IN A MOMENT PLEASE.

Ayeda Naqvi, "Through a glass darkly" - Daily Times - Lahore, Pakistan Tuesday, September 2, 2008

What if we made a conscious effort to stay in that state of mind, to retain that level of alertness, of being present in the moment, to remain offended by what we saw?Would that force us to be more proactive?It happens each time we step off that airplane. It happens, each time, on the way home. If you have been away for a long time, it’s even worse. But it’s inevitable: no matter how much you love your country, how happy you are to be home, everything looks dirty and broken. And let’s not fool ourselves: it is.From the roads to the smog to the shabby, unfinished construction, all that we see offends the eye. But then something happens. After a few days, something shifts, something clicks back into the place it has been in for decades. And all of a sudden, all that was offensive is now acceptable.

Have you ever thought about this shift of consciousness? Have you ever wondered why the graffiti that was once vulgar is now invisible, the grey flaking cement walls a pure white and the pot-holes filled with sewage water an inconspicuous detail? Are we reacclimatising ourselves with our culture? Or are we simply lowering our standards?“

There are adjustments one must make if one comes here from America”, writes Mohsin Hamid in his book, The Reluctant Fundamentalist. “A different way of observing is required...I recall the Americanness of my own gaze when I returned to Lahore that winter...I was struck by how shabby our house appeared, with cracks running through its ceilings and dry bubbles of paint flaking off...our furniture appeared dated and in urgent need of upholstery and repair...But as I reacclimatised...it occurred to me that the house had not changed in my absence. I had changed.

I was looking about me with the eyes of a foreigner.”As Hamid’s protagonist struggles to readapt to life here in Pakistan, he touches upon a critical question — is it better to have the “eyes of a foreigner” or the eyes of a local?For while the foreigner continues to question, the local switches off his critical faculties, desensitising himself against what would otherwise be a barrage of assaults on his sensibility.

Maybe it is a survival mechanism.But after a few days, even the burn victims who thrust their mutilated body parts in your face at traffic lights stop upsetting you. You start looking for signs of paint, of make up, around the wounds; you get irritated with their dishonesty. In just a few days, you have hardened your heart. In just a few days, you have found reasons not to care.But what if we didn’t? What if we made a conscious effort to stay in that state of mind, to retain that level of alertness, of being present in the moment, to remain offended by what we saw? What if we held onto what Hamid calls the “eyes of a foreigner”? Would that force us to be more proactive? Or are we destined to shuffle between the extremes of horror and apathy?

Mystics have long described the ideal state of being as one which is lived in full awareness. A Sufi, or Islamic mystic, is often described as the “son of the moment”. Even today, a large part of the training for Sufis teaches them to be present in the moment, not scattered in the past or the future. So if our aim in life is to be present to reality, then the dulling and desensitising of our senses, which we seem to have adopted as a survival mechanism, is the least desirable condition.And yet it is convenient. For if we stop noticing, we stop feeling. If we stop how we feel, we override our guilt. And if we override our guilt, we are not obliged to change reality. Yes, this attitude is convenient. But it cripples our actions, helps turn a blind eye to reality and causes alienation.I am reminded here of a scene from one of my favourite movies, Good Morning Vietnam. Based on the career of a disc jockey for an American military radio station in Saigon, this film shows the indifference of the American soldiers to the suffering of the Vietnamese. In this particular scene, Louis Armstrong’s song, What a Wonderful World, is blared across American radios in Vietnam as innocent civilians are gunned down.

It has been more than twenty years since I saw this film. And yet this scene remains engrained in my mind as a scathing reminder of man’s ability to separate himself from reality.Last week, however, I saw something on the streets of Lahore that made me cringe. In a large Land Cruiser, a group of teenagers were cruising down the streets of Lahore, windows open, blasting “Mojaan hi mojaan”, while the back seat functioned as an impromptu disco.I looked at the garbage piled up on the side of the street, the beggar without any legs lying on the sidewalk and a nearby bus, wreathed in diesel exhaust and scarred with broken windows. Traffic police stood in the scorching heat with blue masks protecting them from the fumes swirling around Kalma Chowk. The teenagers in the Land Cruiser may not have had guns but they were no less removed from their surroundings than the soldiers in Vietnam.Maybe too much reality is harmful for us as individuals. But as a society, too much unreality is certainly not good for us.

