyptian kirdan on the Bedouin Silver website. This image is part of a research article on the Ottoman-style kirdan in the Middle East.

The kirdan in Egypt: kirdan or kirdan hilali

In Egypt, the necklace is known as kirdan (also spelled kerdan) or kirdan hilali. Here, the segments flank a central element sewn on the band, usually a rectangular or square piece. In the centre, a central pendant falls on the chest: usually, a crescent or a set of tiered crescents, which is where it gets its name from: kirdan hilali means kirdan with crescents. They may be set with small turquoise beads, and the segments themselves are threaded through with red thread. Egypt also uses coins on the kirdan pendants.

The first photo shows a painting of a woman wearing such a necklace: more on her and her jewellery is in this blog!

Coastal Southwest Asia: the kirdan in the Levant

Palestine, western Jordan, Lebanon and western Syria all form part of the Bilad as-Sham, and share a cultural continuum that predates modern borders. Regional variations may extend beyond current borders, and in general trying to delineate exact attributions here is difficult. [3]

The kirdan was worn by both city-, village- and Bedouin women. Finer pieces in gold would be worn by urban women. Compared to North African variations, the coastal Southwest Asian variation generally have more and larger segments – and we also find innovative forms for women who could not afford as many silver or gold segments. They would add beads between the segments, so the kirdan required less precious metal. An example of such a simpler kirdan is shown below.

The kirdan of coastal Southwest Asia uses coins, and has a large variation in forms for the central element on the band.

The kirdan in Syria

For current-day Syria, Kalter notes that the individual segments for the band were purchased directly from silversmiths in Aleppo and Damascus by women themselves, who would then sew them on to a fabric band of their choosing. [4] Below the neck band, a row of coins or imitation coins jingles, and in the centre a single pendant such as crescent or inscribed amulet may hang. The central part of the band could also include a filigree square or rectangle, such as the example above shows, or a colourful red and blue ornament.

The kirdan in Jordan

In El-Kerak, the necklace was called kirdan migwiz. [5] In between the repoussé segments on the band, one or three filigree boxes were present in the central part of the band. Below the band, long silver elements with coins were suspended, and at the front, again one or three elaborate crescent pendants could hang.

The kirdan in Palestine

In Palestine, the necklace went by kirdan. They were made in several places, such as Nablus, but also in Irbid and el-Kerak but worn in Palestine [6] – again, the borders of today have little bearing on the past and the cultural reality is much more varied. In Nablus, the coin pendants are shorter than in El-Kerak. In the centre, an ornament of small tiered crescents fell on the chest. [7] In the Galilee, the coin pendants were similarly short, but the ornament itself also featured very long silver chains with multiple triangular pendants. In the centre of the ornament, the silver chains connected multiple crescent pendants. The style of the pendants is widespread in a larger region, including Syria.

The kirdan in Eastern Southwest Asia

Eastern Jordan and Syria, bordering on Iraq, were a bit more distant from the Ottoman world – the Ottoman sphere of influence mainly concentrated around the Mediterranean littoral. But we see cultural influences nonetheless, where Ottoman forms travelled on trade routes and gradually developed into styles of their own. In Kurdistan the choker was still worn, and the dangles often take the shape of fish – a form also encountered further on in Afghanistan.

Black and white photo of Egyptian dancer Taheyya Carioca with a a gold-coloured kirdan necklace on her hip.

Stage forms of the kirdan

One particular use of the kirdan is in an exaggerated version as stage jewellery. This was worn by dancers, mainly in Egypt. From the mid-19th century onwards, we see the kirdan in its usual size worn by dancers. The image above shows a phot of such a dancer (click to enlarge it). Around the turn of the century, the hilal pendants started to get larger, and from the 1950s onwards, entertainers would be wearing huge kirdans – of course, its sight really adds to the performance! [8]

A bracelet made of a repurposed kirdan necklace.

Repurposing of the kirdan

Because they fell out of fashion at some point, you may come across repurposed kirdans. They have often been divided up into bracelets.

The legacy of Ottoman kirdan chokers: forgotten heritage

The general Ottoman origin of this piece appears to be increasingly forgotten, and the reality of cultural interaction is hindered by thinking in today’s borders.

It is virtually impossible to distinguish between Tunisian and Libyan chiriyya, because the craftsmen that made them operated in both countries and pieces made in one country would be sold on a market in the other.

Likewise, trying to determine whether a piece is Syrian or Jordanian does not make much sense, as most likely, it was produced before either country as we know it today existed. Rather, it would be better to see if a place of production could be determined, in the full knowledge that from there, it may have been traded to at least 4 different countries as they exist today.

