Kabul: and a tale of beauty's uncertain future

Yes, I looked for beauty in Kabul and I found it.  But I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be allowed to exist unfettered.  You see, the talk was all about the Taliban.  About them coming back. About what would happen when the US troops pulled out.  

There was a sad past.

There was a weary present.

There was an uncertain future.  

There was depression, there was anxiety, and there was resignation.   There was hope, too.  

 But there wasn't enough. There wasn't enough hope.

 

I wanted so much for them, for the Afghans. I wanted their leaders to make good choices.  But what choices did they really have?

I could only hope that the country, its people and its beauties would not go forgotten.  Not be relegated to the evening news with its faceless deaths on densensitized screens.  

{Let's ensure the forgetting doesn't begin with you or me.} 

Learn more here:

Afghan women worry: Who will protect our rights after the US leaves? 

 Renewed push for Afghans to make peace with the Taliban 

Taliban targeting Afghan women and government workers, UN report finds

Kabul and the quest for beauty: a tale of the Afghan jewelers

My grandmother Jean was a very tall woman who wore heels. Her clothes were tailored, and she was always dressed for visitors {as who knew, after all, what the day might bring?}.  One of the keys to her inimitable style was her jewelry. Not layers of pearls or discreet gold chains. Not charm bracelets or diamond rings. But tribal jewelry. Indeed, very often my grandmother could be found wearing weighty ethnic neck pieces. Against the black sheaths she favored, the tribal jewels seemed to channel intrigue - as if she had bought each piece from a turbaned dealer in a saffron scented souk somewhere. And sometimes she actually had.

And so it was with a sense of longing and nostalgia, that I watched the student jewelers of Kabul. As they melted, filed, and soddered, I couldn't help but think of my grandmother Jean.

In my mind's eye, I could see my Grandmother Jean weighing that bracelet in her palm or holding up those earrings to the light....

Yes, I could almost hear her say, Asalam-aleikum. Could I possibly trouble you for the price? 

Images taken at Turquoise Mountain in Kabul, Afghanistan.

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Kabul and the quest for beauty: a tale of the wood carvers

Oh, you can take your big box store, and your hollow core door.  
Yes, you can take your Home Depot, and your pre-fab low. 

But today please consider the wood carvers of Kabul....
And you might just leave with your eyes & your heart full.

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80 years old and still teaching.....

Still teaching this....

Which make this possible...............

and ensures he knows how...

As does he.

And so does he......

 I'll take this please....

And one of these.....

Images taken at Turquoise Mountain in Kabul, Afghanistan.

Kabul and the quest for beauty: a tale of the miniaturists and the search for perfection

I was at Turquoise Mountain in Afghanistan when I met them.    Suddenly it all came rushing back to me.  

I remembered as a young girl looking at the gilded frames in my mother's bedroom.  In each was a painting -- small and very detailed.

 How do they do those? I asked her. 
Very carefully, she replied.  

But how can they paint with such tiny little lines?  I insisted.  
You learn how in school.  But you have to be very talented and very patient, she answered.

 Do they have a name, these kinds of paintings?  I asked.  
Yes, my mother said.  They're called "Persian miniatures."  

Years later, it seems I was meeting Afghan miniaturists in training.  

I wondered then, what it would be like to not paint in broad strokes.  To not let it all spill on to the page in a creative rush. Yes, I wondered what it would be like to take the time to paint only the finest lines.

Then --  no matter the sad and troubled events on the nightly Afghan news  -- you might be secure in the knowledge that you can always rely on your steady hand.  And find comfort in having inched closer to....

perfection.

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