Monday, March 16, 2015
beans, pulses and spices you seek out at the grand bazaar
sheep's heads for big soups
more spices zinging nose with bombs of colour
loads of scented tea in piles
these are the intestines of the sheep for soups and other traditional meals
scented colours redolent of ancient gypsy caravans
Spring time in my dear Kurdistan......
jonquils on the side of the road, picked by my love
mountain blossoms growing in the crevices fed by trickling water from the stream
the smell of sunshine
as big as a china cup
those warm papery dresses of faeries
attracter of beeszzz
deep throbs of perfume
ancient lands cut through by this heavenly gush
and the wild goats clip clopping above the rushing river
the festival of parasols swinging in spring time in erbil
both kitsch and pretty, these flower balls at the family mall in erbil
I am amazed (again) at how quickly the days and weeks go by. It's already half-way through March, and Autumn is beginning to be felt through the sun filtered trees and blowy winds from the ocean.
Evening classes in my back room on Wednesday eves with a glass or two of fresh SSB or rough red.
This year began with a rush and a sense of excitement: what does the year hold in store? what dreams do I have, what am I actually DOING?
Karzan has been in Perth now for 6 months. It's a harder thing, this "settling", than I thought it would be. I was sure that he'd jag a job and be racing around in an old bomb of a car within weeks, busking in the streets on his clarinet and teaching a bunch of eager teens his oriental jazz vibes.
Thankful for his one clarinet student. I love it, listening to the two wind instruments blowing out gorgeous notes in the Saturday afternoon back yard.
And as for me, here I sit, light filled shapes like mono contemporary screen prints, the sun through the window. Inside my gallery space with it's powdery concrete floors, which we spent days polishing to remove the horrible carpet glue, and white walls. I called the Gallery "Shirin", which means "sweet" in the language of Karzan: Kurdish, Sorani.
Textiles adorn the verticals: garlands of pink red orange purple green rust indigo mauve olive burgundy tassels swing in curves of colour. Twraka, ancient bags used by the farmers in Kurdistan, glow red brown orange pink golden in tartans triangles and zigzag pattern.
My eyes greedily lick the colours
the colours sing
hand made olive oil soaps heavily scent the warm autumn air
gypsy colours of Kurdish textiles
my small mixed media pieces in this little corner shelf
light hits colour through the gallery window
floor rugs of warmest reds and orange shot through with blues and purples
sara clarke painting
It's been a beautiful few weeks of Shirin. I've met heaps of great people, and made lovely connections. But, it's now time to move forward in other ways. Retail it seems is suffering from the economy, the job losses, the expensive cost of living out there.
I'll be here for another week or so... and then to pack up the gallery and transport these delights back home. The direction from then will be to set up my shop online, and hold art classes in my beautiful sunny back room.
my back room, close to garden and sun
Who's in?! :)