Sequential progression of making the portrait of President George Washington

 

The sequential progression of creation of the portrait of President George Washington during my stay in Florida in 2001. The picture is made of red pine and birch wood.

 

Step 1

 

Step 2

Step 2

Step !

Step 3

Step 3

Step 4

Step 4

Step 5

Step 6

Step 6

Step 7.jpg

Step 7

Step 8

Step 8

Step9

Step 9

Step 10

President George Washington in Wood

I can see so many unique designs in simple  wood chips, especially when they are in dried form. It is not my principle to use any artificial material in  my Wood Art. All these are done with  thin shavings of natural wood  of different colors by my own hand without use of any brush or paint.

 

 

 

O My Loving Mom

Hashmat Ara
And lately she came in.
The dearest guest of the house party,
My lean and thin beloved mom of eighty one
Supported by her caring daughter in-law and eldest son
She came in.
Dressed in pure white she passed by the guests
With her glaucomatic vision recognized one or two at best
And I noticed silent tears trickled down her face.
May be at that moment she prayed
For Almighty’s grace
For all of us, as always.
I hold her with all my love and affection,
As I do with my grand babies, my daughters and son
And took her inside to have rest on my bed.
O dear mom, gazing at my face
What are you trying to guess? My degree of labor
To arrange the party or my restless life in bringing up
My family, my studies, service, cooking, sewing,
Creating the Portrait of Mother Teresa.
Or my late night work in doll making ? Composing poems?
Or anything else?
Now I cannot read you properly, Mom
As you have lost a big part of your memory
Due to atrophy.
My well disciplinarian mom, your good organizing capacity,
Your amazing timeliness, neatness, high sense of order,
Dignity and decency, your perfect housewifely activities,
Forbearance, thrust for knowledge, wisdom and intelligence
I always remember.
O my beloved mom, I cannot pay you back again
What you did for me in all winters, summers and rain
Your love and affection to raise me from infancy
Your silent prayers to Lord Almighty for my longevity,
Happiness, Success, Prosperity, safe journey, security
And recovery from illness.
In helplessness.
And it is true, your blessings encouraged me to fight
Against all odds in the days of my distress and plight
And to win the battle of life in discreet
To stand with confidence on my own feet.
To satisfy your children with tasty foods and nice clothing
Your hands suffered how many cuts, pricks and burning
Can you tell me mom?
Can you count down your restless nights and busy days
Nursing us in infancy?
There is no record in any book
Of your tensed faces in helpless looks
With the limitless steps of your worried walking
For your children’s late homecoming.
Dear Lord, please grant my mother
Good health and spirit
And confidence to overcome her disabilities.
Give her back her lost memory and wisdom
So that she can enjoy freedom
To live happily with her loving children
And bless them in all summers, winters and rain.
Dhaka,Bangladesh
June 2003

SAGA OF A BROKEN MUTILATED WHEELCHAIR

SAGA OF A BROKEN MUTILATED WHEELCHAIR
Hashmat Ara
I am a broken and mutilated wheel chair
Sitting half sunk on the cratered roadside
Rubbles of Khuzaa, close to the border with Israel,
The devastated heaven of Palestine.
Populated by wealthy Muslims in their
Specious villas as well as common religious people;
It was a very nice place thronged by the tourists.
This road was also nice. It ran up to the border.
But, that was before the last week of July, 2014.
As per suggestions of Israeli authorities,
With the assurance of shelter with food,
A crowd of old helpless people, of them
Mostly women and starving children
Were proceeding towards the open gate
On the border, as they had no other choice.
With a murmuring sound
They were reciting a verse of the Holy Quran
‘Neyemul Mowla wa neyemannasir’
Some were wailing for their children they lost;
Young spirited sons, husbands and relatives.
They witnessed the horrific scenes
Of their executions and deaths by the
Gruesome torture of the soldiers of Israel.
They have also seen the horrific sight of
The mutilated bodies of their dear ones
Being blown off by tank shells, missiles
And bombs falling from the sky.
The decomposed bodies partially buried
All around, made the air heavy with stench.
These homeless people had lost everything,
Their dreams were shattered into pieces.
And Khuzaa lost her heavenly beauties,
The mosques with decorated domes and minarets,
The magnificent villas, the palm-lined streets,
Schools and public squares, thriving marketplaces,
Green fields and her peace-loving residents.
All have been flattened into piles of rubble.
And I, the wheel chair, followed this crowd
Carrying an ailing old man
Being pushed by his teenage daughter,
Who was struggling to keep me in queue.
For some time, a distant grinding sound
Was reaching the crowd,
Which was gradually growing louder
From the other side of the wall
And in no time it got momentum
And right at that moment
A huge tank appeared at the gate
Aiming the nozzle of its cannon
At the heartbroken and starving people.

The crowd froze in fear
Some chanted, ‘O Allah, as always, you are
Our only friend, be with us at this moment
And hereafter.’ At that point,
The tank opened fire and did not stop
Till no one was left standing.
Bodies were thrown scattered all over.
My rider and his daughter were not very far
Lying bloodstained on rubles.
And I, the wheelchair,
Am the lone witness of this massacre.
A shell blew me away, left me with a
Mangled wheel as I find myself half sunk
In the cratered roadside rubble of the
Devastated heaven of Palestine.
Yet I remain the only object left upright,
Broken yet unbowed, defiant as I ought to be,
To tell the world of what has happened
To these hapless bunch of people
Of Palestine.