Art By Tali Landsman

We are in Yogyakarta. At the traffic light, a transvestite is walking between cars, trying to ignite an interest and a potential customer. It is a hot day, yet his/ her makeup is still perfect.   She spots my foreign face through the window of the taxi that we've rented for the day, and his eyes lights up. He does a dance for me, in his mini skirt. Pointing to himself, he says he is Madonna.   I give him the thumbs up and say that he looks and dances, better than Madonna. (God will forgive my lie). His smile gets even bigger. The traffic light changes to green, and we move another inch towards our destination. The traffic is horrendous.   The Indonesian cities are dominated by scooters. They are everywhere and the locals handle them with so much cool and poise.   Behind the scooter driver, there are the calm passengers, who look as if they sit in a coffee shop and not in a smoky traffic jam.... I wonder where they get the patience and the stamina....   Girls ride sideway with their

I wonder how long they will live, Those hard working young men That load fertilizers all day on their shoulders. I saw the bags leak white powder On their bare chests. I saw the powder sprinkled on their smooth hairless skins. I bet you they will not make it past forty. What kind of joys do they have in this life? They sleep in a crowded cabin, Twenty five to thirty tired guys... Too tired to dream, too tired to cry... Do they play cards and smoke for fun? Watch the latest movie star, on a tiny old TV tube set? With a wire hanger, undone, and made into a makeshift antenna? Most cannot read, so books are not an entertainment or a diversion from a hard life.... Most are not married, And their religion is not open minded about sex... Do they masturbate for fun? Surely it is tricky, to find privacy for that.... There are no bathrooms and no running water. Just a hose connected to the old port's shed. It has dirty tap water, used to wash the boats. In the neighborhood, the squatters, al

Jakarta was designed by the Dutch, Who built it with a system of canals Much like Amsterdam.   But Amsterdam is surrounded by flat land And Jakarta, on the island of Java, is not.   Add to this cocktail mix, a pinch of global warming, A touch of deforestation of the surrounding hills, An unplanned urban development that converted porous soil into concrete, And you get a city with a major flooding problem.   The sewers and canals are overflowing into the streets.   Along these canals, families are doing their washings, Taking showers, cooking, working, selling goods, massaging their babies.   Most of them do not own the land. They are "squatting" in makeshift structures, raising their children in a six foot square, rundown wooden or corrugated box, they call home.   They have no teeth, yet their smiles are wide and their hearts are loving. Everyone wants to "high five" us, And no one is running after us, begging for cash.   Everyone wants to practice their English. S

In the old port at old Jakarta, There are colorful wooden old boats, Still shipping cargo, back and forth From Sumatra, Borneo, other part of Java, Even as far as China and Japan.   Everything in this old port, is very old, Except for the young men, referred to, as "coolies" WIth their lean and strong brown bodies.   They get paid by the weight they unload. A man can carry as much as 75 kilogram (165 pounds) Per trip up or down a narrow wooden plank, Leading from the boat to the dock.   We are told that a group of thirty of them, Can load as much as 300 ton per day.   They are not educated men. They cannot read or write or even count, So, they get a narrow wooden stick, every time they get off the boat, Carrying heavy loads on their heads. By the end of the day, they will get paid by the sticks they've accumulated.   They are busy downloading or uploading rice, Or fertilizers, or tile, or coal, or asbestos.   Asbestos was declared deadly for humans, Since it does not brea

I used to think that finding one life’s purpose, meant searching for our true vocation. That it means finding that special “calling” or career choice, that maximizes the talents and aptitudes that we brought into the world.... that we were blessed with.... that comes to us easily and naturally. I used to think that happiness, and inner peace, can only be found when one is able to align oneself with his life's purpose and to narrow down his choices, and focus on what he was MEANT to do, for a living. I used to think that in order to do so, one must engage daily in work that supports her soul and being. But after years of sitting in workshops and reading many books, as well as contemplating this subject long and hard, I no longer believe this to be true. Now, I believe that the work we do, is secondary to our inner growth and process of transcending our lower self and ego personality.... or I would even say.... evolving in the light. You see, I believe that we are larger and more fan

