Kingdom

Why do we do what we do?

On one hand art is work, on the other, it beckons truth. I can put more of myself into art now than I've ever done (that's why I post here so seldom). I still need this space though, as a kind of bowl - a scrying bowl where I occasionally pour out a mess and try to divine the meaning of what I feel.

It's been a year of art trips abroad. I'm heavy and used up at the same time. I'm full - with portents, experiences, loves, achievements, failures and lessons. I'm empty - of energy, time, space, and peace. My house is a beautiful house, I've been cleaning it and filling it with all the things I love. But I want most of all to sit by a river and listen to the sound of it flowing. I want the wisdom of that timeless music. And I want to watch the sunset over the sea, dan persembahan bintang-bintang mewujudkan diri di cakerawala - performances devoid of stages, contexts, negotiations and people... with their needs, their pull, requests, affections, desires...

I remember a few lines from Goenawan Mohammed:

Akulah Adam dengan mulut yang sepi
Putra Surgawi
yang damai, terlalu damai
ketika bumi padaku melambai

I am Adam of no word
Heaven's child
at peace, too much at peace
when the earth beckons me

... this world - a kingdom. I watch it so that I can understand all over again, why we do what we do.

Just a perfect day

I was chatting with M.S. and he asked me what I was going to do on my birthday. I said 'maybe clean my house', to which he replied 'NO! No work!'. Which is quite sensible advice.

So this is what I will do:

In the morning, go for a walk in the park

Come home and put on a favorite dress

Look for a story book in the bookshop

Go and read it in a cafe where the coffee is too expensive and the vegetables are organic

Go for a massage

Come home and bathe with a new soap

Put on another favorite dress

Go for dinner with my lover

Drink wine

Sleep a great sleep

Myanmar II

We sat on the same steps of the same YMCA building, looking out the same dusty windows at the same blue sky and run-down shack. The same Burmese flag was hanging there limply, just like it did that day last year. We sat and talked about it, smoking together. Nothing had changed, except for the addition of a pile of bricks.

I had said, see you again. And there we were.

You, me, and the pile of bricks.

Tunnel and Light

M.D. sent me some poems at last. I've been bugging him, and most recently coaxed him with a photo of a volcano. Where is he now? Not in Burma... but dreaming of it, aren't you, dear friend.

I'm gonna remember you today, and put you here, in my happy place.

Taking up too large an area of seeing and not seeing

I put some patches of white clouds in the sky that I have painted blue

I move to the right a little bit and press my thumb down

On the buildings and bridges barring my view

I slide my finger along the river which is flowing out or into my pores

I make myself a cigarette and I make sure it has the same stale smell of yesterday

I make myself some smoke to fill in my lungs till I can’t speak

And words flow back into my bloodstream

I make myself a tunnel and light a lamp at the end of it

No, I make myself a light and at the end of it, a tunnel

That stretches to the arctic pole where night is not known

I make myself a wall, put it before me and scratch on it

With my fingertips which melt and drip down the wall

The wall is relatively larger and higher than

Every single one I’ve ever leaned my body against

by M.D.

The child in me

I had to put this photo up here. K. took this during our walk around a hotspring town. A little boy (girl?) appeared out of nowhere near a shrine. We kind of had a moment without language. We are actually petting a black cat together here. The cat is behind the child. We wandered on for a little bit and then the child tugged my arm and showed me a huge bee's nest hanging under a roof above us.

I love this picture. Actually the experience with the kid was a little strange, creepy even. It was like meeting a spectre of the child in me - who doesn't know if its a boy or girl, doesn't like talking and plays very solemnly. For a few moments the very universe was reduced to the both of us, the sunshine, the cat and the green grass - outside of this there was nothing, no one. We were playing, being alive, and being really serious about it, in a way that only children can do.

Penuh

Arrived home from 3 weeks in Japan. So full...

Hanging out with N.H.K, K.S., M.R. and S.W. was the ultimate. I've spent 5 years as a penggiat seni in Malaysia but never got to really know these cool people and talented artists.

N.H.K. teaching me find the Kiblat in our Tokyo hotel room.