Ayeda Naqvi is a journalist and a representative of Sufi Order International.

Well.......I'm sort of back here. Sorry to have been so "away", but it's just been difficult to either find the time or the will power to do this lately. Maybe it's just burn-out or something, who's to know? I certainly don't. I guess one can only stay in survivor mode for so long without getting a strange sort of PTSD.

I could go on about all the nonsense that's happened, but I detest complaining about things...I much prefer to try and change the situation. The glass is neither half empty nor half full....it's just a glass, it's simply water.

I DO however have a nice, three part blog planned and waiting to go up very soon in the "working" section . I really think you will enjoy it. I've documented a commissioned piece from start to finish......I'll be writing about my methods and ideas as it progressed from blank paper to finished painting. And lots of pictures so you don't go all cross-eyed.

See you there?

be well my friends, and please think things over with an open heart,

M.Z.

PIR. QALANDER.

"Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment;

Cleverness is mere opinion, bewilderment intuition."

"Conventional opinion is the ruin of our souls. "

Rumi.

Really busy. Feeling awful on top of it. I'm also having a very hard time finding materials to wrap and pack (safely) artwork to be mailed. Please be patient.

Be real.

M.Z.

OBSCURE MAXIMS AND BRAIN BUBBLES

1. All art is forever free.

The artist however, is not.

It's a sad fact, we require food and other nonsense.

2.The style of an individual artist is comprised of the totality

of their mistakes.

Success, therefore is failure.

3.Do not heap glory on the artist, as he has bad breath, dandruff,

occasional irregularity, and the alarming habit of

now and again miss-matching his socks.

The journey is perfect, the destination also....

the vehicle sadly breaks down from time to time.

4.For the artist, the doing is the most crucial.

The viewer senses this, but will never believe it.

5.Art comes from the vast, silent space between

the heart and the mind.

6.After the Vienna Secession, everything was said and done.

All that remained was for Pollack to take art back to the womb, to be reborn.

So, we have to grow up someday, like it or not.

7.No matter how clamorous or grandiose, art should have a quiet center

that instills the awe of perfect silence.

8.Art need to be done, regardless if anyone is there to experience it

or not.

9.If you make something, you have a choice: to make it, or make it beautiful.

Always make it beautiful.

10.The artist is always defeated by their art.

A. fear remembering. It's a lie.

B.All dreams are real. Face it.

C.The pencil is an acorn. Plant it and see.

D. Dogs, like people have their own gnosis

E.Only birds live fully in three dimensions.

MOBIUS STRIP MEMORY.

There is a certain room in my home, that if you find yourself standing on a particular spot, out of the corner of your right eye you can see shrubs and such through a window....along with a splash of bright red.

I always see it from my vantage point and remark to myself how lovely that rosebush is. Except there is no rosebush there. It's a gas can I've repeatedly forgotten to put away in the shed.

I always remark to myself how stupid I am for thinking this and being fooled every time.

Yet, I also, always forget to put the gas can back....thus, I repeat the above, and have for a month now.

Having written this, today I'll remember to put it back where it belongs. So, I've just made a fool out of myself.

How odd. heh.

Be peaceful......and bring beauty with you.

M.Z.

STILL.

My apologies for being so tardy of late..........it seems I'm eternally confronted by the waring factions of art and commerce. Though, for the life of me, I have no idea why that should be. I've never been one so ultimately jaded by the belief that all artist's are in the end, whores. I think, that if you believe that, then for you, it is so. Your art is based on the assumption that by putting a price on something it somehow debases it.

The sacred and the profane exist side by side and depending on where you chose to place your emphasis, there you are.

Anyway, I've been struggling through the arrival of the so-called "dog days" of summer....for some, a blessing, for those like me, well, if not a curse, then reeeally close. The commissioned work is nearly finished, and as usual, I fret and pace over making clear time to work further on the closing chapter of my furious, insane, rebellious, and utterly un-movie-make able book. No action figures, no video game on the horizon for this fabulous beast of legend.

Health revelations and struggles aside, it seems with the heat and humidity, things have settled into a war of attrition.

I honestly wish it were otherwise, but that's the unvarnished truth........and soon, another round of gathering commissions to further bedevil me.

So, I stay in the shade, and slogg forward just enough to give the illusion of progress.

