PORTRAIT OF A MADMAN 1
My name is Ayad Al- Musawi. I was born and raised in Iraq in the Holy town of Najaf , in June one of the good years in Iraq. I started drawing at a very early age. Odd shape drawings, meaningless to many, but to me they had lots of meaning. I was trying really hard to explain this to my parents. My mother was a supporter, but not my father. He was a religious teacher and thought that it was silly art, and a waste of time.
The years passed quickly and I practiced art at every opportunity. At the age of ten, when I was in the fourth grade, I received a trophy for drawing a homeless man with his dog. I was very happy, bragging and talking about the trophy to friends and relatives. It was a big deal to me. But this big deal made my father furious. He thought I was working on my homework when I went to my room, but that was only partially true: I always finished my homework in a half hour, then I would start drawing and painting for five or six hours. I had the energy and desire to paint for hours. He would ask me, “Did you finish your homework?” The answer was always, “Yes.” He was not happy when he found out about all my art time.
Five years had passed, and at fifteen, I was researching many art books from famous artists. I was mimicking their art, or should I say stealing their ideas without changing their art in any way. I was very successful in school, but in art class only. I wish I could say that about my other classes. I would get upset with the school system, saying to myself I wanted to become an artist - why do I have to study English, math, history and others? I was upset with my English teacher and his lessons. I never thought I would use English for any reason in my lifetime; I now realize it was one of the most valuable lessons I have ever learned, as I presently live in an English speaking country .
I was drawing portraits and mostly nude, full-figured women’s bodies, until one of these nude portraits ended up on the principal’s desk. It was a big crime at that time and the punishment was more than severe. I had to bring my father to the school to talk to the principal and the teacher about my attitude and my grades in school. It took me a couple of hours to devise a way to try and save myself from this bad situation. I talked to one of my older cousins who could pass as my father. I convinced him to impersonate my father for an hour or so. It cost me a hundred dinars, but he agreed. We went to school the next morning and he finished the job. He apologized to the teachers and principal for my bad behavior, and gave his word that everything would change and that I would be a better person.
I had saved my self this time - in this crime. But something had changed inside me. I promised myself I would never draw or paint nude pictures after that day. I started to study more and I took my studies and my schooling more seriously. But I never stopped painting!
Then came the final exams in high school before going on to college. The year was over and all exam scores were posted. Mine were good enough that college was an option. But what college? My father, a big part of my decision, wanted me to be a doctor, lawyer, or some high level official position. But this did not happen. I chose the Academy of Fine Arts. He was furious about my choice- but my will and my faith to be an artist was far greater than his anger and threats.My first year in college had begun. I didn’t know anyone at first, but soon I was popular because of my mind and my art. This did not make the teachers fans of my art, but it did help break the chain around my neck and my hand. The chain existed because before painting anything, I had to consider people, street society, religion, and others’ feelings. As such, my paintings were sometimes meaningless or appeared painted by someone else .
All this changed, as I made a second promise to myself: I would not paint anything that was painted before, and I would not paint anything that did not satisfy me. My mindset changed. My feelings changed. My hand changed. The colors I used changed. I decided to start a new way of art. No one had ever done it before. It has five rules.
The first rule is freedom of the mind and the brush. The second rule is to not change the brush for a complete painting, meaning I use only one brush for the entire piece. The third rule is that I had to finish a whole painting at one time, no matter the size or the time required to complete it. The fourth rule is to mix psychology with the painting itself. And the fifth rule is to use really bright colors with hard edges.
The
journey had begun. I hadn’t used the mind and brush together technique for long
when we were given a studio exam: the subject was to be the war between Iraq and
Iran. I did the painting with the new meaning and color, and it caught the most
attention of the more than seventy paintings submitted. But the attention was
negative, as the teachers said they didn’t understand the meaning. There were
many questions, many meetings, and long interrogations of my family history.
They made a decision to expel me from the college several days later for reasons
unknown to this day. I left college with a huge load of guilt and utter
disappointment. I didn’t finish college. What would I tell everybody -
especially my father, as he was the only one who didn’t like the idea of me
going to this college from the beginning? Sure enough, when one thing goes
wrong, everything else follows. With my luggage and belongings I went to the
apartment I was renting in Baghdad to prepare for my trip home. At the apartment
door, I was arrested by the secret service.
You can find more in the chapters of my new book.