These pieces of jewellery remind us of a shared heritage. That is the historical jewellery value they continue to carry, and I do love how they took on a new life and new meanings on their own in the various parts of the Ottoman realm!

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References

[1] S. Gargouri-Sethom 1986. Le Bijou Traditionnel en Tunisie, p. 24, with examples.

[2] S. Gargouri-Sethom 1986. Le Bijou Traditionnel en Tunisie, p. 65; Ghellali, H. 2024. Jewellery and Adornment of Libya. Blikveld Uitgevers Publishers, Zandvoort

[3] J. Kalter, M. Pavaloi & M. Zerrnickel (eds) 1992. The Arts and Crafts of Syria, p. 81 already notes this.

[4] J. Kalter, M. Pavaloi & M. Zerrnickel (eds) 1992. The Arts and Crafts of Syria, p. 90, with examples.

[5] Pracht und Geheimnis, p. 388-389.

[6] J. Rahab 1989. Palestinian Costume, p. 121.

[7] Pracht und Geheimnis, p. 265.

[8] See this reel by Heather D. Ward on the kirdan in dance costumes

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The Bedouin Silver Jewellery Blog: Sigrid van Roode

Sigrid van Roode is an archeologist, ethnographer and jewellery historian. Her main field of expertise is jewellery from North Africa and Southwest Asia, as well as archaeological and archaeological revival jewellery. She has authored several books on jewellery, and obtained her PhD at Leiden University on jewellery, informal ritual and collections. Sigrid has lectured for the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, Turquoise Mountain Jordan, and many others. She provides consultancy and research on jewellery collections for both museums and private collections, teaches courses and curates exhibitions. She is not involved in the business of buying and selling jewellery, and focuses on research, knowledge production, and education only. Sigrid strongly believes in accessibility of knowledge, and aims to provide reliable and trustworthy content: that’s why the Bedouin Silver blog provides references and citations.

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Oriental woman with sineklik

Oriental woman with sineklik

by | Jewellery & Art

Jewellery and art history

Oriental beauty with sineklik

Published May 24, 2025

Jewellery in paintings — that’s something I always keep an eye on. It tells you not only about the fashion and the painter’s eye for detail, but also about how people at the time viewed dress and adornment. Oriental Woman with Sineklik, painted by Pinel de Grandchamp in 1846, is one such portrait that draws us in with both costume and ornament.

This blog is part of my series on Jewellery and Art, exploring how artists depicted jewellery and dress in portraits and Orientalist paintings. You can also read Portrait of A Syrian woman, Decoding Habiba’s jewellery, and more posts in this series as it grows.

Oriental beauty with sineklik by Pinel de Grandchamp

This article focuses on a single painting, Oriental Beauty with Sineklik (also known as Odalisque à l’éventail) by the French artist Louis-Emile Pinel de Grandchamp, and explores how the jewellery in the painting places the woman painted in her cultural context – and where things went wrong.

Pinel de Grandchamp and the Orientalist tradition

Louis-Emile Pinel de Grandchamp (1834–1894) was a French painter associated with the Orientalist tradition. He spent a significant part of his career in Egypt, where he produced numerous works – and unlike some of his colleagues his paintings were based on direct observation. He mostly painted scenes in Cairo, and these include recognizable architectural details that actually are from Cairo, not a made-up version of a random ‘Oriental’ city. When you see one of his paintings, you recognise the setting as Cairo immediately – at least, I did. [1]

Oriental Beauty with Sineklik is different in that it focuses on the individual sitter and her adornment. There are no details in the background like a building or a recognisable view that tell us where this lady is from, and the title is particularly unhelpful. So, in such portraits, it is the jewellery and dress that tell us where this lady is from!

Oriental beauty with sineklik: jewellery as key to identity

In this painting, a woman is seated against a dark red background, holding a sineklik (fly whisk) in her hand. Her gaze is directed away from the viewer, and she wears a loose white garment, a striped headwrap, and multiple items of jewellery. Although the title refers only to her as an ‘Oriental beauty,’ her adornment offers specific clues about her identity.

The eye-catcher is her gold necklace: composed of repoussé segments and disc pendants. The central pendant is larger, consisting of a crescent-shaped pendant with a disc below it, again framed with dangling discs. This necklace is of a type called kirdan. It is commonly associated with Ottoman jewellery, worn in Cairo during the 19th century. See a few examples of this type of adornment in the gallery above: click to enlarge the images.

Read more about the history of the Ottoman-style kirdan here

Her earrings match the necklace and echo designs from the 19th century, like for example depicted by Edward Lane [2]

Draped over her left wrist and hand is a strand of large yellow beads. They may be amber or glass, and they echo the look of a misbaha or tasbih, a strand of prayer beads. A similar strand of beads can be seen on the painting Oriental Woman Burning Incense, by Cesare dell’Acqua (1869, also in the gallery above: click to see its details).