One pays when one's perspective changes from sinner to saint......a terrible analogy to saddle myself with as I'm no saint....but it's the best I can do at the moment.

Be peaceful and do something beautiful.

M.Z.

DESERT BLUE.

As usual, when I find something that really intrigues me, I soon discover the spooks, geeks and weirdos that run this joint, have arrived first. I swear, those guys can smell money before it even is money. They can smell potential money. And as is usually the case, poor people are in the way.

(warning, I've heard that to keep us free, our government watches those that watch Al Jazeera, so you may not want to look.......your choice.)

There is some great video here.. and here's a comment from an article I just read that explains the whole thing in black and, well, blue.

Niger was rated "the World's Poorest Country" by the UNDP in 2006 based on the standard of living . Niger has made vivid media headlines in recent years because of the starving and malnourished people there. And yet Niger is sixth in World production of uranium. Question: How can a country so rich in resources be the World's poorest country? Answer: Who controls the uranium? Niger has only been a "nation" for about 100 years. Before Niger existed, the people who lived there were self-sustaining, each with rights over their own territories. Niger was created by the French government, who owns the uranium mines in Arlit. Niger got its independence like other African countries, but the French never let go of indirect control over Niger, in order to continue to reap profits from exploiting Niger's natural resources. The stage was set for a racist independent government modeled after that of the French colonial one. Niger has several indigenous ethnic groups. The French favored the Songhay and Hausa because they were easily conquered, and they live in the south, where the French established their capital city of Niamey. The French hated the Tuaregs because they resisted having their homeland taken from them; they massacred Tuareg families in the early days to terrorize the Tuaregs into submitting. When Niger got its independence, power was turned over to a mostly Hausa/Songhay government, both of which have ancient animosities toward the Tuaregs. Hausa/Songhay are farmers, while Tuaregs were traditionally herders. Hausa/Songhay lived on the arable lands south of the Sahara, and Tuaregs lived on distant lands in the Sahara itself. Tuaregs have inhabited the vast expanses of the Central Sahara for thousands of years; the French divided up the Tuareg people by artificial borders to create Algeria, Mali and Niger. For thousands of years the Tuaregs were a self-sustaining people who were able to figure out a way to make a living in one of the world's harshest environments that nobody else wanted. But in the twentieth century, the Tuaregs were trapped and restricted in their annual herding cycles by artificial national borders, and marginalized on their own homeland, even after the independence. France has profited from cash crop production of peanuts and cotton among Songhay and Hausas in the south, but never considered the North good for much except recalcitrant Tuaregs who wanted their home back. Then uranium was discovered in the heart of Tuareg territories, just before Niger got its independence. Niger's government consists of a small elite group empowered and corrupted by international loans and gifts, along with military training and weapons doled out by the French and other major powers, including the U.S., who have various interests in Niger, whether exploitation of natural resources or positions of strategic vigilance in Saharan Africa. The policy has been to keep the ruling few contented, while letting the rest of the country struggle just to eat. Everyone is Niger is poor except for a handful of elite in positions of power who control the military. Food aid sent to alleviate hunger in Niger is routinely offloaded by the elite-controlled military and sold elsewhere for profit. Development funds, medical and food aid, are controlled by those in power, and reserved for their own ethnic groups, while the Tuaregs are denied any share. Peace Corps volunteers, UN workers and human rights agencies are well aware of these injustices. The people who suffer the most are those at a distance from the capital who are despised because of their ethnicity, namely Tuaregs in the North. They have been denied a share of any development funds that have come into the country. They are jobless and destitute. The Tuaregs live in a harsh environment, whether it's "beautifully desolate" or not. Global warming is making everyone's life a lot harder in Niger, but especially in the North, which is in the Sahara. Tuaregs have suffered through severe droughts for several decades now; many have died, many have lost their livestock, many are now stranded on their own homeland, without a hope to feed their children. The Tuaregs need jobs, and France has jobs to offer in their territory, but refuses to hire them. This is a disgrace and abomination. By the way, your article echos an error seen in a number of recent articles, which you should correct. The Tuaregs of Niger are not "light-skinned." Everybody in Niger is "dark-skinned," except for a few Arabs and other "white" immigrants and expatriots. Nigerien Tuaregs who come to the U.S. find that they are considered "blacks," because of their dark skin. Like Ethiopians, Chadians, Mauretanians, and other Saharan peoples, they are called the "red" people. The Songhay and Hausa are their distant cousins who live south of the Sahara, but are called "black" people. They are all "dark-skinned" indigenous Africans. Areva should be ashamed of itself. A company worth "Billions" should be able to at least take care of the people whose land and natural resources they have appropriated for their own profit. They should make the Tuaregs stockholders in Areva, and share the proceeds, so that the Tuaregs can rebuild their society. The French took Tuareg land through force and terrorism, and have pitted Hausa and Songhay against the Tuaregs, to maintain indirect control for their own profit, with no regard for the human beings they have dispossessed.

