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Teachings of a painter Teachings of a painter
by Amir Khatib
2021-09-27 08:51:55
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 We do not paint to regain ourselves,
 And we capture it on paper and the interpretation of the jurists,
 But let's read the fortune-telling of the days in the intersecting and parallel lines that do not meet.
 How, then, do the two lines of life and death meet in one hand?
 In the drawing we see the ruins of the cities that gave birth to us,
 We take it back and refurbish it
 What we did in our cells overseas.

 We paint nature to restore the dew,
 fields grunts,
 Some gravel on the side of the road
 On the banks we miss her mud,
 And its trees with tender braids over their grief,
 Don't forget the margin
 Your reference and safe haven.

 Draw the masks:
 The paper that recolors in the ruler's palace with the seasons,
 It is a popular commodity in and outside the market.
 And in deception, too...
 And the copper masks that are polished every Eid
 her face whitens,
 and iron that corrodes after a while,
 And the air swallows it.
 Draw the air behind it
 The owner of the mask is revealed to you.
 As for the golden masks;  Beware of its brilliance.
 They do not rust, and the tibes do not eat them.
 But it eats meanness and intrigue behind it.

 O owner of a beautiful mask that fits very well,
 Do not neglect your first mask if you replace it with another mask!
 The masks of history are numbered, and the demand is in excess these days.

 We paint to bring back our expatriate fathers behind the borders,
 behind bars,
 in caves and cemeteries,
 Our neighbors are behind closed doors, on rooftops
 We remember them one by one
 And one by one...

 And you, did you not draw your face?
 I drew it in the mirror once,
 I forgot him in it and put on the drawing
 Uh,
 Why do we need to forget the coast at the time of drowning?
 We get caught up in the abyssal depths that pull us.

 We draw because we're leaving tomorrow
 out of memory,
 Rather, it is far from it.
 _ To where?
 To a place no one else knows
 _ from?
 A Jew carves the bowls and hides them under the threshold.
 _ but we do not draw the thresholds,
 Rather, the roads and what indicates the door or foretells what is behind them.
 How many threshold betrayed her door!
 _ Don't say that, please!
 Neither the roads nor the doors nor the thresholds betrayed their stones.
 Old, worn wooden stairs.
 Don't forget the stairs while you draw the clouds.

 we draw stars,
 that sparkle over the surfaces drunk with us,
 and disappear into the shepherd's robe at dawn,
 Resonant stars hanging on the necks of dairy cows.

 We don't paint potatoes because we need food,
 We have been full of dried up sermons about conflict since ancient times
 It is the hunger that afflicts the body
 A terrifying celestial preaching.

 We paint the future
 and invite him to a tavern in Abu Nawas*
 We water it with bitter Iraqi wisdom and drink it.
 We ask Him for what will be our fault, and we will be afflicted with His vastness:
 _ What is our crime?
 _ Silence
 _ What is our trick and our tongue is foreign.
 _ cut it
 _How do?
 _ From the lokum.

 Draw the houses and the falling skies,
  Draw the caravans of silk
 Passing east or coming from it:
 Loaded with spices, bitter Yemeni frankincense, dried cinnamon,
 black cumin of rare fertility,
 That left us long overdue.

 _ It was said that bandits cut off the caravan route
 No spices, no merits.
 Nor will we develop singing at home,
 Baghdad took off her turban.
 And the last ones are known to God.

 We paint women to take back our mothers
 women of virility and milk,
 Good for us and our offspring.

*Abu Nawas, a great Iraqi poet, who lived in Abbasid era

 amir00008_400

Painting by Amir Khatib


    
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