aftermatth_

on Vulnerability_

2009-11-24T23:52:00.003+08:00

on Lasting_

2009-11-24T16:44:00.008+08:00

~ excerpt from Choke by Chuck Palahniuk
Because when was the lasting last thing you created?

on Trigger_

2009-11-23T00:18:00.019+08:00

No, it doesn't matter. Who you are or what you do or how well or maladjusted you think you are. All you need is a simple trigger and it all comes back.

Free-falling like an avalanche.

A photograph. A song. A place. A phrase, even just a word. And it all comes back.

That sultry afternoon in the Colosseum. The Last Judgment. The Last Supper. That chilly afternoon by the Eiffel Tower. The gondola that I never took in Venice.

No matter who you are or what you do, the past always catches up with you.

Perhaps one day we will look back at scars with a certain fondness.

Perhaps one day.

on Percolation_

2009-11-20T15:12:00.009+08:00

In ZW's words, this is another of those "cannot make it" songs.

So as the rain percolates the soil,
let the music percolate the soul.

To walk on the streets again, where no one knows you, where no one cares or hurts you, just another invisible man in this damp, festive season of love and loss.

on Pandora_

2009-11-19T08:52:00.008+08:00

Oddly enough, now when you have all the time to do everything, you don't feel like doing anything.

One who goes against the grain of convention is labelled either a heretic or creative, but one who goes against the grain of truth/logic is surely a fool. Perhaps we are part-heretic, part-creative and mostly foolish.

There are things that are irrevocably lost despite our best hopes that they may return. Perhaps when you don't have courage to accept a fractured reality, we turn to the only thing left inside the Pandora's box.

Be like the flowing river,
Silent in the night.
Be not afriad of the dark.
If there are stars in the sky, reflect them back.
If there are clouds in the sky,
Remember, clouds, like the river, are water,
So, gladly reflect them too,
In you own tranquil depths.

~ Manuel Bandeira

on Repose_

2009-11-15T21:56:00.009+08:00

Repose

Rend asunder,
rue not in slumber,
ruminate in profundity,
revel in absurdity.

Remonstrate ecstasy,
run not from specters,
reminisce forgotten flutters of a wing,
and reveal my rancid reverie.

on Treasure_

2009-11-14T23:03:00.004+08:00

And treasure them. And keep them.

While it lasts.

on Battery_

2009-11-13T00:50:00.006+08:00

The body is the battery I have no time to charge.

Risk being a sloth or a train wreck.

We are the caffeinated generation drunk on social networking sites and instant messengers when we have trouble reaching out to others in reality.

2 more days.

on Goals_

2009-11-10T01:26:00.009+08:00

If you pay attention, you will notice.

Those that go through the motion, that do for the sake of doing and in the process forget about enjoying the process. Those that do for the sake of recognition and fame, maybe infamy, being different not because it expresses certain concept or ideology but mostly to stand out. Those without a mind of their own. Those with only a mind of their own. Those who do with feelings. Those who do with logic. Both.

And everyone, especially me, is guilty of some at some point of time.

I once said, be great or atrocious, just not mediocre. Forget about 中庸之道. If you can't awe them, shock them. If you can't shock them, disgust them. Behold the transgressive epoch. 21st century art is about exhibiting a shark in formaldehyde.

After all, we are artists not archaeologists, oui? What do you hope to accomplish? A materialization of radicalism? Personal breakthrough? Concepts? Techniques? Because we are greedy, let's tick all of the above and hope to impress the panel on D-Day.

Orokana ~~ningen~~ ore tachi?

on Envy/Pity_

2009-11-08T23:27:00.011+08:00

"I eat breakfast in the same diner, and this morning a man was painting the windows with Christmas designs. Snowmen. Snowflakes. Bells. Santa Claus. He stood outside on the sidewalk, painting in the freezing cold, his breath steaming, alternating brushes and rollers with different colors of paint. Inside the diner, the customers and servers watched as he layered red and white and blue paint on the outside of the big windows. Behind him the rain changed to snow, falling sideways in the wind.

The painter's hair was all different colors of gray, and his face was slack and wrinkled as the empty ass of his jeans. Between colors, he'd stop to drink something out of a paper cup.

Watching him from inside, eating eggs and toast, somebody said it was sad. This customer said the man was probably a failed artist. It was probably whiskey in the cup. He probably had a studio full of failed paintings and now made his living decorating cheesy restaurant and grocery store windows. Just sad, sad, sad.

This painter guy kept putting up the colors. All the white "snow," first. Then some fields of red and green. Then some black outlines that made the color shapes into Xmas stockings and trees.

A server walked around, pouring coffee for people, and said, "That's so neat. I wish I could do that…"

And whether we envied or pitied this guy in the cold, he kept painting. Adding details and layers of color. And I'm not sure when it happened, but at some moment he wasn't there. The pictures themselves were so rich, they filled the windows so well, the colors so bright, that the painter had left. Whether he was a failure or a hero. He'd disappeared, gone off to wherever, and all we were seeing was his work."

