I just started an art therapy course at LaSalle on Saturday afternoons - I'm the student, not the "teacher". Had my first lesson last Saturday. Highly awesome! Go do it!
We chose our own papers and choice of "tools". There were charcoal sticks, glitter, pastels, crayons, acrylic, etc etc. We each had our one minute of fame - we left a mark on each other's piece of paper. I felt like a naughty child. I could take whatever I wanted and deface that perfect piece of white. No one would know which mark I made, we were anonymous. Some of them felt a bit of stress because they felt that they needed to conform and follow the pattern. I, for one, didn't want to conform on purpose. I felt free. I could feel my heart racing, fingers numbed from the excitement of this unexpected naughtiness. Exhilarating!
Another exercise took us on a walk with our crayons and whatnots. Music played in the background. Eyes closed, fist curled around my white crayon. I followed the voice. I walk in the park, breathe in, breathe out. Everything is green, watch out! Rock in the path and a dog running through your path, excitedly chasing a duck. Smell the air, freshly cut from dawn. Cool air resting awhile before flitting away with the pretty, pretty butterflies. We opened our eyes and looked at the random walk we took. Next task - "see" a picture in the random walk and draw it out. Time: 10 minutes.
Alot of them started working on their piece almost immediately. I was stuck. I couldn't see my picture. I started turning the paper, this way and that...I finally saw a man standing there. I started to fill in the details. I was surprised at the end product. I had pulled up a memory from a long time ago, when I was about 11 or 12 years old...
I visited an uncle of mine in a drug rehabilitation centre when I was about that age. I was allowed to because I didn't have an IC yet and mom could go because they are siblings. It never struck me that I would remember it. I thought that I was drawing out my mother visiting but it turned out to be an observation I didn't know I had. These "prisoners" are only allowed visits from family members once a month and their wives would tart themselves up to appear all well and good for their husbands. I also had a name for it - "The Great Partition". Picture will be up soon. It is also for sale so holler if you are interested ;-)
In the evening, I was at the Arab Association for an event. I watched various middle eastern string and drums performances and basically danced the night away. Ladies who were there, I thank you for your warmth, generousity and the Dzaffin steps. It was a lovely evening and I do feel priviledged to have been allowed that precious peek.
I am not going to write in detail about the evening but will leave you these words, recorded then:
traditional, swaying, plucking oh so skillful, string instrument from Turkey
cameras annoy my eyes with their bright lights
my emotions run, trickling at times, accompanying the quieter notes
escalating, shut eyes backpaddling me to when I was a muslim.
Do I miss it? eyes fixed, lullled and lost but dark kohl-lined eyes watch me, hypnotic
light-footed horse warriors, they twirl, I see only white, flashes of those dark eyes again
the earth shifts as they hold hands, hop and skip,
always graceful, they never slip
fingers touched heels, bending down, celebratory yet humbled
ululation proclaiming devotion and love
heel to earth, bow down muslims, keep yourselves grounded
evoke loyalty to the One royalty
toes curled upwards, heels strike the ground
ku sangka dinda,
tapi dia pusaka
membuka jendela dan
membelai hatiku yang gusang
We chose our own papers and choice of "tools". There were charcoal sticks, glitter, pastels, crayons, acrylic, etc etc. We each had our one minute of fame - we left a mark on each other's piece of paper. I felt like a naughty child. I could take whatever I wanted and deface that perfect piece of white. No one would know which mark I made, we were anonymous. Some of them felt a bit of stress because they felt that they needed to conform and follow the pattern. I, for one, didn't want to conform on purpose. I felt free. I could feel my heart racing, fingers numbed from the excitement of this unexpected naughtiness. Exhilarating!
Another exercise took us on a walk with our crayons and whatnots. Music played in the background. Eyes closed, fist curled around my white crayon. I followed the voice. I walk in the park, breathe in, breathe out. Everything is green, watch out! Rock in the path and a dog running through your path, excitedly chasing a duck. Smell the air, freshly cut from dawn. Cool air resting awhile before flitting away with the pretty, pretty butterflies. We opened our eyes and looked at the random walk we took. Next task - "see" a picture in the random walk and draw it out. Time: 10 minutes.
Alot of them started working on their piece almost immediately. I was stuck. I couldn't see my picture. I started turning the paper, this way and that...I finally saw a man standing there. I started to fill in the details. I was surprised at the end product. I had pulled up a memory from a long time ago, when I was about 11 or 12 years old...
I visited an uncle of mine in a drug rehabilitation centre when I was about that age. I was allowed to because I didn't have an IC yet and mom could go because they are siblings. It never struck me that I would remember it. I thought that I was drawing out my mother visiting but it turned out to be an observation I didn't know I had. These "prisoners" are only allowed visits from family members once a month and their wives would tart themselves up to appear all well and good for their husbands. I also had a name for it - "The Great Partition". Picture will be up soon. It is also for sale so holler if you are interested ;-)
In the evening, I was at the Arab Association for an event. I watched various middle eastern string and drums performances and basically danced the night away. Ladies who were there, I thank you for your warmth, generousity and the Dzaffin steps. It was a lovely evening and I do feel priviledged to have been allowed that precious peek.
I am not going to write in detail about the evening but will leave you these words, recorded then:
traditional, swaying, plucking oh so skillful, string instrument from Turkey
cameras annoy my eyes with their bright lights
my emotions run, trickling at times, accompanying the quieter notes
escalating, shut eyes backpaddling me to when I was a muslim.
Do I miss it? eyes fixed, lullled and lost but dark kohl-lined eyes watch me, hypnotic
light-footed horse warriors, they twirl, I see only white, flashes of those dark eyes again
the earth shifts as they hold hands, hop and skip,
always graceful, they never slip
fingers touched heels, bending down, celebratory yet humbled
ululation proclaiming devotion and love
heel to earth, bow down muslims, keep yourselves grounded
evoke loyalty to the One royalty
toes curled upwards, heels strike the ground
ku sangka dinda,
tapi dia pusaka
membuka jendela dan
membelai hatiku yang gusang
Petal P. Rose
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