January 11, Lahore
I must admit that the violence of yesterdays stories did leave me a bit shaken. It was just representing what the boys saw 24/7 in the media and real life, and that it was expressed so creatively was still deeply touching. As the artist I feel what needs to come must come. The benefit of expression may be then be a cathartic relief. A cartoon of a man killing another is not really a man killing another. The picture holds this danger safely to examine…perhaps an opening for discussion. And yet I wasn’t really prepared or willing to engage in that discussion at this point.
So today I grabbed hold of the group again, plus two new boys and we played the good old magic trick called “giving the voiceless a voice”. We made up a ritual and some magic spells and LISTENED. This is white magic—the good kind.
They worked with concentration…bouts of silence, giggles, exchanging ideas and a stable hand…and a few scuffles for the only scissor we had. The stories were soft and sensitive. The objects were wise and honest. I got emotional at some point listening to the love story of a lock and its key. In the end we closed the spell by repeating the words and saying thank you to the object. It was a solemn play. I'm touched again by the magic.
Distraction-refocusing-paying attention to beauty—the dark is here and far away. This is another side of the picture. I'm not misandrous as all. These boys are full of love.