Making up art on the spot... out of nothing, out of everything.

Dragging 20kgs all over the streets of Tokyo.

Battling the flu with sho-ju mixed in hot water.

Imbibing vast quantities of the freshest food, sake, sho-ju and beer.

Drinking bourbon and singing Let It Be accompanied by a live band in Fukuoka. My last night in Japan.

Slipping into a hot spring under the stars. Alone and naked.

In Tokyo, exhausted... finding out that at last, at last, ARTERI got the grant I had been hoping for, dreaming of. A moment of triumph that will never be erased, whatever the future outcome.

Feeling grateful for another day in this beautiful life, upon hearing about the earthquake in Indonesia and elsewhere.

Meeting S.'s mother.

Being with H.C. in Fukuoka, talking about art, life, culture, how people change and planning strategies for ARTERI.

Standing in Fukuoka Asian Art Museum and feeling bigger than the institution.

Spending time alone, realizing how solitude is as essential to my well-being as fresh food and air. A beautiful moment of self-knowledge whilst watching clouds, people and insects roll by.

Z. running up to me at the airport. Being together again with my best friend and lover.

Oh, I don't know

1. Good news
Sometimes, after months of waiting, you get a few minutes of good news. It keeps you going. I live for those few minutes. I had some this morning. Most people don't know that I have huge visions in my head, that today or next year is only in preparation for all that I want to achieve in my life. This secrecy.. most of it is just a pathological need for privacy. The rest can be accounted for by oh, I don't know, it's easier to get things done quietly.

2. Friends
One of the things I miss most about Sapporo is J. She really made me laugh. I like... love her so much because she never took my aloofness personally. She just... got it. Generosity combined with understanding, I think. Most people don't know that I have so much going on in my head that frequent retreats are necessary to prevent sensory and emotional overload from surroundings and people (especially people).

3. Lovers
Sometimes you can be very much in love with someone, yet not enjoy their company completely. This makes for interesting, but disastrous, affairs. The sex is good, usually - it feels like you're doing it on the edge of a cliff. But when you love someone you also love spending time with... it's like you're a child again. You go and meet them in the playground at 5pm and you try to will those last moments before the sun sets to last forever. Couple more turns on the monkey bars with so-and-so, oh please mum, please. Sunset is time to part, go home, have dinner, do your homework, and prepare for school the next day. Nothing is more soul-crushing than saying good-bye to your best friend at the park on a Sunday evening.

4. Living
I live my own life, for myself.

Thoughts on sex

I started writing this with the lights on, then I got up and turned them off, scotch in hand.

I like the way skin feels in the dark, how it looks - the hills glow and the valleys sink into liquid shadow. Your sense of smell sharpens. Your voice gets deeper and more languid, mine does anyway.

I'm thinking about... how one can be degenerate, yet fine, at the same time. By fine, I mean, not 'how are you, I'm fine'; fine like, bone china, steel, a panther, silk, fine wine, whiskey, a fine man, an excellent woman. Fine to do with suppleness - of character and body, limbs, the mind. A supple mind makes the hair on my body stand on end. When I say something filthy to man who's buying me a drink at some random bar - I watch for that catch in his eye, then the slow smile, and I know I'm going to have a great time. It doesn't happen so often.

I like being on the edge of danger, and I'm fine with that. As I get older, I know my limits better, and I get to linger out there on the edge for longer periods of time, with none of the usual guilt and self-loathing. I really love men, how they make feel, the way they react to things - it's exciting and inspiring. What I've learned in my short years on this earth is that they're more apt to disappoint than to hurt you. If you accept this, a much better time is had by all. I love women too, they're so soft, so intelligent and powerful and compassionate, sometimes vicious in a way not many men are, and they don't let go easily. One thing about women is, they're terribly loyal. As I write this, different men and women I know spring to mind, they get mixed up with each other, until I can't tell who was masculine and feminine... the traits blur into each other. Writing this is a way of appreciating them all over again - the best and the worst.

In short, I fall hard for people who have great character and who love sex, and in whom these two things are always circling each other, like insects around a flame.