S.S.D.D.

A quote from "Syriana"

Some trust fund prosecutor, got off-message at Yale, thinks he's gonna run this up the flagpole, make a name for himself, maybe get elected some two-bit, congressman from nowhere, with the result that Russia or China can suddenly start having, at our expense, all the advantages we enjoy here. No, I tell you. No, sir. Corruption charges! Corruption? Corruption is government intrusion into market efficiencies in the form of regulations. That's Milton Friedman. He got a goddamn Nobel Prize. We have laws against it precisely so we can get away with it. Corruption is our protection. Corruption keeps us safe and warm. Corruption is why you and I are prancing around in here instead of fighting over scraps of meat out in the streets. Corruption is why we win.

And me?Well, I guess I still want a Tuareg robe........it will probably end up in a museum.

Oh yeah....to those of you who have commissioned me to do things for you: hold tight, it's a lot of work to get out as fast as possible without slacking off on quality.

I may be a lot of things, but I'll never knowingly give out substandard work again.

Right then,

Be well you all.......much love,

M.Z.

TO MUCH, JUST IN TIME.

...Meanwhile, back at the ranch........

At the moment, I'm swamped with commissions. Thank God. The Bent Nail Studio family wins by a nose. All are interesting things for the most part, and I'm dedicated to doing my utmost for you all. My sincere thanks.

Also, here on the plains I've managed to pencil and script the first half of the last chapter of my interminable book.....I'd like to get the rest at least in an equally semi-finished state by the end of the month. Right now, it seems "do-able". If I can get that far, that soon, I'll more than likely be within striking distance of finishing completely late this fall, three years after I started......only a year off. I may get good at this.

A new interest to report, if you care. I've become fascinated by the Tuareg People of northern Africa. The photos above are a few I particularly like. The blue robes they traditionally wear are just stunning. I simply can't look away. They use real indigo of a type I've never seen in Celtic or tribal clothing native to more northern climes. In fact, I'm purchasing two scarves they wear for myself..... ( high fives himself.)now, if I could only find someplace that would sell me a real desert Tuareg Blue robe.

You bet your ass I'd wear it.

Luckily, they are known to be quiet tall. *whew*. But it's like finding an oasis in the high Sahara. Thank God I'm a stubborn bastard.

To all of you going to San D. better you than me......I can tell you, honestly, that I'll never go back unless things change very, very drastically. Which given pop culture, I doubt.

hope you all stay as cool and comfy as you'd like, and believe in real peace, inner and outer for those without any.

M.Z.,

FOUR.

"Uncle John"

By Tom Rapp

The wind winds the platform

Blows through your suit creases

You want us To crucify the enemy for Jesus

With your chamber-of-commerce soul

You talk of war so bold

God is on our side, but He's lost in your wallet-fold

And the widows a-sighing

The children a-crying

The screams of the dying

Say you are lying, Uncle John

You pull out your Sunday God

And hold him up so proud

And say he is with us To the Applauding crowd

But the burn-blackened place

The shredded disfigured face

Don't say that God is Love

They say that you are Hate

And the widows a-sighing

The children a-crying

The screams of the dying

Say you are lying, Uncle John

You stand up on the platform

With the flag wrapped all around you

And tell us that the Bible says

To fight for it we're bound to

But the Red's for the blood we lose

The White's for the gauze they use

To cover burned-out blackened men

The rest is for the bodies numb and Blue

And the widows a-sighing

The children a-crying

The screams of the dying

Say you are lying Uncle John.

I love this place where I live.

So, lets put on some porn, eat some meat, douse ourselves in gasoline and celebrate.

I just cry.

M.Z.