June 13 2001

Turquoise domes gilded gold at sunset

alabaster minarets blasted smooth by whipping sand

restless shifting dunes...

white- gold- hot- rippled

an ocean of arid land.

Barren misconceptions.

life teams where we suppose it to be bland.

Green palm, fig and date.

Deep pools of liquid azure

revive a nomadic band

The ocean's heart bears beauty, delicate and pure.

The desert rose a gossamer kiss on a parched hand.

Cities of mystery

fortunes won and lost in time

Exuberant colors and vibrant bazaars whose magic none withstand.

Northward rises a temperate range

purple speckled green

to give shifting dunes stern reprimand.

South along the coast

a salty frothy shore

once bountiful green boswellias thrive no more.

Her translucent golden droplets yield to market demand.

Turbaned tunic-ed and veiled

A people cloaked in mystery

distance is their faith's demand

Loyal, passionate and enduring,

these I struggle to understand

Somewhere in the sands of time, two trunkless legs stand

will we ever know for certain

those who rule the Persian sand?

I wrote that a few months before September 11. It had occurred to me that as vast as the rubber stamp world was, there were some people left out of the image bank. Michelle had just turned me on to this great resource book, A Bacon's compendium of engraver's cuts from various Victorian encyclopedias. I found a section of alphabet charts that made my inner geek squee with joy. So I started teaching myself some Persian. I even found a Persian language book that the state department put out in the 1950's. So for a week, I taught myself some Persian calligraphy. It isn't good. Good enough to make art with, not good enough to brag to any Persians about. And then... it happened.

I thought that there could not be a better time for artwork that could bridge the chasm this incident created. There is much to admire in the Middle Eastern culture, and in Islam if you could eliminate the agenda's of faith leaders who don't remember what Allah put us here for. But, that is me. I am a healer. The first thing I can think of when something bad happens is "How can we fix this?"

Maybe that's why so many things bother me about life. Some things can't be fixed because they are too complicated to be undone with a single act. And as a healer, I want people to be happy and healthy... all of this anger and fanaticism isn't happiness. But I can't fix it. I used to weep for G'd all the time because this beautiful thing he made is spoiled. September 11 made me weep with Him all over again. I couldn't fix anything when I was a child. I don't feel like I can fix anything now. All I can do is try not to make things worse. And that is where the Mid East themes in my work comes from. That is why I listen to Arabic influenced music these days. No one else will remind me that all people have value, I'll have to do it myself.