PRECIOUS CIRCLE: ART COLLAGE THAT MEASURES PUBLIC SENTIMENT

http://theluxpats.com/2013/12/15/an-art-collage-that-measures-public-sentiment/

'IN THE DOORWAY'

‘IN THE DOORWAY’ (Persian)

From The Diwan of Shams-i-Tabriz by the Sufi poet Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi, 13^th Century Anatolia

My eyes gleam because there is Another inside:

If water scalds you, there was fire behind it-understand?

But I have no stone in my hand, no argument here.

A rose garden is known for its sweetness, not thorns.

So what you see in my eyes comes from another universe.

Here’s a world, there’s a world-

I’m seated in the doorway.

Only those that sit between can deliver wordless lectures.

It’s sufficient to give this hint:

Say no more-stop talking and

Reverse the use of your tongue!

TRANSLUCENCE: UNPOLISHED GEMS OF THE ORIENT: SERENITY (THE DOORWAY)

oil on board 700 x 900 mm

2006 Aurangabad India

Sold

On 27^th February 2006 (my birthday), I undertook my first journey to India. My main goal was to visit the magnificent caves of Ajanta and Ellorah near Aurangabat.

On my way to Ellorah the taxi passed through the dark and mysterious interior of the remnant of the old city wall and on exiting, my eyes were blinded by the bright colors of a fruit stall and even by the faded pink, of a young girl’s Sari. Her father offered me a taste of the sweetness of a plump fig he had opened and parted, as well as a bite from a bright red guava with a lily white interior.

Obliging willingly and nodding eagerly, they permitted me to photograph them. I was smilingly and graciously invited to enter their humble and dilapidated little shack, which sat awkwardly on a small rise behind the fruit stall. I photographed the miserable interior & the beaming family. Three or four strides propelled me from the low beamed front entrance, out of the decaying back door. This was the spot where I indicated to the young girl to briefly pause with her cat. As she knelt down, beaming radiantly at me and cradling her cat, her frail little body was framed by the dilapidated doorway.

aletam@icon.co.za 

www.aletamichaletos.com 

PAYSAGE EN MOROCCO

PAYSAGE EN MOROCCO

It is interesting to note, that I never feel the urge to do architectural depictions in South Africa. However, my visit to Greece in 1988 spawned a complete exhibition dedicated to the architecture in Athens and Sifnos.  

I think ‘feeling safe in your environment’, allows ideas to flourish in a natural way.  In South Africa, we have safety issues to consider and become reluctant to move around in the older parts of our cities that are steeped in character.  I feel robbed of my sense of belonging, my roots, and I am only allowed fond memories of places I frequented in my youth.

When it became public knowledge that I would be visiting ancient Marrakech, Fez and Casablanca in 2005, the comments always centered around how ‘colorful Morocco’, would influence my work.  The truth is that Morocco is colorless!  It is a typical dessert city similar to Cairo, where the earthy coffee-, cream- and beige tints and hues of the inhabitants, architecture and surrounds, become the canvas on which the color is artificially added, by cleverly incorporating bright and colorful textiles and paint. 

The local product 'brou de Noix' (extract of nuts) which is used by the calligraphers, was the medium with which I could express myself best.

                                    Paysage en Morocco:'FES' brou de Noix 490 x 370 mm 2005 sold

In this panorama or view on to ‘Fes’, I decided to omit more than half of the satellite dishes that were visible. (I simply found them too distasteful, as they had no place in the Biblical fragrance that emanates from this ancient city)

 My vantage point for ‘Fes’, was the rooftop of a Persian carpet dealer. The top of the building was strewn with newly washed carpets that were drying in the sun.  Although I had the luxury of a 360˚ view from where I stood, it was the tiny slice containing three Cypresses etched against the cloudless sky, which reminded me that besides myself, I was not the only ‘living one’ there.  Although I knew that Fez was teeming with life, no living soul was visible from above.  The Cypresses were guarding the secrets of the city like so many other sentinels one finds on guard at a cemetery.