The 1st Afghan Women's Contemporary Art Exhibition

Yes, you read the title correctly. The 1st Afghan Women's Contemporary Art Exhibition just took place last week in Kabul.
I was honored to have three of my designer mentoring program students exhibiting at this show.
To be honest, I thought it would be interesting but nothing prepared me for what I was to encounter.
I have taught a group from the Fine Arts department female students from Kabul University through the Design Center's DMP program.
I had seen some of their art work, at the time I had only seen regular art expected of art students, nothing exceptional.
Then...I arrived at this exhibit.
Modern paintings abstractly reporting on women's lives convered canvas after canvas. Each expression so unique but all sharing a common theme: Afghan women's pain.
I was taken aback by the theme. I had assumed these young women artists would focus on modern art which followed western aesthetics as well as themes. I never expected them to focus so much on their realities. I assumed they would want to escape if only for a moment through brushstrokes which granted their imaginations to paint dreams and far away imagery. No such thing.
They all wanted to take their canvas as an opportunity to reveal their thoughts, their fears and the stories which haunt most women who are born on this land.
Here are a few notes I took while observing some paintings:
Painting 13- A woman wearing a colorful dress looks at her reflection in the river, only to discover her reflection is a tree, strong, full of green leaves: she wants to show the viewer her power, strength, youth, courage...
Installation piece: A person is trying to help a woman break free from seclusion, from her small dark room, the person is able to open a small space for the woman trapped inside to look out and break free if she wants. The wall is symbolically a black cloth. The person wishing to aid her cuts a small rectangular opening for her to see through first. The woman instead of dedicating time to look outside, at the new world, spends her time embroidering the cloth wall, she makes a beautiful Afghan design, with flowers in portaduzi stitch. Th person who has revealed this new world to her returns, this time with a pair of scissors which he/she hands to the woman so she can cut her way out, the woman never accepts the scissors but keeps throwing them out of her secluded space. She refuses to break free. She is afraid. She would rather stay where she is, than ever venture out in the unknown.
Painting 25- A beautiful bride is dressed for her wedding and covered in gold. Except that the golden hair piece is so big it covers her sight completely. She is blind as she enters into marriage.
Painting 35- A young girl is reaching out with hope, grabbing a window that is high, looking out eagerly, to find a small hint of a rainbow amidst gray clouds.
Painting 37-A figure as though praying, an abstract figure which seems hopeless and full of sadness. A dark color scheme, harsh textures sorround the figure
Painting 85 A gathering of women, all sitting down around in a circle, in the center there is a stump of a tree, old, but with a small branch which is still alive.
Painting 15- Women covered by identities they did not choose.
Painting 68- An elongated woman in a dark place holding on to a large white tablet, a testament of her life?
Painting 16- Women covered by different identities
Painting 82 A woman contemplates at her appareance in front of the mirror while wearing her burka: she is hidden, her identity cannot be seen. Does she know who she really is?
Painting 44- A photo/painting, the photograph of a woman who has her eyes taped and her mouth taped, over her tapped mouth is a painted on mouth, the same for her eyes. Interpretation: a woman who is not allowed to see or speak through her own eyes and mouth, but a woman who has to see and speak what others see and say.
And on and on and on.
Dozens of paintings as such. All of them in one way or another telling you a story of Afghan women full of hope, loosing hope, feeling lost, having to live hiding their true selves but most of all, very aware that what they go through cannot be right.
To you my Afghan sisters I take off my hat, I give a standing ovation, for your courage, for your strength in living each day as best as you can, yet knowing that life has to get better than this and INSHALLAH it will.

Has everything been said?

I haven't blogged in about three months.
And I thought of just letting it go. But I know how good it feels to let it all out in the open sometimes and just share where one is, what's one's mood and all that jazz.
Did I say all that jazz? I hate that expression.
Lots of new in my life.
The Design Center closed, the three months promised did not come. I was in limbo for two weeks in the US while the fate of the DC was decided along with mine. I moved my whole life from Hanoi to Kabul. Never did I think we'd have such ups and downs with funding.
After 2 weeks we came to the conclusion that it was in everyone's best interest that i flew back to Kabul to help the associations with purchase orders from the US fill those orders. I flew back on January 25th. I arrived to find an empty design center. Like a ghost town. Asif and Palwasha remained but a day or so after I arrived Asif annouced he was leaving, had a new job. Palwasha followed over two weeks later.
I was left on my own to deal with the whole thing. And this whole thing was not just professional work but also emotional states of mind, facing all our women who had so enjoyed receiving training in design, construction of goods, quality, costing and pricing and marketing. We were abandoning them. And I had to face them and be the one to explain the circumstances though most don't care about the ghorry details and just focused on the fact that we were closed and once again they, they were left to fend for themselves.
As hard as being the one to face them has been, I knew I had to come back and say goodbye, say it face to face. You see, we became sisters. Time can never erase our pact.
My first month has passed by, yesterday marked one month of my time left here.
The first month feels like a real, heavy year. Long and full of detail. Stretched out with a million details. If I recount what I did each day I am overwhelmed. Only my camera is left to testify on the days events.
My heart, well, I wish it would stop hurting over all of this. I have had a great time with my associations, I have so enjoyed each day, each task, but knowing it ends, knowing I can do so much more with them, well it is just draining. To know you have the capacity to lend a hand, and teach others to walk side by side with you but know that you are not allowed is something no one should have to face.
Life is life. Life is this, walking hand in hand. Why are so many people so blind to this fact?
Why does money govern life's activities, choices. After this experience I want out. I want out. I do not want to be conducted around life by monetary power. I want freedom, I want out.
By March 31st this chapter will be over with I suppose.
New chapter in my book? Yes. Bolivia. Artisan groups. Like-minded colleagues.
Details to follow.
For tonight just let me say Afghanistan is tatooed on me with heavy black ink. It's design is intricate, it's lines defined a new way of life for me.
Above any other lesson learned, I know I learned to love.
This lovely desert place, full of dried fruits and tea cups has captured my inspiration. I have smiled on this land. This land has smiled on me. It has touched me, it has blessed me. And regrets? None at all. Just certainty. Certainty that I was meant to have walked through it's winding roads.
That's all.

Has everything been said?