I feel
utterly exposed those first few times I step out of my gate solo in a new
country. Accompanied by my kids I am a mother and while I don't mind that
label, its duration is finite- as they get older, fewer of their activities
involve me and without them by my side, a stranger couldn't tell by
looking that I have any children at all. Walking down the street on my
own, I wonder what the reaction will be from people I encounter… Will they
ignore me? Will they start a conversation? Ask me where I’m from? Be
distrustful? Assume my nationality and make judgments from there? How will they
react to me as a woman? As a foreigner? As a white person? As time goes by and
I get used to my new home, that nakedly vulnerable feeling goes away, but in
certain countries -especially those like Qatar where there are more
gender-specific expectations around behavior and dress- I never can forget that
I am female and foreign when I am out in public.
Saturday
I drove deep into the heart of the oldest part of Doha, a bustling noisy place
where people live in tiny unlikely spaces and hole-in-the-wall shops sell
nearly anything you might need, where there were more people on the street than
I see outside in a week in my neighborhood, though not a single woman. It’s a
mashup of old dingy buildings trailing wires and leaky pipes, grimy streets and
alleys, uneven pavements, overturned garbage bins guarded by scrounging feral
cats, and huge new construction projects that will slowly transform the area
into a developers dream of luxury housing and expensive retail spaces,
fountains, and greenery. I couldn't help but feel that the city is losing
something important, even if it is the nature of cities to recreate themselves,
burying the old layers under the new.
I was
there to join a day-long drawing class sponsored by the Msheireb Arts Centre, whose main project is
“an artist-led initiative to record and collect a wide range of artefacts,
stories and memories from Msheireb, Qatar’s earliest suburb, as the area
undergoes extensive regeneration. The collection created from this ambitious
salvage operation will be used as a resource for local and international
artists, schools and community groups, so that the new development retains the
memory and identity of Msheireb.” Seven of us gathered at the Centre and
then walked out into the neighborhood to draw.
I’ve been
taking a lot of photos lately, in an almost desperate bid to find enough beauty here to balance out my hatred of the
Doha traffic and bewilderment at the Doha consumer culture. It has
certainly helped, but Saturday brought me a kind of peace that has transcended
that. Standing there with a drawing board propped against my middle, my pencil
busy, my gaze alternating between my paper and the alley before me, I wasn’t
worried about being a woman or a foreigner. Men would walk by and sneak a
glance at what I was doing. Some would stop and stand behind me for a few
minutes to watch. It was obvious what both artists and observers were doing,
with little need for mistrust or guessing (though outsiders taking a close
interest in the buildings of Msheireb can arouse some concern that demolition
and reconstruction will follow). It was unlikely we had much language in common
but it didn’t matter, as very few of the men said anything.
Drawing,
for me, is a combination of deep observation and trust, examining the contours
and planes and textures before me, choosing which to include and how to
represent them on my paper. The trust part is about having faith that I can
capture what I'm intending and build my initial sketch into something more
interesting, even if it looks pretty ragged along the way. Drawing
outdoors in an alley and then on a busy street, surrounded by the sounds
of birds, car horns, construction noise, traffic, shouts and conversation of
people all around, the smells of exhaust, food cooking, and decay was all
a world away from my previous experiences drawing figures and still lives at
home and in classrooms. I loved it, and enjoyed the quiet company of those
who came to watch.
For one
day, I shed most of the weight of gender and nationality and put on the lighter
and more universally accessible label of artist, and I’m still marveling at
what a relief it was. I have no doubt that gender and race still played a
part in how I was viewed but for once, it wasn’t primary. Connecting with
my surroundings, deliberately and deeply, was grounding in a way that’s rare in
my life here, where I’m so often zooming around in the car or have my attention
scattered by demands of three kids and household tasks. Even photography
keeps me at a certain distance and is more about moments captured than careful
examination of a scene.
I’m very
grateful for the day and looking forward to heading back into the streets to
draw more.
