The Coral in the Sea

I must admit that I have been lingering on Rainbow Beach much too long. I had decided to travel quietly and within myself, so in that guise I seem to have missed all the parties and revelrie, the market and pageant. Long I pondered what i should give Triton as appeasement for taking a piece of coral from his sea paradise to give to the wise women of Mudjimba.As always when waiting for the muse to strike I attended to what I know best and most instinctively- stitching and colour- the motion and vibration of both things sends the soul ahumming. And so I sat in the far corner of Rainbow Beach working away and as I worked it dawned on me that as i was taking a piece of Triton’s paradise, so perhaps I should gift him something in exchange from another paradise. And so I did. I found a piece of coral from an earlier trip in the Maroochy area at Turtle Beach- a small fragment of the most beautifully patterned coral- the size of a small coin , but how it told of other worlds and places .

This little fragment inspired my stitching. I made Triton a blue piece of coral, to blend in with his underwater world in the hope that he would let me take a red piece of coral.

I boarded the little Led Zeppelin for my journey to the island.About midway there the sea called and I knew I would have to brave my fears and hope that Triton was in the mood for appeasement. Strangely he was- he was fascinated by the gift, wanting to know from whence it had come, whether the sea there was the same as his sea,whether a merman ruled those waters as he guarded his own and so he agreed that I could take a little piece of the red coral if I promised to come back and tell him more of that other world. Surpisingly the piece of coral he gave to me to take was remarkably similar to the blue piece I had given him. Whilst the world so often seems to be at opposite ends and in contradiction when we really look and try to take it in ,things are not so different after all.

And so it happened despite my trepidation I made it safely to Mudjimba Island where the song of the fabric muse awaited me for the women of Mudjimba had heard my lament and had decided to take a hand in destiny and asigned Textilia their youingest sister the role of textile. cloth and stitch, the embrace that touches all humans form the beginning of time.

The Waters Off Rainbow Beach

I must admit I am not looking forward to my encounter with Triton- it can be tricky at the best of times, but I have to find some red coral in his domain and take it to the women on Mudjimba. I thought I would try my luck in the waters closer to Rainbow Beach and see what i could find.

The Call of the Deep

I have been walking the shore of Rainbow Beach, ,the rockpools and water emitting strange and wondrous lights. I am to make my way over to Mudjimba Island and will have to deal with Triton on the way. I have dealt with Triton before and the memory still sends a shiver down my spine. For the moment I am content to watch the strange waters and to wait for the opportune moment.

My Vessel Awaits

I slept the sleep of no return, and when I awoke I had almost forgotten at how I had found myself in this place. What was it Enchanteur had said?- “Find your vessel and guide- and pay the ferryman?” I arose and oriented myself- Rainbow Beach was a wonderful colourful place to be sure, but it also seemed a little unreal and where were my fellow travellers? I wound my way down to the waterfront to find a lone boat tied to the pier.

It summoned me- recalling a name from the past- A Stairway to Heaven-a memory from the time before time- was I to carry some of the past into this journey and refabricate it for the future? There was no doubt that the boat was to be my vessel, there was no one around.

As I apporached the boat I found a flyer pinned to the pier. A reminder notice ,that all travellers were to attend a pageant- but it did not say exactly where. Bring something old , something new and something borrowed, it said. I had something old in my bag and something new , but nothing borrowed as I had no idea when I would return from this journey and in any case I always travel very light. I had brought my old teapot from travels in another time and place and because you just never knew when you would want a cup of tea and make a wish, and I had worked the teapot shape into a a small textile piece just in case I lost the real teapot on the journey.

I felt the teapot in my bag, and rubbed it like a talisman- it always sent me off to somewhere- in pursuit of some dream or thought or wish . And just for good measure I also rubbed my hand along the surface of my textile piece- the texture feeling rich and reassuring. I was ready!

I am Lost and Found

In my desire to reach Rainbow Beach, I seem to have departed on the journey a day early, this is probably why the portal led me to the place where I now find myself. I touch the ironwork on the wooden door trying to make sense of the fine and delicate inscriptions . They are a delight- beautiful, fine workmanship and yet there is a message here…

It seems to say “Seek Friend”. I trace the delicate trellising with my hand and slowly but surely the door opens- my heart skips a beat as i take in the vista beyond the door. Behold it is the murmuring wood at sunset. How can the murmuring wood be in this place? Gladly I enter the wood suddenly entertaining some hope of reaching Rainbow Beach.

I leave a gift for the muse- she, the one I hope will give me the creative urge to visualise my journey in textile. Alas there is no muse for Textile only Penelope forever constructing and deconstructing the robe. Perhaps it is necessary to find a 10th muse for are not the gods and godesses and man all clothed- who then created the fabric of their attire? How could Mnemosyne have forgotten a daughter to commit memory to cloth? Perhaps I can tempt her with cloth?