Mmm. This post has put me in a good mood.

Mmmm. Take me back.

Contemplating Toyohira river the day before leaving Sapporo. It was insanely sunny. Gorgeous, liquid. I was in the height of health! So happy to remember.

Recipe for happy room

1 Telescope
Large windows with view of green outside
Maps on wall
Rack of clothes
Walking shoes
Bookshelves made of old crates
Oriental rug
Futon
A few die-hard plants
Favorite art
Bicycle with basket
Raincoat
Sewing machine
Model ships
Record player
Hula hoops
Karaoke machine
Blackboard
The right cat (manly, stoic, dignified cat with handsome face)
Candles stuck in wine bottles

Sunday morning happy post

Sunday morning, waking up early with, if I was a man, the equivalent of a raging hard-on. Rolled around in bed for a delicious amount of time, replaying scenes with people I've slept with and inventing some with people I'd like to.

I have the house all to myself and I'm happy to be alone. Well, relatively alone - the cat is in the background amusing itself with the carpet. We had a moment last night after I came home slightly drunk. He had been moody and hadn't eaten all day. We did a little dance together in the living room at midnight, after which he suddenly started chowing down on his kibble like it was tuna sashimi. I suppose as creatures we all need some love and dancing to stimulate the appetite.

My mind is working very well, purring away like a high-grade instrument, taking pleasure and feeling anger at the right things, in right amounts.

I am really pleased with my wardrobe, I love all my clothes and shoes. They protect me and seem to set me up for adventure.

I've been listening to music that speaks to the man in me. Johnny Cash, Elvis and The Legendary Tigerman... a one-man blues band. Check this video out:



The man in me... I remember someone saying that people who are a mix of masculine and feminine are the most fun and interesting to hang out with, because they stimulate you on so many levels. Yes, me and Z. have the best time together... he is my favorite. Teehee.

Hey! I'm feeling generous. Here are some pics of Japan for you...

1. In my Sapporo apartment, contemplating the possibility of going out with a blue wig.

2. Rainbow in the Tokyo sky from the weekly apartment where me and J. stayed for a week.

3. Drinking until the sun came out... had to run outside in the freezing air to greet and salute it.

4. Dressed in yukata at the opening party of our Open Studio. I've never been so happy at an opening.

Transformations

Should this become drunken post? I'm not really though...

3 days before departure from Sapporo to Tokyo and then back home.

Fully changed by experience here.

Trying to fend off overwhelming feeling of not being ready, not wanting to leave... with incantations, singing off key, self-affirmations.

Not just the place, but being in love with the person that I am here. I don't want to forget.

But there is alot of work to be done back home. Seeds planted need to be tended to. I know where I belong, where I'm needed. But I'm scared.

This place was good for me because I know the way things can and should be. The line where life and art meet is blurred, fluid. I am grateful.

Tomorrow never waits... even if you're not ready, it comes. Sun rises and you just deal.

Flashes

Waking up so happy, I almost disgust myself.

Making significant dents in my vegetarianism by downing freshly caught sea urchin in a dark bar.

Too many vodkas, wines, and beers; too many days in a row.

Stumbling over rudimentary Japanese as I try to impress someone I like.

Grilled shiitake.

Impromptu drinking parties outside the apartment.

Riding my bicycle in a short dress, feeling cold air on my legs.

Discovering I can cook, write in Malay, and do anything I want to do.

Rice balls at 2am.

Time passing too quickly, building up reserves of positive energy to be rationed and used when I get back home.

Cheap plastic silver wig.


Making art out of thin air.

Acupuncture in my living room.

A full handmade cotton kimono as a present.

Knowing what my next tattoo will be.

dawn and dusk 02

Quick notes to self on the project I want to do, before this brief clarity fades.

