Jean Burman

artwork Copyright Jean Burman 2007

“All that is necessary for evil to prevail is that good people should say nothing”

QUOTE from www.riverbendblog.blogspot.com “As I write this, Oprah is on Channel 4 (one of the MBC channels we get on Nilesat), showing her viewers how to get out of debt. Her guest speaker is telling a studio full of women who seem to have over-shopped that they could probably do with fewer designer products” UNQUOTE

I do not know her… but I have read and understood her words. The thought occurs to me that she could be me… but she is not. She lives in a far off distant land… in a country I shall never know. I live in a comparative paradise… in a country she will probably never see. But still we live… and breathe… and laugh… and cry… and grieve… just the same. The only difference is… she is living a hell that I could not possibly begin to comprehend… or hope to understand.

On the surface of it… we have not very much in common except perhaps our gender… but through reading her words… I have developed a deep and lasting empathy for this brave young woman (who was shortlisted for the British literary award - the Samuel Johnson prize - for her book Baghdad Burning)… her plight… and the plight of others just like her… trapped within the conflict and unfolding tragedy which is now modern day Iraq.

Saturday August 5, 2006. Summer of Goodbyes. www.riverbendblog.blogspot.com

QUOTE “For me, June marked the first month I don’t dare leave the house without a hijab, or headscarf. I don’t wear a hijab usually, but it’s no longer possible to drive around Baghdad without one. It’s just not a good idea. (Take note that when I say ‘drive’ I actually mean ‘sit in the back seat of the car’- I haven’t driven for the longest time.) Going around bare-headed in a car or in the street also puts the family members with you in danger. You risk hearing something you don’t want to hear and then the father or the brother or cousin or uncle can’t just sit by and let it happen. I haven’t driven for the longest time. If you’re a female, you risk being attacked.

I look at my older clothes- the jeans and t-shirts and colorful skirts- and it’s like I’m studying a wardrobe from another country, another lifetime. There was a time, a couple of years ago, when you could more or less wear what you wanted if you weren’t going to a public place. If you were going to a friends or relatives house, you could wear trousers and a shirt, or jeans, something you wouldn’t ordinarily wear. We don’t do that anymore because there’s always that risk of getting stopped in the car and checked by one militia or another.

There are no laws that say we have to wear a hijab (yet), but there are the men in head-to-toe black and the turbans, the extremists and fanatics who were liberated by the occupation, and at some point, you tire of the defiance. You no longer want to be seen. I feel like the black or white scarf I fling haphazardly on my head as I walk out the door makes me invisible to a certain degree- it’s easier to blend in with the masses shrouded in black. If you’re a female, you don’t want the attention- you don’t want it from Iraqi police, you don’t want it from the black-clad militia man, you don’t want it from the American soldier. You don’t want to be noticed or seen.

I have nothing against the hijab, of course, as long as it is being worn by choice. Many of my relatives and friends wear a headscarf. Most of them began wearing it after the war. It started out as a way to avoid trouble and undue attention, and now they just keep it on because it makes no sense to take it off. What is happening to the country?

I realized how common it had become only in mid-July when M., a childhood friend, came to say goodbye before leaving the country. She walked into the house, complaining of the heat and the roads, her brother following closely behind. It took me to the end of the visit for the peculiarity of the situation to hit me. She was getting ready to leave before the sun set, and she picked up the beige headscarf folded neatly by her side. As she told me about one of her neighbors being shot, she opened up the scarf with a flourish, set it on her head like a pro, and pinned it snuggly under her chin with the precision of a seasoned hijab-wearer. All this without a mirror- like she had done it a hundred times over… Which would be fine, except that M. is Christian.

If M. can wear one quietly- so can I :UNQUOTE

“You see things and you say “why”… but I dream things that never were… and say “why not” - George Bernard Shaw

Surely the entire world (by now) has heard about vegemite… (the national “spread” of Australia) but… for the uninitiated… it comes in a little glass jar with a yellow label… and possesses the approximate consistency, colour, and taste of asphalt… (that’s bitumen to you and me) Aussies the world over have a penchant for the stuff… especially at breakfast time… when it is spread thickly over buttered toast!

In what I would imagine to be a world first this past week… (not difficult when we are talking vegemite) 16 year old Steph Chard turned out a stunning portrait of HRH Queen Elizabeth II… using vegemite as her medium of choice.

Copyright Steph Chard 2007 (until it finally disintegrates or the ants get to it!)

She admits to not quite knowing why she chose the black and sticky yeast spread for her portrait except to say that she was fooling around with a variety of mediums before she finally came up with her award winning idea. She reports that the vegemite is actually much easier to work with than paint and has a longer drying time. She achieved a range of tones by watering the stuff down with H2O to gain a most pleasing range of dark browns into yellows.

