“Art is the singular soul – the flaws, the vulnerability and the memory all on display”. What does it take to create a forgery? Of an art piece? Of oneself?
London. 1973. The Tate gallery. A Picasso forgery. A path to oneself. The past to come to terms with. Brushstrokes to savour.
Altogether – an outstanding novel!
The crosswind quietens and the cumulonimbus clouds beneath seem to cradle the huge aircraft, diminished by their fluffy mass. It is like a child in their embrace…
And so is the man under her spell. Yes, his eyes are open and focused on the instrument panel. His pupils follow the altimeter and the gyroscopic pitch bank. This metal bird with everyone on its board is safe in his hands.
We choose what makes us, what defines us. But it is never an easy selection. Not when the transitions we make in life are painful or marred. What does it mean to define yourself as a refugee? A Somali? How do you untangle a web of multiple belongings and difficult pasts? In this profound, personal and illuminating story, Aamna Mohdin talks about her own journey, her country and its scattered pieces that were shot across the globe by the war and crisis.
I brush the non-existing dust off the skirt of my pink tulle dress and scratch my left wrist. My small, glittering shoe finally crosses the line. The scanner in the floor reads my approach and the tall doors of riveted, lacquered wood spread open. I enter the Hall of Fathers.