1. Collect stories of falling in love and falling out of love

2. Yesterday I was on Horohira Bashi (the main bridge overlooking Toyohira river in the city), intending to film the sunset on my mobile phone. I was looking up at the sky, thinking big and profound thougts, when something compelled me to look down. I laughed out loud, because all along the banister of the bridge, people had scrawled love notes in Japanese. I had stumbled upon the city's secret repository of love graffiti. It was a humbling moment - you can have this grand idea of what you want to do or express, and the street will always beat your imagination. Look down, always remember to look down. I spent the rest of the fading light photographing each little note... mostly executed in liquid paper ('blanco' to some people).

3. Turn these love notes into stamps (almost all tourist/public spots like museums, onsen and temples have these stamps for people to commemorate their visit), so that people can take home a souvenir.

4. Extract the colors of sunset and sunrise, print these out on sheets of paper - enough to cover a wall. People can stamp the love notes on these sheets of paper.

5. Project videos of love stories collected on the wall.

6. Film self at the most scenic and beautiful spots to catch sunrise and sunset telling own story of falling in and out of love.

That's it!

Healthy

UPDATE: Now with pics to make you salivate. What's that's reflex thing again? The one that makes dogs drool? I'd google it. But...

Le ingredients. Fried rice is the same whichever continent you find yourself on. But my dad taught me to follow this rule: never put garlic in fried rice. Only onion. I don't know why, but I've never questioned this wisdom.

Managing a non-personal blog is like managing a thousand egos. And that's not even counting my own (substantial) one. At least I'm geographically distant from it all at the moment. Now I know why sometimes gallerist/blogger/super nice fellow Ed Winkleman just loses it and lashes out in the comments. In fact, I don't know how he manages to do it so seldom. I love you Ed!

Tonight I made use of last night's rice and made fried rice with long beans, onion, tofu and tomatoes. Surely enjoying one's own cooking as much as I did smacks of vulgar, sinful pride. It's just that I was so happy eating it. Tried a new Sapporo beer as well. I promised Z. some images, but I'll add them tomorrow. Enough of the internet and my computer today.

In the midst of cooking. I have a tiny frying pan, so I use the soup pot for pretty much everything.

You know that scene in Heidi (by Joanna Spyri), where she gets used to her new life in the Swiss Alps with her grandfather - she takes a cold bath, then drinks a glass of fresh milk, and eats a big slab of toasted cheese with bread and has the best sleep of her life? That's how I feel.

Presentation is everything. So is beer. I try a different beer every night so that I can build up a collection of beer cans. My motives are purely aesthetic of course.

Today I cooked

...a Spanish Tortilla - basically an omelette with onions and thin slices of fried potatoes in it. Drizzled on top about 1/3 of a tiny, ridiculously expensive bottle of Thai chili sauce I splurged on at the supa-maruketto. Cos, I'm South East Asian, yo. And we need our chili sauce.

And then for dinner, it was plain rice. Eaten with a bunch of grilled white asparagus seasoned with oil, salt and pepper. Tender bamboo shoot stewed in soysauce and mirin (sweet rice vinegar). Some fresh cherry tomatoes.

Plenty of flesh on me bones at the moment. Enjoying the tastes and textures of Hokkaido produce!

dnunken post 02

hello... drunken again.. kind of.

E. took me along to the cutest little boutique selling reconstructed vintage clothes and antiques. I was sorely tempted by two carved wooden pendants (an anchor and a ship's wheel), and a pair of skirt/shorts that was based on an antique pattern of Victorian bloomers. We hung out there eating cheese + homemade goodies and drinking lots of excellent Sangria.

Z. (bless his dear heart) said 'just splurge on one piece lah', but this year I made a decision to only buy Malaysian-made fashion. I have my eyes on a beautiful long silk dress from Gallo. I've been looking for an ankle-length dress I can wear with sneakers, and the Gallo dress is definitely it. It has a lime green top, with bright purple skirt. If it is the sole item of clothing I purchase this year, I will be happy. I'm proud of myself that I haven't bought any clothing or shoes since February, except a 5-pack of cute cotton panties. I'm finding new ways to wear all my clothes, which is pretty fulfilling. It's the dresses... the dresses that are my weakness. I see a beautiful one and all good sense flies out the window.

Uh... i think i'll have a smoke now. then bed. goodnight. drunken and happy. observatory... seeing stars. mmm.