I have something to reveal... Since I was born in a Jewish state, not long after its formation, still heavily populated with inhumane sad stories of holocaust survivors, with their haunted looks of fear and desperation. I grew up having a bit of a "Jewish prosecution complex." I remember traveling in Europe as a child, acutely aware of the fact that the same people who allowed the holocaust to happen, were still alive and their ways of thinking not entirely changed. So I learned not to mention being Jewish to anyone. Because of my own sensitivity, I finally learnt not to see people through the eyes of religion at all. But I am not here to bore you with another sad story about division and religions.... or reflect about how hard it is to be a Muslim in the world today.... I am simply here to entertain you. It took a "New York City therapy," to finally heal me of my complex. What do I mean by "NYC therapy?" Surely I do not mean handing over hundreds of

Being an artist, or living of your creativity, requires a person to spend a considerable amount of time in introspection. An artist that spends some time in isolation, or introspection, is able to touch one’s source of vision and inspiration. It is important to touch this unique tone that speaks through each and every one of us, in its own unique ways and with its own special rhythm. This isolation is not necessarily found in the form of physical isolation, but more in taking time to think, feel, and process, without the influence of the outside world. If we keep on taking information, in the form of TV, newspapers, books and magazines, we are constantly inspired, but also influenced, by what we see around us. But in taking the time to process in silence, by drawing on your unique points of views of the world, by translating them into some form of a recognizable medium to communicate with the world, you are being true to your own originality and your own creative process. Silence c

Beyond the empty romance, Whispered the seductive, all familiar guilt. A girl, hesitated to break an imaginary bond. She blurs her secret, long protected. Gathering softness, she lingered by the boy, Like the gentle sky Ever present. Her yearning, Strong and breathtaking. A passionate girl, With a devoted smile Charting imaginary songs. Sadness, blazed across his face, He knows she is aching Quietly... Poem #2 - "The Girl" I wonder if she still seeks the boy Who wears the kind and charming armor? That shining lonely girl, With her seductive basket of dusty memories. Last year, the strong wind, Broke through the earthly warmth of her silent feelings. Now, she share her bitter blind pain Her laugh, Her mind, Her sorrows. Her words, falling on unknown ears Rolling off unknown shoulders, Echoing in dark empty caverns of other minds. She is not sure why she feels the urge to explain.... She craves the soothing comforts of her REAL home

Most single people, yearn to be together with a partner. And there are millions of good reasons, to be with a gentle soul, that you love dearly and that you get along with. A togetherness that works, is like a loving, warm cocoon with benefits. Someone to love and to hold, to go through life with... but.....who also pick up the mail for you, does your laundry, does the dishes, stop the mail and the magazine subscriptions when you go abroad, someone who brings you tea and cook your dinner, answer your phones and book your trips, honor your advice and laugh at your mistakes, adore your art and think that you are as pretty as Angelina Jolie... Of course everyone knows, that if you do NOT get along, a marriage can be a living nightmare. Some people prefer being single, to being with a partner. I must admit that I never liked being a single woman. I did it, being single I mean, actually for quite a long time, but I really did not like it. In a week, we will be celebrating 11 years of m

Even if you do not subscribe to any kind of organized religion, it is important to stay tolerant and accepting that others, may hold other beliefs and allow them to express, celebrate and enjoy them. The world can be such a wonderful place, filled with diversity and wonder, should we learn to embrace, not just common grounds, but also our differences. Think about it this way, why would anyone want to travel, if everywhere, people will be exactly the same, eat the same food, worship the same gods, celebrate the same traditions? Isn’t diversity what makes the world interesting? After all, our differences are what make us attractive to one another, and what urges us to desire to get to know one another and to enjoy mutual sharing. Today, is the Jewish New Year. Happy New Year to all my Jewish friends! On September 11, this year, ironically, or as a NON COINCIDENTAL cry for HEALING, is Eid Mubarak day- which is the last day of the Ramadan fasting, celebrated by the muslims. I urge my fello

