Am I dead yet?
Not yet.
Still breathing?
You are.
Put your heart on my heart, so I can feel you.
Are they listening?
They are.
Can they hear us
They can.
Turn my head from the flames, ‘cause I’m still burning.
Can they see us?
They can’t.
They know we’re here?
They do.
Let the rain fall through the cracks, because I’m thirsty.
Is it nighttime?
It’s not.
Has the sun set?
For us.
How I long to see the daylight and the morning.
Did they make it?
They didn’t.
Even Mama?
With God.
I can still hear the sound of her singing.
Are you sleeping?
Almost.
Are we drifting?
We are.
Hold my hand, if you can, I need you near me.
(Graphte on acid free paper, 59 x 42 cm)
According to the Bible, Mount Quarantania is the location where Jesus meditated and fasted when he was ‘tempted by the devil’. (The name derives from the Latin word quarantena, which means 40, as in the number of days that Jesus fasted). From Matthew 4:8: ‘Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor’. “All this I will give you”, he said, “if you will bow down and worship me ”. When I arrived at a point high up on the mountain, I saw a Muslim man praying towards the Monastery that was built over centuries within the rocks. Now owned by the Orthodox church, a monk was sitting on the building's balcony, overlooking Jericho. As I drew this I was reminded of a saying that rings true regardless of ones religion or faith: The Kingdom of God is within You.
Graphite on Acid Free Paper, 59.4 x 42.5 cm
Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, West Bank, Palestine
Charcoal and graphite on Strathmore smooth, acid free paper
Charcoal on fine grain paper, 59.4 x 42 cm
Graphite on Strathmore Smooth Paper,
30 x 42 cm
Charcoal and graphite on arches paper, 103 x 153 cm
On this journey we dream of the stories untold
As we sail from the river
Over waters
Where truth flows with the current
Carrying the weight of our sorrows.
And the scent of maramiya that breezes on by
Recalls a moment, a lifetime ago
When gut wrenching ailments
Were healed, with recipes of love.
Now broken doors from our grandparent’s homes
Are lifeboats of sorts
Honorary driftwood
As we drift, from shore to shore.
We trace the edges of the earth
As we sail to the sea
And hold on to whatever we can
If only dirt under our nails,
Or salt on our tongues.
Charcoal on fine grain paper, 59.4 x 42 cm
Mixed media on paper, 30 × 30 cm