Fadwa Al Qasem
I Am what i art
Confessions. Art Journaling. Art. Writing. Poetry. Play. And everything life in between.
I bought it at a sale. I fell in love with its daintiness, the fine china, the delicate handle. I would only drink my tea from this mug. Usually Twinings Earl Grey tea. And never any sugar - a habit I picked-up from my dad since I was a little girl.
How beautiful it seemed to me, this mug. Deep blue around the rim, a delicate gold line curving from one side of the handle to the other. And flowers, rather blossoms, like the ones you always see in Japanese paintings - some big, some small, all pink, surrounded by lots of golden leaves tinged with pink, too.
I can still smell the tea, feel the heat of the mug in my hand, the liquid moving inside, steam curling my bangs.
How many times have you made me a mug of tea? I tried multiplying the numbers in my head; forty years, three cups a day and 365 days a year. My mind goes numb. Hundreds upon hundreds of lazy mornings, evenings filled with slow melodies, Arabic, French and Italian, dancing on tip-toe, leaves and hands trembling.
I see you carrying my mug and coming toward me. Your hand always, always touching mine when you gave me my mug. You always thought, perhaps, that I was lazy, not wanting to move from my couch to make my own tea. But it was your touch that I craved. Especially later on when it became the only touch I received from you. I knew then that I could put up with anything, as long as you took the time to make me tea and touch me even accidentally.
Then one morning I woke up and you were gone. I woke up to an eerily silent house - the word house came to mind, not home. Radio off. Television off. No smoke snaking its way around to me bedroom, my pillows, my hair. I knew this day would come. We inhaled and exhaled our goodbyes so many times, so long ago, I had almost forgotten.
I got out of bed and walked around the house barefoot. You always hated that. You always loved that when we first met. I was thinking I'd have one last look at this space when the air was light and I could see rainbows between our toes. Then I found you. On the floor, in the living room. My mug still on the table, the once bright, white china so full of tea stains.
So many stains, so many shapes.
Children, kittens, puppies ..
You didn't leave me after all.
A swing, a tree..
Better you had left. Or I had.
Petunias and daisies..
Or the mug had broke.
Or the tea hadn't stained my mug.
Or the stains hadn't looked so much like our photo albums.
Dear Juicy Creative Spirits,
If you'd love to receive inspirations and know what's new for you here
to keep your mouth watering and heart singing,
then please send me your email. I promise not to give out your emails, spam you, or hard sell you anything. xxx
Fadwa Al Qasem
Email me if you are interested in purchasing my art.
(c) Copyright Fadwa Al Qasem 2015