Personal Mandala

A personal mandala is a circular drawing, painting, collage or any creative motif that expresses the important parts of your life. Mandalas can represent your thoughts and feelings on a day to day basis like a journal or diary and can be used to create a visual representation(symbols) of your world and its meaning. My mandala represented the beauty I saw in the world at the time I drew it and the things that were important to me.

Temenos

The name Temenos is taken from a Greek word meaning the sacred space surrounding a temple or an altar. Carl Jung used this same word to refer to the inner space deep within us where soul-making takes place. In my Art Therapy course I beaded my Temenos which was placed on the floor in the middle of a group sitting in a circle. I had created a sacred space in which we were safe and held in trust for healing and learning.

Asmahan al-Atrache

Asmahan, whose birth name was Amil was the sister of Farid al-Atrache. In 1923 she fled Syria with her mother and two brothers after their home was bombed by the French army.
She performed in the 1930's and was famous for her voice and it rivalled the voice of the talented Egyptian singer Oum Kalthoum. The life of Asmahan is a tale of one of the most colourful, controversial, and inspiring women in the Arab world during the 20th century. She was a Druze princess who rebelled against society and marriage. She came from a distinguished clan from Suweyda in the mountains of Syria.
Her life, especially her private life was traumatic and after marrying her cousin Prince Hassan al-Atrache in 1933 she moved back from Egypt to Syria. The marriage didn't last and after giving birth to a daughter, Camellia, she returned to Egypt and was divorced in 1939. She had three marriages in her short lifetime. She was an admired performer, a role frowned upon for women of that time. She frequently visited the homes, as a guest, of many of Egypt's rich and famous, and was also rumoured to be an agent for the Allied forces during World War II. Her death in 1944 at the age of 32 was said to be in mysterious circumstances and gave rise to many conspiracy theories.

Farid al-Atrache

Farid al-Atrache was born in Syria and escaped the French occupation of Syria with his mother and siblings. They emigrated to Egypt where he became a composer, singer, virtuoso oud player and an actor. He was known as 'King of the Oud"(a musical instrument of the Middle East and northern Africa belonging to the lute family.)
He was also well known for writing his sad love songs in his musical films and most of the instrumentals and songs sung by other singers. He was deeply in love with an Egyptian belly dancer called Samia Gamal who he gave a small role to in one of his movies when she approached him at the age of eighteen with a bunch of flowers. She was a belly dancer who came from the town of Wana in Egypt.Farid was impressed with her beauty and she idolised him. She later became famous and made movies with Farid and on her own. Her mesmerising performances brought recognition for Oriental dancing worldwide. Their romance was to last for five years and he supposedly said he couldn't marry her because he was a Druze Prince and could only marry a Druze Princess. He did have a few loves throughout his lifetime but never married. In his movies he always took the romantic lead role of a heavy hearted singer.

SAMIA GAMAL

A Tear and a Smile by Khalil Gibran

I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart
For the joys of the multitude.
And I would not have the tears that sadness makes
To flow from my every part turn into laughter.

I would that my life remain a tear and a smile.

A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding
Of life's secrets and hidden things.
A smile to draw me nigh to the sons of my kind and
To be a symbol of my glorification of the gods.

A tear to unite me with those of broken heart;
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence.

I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live Weary and despairing.

I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the
Depths of my spirit,for I have seen those who are
Satisfied the most wretched of people.
I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and Longing, and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody.

With evening's coming the flower folds her petals
And sleeps, embracingher longing.
At morning's approach she opens her lips to meet
The sun's kiss.

The life of a flower is longing and fulfilment.
A tear and a smile.

The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come
Together and area cloud.

And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys
Until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping
To the fields and joins with brooks and rivers to Return to the sea, its home.

The life of clouds is a parting and a meeting.
A tear and a smile.

And so does the spirit become separated from
The greater spirit to move in the world of matter
And pass as a cloud over the mountain of sorrow
And the plains of joy to meet the breeze of death
And return whence it came.

To the ocean of Love and Beauty----to God.

Jdaydet

During one of our visits to Damascus, we stayed with Fawaz's sister Shehoud at Jdaydet, on the western outskirts of the city.
Shehoud had six children which included five girls and one boy called Zyard, hence she was known as Umm Zyard(mother of Zyard.)
Shehoud lived with her husband Rajet who was a sargeant in the Syrian army and they were living in army quarters in a small two bedroom apartment on the third floor of a five story building. During that time it was said that the Government spent more than seventy per cent of it's budget on defence but that didn't include the much needed repairs and upkeep of Shehoud's flat. The actual buildings on the military complex were sturdy enough although a grassed area for the children to play on was in short supply. It was either a dust-bowl or a muddy swamp, depending on the season. Shehoud kept her home neat and in order and she attended to her daily household duties with pride. She didn't own a washing machine so she would scrub the families well worn clothes by hand. Her clothes line consisted of steel wire tied to two poles and strung together in parallel rows. It was no mean feat to bend over the verandah rail to hang the clothes out.
One hot summer afternoon when the outside temperature was well over 40 degrees Celsius we all decided to take an afternoon nap. The men slept in the lounge room and the women and children in the two tiny bedrooms. I couldn't sleep because my motherly intuition was telling me that there was something wrong with Yasmin. I tried not to wake anyone whilst I gingerly stepped over the sleeping bodies strewn all over the floor. Rajet woke and followed me to the veranda where we found Yasmin leaning with her full body over the clothes line and the only thing stopping her from falling the three storeys to the concrete below were three thin wires.
There was enough room in the bathroom to fit a small stool, large bucket and the traditional Arabic toilet. The water was heated in a hot water system that could only be used after the two exposed copper electricity wires that were hooked onto another two wires were detached. I was so worried that Shehoud or one of her family would get electrocuted so I asked Fawaz to have the switch repaired. Each afternoon she would cook in her sparsely decorated kitchen that consisted of a stove and a sink. Rajet's brother and Fawaz's nephew were living with them as they were doing their compulsory army service. Shehoud would serve up a feast of delicious food to at least fourteen people including the children, whose ages ranged from three to twelve years old.
There was never a word of complaint from Shehoud, instead, she would serve her visitors with a genuine smile because she dearly loved her brother Fawaz as they were the two eldest of Aziz's thirteen children.
Shehoud, the children and I would dress up and go for an evening stroll after the sun took its last peep over the horizon.
We would pass by lemon myrtle trees and my senses would delight in their beauty and fragrance.
The children would rush ahead arm in arm and be giggling about their forbidden, adult-free secrets. There were home-made treats sold in the front yards of houses and vendors selling ice-cream or cooked fresh corn. We would walk around the outskirt of the town taking in the sights of newly ploughed earth or fields of wheat or corn ready to be harvested.
I was intrigued to learn more about the the Druze who lived in Jdaydet. Their teachings were a secret and when we would pass by the building that was used as their meeting place I could not help but admire people that had kept their belief alive and at times under the most harshest of criticism under the Ottoman rule.