Jean Burman

There are no real winners or losers

for only a judgment stands between the two.

In life…

the real successes lie within your heart

in the sure knowledge that you have done your utmost

to achieve them.

Copyright - Jean Burman 2005

The air was heavy with expectation as the crowd milled… champagne in hand… around the gallery. They gathered for a moment at this painting… and then the next. After a while… the muffled conversation grew to a dull roar above the clatter and clink of glasses and the shuffle of innumerable feet. But for the assembled throng of artists collectors family and friends alike… there was just one burning question which hung heavily in the air that night…

“Who (out of those whose artwork hadn’t already been tossed out in the first round) will win… and who will be going home empty handed… and err… perhaps even more than a little bit broken hearted?” (grin)

The roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd had reached a “high” crescendo by the time the organisers took to the podium and the official proceedings got underway.

First the endless acknowledgments… then the obligatory speeches… followed by much shifting of weight from one foot to the other… and then… the introduction of the judge who had been flown in for the occasion from a prominent Gallery in the South. A thin veil of cool headed confidence belied the truth as excited voices rippled around the room in anxious anticipation. After a last few glances around… silence finally fell… and all eyes now settled on the one person… whom it seemed in that moment… could singlehandedly exact complete control over virtually every possible outcome on the planet!

A pregnant pause ensued… followed by the “clanger” from the Master of Ceremonies (in an ill-fated attempt at humour)…

‘that the judge would not be joining us for dinner afterall… and as a matter of fact… upon delivery of her verdict would be taking the first plane out!’ Groan… yeah right very funny. The crowd chuckled anxiously… and shuffled some more.

For the judge’s part… it was now her onerous task to deliver her verdict to the assembled masses. She already knew it would be a contentious choice… as always… regardless of the particulars of any given competition… the judge’s decision almost always elicits the same trifecta of emotions to pretty much all hopeful contestants!

This trifecta traditionally consists of :

1. initial relief that the anticipation is finally over…

followed by

2. shock… (usually commensurate with whether one has won or lost!)

followed (with almost indecent haste) by

3. unbridled joy and/or indignant grief often accompanied by feelings of abject despair and discouragement (again usually commensurate with whether one has won or lost! *wink*)

One by one… the winning artworks were announced… each one greeted by a round of enthusiastic applause (it’s always amazed me how people manage to clap one-handed without splashing champagne all over the place - grin)

By the end of proceedings with attention spans stretched to the max… conversations had again reached fever pitch… and before the organisers could formally wrap up the event and present the judge’s flowers… the crowd had already begun to thin.

A quick reconnoitre of the room at that point gave closure to the event. Winners basked in the warm glow of success… whilst those who missed out this time round laughed off their disappointment in good natured banter with friends. The dissatisfied and disenchanted slipped silently into the shadows and away into the night to lick their wounds…

No doubt there would be the inevitable carve up… the de-brief if you will… with all the attendant behind the scenes bellyaching (a quaint behaviour oft linked to fragile artistic sensibilities) about who did and didn’t win… who should have… but more importantly who shouldn’t have. It’s a strange and mysterious fact that such behaviour almost always follows on from pretty much all “subjective”competition such as this.

Let’s face it… it’s a lottery… nothing more… nothing less.

Oddly… the infamous words of the 1997 song by the Sunscreen Man spring suddenly to mind… and seem somehow appropriate here!

“Whatever you do… don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either… your choices are half chance… so are everybody elses”

and this….

“Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead… sometimes you’re behind… the race is long and in the end… it’s only with yourself”

In fact… here’s the clip for those who’ve never heard it before… for those who have… you might enjoy a re-visit to Baz Luhrmann’s little epiphany from 1997.

BLOG ACTION DAY - OCTOBER 15 - ONE ISSUE - ONE DAY- THOUSANDS OF VOICES

cartoon & content Copyright Jean Burman 2007

Today is Blog Action Day. It’s a day when bloggers worldwide UNITE to discuss the same issue on the same day (in their own way) to bring awareness to an issue of global importance. The issue chosen this time around… (a decidedly “hot” topic at the moment)… is The Environment.

