Mosaic

‘Do you have a sponsor in Oman?’ asked an exotic voice. ‘Not at the moment’ I said, attempting sang-froid. I gestured excitedly to Tessa, and covered the mouthpiece of the telephone, in the days when it was obvious which bit of the telephone was the mouthpiece. ‘He asked if we have a sponsor in Oman!’ I whispered theatrically. ‘Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh’ I said, attempting measured tones to the gentleman on the phone.  ‘No, not yet’ I said.

‘He asked if we have been approached by anyone to work on Buraimi Mosque for the Sultan of Oman’ I whispered, keeping Tessa informed.

I put down the phone. ‘Of course, it’ll come to nothing’ said Tessa, with characteristic rationalism. ‘Yes, of course, it’ll come to nothing!’ I said, trying to pretend I was rational too.

Mr Patel came to visit. He would be our sponsor, we agreed. ‘I will supply the drawings, and a significant proportion of the mosaic work will be in gold.’  ‘No problem’ I said. ‘You understand this project is important to the Sultan’ said Mr Patel. ‘Of course’.

We sent samples. ‘Very good work’ said Mr Patel. ‘Can we borrow the school hall to make a template?’ I asked David, my children’s headmaster. ‘Do you know anyone who’d be a good school governor?’ asked David. ‘Let me think about that’ I said, playing for time.

‘The Sultan wants textured gold’ said Mr Patel. ‘I’ll send you a sample.’ I said.

‘I received the gold sample today. It’s very good’ said Mr Patel.

Two months until Christmas. We scraped up the last of our funds and bought the gold. The mehrab’s half-dome was complex to calculate. Thank God Tessa is good at mathematics, I thought.

Mr Patel flew back to see our work. ‘I must show it to the Sultan’s people’ he said.

‘When can we buy Christmas presents, Mummy?’ asked my middle son. ‘Very soon’ I said. ‘Miss asked me where my shoes were today’ said my eldest. ‘Slippers are more comfortable’ I assured him.

‘I have bad news’ said Mr Patel. ‘The work is very good, but you have used the wrong kind of gold. We must buy a different kind, and do it again.’ ‘Oh dear’ I said, fixing Tessa with a glaring, suicidal stare.

It was the week before Christmas. ‘Will Father Christmas give us a Game Gear Mummy?’ asked my children. ‘I don’t think he will’ I said.

‘A mistake has occurred. I will send you the gold.’ said Mr Patel. ‘We will fix the mosaic next year.’

I was pleased to see the post office van, though the parcel contained a surprise.  ‘Congratulations!’ it read.  Amongst tens of thousands of competitors, First Prize in the Pritt Stick Christmas Card Competition 1991 goes to …. my middle son!  The box contained a Sega Game Gear.

It was a happy Christmas for us all. ‘Shall we buy some shoes in the New Year sales?’ I suggested.

Posted under: Mosaic by Emma Biggs | Tags: being a committed artist > Christmas pathos > Cinderella story > Emma Biggs > Emma Biggs blog > Mosaic in Oman > Mosaic in the Middle East > Mosaic Workshop > poverty in the mosaic community