~ Chuck Palahniuk

Rule #10: Create art that you will want to see.

on Tragedies_

2009-11-07T02:10:00.011+08:00

"There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.”

~ Oscar Wilde

Forget about adulation and appraisal. Forget about criticism and condemnation.

Forget about those who either expect more or can't wait to see you fall.

The only thing that matters is how much faith you have in yourself.

Nankurunaisa.

on Biography_

2009-11-06T00:54:00.004+08:00

“ Everything is biographical, Lucian Freud says. What we make, why it is made, how we draw a dog, who it is we are drawn to, why we cannot forget. Everything is collage, even genetics. There is the hidden presence of others in us, even those we have known briefly. We contain them for the rest of our lives, at every border that we cross.

~from Divisadero

on Movie_

2009-11-05T11:25:00.013+08:00

To hear your voice. You handing me a tissue in that dark, dank cinema.

Don't mind us, we are just shuffling along in the turnstile of life.

For the nimble who is culpable culminates in the cumulonimbus today.

on Floe_

2009-11-04T02:45:00.023+08:00

I think I may have hypersomnia.

It feels like floating on a floe and nausea at 3am. Your stomach can't decide whether it's stuffed or starved.

I saw a dead pigeon today. There is something so precious about the limp carcass on the grass, something so stirring even when life has escaped from its body.

"It's like God's looking right at you, just for a second, and if you're careful... you can look right back."

on Paparazzi_

2009-11-02T22:40:00.003+08:00

on Transgression_

2009-11-01T23:36:00.014+08:00

Popular transgressive movies such as Fight Club (1999) and Into The Wild (2007) usually depict the protagonist breaking free of a 'normal' life and violating certain law and command.

Which strikes a chord with urbanites disillusioned with the moorings of society. Cynical of reality and skeptical of humanity, people adhere more or less to nihilism, although few will readily concede. Modernist and postmodernist art are birthed as an ultimatum against society, as a big eff-you-I-can-do-anything-I-want-and-get-away-with-it.

Our appetites for aesthetic experience are satisfied in a whirl of disparaging styles and attitudes- made in the moment for the moment and procures nothing more. There is no meaning behind action. There is no validation behind art. With freedom comes arbitrariness, which devolved into a form of structured chaos.

The glass is not half empty. It's drier than Sahara and cracked so let's get some new ones from Ikea. We want, no, need newfangled toys, call it cars or phones, but our boredom is like an ADHD child on serotonin high.

on Farce_

2009-10-31T17:15:00.009+08:00

It is a strange day of cold winds and high sun.

Behind the innocuous act of charity, of altruistic volunteering, there lies a hidden agenda.

Of course, it should come as little surprise having seen all sorts during army. Yet if there is one thing which I loathe strongly, it is the feeling of being manipulated and exploited.

Which makes you wonder: was this project a mere commercial vehicle to propagate reputation? Are we just pawns and foot soldiers to begin with, readily used and discarded?

Were the kids a main consideration or a farce for the cameras and limelight?

on Estrangement_

2009-10-30T12:05:00.030+08:00

Have you considered that art-making is dehumanizing? The drawback in art creation is to risk estrangement from reality, humanity and sanity.

Shut yourself deeper. Into make-believe. Into creation and destruction. Into the solitude of imagination that you understand best and understands you best. Nothing or no one can hurt you. Break the rules. Push the envelope. Those who could not comprehend you are deemed ignoble.

Does art resolve anxiety? The condition of loneliness? Does art offer salvation? Distract you enough from pain? From problems?

Is there a point when your art reaches out to the masses and you are insufferably lonely?

on Necessary Evils_

2009-10-28T23:18:00.008+08:00

Let's theorize for a moment and consider this thought experiment.

You're driving a train through a tunnel, and something went horribly wrong with the brakes. You can A) do nothing about it and kill the hundred people on board or B) swerve to another track and kill 2 coalmine workers in the process. What will you do?

Will you kill 1 person to save 2? Do you believe in necessary evils?

"If you choose the lesser of two evils, you have chosen evil."

on Undone_

2009-10-26T19:06:00.013+08:00

Give it a few years and names, my name, is but a distant toll.

The elegy of the sunshine leaves its warm afterglow.

For we were meant to come undone.

ARTicle 23_

2009-10-26T17:28:00.002+08:00

"The Weight of Glory"
Medium: Oil on wooden board.

on No. 14_

2009-10-25T18:32:00.009+08:00

Mark Rothko, "No. 14"

To paraphrase The Black Swan, people remember the heroes who gave up their lives in a war. No one remembers the heroes who prevented it.

Sometimes, the greatest stories are the ones that are never told.

on Denigration_

2009-10-24T21:09:00.009+08:00

If our creativity stems from emboldened imagination, then our hypocrisy must come from emboldened phoniness.

