Recently I was emailed this link, of Iraqi artists showcasing in Venice :
Unfortunately I can't access it, but I can almost imagine what's in the video.
I'm glad. Iraq is slowly developing foundations in the creative arts- means of collectively translating the chaotic debris of modern Iraqi history. No doubt through sculptures, paintings and writings. Future generations will no doubt look upon canvases filled with blood reds and black; written words of angry hate, and hopefully be glad that it is assigned to history, only history.
Its still not enough though. I genuinely strive and hope Iraqis turn more creative. I want to drown in words and books and publications and art, but finding them in the Western market is difficult, and I've looked in some of the most diverse book stores.
Our imagination in life is limited. So little of our nation strays from the path that has been already paved for them. It all occurs so suddenly, that our imagination and dreams are repressed and overwhelmed in a tightly knit family unit.
I occasionally worry for our arts - has it all been looted and burnt? Will we ever think on our own to produce intricate masterpieces, or will we fall into the age old mentality of following the social norm.
Perhaps my thoughts stem from being surrounded by so much Art at the moment. Then again, I'm also surrounded by an excessive amount of garlic, and family asking the same questions about my life in London. I wonder how many times I have to repeat the same story, although at times, I almost imagine a hint of sadness in their eyes, over their perhaps less adventurous youth.
To which I always try to remind them that nothing comes without sacrifice. Not even my adventures.
Now I'm off to try and throw paints at paper and see if I manage to discover that I'm actually an amazing artist...