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Simko Ahmad     -

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Simko Ahmad
 Online Gallery: 15 / 35
Place of birth: Kurdistan city of Sulaimania
Career: B. Se Bachelor in Civil Engineering.
Member of art groups:
JAALA Art association in Tokyo (Japan afro Asia Latin America art group)
Proletarian art and literature center
Nina acting team
Japanese NGP “Peace Winds Japan”


Work profile

He is working as NGO member since he graduated from college; he had been working as a Civil Engineer/ site planner to support the refugees at emergency conditions like Kurdistan, Albania, Kosovo, West Africa, Sierra Leone, Pakistan and Afghanistan. Mainly he designs and implements the Engineering projects like infrastructures building shelters, water and drain system for the refugees, constructing schools, clinic, road and bridges and other infrastructures …etc

*1996- Now, Japanese NGO “Peace Winds Japan” at Tokyo head quarter (http://www.peace-winds.org)

1995- 1996 AVN (Asian volunteers net work)
1994 -1995 FHRA (Foundation for human rights in Asia, Japan)
1993-1994 French NGO (Equilibere)
1990 - 1993 KSRO (Kurdistan shelter reconstruction organization)
Email: simko28 AT yahoo.com
Website: vwww.simko-art.com
External Link I: Click here
External Link II: Click here

From my eyes

From the eyes of one Kurdish painter I want to reflect the miseries, wish and hope for more than 40 millions soul. Kurdistan is a sad land, which starts from southeast Turkey to northeast Syria and then from northern Iraq to ends up in west north Iran. In the most of the Kurdish area, which is called Kurdistan, it is forbidden for us to speak our language or practice the basic human rights.

Art is the colorful sparrow, which hates the cage and borders wants to dance on the blue background of the sky.

Art is the stripe of the sunlight that can inter the prisoner room without permission or stamped paper it comes from the top window every day and warm up the tried body of the tortured man.

I remember when I was a kid my father passed away in the snowy day, he left his shoes paints which were red, brown, and black colors they attracted me alot and I draw my 1st image with them, it was two mountain with a military plane in the sky. I grew up as most of the Kurdish kids in fear and none certainty.

I want to tell you the story of two flowers in Kurdistan then you can understand easier.

It is about a little flower of Narcissus, which is our symbolic flower, one day when I was walking beside the clear river in the spring a small flower of Narcissus, was sweating and terrified. She told me of her dream, when she wakeup in a nightmare dream she found herself a lone in the middle of desert. No green were around no other flowers beside her, no rain no river, she was looking at the deep of the warm sky dreaming of a drop of water to come and wet up her lips, but it never came!

Another flower in Halabja (the city which was bombed with chemical bomb in spring of 1988 and more than 5000 people dies in a day)

She said that it was spring we could get out from the dark humid soil of winter, we were dreaming of getting out from the earth and kiss the blond hair of the sunlight. We came out still our eyes haven’t been opened well, we couldn’t see the green because that spring was assassinated and I heard from a little blind kid that the last view that he has seen before his eyes loose bright was that spring turned to be Autumn in a minute, birds fallen down from the sky, leafs from the trees, river got poisoned like snake, mother with kids died in each others embrace, street, cars, houses and roads were full of damaged face dead people, so we never get out again from the soil, we felt the drop of soul tears and we were imprisoned for one more year under ground, but as far as Spring never dies we came out again.

Dear friends that was little view from our life. Many of our people have been taken by force to the middle of the dissert in Iraq and they buried a live there, and more than 180,000 people including kids and elderly people and women are missing since 1988 no one knows their fates. That is our life, it is not movie neither story, but a SIMPLE TRUTH.

Simko Ahmad

"30 million souls from the land of sadness" For those that do not know, Kurdistan is the land where mountains dream of sunshine, Ararat the Zagros mountains and Qandil embraced many of its martyred sons. It is the land of Mesopotamia, one of the ancient civilizations in the history of mankind, but today Kurdistan doesn't even exist on the map. It is the land where more than 200,000 innocent people were buried alive. Most Kurds are as terrified of planes as rabbits are of eagles. If children hear the sound of a plane they run for cover, as they associate them with warplanes. We were born here in Kurdistan and we die somewhere else, over 30 million unhappy souls, the largest number of stateless people in the entire world. We are refugees on our own land. Children are too scared to speak in their own language for they think that Kurdish is a dangerous weapon. But we just dream and sing in that language. While you are reading this article, more than a thousand Kurds are waiting for their death behind the bars of prisons in Turkey, Iraq, Iran and Syria. One day the city was covered in blood and the warplanes swarmed in the blue sky. The evil men stormed through our homes, with their big military boots. They destroyed all things beautiful, killing men and raping women, they destroyed my mother's narcissus garden and burned her together with the flowers, why? There is no reason. Chemical bombs clouded up the grey sky and the winds of death passed through every house; I had to go to the top of Piramagroon (the closest mountain to my city). There I shouted for the sun to fight that grey smoke, and begged for the sky to rain and make spring come back. I wished I could bring back all the dead narcissus flowers one by one. Piramagroon told me the story of the brave man who died in her embrace. She told me, I told the sun, and then it told narcissuses that spring never dies. Colors of Paradise Art is the colorful bird, its dream is unlimited and she never recognizes the borders that divided the nature and life. She colors the dreams of the Kids of the sad lands and the area where sun and moon are pale from Africa to Asia, from Balkan to Latin America, from the roof of our house in Kurdistan till the end of the world. I still remember the night when I was laying on the roof in the heart of dark night in Slemania in Kurdistan, my father promised to give me a present that night, the bees of my dreams were flying everywhere and eager to know what the presents are? He gave me 4 stars in the sky with a pale full moon, since then I have something to talk to and have it for eternity, my father died a while ago, prison has given him lots of health problems. He left me but his presents in the sky can never go away, no hands can hurt them. It is same stars and moon that can knock my windows every night from my window in Tokyo my new home. I think my art is like that bird that has the all the naturefs colors, fly from snowy white Kurdistan to the yellow world of the dark people in Africa, from sad gray Kabul to white Kosovoc. She flies and with her colorful wings painting the faces of the kids, change the tears to smiles, take the bread to the hungry people, exchange love letters for the lover who are living in the place where love considered as a crime. This world needs to be repaint with cooler of heavens, we should know that nature and Glob has no borders, we artists need a free tongue to singe a free song, we need to get rid of the chain in our hands to draw our art works faithfully. As a Kurdish painter in this corner in Tokyo want to show you the tears of the people who were born in silent and were killed in silent too. I will present my art works to those prisoners who are suffering days and years behind the bars of the prisons of unkind man, to those kids who were born in the refugees camp and think that the entire world is same as his little sad camp. To those lovers who were beheaded before having a 1st kiss in their lives. To those who dream of a piece of bread and sell todayfs life to make tomorrow bread. We artists donft believe in humans unkind we spit on violation, we have the strongest weapon in our hands, which are brushes and love, we are son of paradise who want to re paint this dark sad world in the coolers that make little kid smiles in each corners of this world. If they have bombs and tanks, if hey have chemical weapons and swords, if they have this and that, they should know that they can never assassinate the hope in our hearts and they can never destroy beauty of the colors. Yours truly, Simko Ahmed 5-4-1999 Tokyo http://www.geocities.com/kurd_art/simko.html
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