Artist, Educator, and an Early Inspiration
Memory plays extraordinary tricks with minds; this is as mundane a wisdom as mundane can be. Yet, it is a fact that is still capable of astonishing and amazing he who falls prey to one of the tricks of memory.
A year ago, in October 9, 2006, my mother called me from Damascus and informed me about the unexpected death of Abu al Baraa (Safwan al-Jundi). I dutifully called his family in Aleppo - his wife Ibtissam and son Shadi, paid respect and conveyed my condolences to the family. I immediately forgot everything about him and went back to my hectic life schedule and holistic absorption in my work.
Last week I received a one-liner from his eldest son Baraa; an email link to an article published in Al-Jamaheer, the local newspaper of Aleppo. Ibrahim Daoud, the writer, was paying tribute to Safwan al-Jundi, the artist, teacher, art historian, critic and organizer. The piece itself was succinct and sentimental with very little flesh or substance.
I was in my way through one of my talking tours where I had a series of speaking engagements at universities and World Affair Councils in Texas and Oklahoma. My program was exhausting and depleted me of all energy. I was so tired that I would immediately fall asleep the moment I come back to my hotel room. Understandably, I will wake up with eyes wide open by the very small hours of the morning. And the memory of Safwan al-Jundi, evoked by this short hommage written in Al-Jamaheer would haunt me during those sleepless nights.
Here I am at my Crescent Court hotel room in Dallas at 4:20 AM reminiscing and recalling my first encounter with the al-Jundi family. It was September 1972, at the airport of Damascus. My father was the head of the Syrian teachers expedition sent to Yemen; my mother was also a teacher in this expedition. The young dashing couple with their exceptionally cute little son (was Baraa 4 years old then? I can’t exactly tell) attracted my eyes. Ibtissam Mukkayed, his mum, had some sort of acquaintance with my mother, and she introduced us to her husband, Safwan. Both were arts teachers. She was from Aleppo, he was from Homs. Prior to embarking on the plane, Baraa gave me a viscously painful kick on my shin .
In Sanaa, they became our extended family. Hardly a day would pass without having them at our house, visiting them in theirs, or going out together. Ibtissam and Safwan were much younger than my parents, and Baraa was much younger than me and my sister Maya, but they became our closest family friends and Baraa became our little brother - a permanent fixture in our home.
When Ibtissam gave birth to Shadi, he became our baby. He literally left the hospital to our house. This was the first baby I was ever attached to. When the adults would go for a night out, I would baby-sit Shadi and Baraa.
But this is not a story about how close the Jundis were to us. It is about Safwan’s major indelible influence on me. I have had several influences, mentors, and role models throughout my life. However, after that of my dad, Safwan was the very first inspirational model that I had looked up to. He was handsome and elegant - or at least this is how I perceived him at the time, incredibly clever, encyclopedic, an avid reader, an attractive story teller, with a subtle and Homsi sense of humor. But most importantly, he both befriended me and tutored me. He introduced me to the world of scholarly art, lent me copies of the splendidly printed Arabic version of the German magazine Fikr wa Fann, encouraged me to read about art, and taught me mathematics!
He would tell me fascinating stories about his life as a student in the faculty of Fine Arts at the Damascus University, his fellow students-artists, their love lives, their naughty behavior, strong bonds, and dazzling achievements. It is most probably that my life-long infatuation with art and artists started during these long hours I had spent listening to Safwan’s anecdotes and adventures.
When Safwan was called for military service, he ended up as the artistic producer of the Army’s magazine. There too he had a large collection of amusing and entertaining stories from which the 13-year old boy that I was, learned a lot.
The attractive side of Safwan’s character notwithstanding, it was his deep intellect and intelligent curiosity that left a profound mark on me. Together we explored the world of English novels, and believe i t or not Freudian and Jungian psychology. Probably I did not fully fathom his discussions with me, but he led me into that world in a gentle unpretentious manner. He was neither presumptuous nor obnoxious.
Then, our ways parted. We left Yemen back to Damascus, while they went back to Aleppo. We kept in touch, but our infrequent visits and phone calls became rarer and rarer. However, the strong bond remained there; latent but never broken. When I think today of Ibtissam, Baraa, and Shadi, I still consider them family. When I was told of Safwan’s death, it probably had been more than ten years since I last talked to him. I deeply regret this and blame myself for such unpardonable neglect. Here I am today : a combination of many factors and elements that had shaped my life and personality, totally forgetting about one of the earliest and most positive influences that made of me what I am today.
