Monday 15th April 2013 ARTbYPasS

It’s perfect timing for a day off. Yesterday I was both mentally and physically bushwhacked. I reflect on what I wrote and I truly feel stabilized for having today off.

dARTSabrE

I am back on Tuesday 16^th April (11am-3:30pm), Thursday 18^th April (3:30pm-8pm), Friday 19^th April (3:30pm-8pm), Saturday 20^th April (11am-3:30pm) and last day of 13 ROOMS is Sunday 21^st April (11am-3:30pm).

View of the Art Landscape

I am really grateful to and happy to have friends and family come and check out 13 ROOMS as well as read my 13ROOMS blog because it’s turning out to be an extremely meditative and cathartic experience. I am recalling events and experiences from Iraq in 1991 as well as learning a great deal about how artists and performers work together to produce dynamic and thought provoking experiences.

 

Art-Fan-Outlet

Once in Iraq I was tasked to look after a remote aid tent with nothing but radio contact as back up for the unexpected. The role required me to treat anyone and anything. By using my wits and initiative I made decisions on casualties on a case-by-case basis. Mostly it was treating the Iraqi and Kurdish population suffering from injuries from sunburn to dressing wounds. When I came across infected wounds as well as the very ill all I could truly do was write a brief casualty history and direct them in the general direction of a higher treatment facility. It was pretty depressing considering the language barrier and the shared feelings of hopelessness. I used my military issued phonetic Arabic and Kurdish dictionary, but it hindered rather than helped. Still I got some smiles and managed to hand over loads of ration packs (food) and minor medications.

Confident, happy, well mannered and extremely intuitive

On my second day at the aid tent I watched from my deck chair a figure in the distance slowly 

coming towards me. I had been informed that the area directly in front of the aid post was indiscriminately mined (when it comes to land mines there is no discrimination). When the figure finally arrived at my tent it turned out to be a young boy of around eight. His local knowledge perhaps helped him get through safely or the area wasn’t mined at all. Not that I was going to try and find out. There was a friendly silence until we spoke. I spoke English and he Kurdish. We conversed in this manner as if we actually understood the nature of our conversation. I couldn’t get his name, but he seemed to be rather good at imitating my words and name. Though, the meaning I’m sure was just a mystery to him as it was to me. He had a toothy grin throughout our short happy time together. By drawing pictures in the sand we shared ideas, which again made us laugh for no reason other than we were there together. He ate a whole lot and I also allowed him to play with my radio. He loved my rifle and kept trying to get me to give him a play but I kind of drew the line there. He wasn’t upset, he understood my reasoning but enjoyed playing troublemaker.

I watched this boy walk from well beyond those trees

I was so impressed by his confidence, his manners and sense of purpose. I have no idea if he came to the tent to get something or simply out of curiosity. He wasn’t with me long, long enough for him and I to form a strange bond in friendship. Before he left I gave him a medical package containing medicines, bandages, ration packs and water bottles which I found stashed in the tent. He was extremely happy when he left and turned to wave at me a number of times as he walked back the way he had come. I try not to think about what happened to him after that day because the next twenty years was an awfully bloody period in that part of the world.

My Kurdish Friend 1991