Drunken post

Riding home through fog at midnight, with vodka, wine and some home-made hooch (o-sake) in my bloodstream.

Crossing the bridge over Toyohira river was like brushing the robes of a sleeping god.

Pleasure, laughter, food and drink. Sleep now. I'm happy. Good night.

Notes on Dawn and Dusk

It has been ages since I last posted here. My cup of life runneth over, and there has been little space for the sort of musings I like to indulge in here.

Now, I'm on a 2-month artist residency in Sapporo, Japan. As usual in my life, it was a last minute thing. Being suddenly spirited away from the chaos of KL life, and I'm finding the slow, gentle pace of this new city simultaneously pleasant and unsettling. I told someone the other day that going on a residency is like being put through a pasta machine - you get strrrrrrrretchhhhhhed out, and all the starch in you needs to expand to encompass the new experience of each day. My artist life has so far been 4 years of constant extending and retracting - I guess it's like having a penis? I don't like where this metaphor is going. I'm going to kill it.

I never wrote at length about the long awaited administrative job that turned out to be just a mirage. I've had disappointments and rejections aplenty, but I don't like dwelling on them. I shed a few tears, I suppose, maybe shook an imaginary fist or two in the privacy of my own room. I'm pretty much safely over the self-pitying now, and the institution in question has crumbled, if not quite into dust, then at least into something resembling farcical ruins - of the fake rock variety. The point is, the elasticity needed in my artist life had worn me out completely. Stasis looked, and still looks, very inviting. I find I can't tell this to any but my closest persons - or, correct that, the people who know me well, all tell me I have... to... stop. Slow down. They get it. I don't.

It's been two weeks now since I left home. From frenzy into - well, sitting. Sit sit sit. When you proof dough, it means letting it sit in a bowl with a little towel over it. It usually doubles in size, all the yeast is working and getting things going. That's what's happening to me. I'm being proofed, but I want to be kneaded.

I want to be kneaded!!! Well, I also want to be made love to in anonymous hotel rooms, to be photographed naked, to dance sexily at seedy beach bars during sunset. All of this has nothing to do with tame ideas of 'love', but everything to do with what makes me feel alive. I once got drunk with a bunch of strange men - shots of alcohol set aflame, that sort of nonsense, made them buy a bottle of gin - drank them under the table and then abandoned them to feng tau with young chinese boys in an awful disco in Phileo Damansara. Hahaha, yes, besfren, you were there. You knew it happened. That's one of the most vivid memories I have. Fear, recklessness, and some insane instinct or misplaced belief that no harm would come to me.

I see brows furrowing. Bless you. And bless you if yours isn't.

Hmm. I have missed posting here. It's like having a good, comfortable vomit.

Basically, I'm in the process of letting go. Learning to party, being comfortable doing nothing. And the art is coming, slowly, in a trickle. It was actually to latch on to the very beginnings of ideas that I started to write this post. Well, took a detour there, didn't I?

I've said many times that dawn and dusk are my favorite times of the day. They're transition times and so force you to be in the moment. It reminds me of falling in and out of love. The first point you started feel... something, isn't that dawn. And then the end, or the begining of it... that's dusk. The inevitability of what's in between, what follows, and then the whole repeated the next day - if you're lucky. So lucky to be alive.

Observatories. Take some pictures of dawn and dusk from there. Extract the colors... collect some stories of falling in and out of love. Give some colors away. Something like that.

I think.

I hope that's what I'm going to do.

Patience

Living with my housemates J. and W. is great. They give me all the space I need (which is ridiculously large ammounts), but are always sympathetic listeners to alot of pent up frustration I have inside. That one reason why I haven't been posting here - I find I need this crutch less and less.

Sometimes I go to sleep at night, wondering if I am being stupid by doing all these other things (like starting ARTERI) instead of concentrating hard on my art career like a good little artist should. Those opportunities slipping by... all that lost studio time...

I stack up ideas for the work I want to make... each one a little lego brick in the private corner of my mind. I have a big show welling up inside me, and I will launch it when the time is right. Perhaps in a couple of years. I hear voices of all my secret mentors whispering: 'be patient, little fish', and also, 'is getting older so very bad? success at a young age is overrated'.

