Eid of 2020 🌼 love, light, and all the possible white.
[A Lonely Job] An artist empty handed is an artist too present / creation is a lonely job / in my dreams i crush stars with my teeth / their death has illuminated my prayers / every holy whisper turned into a gold body / I’m scared of abundance / even of love / even of loss ✨✨ || art journal + poetry
The city is forgetting you / which is to say / you should return home ✨ - - - | throwback to driving to morning classes and catching lewks on front cameras before frantically running towards the entrance of the art school I have come to miss D E A RLLLY
The quarantine time is helping me visit all the memories that reside somewhere at the back of my mind. They contain the most precious smiles of my loved one, cold breezes of time spent at the beach, and the warm sips of chai brewed with my favorite ingredients 🧿 - - #StayHomeBrewLove I am staying in for the safety of my loved ones and having a cup of chai, reminiscing the old time. Plus, painting the cup all along.
[Lost Things with New Names] My memory is unwilling to rescue your memory. When the hurt found its way to the stars, it turned into the brightest names. Someday, you will look for a language, but will only find a scream instead. Take the sound home and turn it into everything you were not given. ✨ || art journal + poetry
#AnAyatADayJournal ✨ “And your Lord is going to give you, and you will be satisfied”. (93:5 ) - - - [A List of Everything I Want] The sun / a glass house incapable of breaking / the ashes of a name / some remains of the day / a love wrapped in ancient silver / a sky never turning crimson / a whirling heart / a city naive enough to remember me
#AnAyatADayJournal with @ohareeba | I picked verse 13 from Surah Saf and wrote a little piece inspired by it. Verse 13 has been something I keep really close to my heart. When I am afraid, or sad, or lost, I go back to it. It’s my shield on days I am unarmed. - [First Note for Ramadan] To my heart I will say / lean on the light / lean only on / the creator’s might
⚠ YOU ARE HOME BUT ARE YOU SAFE? ⚠ Protect Your Loved Ones, oil on paper, 4x6 The world is already going through a lot and with the weather changing, more challenges will be on their way—Dengue being one of them. It is a mosquito borne viral disease which can be fatal too in severe cases. Protect your loved ones where and when you can. Make sure your houses are free from mosquitoes that can be carrying Dengue. We’re personally using electrical mosquito repellent for most part of the day. Pakistan confirmed 54,000 dengue cases in 2019 and already has 416 dengue cases in 2020, which is to say, stay alert. Join me and Mortein in this fight against dengue so we can stop dengue from spreading like last year kyun ke #DengueAbNahi #StayAtHomeStaySafe #MorteinPakistan
[Three H] a girl dreams and a city appears. a girl dreams and the empire falls down. a girl dreams, that is it. memory is an abandoned mirror and light enters it. light enters what is forgotten. light is reflected back. it cannot stay. three H in a row: home / hurt / heart home is hurt(ing ) in the heart. Anyone? ✨ | art journal + poetry
Your grief knows my grief by its false name— an excerpt from [the origin story] originally posted 3 Feb ‘20
— Death / a lover, / desperate and promised ✨ [a found poem]
[arrival of love] Tell me, how do I contain / a joy bigger than me/ —even my grief is now looking / for a different place to be. ✨ | art journal + poetry
To Athena I will say: forget the war, build the city — an excerpt from poem [Athena] originally posted on 12 Jan ‘20 ✨ - During this difficult time, I want you to remember things you might have left behind. Pick up that paint brush again. Compile your thoughts and turn them into a poem. Water all of your possibly angry set of cacti. Cherish the sound of your beloved. Please do.
in this time of being quarantined, i am filling these empty spaces of time with poetry & sunlight & indie music & the voices of my loved ones. How are you utilizing these moments? Pick up a copy of #YesterdayIWasTheMoon for your reading list or gift it to someone. We could all use some poetry in the time of Corona.
[Our Hometowns] Small—towns. Big, loud, drenched in guiltless blood—towns. Homes stuffed into some hearts—towns. Obedience fit into billboards—towns. Eating dust for breakfast—towns. Jam packed with unrequited romance—towns. Painted with whatever you left—towns. You will never be home—towns. Hometowns—some hometowns. ✨✨ | art journal + poetry
[An Abandoned To-Do List] I lived to see you die I lived because i knew you’d be dying The house isn’t there / the house was never there but i was The ghosts in some dreams dance My power was that i could build me a city. I could bury you a hundred times. I could light up the sky with one star. I could name everything that was left without an identity. I could kill my fate with bare hands. My power was that i could write you into being. I could scream you into a void and a body would appear. Which is to say, i could summon you with a tiny breath. - - [Take the light] i have saved four hundred days worth of it, to build a heart with it. The grief was made mine and i will forget it. Your shame will swallow you, there’s no denying in that. ✨✨✨ | art journal + poetry
My art history teacher sent us to an art gallery to analyze work for extra grades. I also took it as a photo opportunity. - - Imitating Bashir Mirza’s Head in Ochre 🌞
[Home and its alternative addresses] Home—my father’s family name stacked enough times to be mistaken as a building. I am light entering the memory entering the loneliness in a blind eye. (i ) A withering mango tree as home because that is one thing someone once abandoned. (ii ) a dried pot of paint as home because half of me is only alive when identified as an artist. (iii ) a car as home because some of us only learned moving forward from a stationary body. ✨✨ | art journal + poetry
[the origin story] Superstition: the eclipse leaves the celestial beings in agony. A moon, wailing. A sun, dying. Our mothers whispering arabic verses to lessen their pain. But did it ever work? Your grief knows my grief by its false name. Relief relief. My days are melting into answered prayers. Belief: ask but never twice. There’s a mirror standing still where the home is. Which is to say, I’ll have to come back to me. ✨✨ | art journal + poetry
May you be blessed with friends who see you. The ones who understand why you can never play that one song. The ones standing with you under the bright lights of a gas station. The ones who can melt your name into something sounding less lile a burden. The ones who identify your tomorrow. The ones who cut distance in half. The ones who would look for that one book in a distant bookstore. The ones who know exactly who you become when the home turns into sky turns into a mere sigh. ✨✨ [an appreciation post for my friends]
In her poem Variation on the Word Sleep, Margaret Atwood said, “I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.” AND OH BOY DID I FEEL THAT 🥺✨
[alter ego: an artist at work] do the unholy work of remembering. which is to say, create create / create / create the origin of art was always the end of self. did you find it? what i am really asking is that did you end yourself? the work is about to begin. the dawn comes with all of its selfish colors. be a witness. if the home awaits, let it know you’re not coming. take a name to drown it. call it a revolution. the hands have a memory of their own. but they will forgive you. write the blessings for the unblessed bodies. everything awaits. ✨ || art journal + poetry
I’m fascinated by names. I investigate their origins, dig deep into all possible meanings, and inquire about the reasons why they were given. The stories that come out of this dismemberment are usually astonishing. A name marks the beginning of a being. The first thing to own. In a number of cultures, it is believed that a name can have crucial effects on its holder. Suppose your kid is named after fire, they might have a bad temper. Suppose you name your heart after steel, it might never break.
[Athena] The last museum I went to housed an ancient head of the goddess of war. Born from the forehead of her father. I took her name and gave it to my daughter. There’s a slight chance she will put on a helmet one day & hold a spear. She will summon the memory to her uncombed hair. She will sketch a body out of a whisper. She will turn a sidewalk into a country. The goddess of war was also the goddess of wisdom. To Athena I will say: forget the war—build the city. ✨ || art journal + poetry