About three months ago, I have decided to resume my supposed passion for art. Many people have heard about it and have seen my capability to deform a building's facade, paint it with different shades of red and call it "art". I, on the other hand, has not considered this supposed "talent", really A talent. When the people in my art class last year mentioned I am cheating my way out, I told them "it's [just] called being wise". In which then, I don't think art is really my forte; being wise might be, however (but on any given time, I will prove to you I am as talented as Picasso with more use of fancy colors). Anyway, while visiting galleries downtown with two girlfriends of mine who have more knowledge of the subject, I was suddenly (yes, in the middle of the raging LA traffic) struck with the idea of getting back to my one and true love: art and frustration. It was my friend's birthday the day after (I wanted to paint her a sea escape, utilizing only colors, no indication that it is a sea escape) and so I had the chance to prove to myself once and for all, I still have the will power to mull over paint fumes and stare on my rough sketch for hours at a time. My tiny tubes of paint were discovered, hidden under piles and piles of shoe boxes under my bed; the paint brushes however, were intoxicated with paint and hard as a butterfinger bar. Such ill fated outcome to my absolute desire to reunite with my love did not stop me, however. Although after 3 hours of pouring blue paint all over the canvas (it was then passed midnight), it occured to me I was not getting anywhere. I added some flare to my brushing technique, no luck to that. I tried adding white, well, it seemed to me a desperate act. The canvas did not lie, I was as talented as my next door neighbor: she's 5 and she drew better clouds compared to when I was 5.

These days, I've wanted my passions so bad, my forceful attitude has actually pushed all of that knick and knacks away. My efforts, especially when it comes down to art, have been ineffective. Oh yes, and I do put A LOT of effort, too much perhaps that sometimes, I just end up being frustrated that I cannot finish any drawing that I start.

Take my oil pastel on paper, for example. My niece Lyca is still faceless, her arms imbalance--hair, a bunch of lines that stick up...and no, i did not intend it to be abstract.

And lets not talk about my supposed landscape here, with a kid from Banaue, looking intently at me as I draw (take a photo) him. Instead of a peaceful, breathtaking scenery of the mountains of Banaue, it ended up looking like turmoil and chaos. While the trees lack (and I mean really, really lack) details, I feel like I am back to square one (to 1st grade where I drew brocolli-like trees).

Must I go on?

As embarassing this is for me to announce to the world (or just the people who read this) that I don't "got it no more", it is more than the embarassment--I am internally struggling with this. Although telling an old high school friend I missed Mr. M, the teacher who truly pushed my buttons during my art career in high school, says a lot about my real desires to reclaim what I have had a year ago: a budding talent, the feeling of absolute frustration that had always turned into definite passion.

What can I do? Every time creativity strikes me, I am out and about pigging out on Pad thai and boba tea. Every time I have an idea or two about what to write next, I am dealing with customers who will never be happy with how their baby looks like. And most notably, every time I truly, absolutely want to paint a modern thematic art, I am nowhere near a canvas or paints.


Hmmm. I don't think I can push further (it's 1:00AM, what do you want from meee?) Like they all say: it will come to me. Indeed it will be. Maybe it'll knock on my door tomorrow. We will see. :)

Labels: art, patience, personal statement

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For they Will Always be a Figment of your Being

Labels: hooleeday, Poem

| Enemy, I don't want to be my worst enemy.


I have been forcing some creative juices into my blood--although that, too, was a seeming failure from the start, I still tried some cartwheels, a little touch up on painting 101 and all the things I could possibly imagine just to get my wonderful artsy-fartsy self, back. Well, like everything I tried to fix (in my life, lately), my willingness, and forceful disposition to be back to my creative side, failed to work. Now a days, when I am not falling asleep in Psyche 3 or pretending I am cultured in front of my Italian professor, I am out and about working with whiney kids, pulling out some random blabberings along with my friends, pigging out on food that always makes me sick, or with the one person I am currently having a love-hate relationship.

Oh, go ahead, tell me my life lacks essence and I would agree, as to why I have purposely forced creativity rather than let it happen naturally. I sure do missed my high school days. Days when my art teacher had pushed me to my limits, caused me to talk shit about him and art behind his back...those days...those days...where did they end up to, now? Although, from the start, this year has been some sort of amazing beginning for my legal, "adulthood" years, there wasn't I had ask for more than to trip back to my three-dimensional self. Yet I wanted it so much, I forced it horribly to re-enter back to my life...that I guessed "it" got scared. Maybe Josh was right, I should give it up--not only for love, but also give up trying to be my parallel self. I am sure most of us have an idea what we want to be, have an idea what we are, even though it contradicts other people's views. And well mine is that...I am more than flat, boring, and floating, oh and incapable of creating great things. But lately, it just seems to me that I am just those mentioned.

While I should know who I am by now and what I want to do in life, it seems as if I am getting pulled back 10 years and stuck with my childish ruts. Why? Aren't I too late to start discovering my "passions"? Okay, so it is not about discovering but rather having it back. Honestly, I have been selfish to myself; while I do have time to help my friends, think about my friends and their well-being, and try to do what's best for them, my "self" however, has been left here hanging, wondering, and in the end, gone, past my 6900 street. AND I WANT IT BACK, DAMN ITTTT!! I WANT YOU BACK.

This person who drinks margarita, just hangs out constantly, almost everyday damn it and not worry about anything else besides relationship dramas WAS NEVER ME. I was more than the girl who feels empty inside--I had a good head on my shoulders, I had a plan, I wanted things, I was determined not to be most kids...but now, I AM THE PERSON I DID NOT WANT TO BE, empty, shallow, and lacks culture.

This entry is my outcry for help. I thought maybe if I put down how I feel, my deepest desire in here...that I will understand and constantly be reminded THAT I WANT CHANGE. This is for me, for my own benefit...my 5 senses...or just one. I have to stop confiding in to people and maybe for once, start being real to myself and understand what's really being given up here. I do not want to be 40 someday and still bitter I wasted a good amount of my time going through life eyes wide open and nothing else--no determination, passion..NOTHING!

I want my passions for visual arts, photography, cooking and writing to be with their rightful owner: ME.
I want to grow up in the context where I own up to bigger responsibilities.
I DO NOT WANT to waste my time, my money, and energy on people who are never meant to last 4 months in my life.
I want to be a better daughter; a better worker; a better friend; a better lover; A BETTER STUDENT; a better person, period--nothing more, nothing less.



Oh. If only you really know how I feel. Frustration is not going to get the better of me this time. NOOO. NOOO. NOOO.

Labels: womanly rant

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