Latest / Tamerlane: The Conqueror Who Tried to Rebuild the Mongol Legacy — Fexingo History / Tamerlane's Captive Persian Tilemakers: The Samarkand Blue Revolution
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about Tamerlane bringing captive artisans to Samarkand — calligraphers, astronomers, Indian stone carvers. But there's one group I think we've missed that left a really visible mark on the city. Luna: Which group was that? Lucas: The Persian tilemakers. When you look at Samarkand today, the thing you probably picture is that brilliant blue — the turquoise domes, the intricate tilework on the Registan. That didn't just happen. Tamerlane brought hundreds of tilemakers from cities like Kashan and Tabriz, and they basically created the look of Timurid architecture. Lucas: And you know, for anyone who's been following these conversations about Central Asia and Timur — if you've gotten something out of them, a couple of dollars a month genuinely makes a difference. It's what keeps these shows ad-free and going. Buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo, if that's something you can do. Luna: Yeah, it's a small thing that adds up. Lucas: Anyway — so the tile tradition. Persia had a long history of ceramic tile, especially from the Seljuk period. Cities like Kashan were famous for their lusterware and underglaze painting. Tamerlane knew that, and when he conquered Persia, he didn't just loot gold. He took the craftsmen. Luna: So he basically dismantled the Persian tile industry and rebuilt it in Samarkand. Lucas: Exactly. And it wasn't just a handful of guys — we're talking about entire workshops. Ruy González de Clavijo, the Spanish envoy who visited Samarkand in 1404, describes seeing tilemakers working in what were essentially labor camps near the shah i zinda complex. They were producing thousands of tiles, cutting them into geometric shapes in a specific color palette: turquoise, cobalt blue, white, and a little green. Lucas: The blue came from lapis lazuli, which was mined in the Badakhshan region of present-day Afghanistan. Tamerlane controlled that trade route, so he had access to the best pigment. The turquoise came from copper oxides. The tilemakers had to carefully control the firing temperature to get the right colors — too hot and the glaze would run. Luna: It sounds more like chemistry than art. Lucas: It was both. The tiles were made using a technique called cuerda seca, which means 'dry cord' in Spanish — ironic. They'd outline the pattern with a greasy substance that prevented the colors from mixing during firing. That's how they got those crisp, intricate designs. Lucas: And the scale was enormous. The Bibi-Khanym mosque alone required thousands of square feet of tile. Clavijo says that at one point, Tamerlane had over a thousand tilemakers working in Samarkand. They lived in a separate quarter, watched closely, and were probably not allowed to leave. Luna: So the beauty of Samarkand was built on forced labor. Lucas: Yes, and it's a tension that runs through all of Timur's projects. He wanted to create a capital that would rival the greatest cities of the world — Cairo, Baghdad, Constantinople. And he did. But the cost in human terms was staggering. Ibn Arabshah, who wrote a history of Timur, says that the tilemakers and other artisans were treated like slaves, even if they were technically 'captive specialists'. Lucas: Still, the tilework they produced was groundbreaking. They developed a new style of mosaic faience, where individual tiles were cut into complex shapes and assembled like a jigsaw puzzle. You see it on the shah i zinda necropolis, on the gur e amir, on the Registan. It became the hallmark of Timurid architecture, and it influenced everything from Mughal India to Safavid Persia. Luna: Was there a particular mosque or building that was the first to use this new style? Lucas: The early ones were pretty experimental. The shah i zinda complex has some of the oldest surviving tiles, from around the 1370s and 1380s. They're simpler — mostly geometric patterns in dark blue and turquoise. But by the time they got to the Bibi-Khanym mosque in the early 1400s, they were doing full floral arabesques with multiple colors. Lucas: One thing that's interesting: the tilemakers left their marks on some of the tiles. There are signatures — in Persian script — on tiles in the gur e amir, the tomb of Timur. We know names like 'Ustad Ali' and 'Shams al-Din' from Kashan. They were proud of their work, even if they were captives. Luna: That's poignant — they signed their names to something that outlasted their captivity. Lucas: Exactly. And that's the paradox of Timur's patronage. He destroyed cities and displaced entire populations, but he also created a cultural synthesis that produced some of the most beautiful architecture in the world. The tilemakers of Samarkand were part of a larger story — one where violence and beauty are completely intertwined. Lucas: After Timur died in 1405, the tile workshops continued under his son Shah Rukh and grandson Ulugh Beg. They kept the tradition alive, and Samarkand remained a center of ceramic art for another century. But eventually, the trade routes shifted, and the city declined. Many of the tiles fell off or were stolen. Luna: Are the tiles we see today original? Lucas: Some are, but a lot have been restored, especially in the 20th century. The Soviet era saw major reconstruction projects at shah i zinda and the Registan. They tried to match the original glazes, but it's not always perfect. The old tiles have a depth and richness that's hard to replicate. Lucas: So when you look at a photo of Samarkand's blue domes, you're seeing the legacy of those Persian tilemakers — their skill, their suffering, and their art. It's a complicated beauty, but it's real. Luna: And it makes you think about all the other captives whose names we don't know. Lucas: Exactly. The tilemakers left their signatures, but most of the laborers left nothing but the buildings. And that's what we're left with — a city that tells a story of both creation and destruction.