Zubeida's Flags of Scotland Odyssey وَطَن
In the dimly lit room, the art workshops were more than just about crafting masterpieces; they were a fusion of souls and stories. Adil, with his rich tapestry of experiences, melded effortlessly with women of different backgrounds, creating a non-hierarchical dance of creativity. Oftentimes, words fell short in these sessions, but the silence spoke volumes, filling the room with a dynamic, organic energy. One piece, in particular, captured this essence: an intricate embroidery of the Scottish flags, crafted with care by Zubeida Ali. This wasn't just an artwork; it was a testament to the power of drawing as a means to elevate one's spirit, altering age-old power dynamics.
I remember Zubeida, that delicate woman from the highlands of Chitral, a mother of three. There was a shadow of anxiety and nervousness in her eyes when she first stepped into the studio, perhaps an echo of the mental battles she fought daily. She shied away from the canvas initially, overwhelmed by the thought of translating her soul into strokes. But her fellow participants, rallied around her. Casual gatherings were organized, where they all sketched and drew beside her, bridging the chasm of hesitation.
Using large sheets of paper, we collaborated, freehand drawing whatever our hearts felt. Occasionally, hints of our shared heritage would sneak into the conversation, igniting sparks in Zubeida's mind. For her, drawing wasn’t just an activity; it became a way of vocalizing her feelings about Scotland, every line and curve echoing memories of her homeland.
She'd often get lost in stories from her childhood – chasing sheep in the meadows of Chitral, basking in the summer sun with her parents, or reciting poetry with her baba. The aroma of sinjur and her fondness for apricots and pomegranates resonated in her narratives.
Her early sketches bore the familiar green and white of the Pakistani flag. Yet, as the sessions flowed, Scotland emerged from her fingers, peppered with imagery of strawberries, chai, and vibrant flora and fauna. Every stroke was a testament to the empathy and support she felt in this space, far removed from the mundanities of her life as a mother and wife.
For me, these sessions were cathartic. By releasing the reins of authority, I found a deeper connection with my own roots, gleaning fresh perspectives on the lives of women like Zubeida.
Timo Jokela once remarked that art is like a dialogue between the community and landscape and involves a great deal of unspoken language.. Zubeida's journey in the workshops was proof. As she immersed herself in drawing, the boundaries melted, and trust blossomed. Through her embroidery, she was no longer just a mother or a wife; she was a storyteller, speaking of her worldview, one stitch at a time.