Saddam Hussein - the goldsmith -

Among newspaper and magazine scraps packed in an inconspicuous shoe box purchased at the Sunday flea market, I found this unexpected article, which, in my humble view, depicted the multi-leveled characteristics of Saddam Hussein; of interest was also the comment on the liberal, often shadowy, trade laws (not only Swiss) that govern the marketing of prestigious collectables. I deduced the article came from an - Art News -magazine or newspaper, published in the UK at the end of the 1991 Gulf War.

Goldsmith's work

by Saddam Hussein for sale

"He finds it relaxing to use his hands"

Geneva. A large circular tray and a coffee-pot worked in solid gold by Saddam Hussein have surfaced in the Swiss market. It has been a surprise to discover that the Presidential palace resounded with the toc-toc of the metalworker's hammer and punch, as hobbies of this nature are not usually considered dignified in Middle Eastern countries, but an exiled Iraqi who was close to him, says Saddam Hussein found it relaxing to work up the elaborate embossing and punch-work that decorates such pieces, familiar to anyone who has visited the bazaars of that part of the world,

As is traditional, the pieces are decorated with pious invocations in praise of the owner, in this case, also the maker. The tray reads: "Glory to myself Saddam Hussein, the exalted sultan, the master that curbs the neck of nations, sultan of the sultans of the Arabs, and the non-Arabs, he that is supported by heaven... the exalted one, the most just, the most liberal, the most knowledgeable, the most glorious etc. etc. The long spouted coffee-pot is inscribed: "To Saddam Hussein, felicity and integrity. May I live as long as the dove coos".

Questions arise as the true ownership of these objects, which, whether one finds them attractive or repulsive from the point of view of their aesthetic qualities and associations, are worth at least their bullion value. ( 128 ozs ).

Have they been looted during the post Gulf War unrest in Iraq... or sent out by the dictator himself? Due to the extremely liberal Swiss laws regarding trade in object of uncertain origin or ownership, ( characterized by one curator at the department of Greek and Roman Antiquities of the British Museum, as belonging to the 'See no evil; hear no evil' school of thinking on cultural property), there will almost certainly be no inconvenient legal come-back for any buyer at the sale, scheduled to take place at the Hotel des Bergues on 1 April. Interest in the pieces is apparently growing: "After all", said one dealer, "the fact that Napoleon was defeated has not stopped a solid market of souvenirs of him, and there are people who collect Hitler's watercolours".

Dear God

Knowledge of you lodged in my earliest memories, your omnipresence asserted at dawn as the Matin, at nightfall as a bed time prayer, through the day via images of your only legitimate son Jesus bleeding and nailed to a cross on the kindergarten walls.

Present in most conversations you were, indeed you are: "Oh... my God, God almighty, Thanks to God... God bless or bless you God... Vaias con Dios for the love of God..." Present before and after meals, when church bells tolled or pealed, in glory or blasphemy you were, indeed you are, always here.

No need to tell you I was a curious child, You being omniscient and all, knowing what makes every clock tick, every flower bloom, how atoms split, why tidal flows are regulated by the moon. No need to jog your memory that in spite of you remaining, indeed retaining your Sacred Invisibility, I contemplated meeting you.

Many town folk were forced to worship you, fearing hell, fire and brimstone Your vengeful nature would strike with when breaching sacred Laws, laws that you, wise but contentious Commander in Chief Who Art in Heaven, imposed on us down here on Earth, yet the good and the bad folk alike , put their trust in your humble Savior-Son Jesus and his Virgin Mother Mary.

Yes God the Father, we feared you, indeed we do, because though molded in Your very own matrix, we are "imperfect seconds" in this cluttered Homo-Sapiens's factory, we break your rules, we confess, we pray... Break the rules... Repent, confess, repeat and pray... The devil makes us do it...

I was not afraid of You, as You know, my mommy was unmarried when she birthed me, I grew up preoccupied by the sound of crickets in grassy fields and too busy watching fireflies to be concerned with the meaning of paternity, I was not plagued by a daddy I never had, nor by You, omniparous Omnipotence.

I was not concerned with Thee, being so small among so many VIP's You would not have noticed me, You, abiding somewhere up in heaven and I but a tiny dot down here on earth's last station, furthermore you being incessantly engaged by those experienced in securing your high-ranking consideration.

People like the Pope in Rome, the USA President, the Monsignor, priests, nuns, monks, even the solitary little old lady who everyday upon entering Your house took her place among the empty pews and flipped rosary beads. I always postponed my prayers in favor of skipping rope and read Topolino comic book until I fell asleep...