But just as I was climbing up onto my soapbox for one more round… (groan… I know I know… not again!) the thought occurred to me that the majority of bloggers may take this opportunity to jump upon the “gloomy and equally doomy” global warming bandwagon. So in deference to the universal laws of attraction… I thought it may be less dangerous and ultimately more constructive to focus on the “positive” and decided to run with a funny little story that really did happen… (just a few years ago)

This story became the stuff of legend in our family… growing bigger and better by the year. It was the day when mum let rip and stepped out from the kerb… in one small step for the family and one giant leap for mankind! LOL

A bit of background.

The year was 1997. We had been in the Philippines for just over a week staying at the relatively posh Peninsula Hotel in Makati (the business district of Manila). Over the course of our stay the Hotel had become a safe haven for us as we travelled about the city… a place to retreat back to and literally “catch our breath”… when we could take no more of the bustle, the traffic, the heat, the glare, the constant crush, the confusion, the squalid atmosphere, and the acrid air!

As Aussies… used to living in a comparatively uncluttered unpolluted and unspoiled country… the Philippines (and Manila in particular) had come as quite a shock to the senses. Most startling for us was the great divide between the haves and the have nots… and the contrast as opulent excess rubbed shoulders with abject poverty.

But more than that… there was the pollution… not “rubbish on the streets” kind of pollution… (in fact even the slums had some semblance of order) but the staggering level of industrial pollution. It was high Summer… excessively hot and sultry… and the air was virtually “unbreathable “out on the street. The wide dual lane carriageway outside the Hotel was divided by a grassy median strip lined with drooping date palms their trunks caked black with carbon. I marvelled at their tenacity!

Fortunately… we were driven most places in an air conditioned van. Fortunate I say… for two reasons

1. Because to walk out onto the streets and breathe the air even for the shortest time… would have afforded a lifetime exposure to toxic levels of carbon monoxide and any number of other noxious chemical emissions.

2. And because as a foreign driver you’d never survive the drive… as roads marked for two or maybe three lanes bulged at the seams with cars, trucks, buses and jeepneys “jammed in” six across… and vying for pole position. (To tell you the truth… the only “pole” position I saw… was when a bus in central downtown Makati rounded the corner on the inside lane and was shunted up onto the footpath and impaled against one!) But I digress…(grin)

The Story.

The day began like any other. Nose pressed up to the glass I looked out the hotel window down to the street and watched as cars on the early morning business commute banked up on the street out side. We were without a car for the day as DH had meetings out of the city and the car had been dispatched for this purpose. So the kids and I looked at each other and reviewed our options. A dip in the pool was ruled out as it was on ground level and as we already knew… the air down there was impossible to breathe… so the decision was taken to spend the morning investigating the brand new air conditioned shopping mall right across the road from the Hotel.

The next decision was how to get there. This would be a no-brainer anywhere else… but here… it was something I really had to think about.

‘Should we get a cab… (to-go-across-the-road?)… or should we run the gauntlet and see if we can make it across on foot?’

Common sense (and social conscience) prevailed as I set off trailing three little kids behind… down the elevator… around through the back of the hotel and out onto the street. I had instructed them before we opened the back door that if the fumes were too strong and we had to wait too long to cross… I would give the nod and we would run back inside. (Bizarre isn’t it? Well it was to me… where I came from clean breathable air was a given!)

The crowd at the pedestrian crossing quickly swelled as we waited patiently to cross. The air was thick and hot and the fumes were choking. We waited a few minutes and then with eyes burning and struggling for breath… we edged our way further into the crowd and a little closer to the kerb. The three lanes of traffic (now blown out to five) flowed belligerently past with not the slightest intention to stop. I looked around and realised that by now we were too deep into the crowd to beat a hasty retreat… and there in front of us… the slow surge of traffic (matched only by the slow surge of anger rising inside me) showed no sign of abating. Why wouldn’t they stop? This was a pedestrian crossing afterall… and we were dying out here! It was crunch time!