I plunged into the Murmuring Woodl, full of anticipation. I knew I was headed in the right direction when I could hear seagulls screeching.I hurried , the sun had set and yet there seemed to be lights and activity atRainbow Beach. I was exhausted after my journey and could find no sign of the other travellers.

Is this Rainbow Beach????

What was it that Enchanteur had said? Hmm let’s think… I am sure she said Rainbow Beach . This is not a beach… it’s a a thriving busy place where people meet and exchange, words and whispers ,goods and ideas.I cannot see even a hint of a bathing suit and I must admit that a mild sense of panic is setting in- how will I find the beach amongst all these people , amongst all these things? Am I supposed to find something here to take on my journey? I look around and the scene gets stranger and stranger- lanterns in antique shops that seem as old as antiquity, huge aluminium pots to store things, water carriers chanting their song of water and tea, and old broken down dolls. What is this place?

I beat back the panic- I have entred the wrong portal- it seemed so magnificent, so right , but it did not lead to a beach let alone Rainbow Beach. I must return and restart. I search for the portal, which seems to have disappeared in the very mortar of this place. I can see a wonderful molded metal door , but this is not the portal through which I entered. Dare I go through this portal ?? I said I would go with open heart and mind, and it is the only portal I can see…….. I must go on.

Lemurian Portal Looming

As one enters the Roman precinct of Palmyra ,an oasis in the desert landscape of Syria, you become lost in the time of the ancients. Perhaps the council of Loginus will stand me in good stead as I set out on my journey or perhaps the words of the Armenians whispered on the desert wind will follow me to the edge of Lemuria. Whatever and however I  journey, it will be an adventure!

This is a photograph I took of the Roman gate on a visit to Palmyra in february 2007.

Tentmakers of Bub Zuweyla

I should clarify this post- I  ( textile itinerant) am writing this as if I were Mohammed Dendon- apparently people have approached him in the Tentmakers  souq saying he has a blog. My apologies to Dendon- it was a privilege to meet him and buy some of his wonderful work.

“My name is Mohammed and I am a Tentmaker in the Tentmakers Khan near the Bub Zuweyla gate in Old Cairo . My father taught me my craft as his father had taught him . The designs that I work with have been handed down through my family.

I work all day in my stall sewing the applique designs onto black or cream backgrounds, my preference is to use simple contrasts as it enhances the designs. Once tent hangings were very popular in Egypt being used for any festive occasion and to decorate tents for feasts out in the desert. But now modern industry prints the fabric using our designs to adorn the tents because of course they are much cheaper, but somehow it is not the same- the fabric hasn’t the same indiviudal character.
<> I usually sell my work to tourists. I am part of the living heritage of Cairo, that somehow is moving too fast to absorb this wonderful vibrant heritage. A friend of mine, Jenny Bowker is bringing some of my work to Melbourne to the Australian Quilt Convention in late February in 2007 and another Australian friend is working to have my work seen at Carrefour Europeen du Patchwork in Val D’Argent.<> My stall is in a fascinating part of the Khan as the original covering still exists and the upper apartments have windows covered by masrabbiyah . The area is perptually in shadow punctuated by bright shafts of light.

<>When friends come I offer them tea with mint- the traditional drink of hospitality which one of my sons runs and gets for me, I ask the visitors to sit on my bench where I sit to work and we talk, and we look at the work and maybe I sell a piece. It can take days even weeks to make one piece , each piece is cut by hand and then sewn by hand, the more intricate the design the more the sewing.“

Nubia

I am Shoukri. I am Nubian and my people come from a long time ago, from a time when the great river was young and when the kings were just beginning to think. I am a captain- I sail the Nile on a felucca and my brother Jimmy also sails a felucca. Feluccas are the traditional boats of the Nile- with large sails and flat decks to transport people and things.Feluccas have been like this since the beginning. We carry people on my felucca – westerners who come, lily white, on board to sail from Aswan to Luxor and experience the great Nile and its temples. We sail the boat downriver . We also cook for the westerners, our traditional food with lashings of chillie and garlic. We even find them beer and brandy, though the brandy is more like lighter fluid than brandy.

At night on small islands, we light fires and play the drums and sing songs- the songs of our people, which are not egyptian.Then when we have sung and danced we sleep on flat mats on the felucca which we tie together so that they float along the slow current of this great river. Sometimes we have to tie the boats to shore as the modern river boats, floating hotels, chug along the river. One westerner asked me if I had any irish friends. I asked why and he said it was that our drum was like the Irish Boran and that it was played in the same way. Perhaps, it is ,that the Irish have Nubian friends for this drum goes back to the dawn of time , when my ancestors ruled this land and were admired for their skill in all manner of making things including music.