Well, there are the obvious examples. The preacher who preach against gay relationships, only to be found shagging a male prostitute in his car. The “family value” advocate, who keep multiple lovers on the side, all clothed in leopard nighties. The politician who campaign for equal opportunities for all, only to favor his allies after the elections. But the BIG disconnect I want to explore here, is not this obvious. In fact, it is hard to detect in many cases.... yet it exist to some degree, in each and every one of us. I have seen it, and even been reading it, in my friends notes. They talk about how hard it is to bridge the gap between their ideas, and their beliefs. Between concepts held in the mind, and actually manifesting it in their realities, manifesting in their lives. This “gap” is the “disconnect” that you can see between what people SAY and what they DO. I am VERY sensitive to this subject. I know people who speak beautifully..... Who write about lofty ideas, about spir

Could you stay centered In the midst of anger? Can you argue passionately Without losing your humanity? Can you speak your heart When it aches, without vengeance? Can you lose a loved one, And not protect your heart? If you abandon all your goals, And do not struggle with your life, You will always be content. If you do not insist on your destination, You can never be lost. People do not think of themselves As one with the planets. They toil and drift like a chip of wood, On an angry river. People believe that their lives are ruled by chances, That they are random, And filled with arbitrary occurrences. Yet, men are one with the Universe. People are like planets And all events in their lives, Are planned by one who Has their highest good in mind. The lives of men, may seem chaotic, Yet much like the perfect order in the universe, Which makes the planets, moons and the suns, Rotate with perfect harmony and consistency. Everything in the lives of men, Is in perfect order. But the he

Recently, I had a communication with a poet, who shared with me her ideas about selling her poetry. She said: “I think one's poetry is so personal that it's different from dance or painting. To present one's thoughts to the public and to tell them that you think your thoughts are so valuable, that they should pay x amount of dollars to read them, seems arrogant to me.” I feel very sympathetic to the shyness and sensitivity, that poets and artists feel about sharing their work. Especially work that is self revealing, explores our painful past or our vulnerability. I do NOT however, believe that paintings is less personal than words. Some artists, choose to express themselves and to put their personal stories, their souls and their guts, into every stroke that they put in their art. Some paintings, can be VERY personal. I saw women artists, paint themselves getting raped or hit and men painting wars, dictatorship murders and political upheaval in their countries. It does

I attempt here, to write this story, about how I learnt to control my thoughts. But to illustrate this point I have to take you back many, many years, (thirty). I was a sixteen years of age girl, with an awkward hairdo and a very skinny, bony body. (Not intentionally. I was actually subsiding on a diet of thick slices of bread with butter- to try and develop breasts and hips, like a “real woman” should look). My young heart, was just broken, when I found that my boyfriend, Jacob, the “LOVE” of my young life, was sleeping with another girl. He was the first boy I slept with. The first time I felt “madly in love” with a boy. He had soft brown hair which turned blond at the edges. He played the guitar, he gave me my first orgasm (when not alone...), and he rolled some mean hashish loaded joints. The sex, was far from good between us. To begin with, his penis was WAY TOO large for my small, narrow and inexperienced vulva. Our teenager hormones, were rendering us totally blind... I v

This morning was a special morning. I made myself a fresh fruit shake, and went to paint in the studio. My studio is a separated structure, located a few steps from my front door. As I stood by my studio's door, I was engulfed by tenderness. I felt as if the day, was grabbing me by the hand, demanding that I notice it. It was a cloudless day, the sky is so blue... The kind of blue you only get in the remote mountains, in high elevation. It was not a hot morning, so I sat in the sun, on a wooden bench by my studio, and listened to the day. It was so quiet.... not a single car was coming or going on the unpaved road. I could hear some distant birds and a few insects humming. The wind chimes were composing a soft symphony with the breeze. The more I sat there, the winds blowing my untied hair, the gentler I grew. As my hair was caressing my shoulders, I felt a sweet sensuality. My skin felt warm and my hair, warmed by the sun, smelled so good. I felt waves of happiness wash