Steph a Year 12 art student took out second place at a local show… and managed in the process… to capture the interest of the media for her novel interpretation.

The only problem on the horizon now is how exactly to preserve the sticky mess… if and when it will ever eventually dry! And the smell… is definitely “something else”!

artwork & content Copyright Jean Burman 2007

I saw this couple floating up and down a resort pool recently and couldn’t help but draw the comparison between human : nature! <grin>

How strange and serendipitous that the very thing we had been discussing in the comments section of my last article (compliments of the backhanded kind)… should rear it’s ugly head within days of the discussion!

I had an email from a distant overseas friend whom I had not heard from for a couple of years. This week she emailed me specifically to let me know that she had at last (after 3 years of pondering the problem) solved the puzzle of my poem which appears on the homepage of my artbeat website.

She had apparently (for the longest time)… felt that the poem lacked rythym and was missing a beat in the very last line… and has now proffered a solution.

Here is the poem as it was written back in 2004…

“You held my pencil as I drew

and dipped my brush… you always knew

the visions there within my heart

would be revealed in my art.

And when upon the lowest ebb

with doubt and fear in my head

your quiet voice spoke from the dark

“Simply paint it from the heart”

My friend is suggesting that the last line should read…

Saying “simply paint it from the heart”

So instead of the poem having an 8 8 8 7 / 8 8 8 7 rhythm… it would now have an 8 8 8 7 / 8 8 8 9 rhythm. Go figure. *sigh*

What do you think?

Ah well… at least I can rest easy… that despite my apparent error… she still loves me and my work… and feels the poem is still beautiful and totally moving! *wink* (((giggles)))

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light… not our darkness that most frightens us” – Nelson Mandela.

Encouragement and praise have the power to change history

“Most of us do not know how to give it. Most of us do not know how to receive it. Yet we spend our lives craving it. No… it’s not sex… it’s praise. Praise can take many forms. It costs nothing. It takes no time. It is accessible to everyone. It would be considered a crime to let someone go without food for six days, but we let people go sixty days, sixty weeks, even sixty years without praise. However… praise is the trigger that can change your life and the lives of those around you. ” – Susan Mitchell.

In her excellent book “Be Bold - and discover the power of praise” Susan Mitchell speaks not only of the hows and whys of our collective reluctance to offer praise (and encouragement)… but also of the rewards for those who are bold enough to discover just how powerful a motivator praise can be in our lives… (both for the giver and receiver!)

I have sometimes wondered if this reluctance (or inability) to offer praise and encouragement stemmed from our mid last century something childhood. As I recall my mother’s admonishment… (taken well to heart)…

“If you have nothing nice to say… say nothing”

I can’t help but wonder about the impact of that statement. No doubt her mother before her counseled her similarly. And so… it would seem… generations of children have grown up “saying nothing” when “saying something” (anything) would have been far preferable! <grin> I have often thought a better recommendation might have been…

“If you have nothing nice to say… FIND something”

There is something good to be found in every person… purpose… or situation… and in the acknowledgement of the good… lies the fledgling spirit of praise!

I can live for two months on a good compliment – Mark Twain

But what are we so afraid of?

The universe is abundant with possibilities enough for each and every one of us on the planet. All we need do is to “work in our own way… at what we do best”. By offering up or giving away our words of encouragement and praise to others… we are not left poorer for the giving. On the contrary… like ripples from a stone dropped into the stillness of a millpond… our words reverberate and resonate in the hearts and minds of those we have encouraged for years to come… often reaching places we have never dreamed of. They are never forgotten… their legacy lives on and on. (The universe has an excellent memory!)

Appreciative words are the most powerful force for good on earth! – George W. Crane

In her book… Susan Mitchell relates the story of her creative writing class and the frustration she often felt when her students seemed unable or unwilling to acknowledge the good work of their fellow classmates.

When someone wrote a mediocre piece the students would always look for the good in it… but when someone wrote an excellent piece, the students would sit there eyes downcast, and silent.

When quizzed as to why they behaved in this way… the students eventually admitted that it was because they knew their work wasn’t as good and they didn’t like admitting their deficiencies. So she instigated a solution.

Each time someone wrote something excellent, the students were asked to “say what you really feel”. The highest praise that anyone in the class could receive was “You bastard I hate you for writing so well”

The recipients of this statement would sail out of the class with huge grins on their faces, saying, “They called me a bastard isn’t that fantastic!” (((giggles)))

I discussed this topic with DH yesterday and his simple retort was…

“There is no better encouragement than a king-size kick in the arse!”… and hey… who am I to argue? (Gotta love that man!)