My house, where my wife and children live is traditional nubian- with a domed roof, and whitewashed walls and brightly painted doors and shutter. My wife chose blue because she says it keeps away the flies. Our house is not big but my wife decorates it with the things she makes- she is a fine crocheter, she makes special crocheted caps to sell in the Aswan bazaar- in traditional colours- orange and green or orange and white with triangular shapes or zig zag shapes.She has crocheted many cloths for our house.
I am a happy man. I work with my brother who is my best friend, we like to make music and we like to sing and dance and to laugh and joke- our language is our own. My wife is my equal and all that I earn is for our children. I live the river- which has been the river of my people since the beginning of time. We wait on our feluccas as the westerners travel by calesh to visit the temples at Komombo and Edfu the temple dedicated to Horus the Falcon God and his wife Hathor ( goddess of child birth and love). The gods of my ancestors are different, though in all reality they have many similarities.

My people visited the great templeof Ramses at Abu Simbel ebfore Nasser of Egypt had moved for the building of the Aswan High Dam.

In spell 1,130, the “Lord of All” gives us his final monologue from his barque:

WORDS SPOKEN BY HIM WHOSE NAMES ARE HIDDEN.
The Lord to the Limit speaks
before those who still the storm, at the sailing of the entourage:

‘Proceed in peace!
I shall repeat to you four good deeds
that my own heart made for me
within the serpent’s coils, for love of stilling evil.
I did four good deeds within the portals of the horizon:

I made the four winds that every man might breathe in his place.
This is one deed thereof.
I made the great inundation, that the wretched should have power over it like the great.
This is one deed thereof.
I made every man like his fellow;
I did not ordain them to do evil, (but) it was their own hearts which destroyed that which I pronounced. *
This is one deed thereof.
I made that their hearts should refrain from ignoring the west,
for love of making offerings to the gods of the nomes.
This is one deed thereof.
I created the gods from my sweat.
Man is from the tears of my eye.

I shine, and am seen every day
in this authority of the Lord to the Limit.
I made the night for the Weary-hearted. **
I will sail aright in my bark;
I am the lord of the waters, crossing heaven.
I do not suffer for any of my limbs.
Utterance together with Magic
are felling for me that evil being.
I shall see the horizon and dwell within it.
I shall judge the wretch from the powerful,
and do likewise against the evildoers.
Life is mine; I am its lord.
The sceptre shall not be taken from my hand.
I have placed millions of years
between me and that Weary-hearted one, the son of Geb;
then I shall dwell with him in one place.
Mounds will be towns.
Towns will be mounds.
Mansion will destroy mansion.’

I am the lord of fire who lives on truth,
the lord of eternity, maker of joy, against whom the otherworldly serpents have not rebelled.
I am the god in his shrine, the lord of slaughter, who calms the storm,
who drives off the serpents, the many-named who comes forth from his shrine,
the lord of winds who foretells the northwind,
many-named in the mouth of the ennead,
lord of the horizon, creator of light,
who illumines heaven with his own beauty.
I am he! Make way for me
so that I shall see Niu and Amen.
For I am a blessed spirit, equipped with otherworldly knowledge;
I shall pass by the fearful ones -
They cannot speak (the spell) which is on the end of the book-roll;
they cannot speak for fear of him whose name is concealed, who is eithin my body.
I know him; I am not ignorant of him.
I am equipped, excellent in opening portals.

As for any man who knows this spell,
he shall be like Re in the east of heaven,
like Osiris within the Netherworld;
he descends into the entourage of fire,
without there being a flame being against him, for all time and eternity!

Travels Between Caravanserai

The light filtered through the skylight of my shed/studio, the glow was warm and I was feeling dreamy, drifting amongst half forgotten things. On the table lay a pomegranate and I picked it up- full of wonder for this fruit that speaks of ancient times, of rituals of the earth ,of Demeter and Persephone and of mysteries that call to me.

<>

As I hold the fruit in my hand, feel its bumps and undulations, I am transported back to  the North Wall of Cairo- a small withered woman sitting with a basket filled with glorious pomegrantes- my nose filled with  the acrid dust of centuries, a cat despondently watching me as i walk towards the fruit. Across the road the Mezuerrin is calling the prayer hour in the mosque-  gone the voices of individual mezeurin of days gone by, instead a mechanical tape blaring  from a speaker from the top  of the minaret . For a moment- a brief moment in a city bustling with nineteen million souls  time stops- for prayer, for contemplation .

I follow the footsteps of many travellers to Cairo- Champollion who deciphered hieroglyphics and opened the worlds eyes to the treasures and riches of  a culture unique and brilliant, by recognising that the coptic language , a living language was the key to understanding the hieroglyphs.