If I wrote a poem about a broken heart, or lost love, They will all be cheering me up. If I wrote about the struggle of an artist’s life, They would be writing to remind me, Of the good times ahead.... If I wrote about my disillusion with God, They will try to help me to remember All the blessings in my life And all the many ways God’s face Is showing Grace to me. But if I write about MY BLESSING. About the many ways that I feel so blessed And loving in my life.... About the millions of ways In which I see God’s face in my life, They will call me a “fake.” They will try to prove me wrong. They will try to remind me Of my limitations And they will point to all the imperfection On my path. Why are we so in love with struggle And so envy of the blessed? Why try to rob the happy smiles Of those who have it. You cannot wear a stolen smile On your own face, Like a party mask.....

Yesterday evening, while cooking dinner of “Drunken Chinese Noodles”, I had a brief conversation with a friend over our basic world views. I made the statement that I believe that the world is SAFE.... This statement, did not go over so well with his belief system. He mentioned the shooting in the streets by gang members in his US city, the young girls forced into marriages in third world countries.... rape, violence.... It occurred to me, that it has been awhile since I tried to explain my world’s view... I realized how inexperience I have become, since I rarely get to talk to people who holds opposing beliefs. It is not because I do not care to share, it simply does not come up in casual conversation. And.... I rarely get into philosophical conversations with people in daily life. The opportunity just does not come up, when interacting with people casually, in the supermarket, gas station or the post office. I will try to do it here, in the privacy of my writing desk, with nobod

Artists have a lot of emotional load around marketing their art. This is possibly one of the reasons, that some artists are not very successful at their attempts at selling their art. I once had a pleasant conversation with an artist, who started sweating heavily, and became very agitated, when I spoke about ideas of selling and marketing art. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack, and it was the simple fact that we talked about marketing art, that got him so worked out. Yesterday, when I made some suggestions to a budding artist, about how to present a theme of work to a gallery, he too, became visibly agitated, got up and walked around, kept interrupting my sentences, not really allowing me to complete my thoughts, until I finally dropped the subject. If I had an opportunity to pick the brain of a successful artist in close quarters, ( a marketing genius like Damien Hirst) I will bombard him with questions and listen to his every word. If he’ll allow me, I would tape

I once had a friend who was in great pain. I called to cheer her up and to see if I can help in some way. She poured her heart out, for a long hour... she told me what a difficult time she had in Miami. She lamented about how she could not meet anyone worth meeting, how she hardly scraped a living from her craft, about how limited and sad her existence there was.... About how she had not been on vacation for years.... how she could not even connect with girlfriends.... I listened and sympathized. I even tried to introject the idea, that some of her ways of thinking, are the reason she cannot bring much good into her life... how this exact way of seeing her reality, and some of her ways of processing information, is the reason she does not enjoy all the blessings in her life..... I said that blessings comes to those who know how to count them... that joy is found in little things... and inside ones heart.... that by obsessing on the pain, she attract more of it, and she repels people

We are our own teachers. How do we do this? By selecting the ideas That we want to adopt and to hold. We act like a selective strainer. We take in, Only what we want to Assimilate and to believe. So if your situation is sad, Or dissatisfying, Realize, that NEW IDEAS, Will feel WRONG to you. Because your old filters, wants only to allow more Of what is already there, and what will blend comfortably With the soup of your beliefs. A NEW IDEA, Will NOT blend well with the old. You will feel strange... You will sense resistance. It will feel like you are losing your mind... Your OLD mind.... If you TRULY desire change, Let it all go.... Make room for the new... Be willing to sit uncomfortably, With new ideas.... Give them a chance to prove themselves to you. After all, What you had, Did not serve you well, Or it would not make you sad.... If you feel disadvantaged, If you feel life's great opportunities, Are passing you by, If you feel depressed....disadvantaged Remember: "