Each time I get mad/frustrated, I think about how lucky I am to be here in Malaysia - in this rich, flawed and beloved country. Those of us who are able have no excuse, no excuse whatsoever, to not do what we can to imagine and create a better future.

Quite often, I think of you, Snail... do you even come by to visit me here anymore? I haven't seen you in ever so long. Sometimes I really miss you, and a great desire to meet you face to face builds up. But I respect your need for distance. Something tells me you are somewhere safe and at peace, finding whatever it is you need.

Consider this an emo rant. I don't know about you, but I certainly feel better for it.

Life's g

Hello. Haven't been here for awhile. Moved out into a new house. Didn't get the corporate job afterall. Started a new art blog: www.arterimalaysia.com. Trying to write a post for it about 'darkness'. A friend in Yangon intercepted with a gchat. Too good not to share it: (normal posting will resume soon, promise)

mrt: hello Ma'am.
me: hullo sir
how are you?
mrt: dont know why this simple ques make me difficult.
anyway,think i m good.
:)
really happy to see you again.
me: haha. simple questions are the worst questions
I'm glad to 'see' you too
mrt: i sent you a msg thru facebook.
me: just think: we're talking, but I'm here and you're there. Wish someone would invent a way to drink beer through gmail chat
ya, I haven't check my facebook for some time
mrt: i totally agree with that.
me: too much noise - email, phone, etc.
mrt: gtalk = gdrink
me: heheh. great idea.
mrt: it should be that way.
me: it should
mrt: you know...
the uncles has been testing to tighten
the grip of e-networking between
us.
and the internet connection is
really sluggish these days.
me: I see.
I don't think I like your uncles
we should poison them at the next family dinner
mrt: that's the most effective way,i think.
me: HAHAH :D
mrt: if not,our brains will be full of their shit
and our deeds will be in their shit.
:)
me: yes... poison.
Mrt... you know, last week, we had something called 'Earth Hour'
do you know it?
mrt: 8888?
me: it's when the whole world is supposed to turn off all their lights for one hour - to save the earth.
stupid idea.
mrt: i c.
he he.
me: but it made me think about something though... the idea of 'darkness'
mrt: many Earth hours from my room,then.
me: HAHAH :D
mrt: do u like the darkness?
me: I'm trying to write something about 'darkness'
I do like it... it's very comforting
I was thinking: in heaven, what if there is no night?
I think I'd go crazy
I'd try and poke my eyes blind
mrt: it will be like you r taking too much amphetamine.
me: yes!
scary
mrt: in Burmese, we say...
eyes wide like lemons
mrt: as a mortal/ephemeral,i really can't enjoy thinking of eternity in every aspects.
me: heh... yes.
now is far better than any sort of eternity.
mrt: yes.
me: it'd be better with some kind of beer, or nice scenery, maybe a girlfriend (for you) or my boyfriend (for me)
mrt: there come another unlucky twos for lucky us.
:)
me: heheh. ya!
mrt: we want GDrink...
me: now now now
mrt: GDrink...
Gdrink....
fight,fight,fight for your Gdrink
me: say it enough times, it seems more real. That's art, right?
mrt: can't separate it now.
it becomes life...
me: hah!
mrt: it becomes art...
me: great, I can taste gdrink already
it has some lemons in it
mrt: one of your eyes is committing treason
against our Gdrink constitution
it seems to have taken Gphetamine
our rival gang.
me: haha. I'm laughing.
glaugh
mrt: me too.
Ghaha.
me: HAHAHAHAH
mrt: haGhaGhaGha
i m so happy.
me: stop it. heheheh
me too.
I got to go now, though.
mrt: ok. you wanna ban G?
me: Someone is calling...
mrt: i have to _o too
keep in touch!
then!
me: no, let's keep G!
ok.
mrt: be _ood.
me: ok, I'll keep the g, you can do the rest
mrt: hu_s
me: g bye
g.
mrt: ni_ht!
me: :D
mrt: seize the night!
night,Sharon!

