Art Miles Shoes of Hope, The Boy From The Bronx, 9 June 2007

March 14, 2007, Live Earth is Alive In Laguna Beach

To Beslan with love, January 09, 2005

June 10, 2005

Everything in Egypt Takes Time

Fouad and I have always believed that mural making teaches everyone something. Even we learn a lot from our travels and our interactions with the many people and places we have visited. And each time we gain that little more of insight and make new friends or revisit established ones, we feel a little bit more blessed by these experiences. Egypt is a country of extremes. People seem extremely poor and extremely rich at the same time in many ways. But one of the first things I was told when coming here, was that everything in Egypt takes time. It has proven to be very true, and I have learned that this philosophy also can have benefits of its own.

We left early this morning to head out on a bus that would take us from Alexandria to Egypt’s second most populated city, Mansoura. The word is a beautiful sounding word as are the people that live there, so it seems. A couple hours of traveling time didn’t sound bad, but if I would have remembered that statement, and as I look by now, if in fact, everything in Egypt takes time, then that couple hours of course is double that!

However, the ride there by bus seemed like I was brought closer to the people and the earth itself. Traveling around Egypt had usually been by train or car; the train speeding through too quickly not allowing me to see more beyond for more than just a few seconds, and by car, unable to see beyond a short horizon. For me, the bus more or less sauntered slowly on by and sitting in the front and in seats high above gave me that “vista” I longed for in trying to discover and get close to “real people”.

Hundreds of kilometers between Alexandria and Mansoura were filled with long flat stretches of green fields with distinctive geometrical patterns of plantings. I marveled at the pure square area of rice paddies, and watched barefoot men and women toil over them reminding me of days over thirty years ago where I witnessed this same kind of scene in the Philippines. Since that time, I have always felt that rice had a special meaning and whenever and wherever I eat it, I love it more because I knew of the effort it takes just to produce it. I think I read somewhere that rice is the world’s staple food, and I can also believe that in every country around the world, there are likely stretches of rice paddies just like this where people, bent over in tending to seedlings ankle deep in water, are the backbone of their societies, creating the food that villagers and city dwellers so enjoy. I also imagined that they, dressed in galebeya’s or pants bottoms rolled up, look much like those of centuries past—a stark contrast to the flashy glitzy and bejeweled and bedecked magazine covers plastered everywhere.

I also marveled at the use of the land along the canals and waterways where the banks of these places were covered with what seemed like miniature perfectly neat rows of other plantings—with every meter of space that had water close by, utilized in a very efficient manner. In the distance, and scattered among the fields were what looked like mini oasis, where tall willowy palm trees cooled someone resting. And other times I would see a woman in a brightly flowered dress and gypsy style head scarf toiling over a small fire, perhaps making tea for the weary workers who comprised of mostly men and women. Now and then I could see small clusters of children playing and running joyfully, among natures fields and dirt pathways in between them. The goats, sheep, donkeys and caribou and horse drawn carts moved among these indigenous people, and again my thoughts of country clubs and fancy restaurants and high rise buildings came to mind. The contrast of the scenes made me ponder even more about our need for things that diminished the meaning of so many other important things in life.

Extremes. Egypt. We passed through a small and dirty industrial town. Litter and trash everywhere, beggars in the streets, too many cars going in all directions, dust and dirt and acrid smells wafting through the open doors of the bus that stopped to let out passengers. Pools of teal blue-green, red and purple colored waters gurgled from the streets forming little rivers of magnificent colors. These were the colors of pure raw and toxic dyes from the textile factory; the mainstay of this town. The bus doors closed and somehow seemed to shut out and turn away from this stark contrast of the long road we had just traveled, languid and green and full of clean black earth, miles of rows of agriculture and people fully involved in their work. Once again we were on our way, the bus moving like an old and tired bull elephant pushing onward through the jungle of people standing in the streets or walking to who knows where.

Several more times along the way, the bus would pull over to let a passenger jump on or off and those near to the roadway would gaze up and I would smile and they would smile back—some with their amazing faces full of character, toothless and wrinkled from so much sun…but always with eyes full of reflection and something special from within their souls.

My thoughts turned to PEACE and the sight of these people working day in and day out, year after year, generation after generation. They, so close to the earth seemed content and dedicated to the task at hand, not worrying if they could afford a new car or what new clothes they could buy tomorrow to wear to fancy restaurants or to live in villas or travel outside these little patches of time warped necessity.

And once again, I remembered my many women friends the “Women of Srebrenica” in Bosnia and remembered the photos my husband took of these similar kinds of simple unassuming people…swarthy brown weather beaten rural people. I thought about how they had no hidden agendas or preoccupations except to tend to their plantings and toilings and harvestings and separating potatoes and other foods for our tables and our bellies. I thought of them, these people who would never harm anyone—people who smiled back when you smiled at them and possessed something in their soul we lacked.

And these thoughts of simplicity and simple people brought me to the reality of understanding that it is they, so close to the earth that respect LIFE in all its simplicity. It is they who use their hands and farm tools, some ancient as life itself to make our life cycle continue. It is THEY who have real peace. Everything in Egypt takes time. And thank you dear Egypt, once again, for reminding me that peace begins with us. it is all of us who are ultimately responsible for what we put into the earth and into our lives. It is us who in the end, will reap what we sow. May Peace Prevail on Earth.