I have always found anger to be the best motivator… especially when it comes to anything to do with my kids! And so it was… that I became the unwitting hero that day… as I turned and instructed the kids to wait. Stepping determinedly (and perhaps more than a little bit stupidly) off the kerb and out into the traffic… I raised my hand defiantly and with a mixture of great authority and self righteous indignation singlehandedly stopped the traffic. I’m still not sure to this day who got the biggest fright… me… the kids… or the cars buses and trucks across five lanes of traffic… who after screeching to an extremely reluctant halt… then sat on their horns blasting us as the crowd surged triumphantly across the street to join me.

Afterward in the wash-up of excited conversation with their father… we all agreed it was a small (but necessary) victory. In the case for man (or in this case “woman”) against machine… woman had won out… and saved the eyesight and lungs of at least a few dozen people that day… including her own three small children. *wink*

Long story short… Manila was one of the most polluted cities I had ever visited. Granted… it was summer… and the heat inversion was something else… but the sight of the leaden grey sea and sky across Manila Bay (in particular) and breathing air that burns the eyes and skin on contact… struck fear in my heart that every city in the world could become like this one if nothing were done to reduce the levels of pollution that man emits into it’s atmosphere. Life would not be worth living without fresh air to breathe and it’s not until we are deprived of it that we realise how precious a resource it really is. But by then it will be almost too late…

Personally… I think that the focus of our efforts should be on reducing emissions (for the right reasons) rather than arguing the political toss over the existence or otherwise of global warming and climate change… and the impact of the human footprint. To me… that’s just wasting time. We know we are polluting the earth… and what better motivator could there be to clean up our act and reduce our emissions… than to no longer have fresh air to breathe?

Asphyxia (and a whole host of modern day illnesses caused by our toxic environment - including cancer) sure beats the heck out of rising sea levels… and heat exhaustion… as a terrible way to die!

Comments always welcome…

cartoon Copyright Jean Burman 2007

I was saddened this week by the sensationalised revelations of Mother Teresa’s longstanding crisis of faith. Don’t get me wrong… I was not saddened because she had experienced a crisis of faith… (and had long believed she had been abandoned by her God)… but saddened because the world got to know about it!

It is an unfortunate fact that people… being what they are… will now more than likely put whatever self serving spin on it they like and as is often the case… the truth may be the first and ultimate casualty.

One overlooked truth of course is… there are certain things that should remain sacrosanct between a human soul and her God… (which is how she had wanted it)… but this sentiment was apparently not shared by her church!

But now that the cat is out of the bag… the atheists and agnostics alike will no doubt take the opportunity to see her revelations as confirmation that God does not exist. The deeply religious will see it as proof that God does indeed exist… arguing “how else could this amazing woman “hold out” for so long in her good works… without losing her deep faith in a God she was (apparently) unable to reach?”

Perhaps the truth can be found somewhere in the middle. Or perhaps it can never be found at all… as the true intimacy of her tormented thoughts have passed on with her… (it would be hoped) into the “fulfillment” of eternal life.

Whilst I think it is contemptible that her confessions have been exposed against her wishes to the misinterpretation of the masses… I find it strangely intriguing that I am unable to resist the urge to examine some of the questions her confessions raised for me. (So as you will see… I am as guilty as the rest! LOL)

Whilst most of us haven’t (and more than possibly could not have) lived a life so totally devoted and dedicated to humanity as Mother Theresa’s was… I suspect that many of us may understand (even if only slightly) how she might have felt… and may even have experienced some small degree of parallel in our own dealings with God… (whomever we perceive the entity to be).

Bizarre as it may seem… I see a parallel here for artists too! And I guess… for every vocation where someone invests their heart into their work… this may well be the case. But in particular for the creative artist… the road is long… and the rewards can seem “thin on the ground”.

Not only are artists attempting to attract the attention of a fickle (sometimes) uninformed audience… but even if the audience does notice the work… rarely is it able to acknowledge the “artistic voice” in a language it can understand.