Seasonal mating

Somehow someway marriage season has descended upon me. As happy as I am for the individual persons, I wish I could be happy for them at a distance, preferably with iron-cast excuses as to why I can't attend their wedding dinners/functions/surprise parties etc etc etc. This is hell on earth for a closet agoraphobe such as me. I have to keep reminding myself: it's not about me, it's not about me, it's not about me, so grin and bear it you stupid fish!

Silence

Warm is the day
in my palm

Green is the light
in my lap

I wish I could tell you
that I love you

in colour
in heat

Like the daylight
tells me so
everyday.

(for z.)

Manifest!

Wanting:

FRANCESCO CLEMENTE
Silence, 2001-2002
Watercolor on paper
(113.7 x 112.4 cm)

But feeling:

Inside, 2001-2002
Watercolor on paper
(113 x 114.3 cm)

These beautiful works are from Francesco Clemente's 2002 exhibition of watercolors, The Book of the Sea at Gagosian Gallery, NY. Images from Gagosian Gallery.

I've just realized there are so many posts about the sea lately! Doubtless an indication Betta is firmly planted back in the raging bosom of the city.

Wave blinds

Over the weekend I watched the new Miyazaki film Ponyo On The Cliff by The Sea. Comprehension of the plot was rather stunted due to what I can only deem 'creative' subtitling. That's what you get for supporting movie piracy, Betta!

I need to watch it again, but two things stuck in my mind: One, it contains the most remarkable depiction of the sea I have ever seen on film, whether in animation or cinema. Sequences of violent waves during a raging storm were breathtaking. I can't find any screenshots of the storm online, and the only image I found of the water itself is this one, when the waves are rushing up a cliff on a calm day. I love how the waves have eyes! It conveys so perfectly that feeling of standing on the edge of a rock as a child, when the ocean reaches out it's fingers to pull you into it.


Two, the opening credits were utterly charming. Can't find a decent image of that either, except this printed handkerchief on ebay!


I've been mulling over what I want to make for this year's Art for Grabs, an art bazaar organized by Central Market Annexe Gallery in the middle of the year. I'm working on a jewelry collection, but I think I want to do that at more leisurely pace. So I was sitting in my room, and the evening sun was filtering through the light cotton blinds I have up. I thought how great it would be to have a looong wall filled with cotton blinds hung in a row, printed/dyed with an oceanscape of waves. It would be like a huge mural, only you could choose which part of it you wanted to take home with you, to hang on your wall or window. You could pick separate ones, or you could take a few in a row. And the waves would be all manner of grey, blue, green, brown, white. The blinds would be stitched together from found fabric, old bedsheets, etc....

Mmm.

Gotta go

Chong Kim Chiew, Untitled 12, 2004, Acrylic on canvas (28 x 33cm). A lovely little painting that slipped through my grasp in Valentine Willie Fine Art's Cabinet show late last year. But I bought the work of the artist who bought this work, and...uh, more on that another time. Sorry... brain farts.

At any given time... I have this feeling in me. It's only a matter of to what sort of degree. (Thanks to G. who sent the poem over)

Mostly, I believe that words are a veil... a skin over essentially the same longing, the same desires - freedom; to live at peace with the world, with other people, and with oneself:

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

- John Masefield

Housecleaning

Mom: *sudden, hysterical hoot of laughter downtairs*
Betta: WTF?
Mom: *can barely speak for the laughter*: this... hahahha... it's. It's a box of old Yee Sang!! *choked laughter* from LAST year!! Look!! *Holds up box of fully wrapped 'Premium Gold Yee Sang pack'*
Betta: O_o Keep it away from me.

(Yee Sang is a traditional Chinese salad dish reserved specially for lunar new year. The family gets together and everyone mixes the ingredients communally with their chopsticks. It includes dressings, crispy fried things, shredded vegetables and raw fish. That's why a YEAR old box of Yee Sang would be very gross.)

Quick notes on my next show

Annette Messager: 'Story of Dresses'

Are you thinking: WTF?! She just finished a show! TWO of them, in fact...