Joanne Tawfilis,

June 3, 2005

CAIRO

Children running, boys laughing, shy covered ladies gliding down the street,
pastel and flowered head scarves, and pretty sandaled feet…

Horse and donkey wagons pull vegetables and fruit…
while executives holding briefcases, walk by quickly in their suits…

Hundreds of tiny storefronts sell soft drinks,
ice cream just for the kids, and internet cafes are here and there amidst…

Construction workers, old wood, rebar piled on the ground,
take down another old building where a new one will be found.

Rising towers and marble, with mosaics, sculptures all in part,
of a culture from the ancients that reach into my heart…

Along the Nile River, the boats wait along the shore,
for tourists and their families to come and see much more…

Oh the sounds of people talking,
and music everywhere and the music from the mosques is a sound beyond compare…

combined with horns and taxi’s and the hawkers and their wares,
it’s a medley of a city and a wonder to be shared.

Cairo’s taxi drivers are none like on this earth,
they either help like angels, or take all they can in mirth….

The smells of schwarma slowly basting, and of mangoes freshly squeezed,
will satisfy your taste buds, ensuring you’ll be pleased.

Large black eyes and dark hair of the country’s population,
a medley of the mixtures of the old and new fixations.

Cars in lanes of ten or twelve not unusual it seems,
but you have to see it to believe it…It’s beyond your wildest dreams!

White uniformed traffic policemen, in groups of two or more,
direct and guide the traffic, like I’ve never seen before.

Like a symphony of chaos, Cairo moves with mystery…
alive with sounds and smells and life from a long rich history!

Joanne Tawfilis,

 

June 2005
Cairo Train Station

Friendly eyes with a wave of people rushing chaotically in all directions
From all regions and of all complexions…
Strong fragrant coffee of Turkish delight
with so many people passing through here
All day and night….

Smoke filled rooms and diesel powered trains,
filled with travelers return again and again…
Bright colored photos adorn café walls
Of Egypt’s heritage and how the past calls.

Vendors with sweet things and Al Ahram books,
mango juice offered by Men with good looks…
Flowered pastel head scarves and long galebeya’s ..
make women look interesting to old and young fellows…

Beautiful women walk quickly on by
without looking up Lest they speak with their eyes…
Islamic men with scarred marked foreheads,
signs of deep worship and strict lives they have led.

Mothers and babies wrapped together as one,
travel this rail route in this land of the sun…
Memory recalls stretches of farmland and grass,
from the train windows these scenes I will pass…

Barefoot, bent over and toiling each day,
seeding and planting to keep on life’s way…
They’ll be backsides of buildings that know life inside,
holding stories of families, within walls they reside.

Miles will stretch to more miles of people…of life…
of births and of deaths and of someone’s new wife!
Mosques like the churches reach high to the sky,
a symbol of some of Prophets gone by…

Laughter from cafes and signs I can’t read,
of rich and of poor and of beggars in need…
I wait in this station where loudspeakers are muffled
with sounds of the engines and where footsteps are shuffled…

I listen, I watch and I feel safe and secure
and happy to be back in this station once more.
Dear Egypt, I LOVE YOU, so full of passion and color
Life everywhere else seems so empty, much duller….

Your sounds and your smells breathe so vibrant so warm…
And the people who live here are your jewels…they adorn…
This train station welcomes and beckons to me
For a trip into life to see all I can see…

Joanne Tawfilis

Feb. 7, 2005 For Beslan with love

"Hello, we are third graders from Trinity Elementary School of Communication and Technology in the City of New Rochelle, New York, USA. All of the third graders in the school drew pictures of ourselves in the art studio with our art teacher, Ms. Scheck. When you do artwork about yourself it is called a self-portrait. We want kids from all over the world to see what we look like and what clothes we like to wear. We also wanted to make this mural artwork to send to the people and especially the children of Beslan because we learned you had a tragedy at your school and sometimes if you make artwork for someone else it can help them feel better. We are third graders which mean we are all about eight years old. We live in New Rochelle, New York and that means we live very close to New York City which you have probably heard of. It took us three and one half weeks to draw and paint this mural. We know it will be put with some other kids art to make a big mural. We hope this artwork makes everyone feel better because we all care that we can all help each other in our world."

Segment of a mural by Trinity Elementary School of Communication and Technology
New Rochelle, New York USA The Entire Third Grade with art teacher, Judy Scheck

This is the shortest mural story I will ever write, because the children said it all! This mural with only one small segment pictured above, arrived on a rare gloomy gray day in Southern California, and my spirits were really low, my energy level hovering right above it. I didn't open the box right away and had I opened it as immediately as I usually do, I might have saved myself an hour or two of that glumness I was feeling. But as usual and like medicine man magic, the mural that came out of the box, yanked my soul right up to the level of absolute joy and happiness.
Once again, the children's voices and heartfelt sincerity touched my soul and all I could think of was iEARN's (Rowena and Yvonne) side by side project "in miniature", the children from iEARN Japan-the Pegasas Hope mural, and Maria Bader's class in Vienna and how children all over the world really do want to make people feel better with their art. With tears in my eyes, this I do for my soul, and I blow hugs and kisses to each of you in New Rochelle and somehow, I too feel so much better!
(p.s. sometimes, I can't help myself and have to stop everything just to write my own reactions to these incredible murals…We are so Blessed to have this privilege!) Joanne Tawfilis February 7, 2005