Monetary reward is one thing for the working artist… but always… always there is the deep intangible yearning for something more. It’s that something more that has sometimes driven artists throughout millenia to desperation and despair. Artists are often their own harshest critics… playing the game by a set of rules that others find difficult to interpret. The bar is high… and becoming ever higher… the vocal critics have the majority… and an apathetic voiceless (and dare I say it “artless”) audience can often appear to be sitting it out on the fence without an opinion (okay… a little harsh maybe! *wink* LOL)

Don’t get me wrong… I am not for a moment suggesting that the plight of the struggling artist can be compared to the selfless struggle that Mother Thesesa faced over a lifetime of saving the poor of Calcutta. On the contrary… I am simply observing the parallel in order to better understand her torment… and hopefully find some common ground for the rest of us.

I am wondering then… if Mother Theresa’s deep spiritual longing could have been… in essence… the unquenched thirst for (not only affirmation that she was on the right track)… but also… the ultimate recognition for a job well done? She certainly didn’t need this recognition (in her case… spiritual fulfillment) to carry on… but perhaps a positive spiritual endorsement from an “available” God could have made the journey far easier to bear.

But maybe that was not God’s intention. Maybe he trusted her more than anyone else to never give up… no matter how hard it got… and despite the perceived withdrawal of “spiritual” recognition and perhaps even because of it… she did even more good works!

Call me way too simplistic… but could it be that somewhere in this small parallel… there is a God-sent lesson for us all?

Just thinking…

watercolour sketch 8″ x 10″
Copyright 2007 Jean Burman

I am caged in this corner

full of melancholy and sorrow

my wings are closed and I cannot fly

I am an Afghan woman and I must wail…

- Nadia Anjuman 1980 - 2005

The young woman who wrote these words is now dead. She died at the age of 25 by her husband’s hand. He believed she had brought shame on her family for publishing a book of her poetry entitled “Dark Red Flower” in 2005. She left behind her 6 month old child.

Nadia Anjuman was one of a group of brave young women who… during the reign of the Taliban… met secretly under the guise of sewing lessons at the Golden Needle Sewing School to study literature under a professor from the local University in Herat. After the fall of the Taliban… she attended the university… and in 2005 she published her first book. Her beautiful and heartfelt work reached the hearts and minds of enthusiastic audiences across Afghanistan and Iran and traversed issues of love… emotion… religion… and the continuing plight of women in Afghanistan. That plight continues today.

In her recently released documentary “Lifting the veil/Afghanistan Unveiled”… documentary film maker Sharmeen Obaid returns to Afghanistan five years after the invasion (and the fall of the Taliban) to see how things have improved. What she finds… despite protestations to the contrary from the west… is a country where women are still beset by incredible hardship and deprivation of the most basic human rights.

From Kabul (the showcase for women’s rights and western progress in Afghanistan) right across the country to Herat on the Iranian border… the story for women is one of abject despair.

In the backstreets of Kabul… just a couple of streets back from the building sites, the western style shopping malls and warlords palaces… homeless women shrouded in burqas… are begging in the street… and selling whatever they have (even themselves) to feed their children. Many are widows whose husbands were killed during the conflict. There are an estimated 2 million war widows in Afghanistan. In a country where women are still denied the very basics of human rights… and are completely dependent upon men… many are starving while they beg on the streets… as second class citizens… waiting for someone to take pity on them and help them.

Women and girls as young as 7 are still being sold into marriage and many are attempting suicide as their only potential form of escape from the burgeoning crisis of domestic violence. Women mostly “burn” themselves in an attempt to not only end their despair… but also to draw attention to their plight in the most obvious way possible… in the hope that someone somewhere may notice them.

Women require their male guardian’s written permission for admission to hospital and many are being denied this right… and consequently die along with their babies… from the complications of childbirth.

An excerpt from the documentary film maker’s website describes the current situation thus…

“Throughout her journey, Sharmeen finds little evidence of Western aid making a difference to the lives of women. The streets of Kabul are full of aid workers in flash ‘four by fours’ but the lives of ordinary people have hardly changed.

Sharmeen concludes that the liberation of Afghan women is mostly theoretical: it was naïve to think that the country could be transformed quickly, when the oppression of women was the consequence of centuries of tribal and cultural practice – not the sole invention of the Taliban. The West should be asking hard questions about where all the millions of aid money has gone, with so little to show”

Sign the Violation of Women’s and Human Rights in Afghanistan Petition

Comments always welcome…