Hands on Heritage: Mohamad Summakia
Tell us about your work
I work with copper, a material that’s been part of Aleppo’s story for centuries.
What drew me to it is how alive it feels. It responds to every strike of the hammer,
every change in heat. Over the years, I’ve tried to understand it better—how it
expands, softens, and changes color. My goal has always been to create something
that connects the old craftsmanship of our city with a cleaner, more timeless touch.
I like to think that each piece carries both history and a bit of my own rhythm in it.
How would you describe your workshop?
It’s not a big place, but it’s full of energy. There’s always the sound of hammering, the hiss of fire, and the smell of metal being shaped. The walls are old and darkened from years of work, but to me that’s beauty—it’s a record of everything that’s been created there. Every tool has its place, every mark tells a story. When the fire is glowing, I feel like I’m standing at the heart of something ancient and alive.
What’s a usual day in the workshop like for you?
Each day starts early. I light the fire, prepare the copper sheets, and decide what I’ll focus on—maybe a pot, a dallah, or a decorative piece. The process changes depending on the shape, but the rhythm stays the same: heat, hammer, cool, repeat. Sometimes I work in silence, other times I put on some Arabic or instrumental music. People often stop by the shop—other craftsmen, friends, sometimes curious visitors. I like those small breaks; they remind me that this craft is part of the life around us, not separate from it.
How would you describe your workshop?
It’s not a big place, but it’s full of energy. There’s always the sound of hammering, the hiss of fire, and the smell of metal being shaped. The walls are old and darkened from years of work, but to me that’s beauty—it’s a record of everything that’s been created there. Every tool has its place, every mark tells a story. When the fire is glowing, I feel like I’m standing at the heart of something ancient and alive.
What’s a usual day in the workshop like for you?
Each day starts early. I light the fire, prepare the copper sheets, and decide what I’ll focus on—maybe a pot, a dallah, or a decorative piece. The process changes depending on the shape, but the rhythm stays the same: heat, hammer, cool, repeat. Sometimes I work in silence, other times I put on some Arabic or instrumental music. People often stop by the shop—other craftsmen, friends, sometimes curious visitors. I like those small breaks; they remind me that this craft is part of the life around us, not separate from it.
How do you like to work—with music, podcasts, or silence?
Mostly with music. There’s something about rhythm that helps me find my own. I listen to a mix—old Arabic songs, sometimes instrumental or chill beats. But there are also moments when I need silence, just me and the sound of the hammer. That’s when I reach real focus, when time disappears.
Who inspired you when you started?
It’s the older craftsmen of Aleppo who’ve always inspired me. Watching them work, seeing how they treat the metal with patience and respect, taught me that this isn’t just about making objects—it’s about attitude. You can’t rush copper. It teaches you patience, and that’s something I carry in everything I do.
What ideas or themes shape your work?
My main inspiration is the balance between tradition and renewal. I love old forms—Arabic calligraphy, carved motifs—but I also try to make pieces that could fit in a modern home or gallery. My work is about connecting past and present, and showing that our heritage still belongs in today’s world.