Her headwrap, formed from a striped textile and loosely coiled around the head, aligns with styles worn by women in elite Cairene households.

So, that’s what we see: but what does all this mean?

Beyond the title: what ‘Oriental Beauty’ leaves unsaid

Despite the generic title, the woman in the painting is not without identity. Her adornments anchor her in a specific time and place; they firmly situate her in a late Ottoman Egyptian setting. The crescent-shaped necklace, with its repoussé craftsmanship and coin pendants, was typical of Egyptian adornment and is well represented in both photographic archives and surviving examples.

But this painting has its problems as well.

The anonymity of the sitter for example: she is not mentioned by name, and reduced to a very general title. In fact, we don’t even know if this is an actual portrait, or a model that served to create a generic view of that faraway region, ‘the Orient’.

This fits in with broader trends within Orientalist art: it produced very generalized images of “Eastern” subjects. In these works, jewellery and dress were frequently used as symbolic ‘shorthand’, you could say, flattening the layered meaning in jewellery and dress into a singular, romanticized visual language.

Take the strand of prayer beads, for example, dangling from her wrist. For starters, it misses its central bead, and is reduced to ornamentation: within its own cultural and religious context, this would not have been depicted as such.

Add to that the composition of the work: I don’t know if you noticed, and I apologise for drawing your eye to this, but everything seems to be centred around her cleavage. It’s literally the focal point of the painting, and the V-shaped lines of her garment, the handle of the fly whisk and even the perfect vertical line from her earrings through the central element of her necklace end up in her cleavage. I mean, jeez.

So, yes, the jewellery and dress allow us to add more context to this painting than just a random Oriental beauty – but the painting itself leaves viewers to interpret the scene based on partial information and oversimplifications.

Jewellery, dress & identity in Orientalist art

Pinel de Grandchamp’s Oriental Woman with Sineklik is not only an Orientalist portrait; it is also a visual puzzle. While the title centres on an accessory, it is the jewellery and dress that provide the key to interpretation. The kirdan necklace, Egyptian ornamentation, and Ottoman Cairo clothing place the sitter firmly in a cultural context that the label “Oriental beauty” glosses over.

So now that we know all this, what to do?

This painting reminds us how Orientalist art both reveals and conceals. It preserves details of dress and adornment that allow us to reconstruct cultural identity, while at the same time reducing women to symbols of an imagined East. By asking what jewellery tells us — and what the title leaves unsaid — we can approach these portraits with a more critical eye.

The thing is to be aware of that world beyond the artistic frame in which it is delivered to us. And this is where having insights in jewellery and dress can play an important role, too. Awareness of the importance and meaning attached to adornment helps resisting the anonymity imposed by the painting’s title and composition. There are more, and deeper stories to be told than just a woman holding a fly whisk and staring out of an invisible window.

That’s why I do what I do, in running this blog and creating courses to explore just that world, and I’m happy you’re here to join me on that journey!

Other blogs in the series on Jewellery & Art are here:

Decoding Habiba’s Jewellery

Portrait of a Syrian woman by Portaels

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More posts on jewellery, cultures and people? Browse them all here!

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References

[1] See for example this painting, that shows the Ghuriya complex on the main street of Cairo’s souq: it still looks like this today https://www.christies.com/en/lot/lot-6154449

[2] Lane, E.W. 1842. An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians. The Definitive 1860 Edition. The American University in Cairo Press, Cairo (2003).

The Bedouin Silver blog gives credit where credit is due! Transparent referencing and citing sources helps us all grow. Would you like to do the same and quote this article? Here’s how:

S. van Roode, [write the title as you see it above this post], published on the Bedouin Silver website [paste the exact link to this article], accessed on [the date you are reading this article and decided it was useful for you].

The Bedouin Silver Jewellery Blog: Sigrid van Roode

Sigrid van Roode is an archeologist, ethnographer and jewellery historian. Her main field of expertise is jewellery from North Africa and Southwest Asia, as well as archaeological and archaeological revival jewellery. She has authored several books on jewellery, and obtained her PhD at Leiden University on jewellery, informal ritual and collections. Sigrid has lectured for the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, Turquoise Mountain Jordan, and many others. She provides consultancy and research on jewellery collections for both museums and private collections, teaches courses and curates exhibitions. She is not involved in the business of buying and selling jewellery, and focuses on research, knowledge production, and education only. Sigrid strongly believes in accessibility of knowledge, and aims to provide reliable and trustworthy content: that’s why the Bedouin Silver blog provides references and citations.