I kind of agree with Ella Wheeler Wilcox though…

A pat on the back is only a few vertebrae removed from a kick in the pants… but is miles ahead in results – Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

All comments most welcome… (and you don’t have to agree with me!)

This wonderful story (anonymously penned) comes from one of my favourite websites www.actsofkindness.org I wanted to share it with you. I don’t know Rose… but I have known others like her. My only hope is that one day I may have the courage to follow in such gigantic footsteps. To live our life to it’s fullest potential for as long as we have it… would seem to me to be the greatest gift we can give to the world. So… if you like… grab a cup of coffee now and join me here in celebration of a life that has been truly “lived”…

THE STORY OF ROSE - Anonymous

The first day of school, our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder.

I turned around to find a wrinkled little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being. She said… “Hi handsome… my name is Rose. I’m eighty seven years old. Can I give you a hug?” I laughed and enthusiastically responded “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze.

Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked.

She jokingly replied… “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of children, and then retire and travel”

“No seriously” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

“I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me. After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmermised listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she revelled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said… “I’m sorry I’m so jittery… I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.”

photo source: www. flickr.com

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began:

“We do not stop playing because we are old: we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humour every day. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams… you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it!”

“There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity to change”.

“Have no regrets. The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did… but rather… for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets.”

She concluded her speech by courageously singing The Rose. She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the years end, Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago.

One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.

If you read this… please send this peaceful word of advice to your friends and family. We offer these words in loving memory of Rose.

“Orchids” - painted for my mother on the occasion of her 80th birthday

This gift of love comes from the heart… it’s beauty will never fade…their fragrance hangs on the gentle wind.. and the memory of them shall last forever…

watercolour on 640gsm Arches

artwork & content Copyright Jean Burman 2007

“Getting the first draft finished is like pushing a peanut with your nose across a very dirty floor” - Joyce Carol Oates

Most artists are pretty familiar with this “paying attention” stuff. The making of art… by it’s very nature… requires that artists have to be “in the moment” in order to do what they do. But the artist’s “moment” is often very much different to the everyday “here and now” of mere mortals. Bewildered friends and family have variously described their artists as being “in the zone”… “off the planet”… or “away with the pixies”… (all for very good reason) but the required attention to the moment is still the same whether it is in the mending of a heart (as in the last topic)… or in the making of a masterpiece.

Being “in the zone” comes in many forms… and may consist of one perfect “aha” moment… or a series of inspired moments all joined serendipitously together… culminating (if we get really lucky and the phone doesn’t ring) into several fruitful hours of joyful art making. But it is always in this concentration of time that the artist brings the necessary focus to the work that must be done!

artwork & content Copyright Jean Burman 2007

My rather kooky and sometimes vacant artist behaviour has sometimes…. over the years… been the subject of great mirth in our place. My children came to know early on that it was no good trying to talk to their mother once she had exited the real world and entered “the zone”. Homework questions and requests to be driven somewhere… sometime in the foreseeable future… were often met with the glazed eyes and blank expression of someone viewing the world through their third eye!

Over the years though… they became proficient at catching my attention. When tall tales of the most outrageous exploits began to fall on deaf ears and only ever managed to illicit a dreamy “that’s really nice sweetie” response from me… my son took to telephoning me from the next room to enquire… “as the house is now well ablaze… should I evacuate my sisters?” <smile>

But not all creative work gets done “in the zone”. It’s a slow “curing” process to ready oneself to enter. After the initial inspiration, comes preparation… and this can usually be done in tandem with more mundane chores. This is sometimes referred to as multi-tasking… but I prefer to call it “moment sharing” *sigh* (has such a civilised ring to it… but alas one can sometimes have more success splitting the atom). Artists who are also mothers often become resourceful experts at it!

photo source istock.com

It’s a simple system really… selecting the support can be dealt with alongside today’s math problem… pigments can be chosen whilst shelling the peas… thumbnails can be knocked out on a post-it stuck to the door of the fridge after we have wiped up the spilt milk in the door… brushes can be selected, washed out and readied whilst washing the dishes… and a good inspirational look at the blank canvas Michaelangelo might have sighted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel… can easily be viewed in the comfort of your own home whilst changing lightbulbs! And (my personal favourite)… one can never underestimate the compositional value of time spent on the school run… waiting gridlocked in traffic… (grids… I have been told… are invaluable for the busy artist!)

But when the time comes to really commit… (paint to paper or canvas that is) the artist must be in the here and now… fully focused on the creative process that is to come. The actual making of the art is immediate… in the moment… this moment… right now.

At this time… we do not seek to look forward nor back… but to remain in the moment… placing one daub of paint after another… brushstroke after brushstroke… wash after wash… just as we must place one foot in front of the other through life. The hours sail by.

I believe for most of us… there is great comfort in that.