Hold on to yer' panties. I am planning a show two or three years down the line. This time it's going to be art made slow-food style. Yes, that's right, grow the grain which makes the rice which makes the noodles which... you get the idea.

Working title: Mother.

This is NOT: a show about my mother

...includes her though.

Video, drawings, tapestries, collages.

Track down my maternal grandmother before she dies.

This is about: nationality, finding roots, individuality, women, cutting ties, paternalism, power... and freedom.

Reading: Anais nin, Jose Saramago, Pramoedya Ananta Toer (I find him alot easier to read in Bahasa than Goenawan Mohammed. GM sounds beautiful in English, but the syntax in Bahasa is too sophisticated for my grasp of the language).

Looking at: Annette Messager (particularly the series 'Story of Dresses'), Sophie Calle, Vong Phaophanit.

...there are some things you can't learn from books, movies or music. You have to find them out for yourself, through experience, thinking and meditation. This will be a show made from life, not books. Books will only be the guide.

New fishbowl?

There is a beautiful park a short drive from where I live. I like to take a walk there, or if I've had one too many cookies that week, a run. Two weeks ago, on just such an occasion, I espied a house for rent along the row facing the park. Idle musing (wonder what it's like to live there) turned into vague considerations (wonder how much the rent is) morphed into mild obsession (hmm, I'm driving past the 5th time this week and the For Rent sign is STILL there) culminated in a spontaneous phone call to view the place yesterday.

And, well... it was such a pretty afternoon. I stood there looking out the front door: blown by the breeze, touched by the sun, the trees were a million types of green, their leaves the moving scales of a shimmering fish. A feeling of happiness and relaxation trickled into me like a quiet stream...

The house itself was modest, a lovely underachiever. Single story with cream walls, small rooms. It's a blank canvas, which suited fine.

Some things (like ice cream flavors) you wait and mull over, some (like love) you don't. So dear reader, I asked: how much? and coughed up a temporary deposit. The owner wants to wait a couple more days before they decide. If the stars align, I will have myself a new fishbowl! Shortly, I'll be canvasing for a housemate to swim around with. So watch this space...

Meanwhile, I'm sure you'll indulge me in a little daydreaming:

This is how pinboards should be. I love how they lean so casually against the wall. It's like a child's 'special' corner.

Goodbye forever BILLY bookcases from IKEA. Give me a motley crew of crates instead!

I often aspire to clean lines or a strongly designed space, but let's be honest, this is more like who I really am. Nothing matches, but everything is obviously much-loved.

The bathroom of the house above. It's a dream! This is the bathroom translation of the view outside the house!

All images from theselby.com

Introducing Biggie

FURTHER UPDATE (Tues, Jan 13): I lost Biggie 2 days ago. Poor fellow was suffering and we all thought it best to let him go peacefully. At last we got to the bottom of what has been ailing him ever since he emerged from the jungle: an old injury in the spinal cord, which steadily worsened, putting pressure all along his spine and nervous system. All this while we thought him so serene, hardly moving, always sitting in this hunched up position. I called him my 'Buddha cat'. And then when we got to the city I thought he was depressed because he wouldn't eat or move. But it was only because he was hurting... poor cat. I miss the little soul terribly. I had been planning our life together for at least the next few years. Ah Biggie, it was too short. Rest in peace for awhile, then be reborn and come back to me.

UPDATE: In an unexpected turn of events, Biggie is currently at the vet, hooked up to an IV drip and lingers perhaps at death's very door itself. Kind thoughts and prayers are solicited from the universe.

The trickle of posts has slowed to a drip, but that's because I have been attending to a sick cat for the better part of 3 weeks. My dear Biggie came out of the hills of Balik Pulau and I carted him home in a laundry basket to the big city. He's not been a well cat, however. It hurts the heart because I'm sure he'd be hit with all the lady cats in the neighbourhood. He's handsome, stoic, sensitive and decent. This is a little introduction to my furry ball of joy. I'll start a Biggie-related series of posts soon, with pitchers and other kitty goodness.