Sometimes when I think human deportation is appalling, I should beware that in categorizing or alienating the shallow and callow, am I not shallow and callow too? One who hates phoniness a lot tends to be rather phony a la Holden Caulfield. Fancy schmancy covers a lot of ground. At the end of the day, dazzle them with eloquent and bombastic BS and they are floored. It's easier to cover up than to admit. It's easier to admit than doing something about it.

Subtlety and prudence are no longer appreciated in this day.

One who denigrates good will doesn't deserve any.

on Wilderness_

2009-10-24T00:17:00.012+08:00

The wilderness was ours. The beasts were ours.

In their stead, we have the concrete jungle, the mechanical beasts, so we plant a tree or two, have some kois in a 50 by 50 cm pond and wallpaper our room with a floral design. We are thankful for the air-conditioner that gives us respite from the sweltering heat, and yet such consumption of energy is precisely what exacerbates global warming.

We reconstruct a faux sense of nature when our milieu is anything but natural anymore. We are the generation that robs our progeny of the wilderness and the beasts, that deprives them just so to sustain ourselves.

on Pseudonym_

2009-10-21T22:46:00.006+08:00

Forget the person who paints but remember the painting, forget the person who writes but remember the quote.

You can't remember the artist who goes by a pseudonym. Could you feel his life vibrating though the strokes in the drapery or the shoes, still remember the weight of glory?

Did you remember that despite all odds he carved out a life that matters?

on Anteroom_

2009-10-20T22:53:00.010+08:00

In the anteroom, I lay awake taking stock of the cavernous glass ceiling with my mind shuttling to an exciting faraway continent.

Getaway.

I sipped the double chocolate coffee I bought, hoping to find a crumb of comfort. Ink and paper are quite a marriage in heaven.

Solace.

Perhaps there are a roomful of people waiting for their flight, uncertain where they are headed or when they are getting there. I could hear none of the banter, only the quiet murmur of the heart.

Be.

Be.

on Forgiveness_

2009-10-18T15:02:00.010+08:00

"If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility."
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This marks my 200th entry. Thanks to Alle for sharing this video.

on Insight_

2009-10-18T02:15:00.013+08:00

To paint like our lives depend on it, it's apparent that we do not bring art to life, but rather art brings us to life.

Some like the sound of brushes swirling in turpentine.

I prefer the sound my cupboard makes when the sides are propped up.

on Boomz_

2009-10-17T01:07:00.003+08:00

In life, when the bad outweighs the good, when you give more than you take, it's curtain call.

Exeunt.

Perhaps the reason why I perambulate elliptically is that deep down, I could no longer allow anyone in anymore. When you can't afford to lose, you will rather not wager.

So instead there's this barricade now, a nice cocoon to rest the head and cushion any fall.

Boomz.

on Dance_

2009-10-15T00:40:00.006+08:00

My friend, this is dedicated to you.

I hope you dance. Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance.

ARTicle 22_

2009-10-14T00:34:00.002+08:00

A self portrait for school assignment.
Mixed Medium.

on Perception_

2009-10-13T23:52:00.015+08:00

Although artists tend to pride themselves for their astute observation and perception, we are still human, and everything that is human is doubtlessly flawed.

Even when an art teacher sees his work as abstract whirls and circles, I see a reclining buddha on top of temple roofs. There is your view, my view, and everyone else. Just because I analyze or interpret an artwork to the nth degree doesn't always make me more erudite than the lay person. Worst still, to assume that your view is the best or most holistic is nothing short of protracted hubris. Unlike math, interpretation is never absolute.

Case in point: Did you realize the photo is actually inverted?

on Matters_

2009-10-13T00:07:00.008+08:00

Continue on the path that you sought out to take.

Don't. Ever. Stop.

Not for the likes of me or anyone. Live for yourself. Disregard everything else that brings you down.

The present is the only thing that is real, that matters, that is worth living for. Even if it hurts, still hurts, I choose to believe.

:']

on Mustard Seed_

2009-10-10T22:27:00.013+08:00

Hey Jude, take time to realize:

北风毫不留情，把叶子吹落.

变质的爱，心被活埋，深受到感慨。

生命的同花顺，底牌没有你或别人。

***
Dear friend, thanks for your wonderful help today. I can't imagine doing the project without assistance, really appreciate you coming all the way over.

Dear God, thanks for clearing the skies and giving us a wonderful weather.

A faith with the size of a mustard seed. That's all you need to move mountains.

on Thirst_

2009-10-10T09:29:00.004+08:00

"If the one who hates you is thirsty, give him water to drink."

-Proverbs 25:21

on Sunshine_

2009-10-09T23:14:00.004+08:00

The sun always shines. In the middle of a thunderstorm or the ebony of night, you can bet someone, somewhere in another part of the world is staring at the sun and feeling its warmth.

on Drumbeat_

2009-10-09T21:57:00.018+08:00

March to the beat of a drum which only you can hear. Everything else that do not matter will gradually fade into the oblivion of the night.

ARTicle 21_

2009-10-08T16:44:00.002+08:00

"Titus in Shadow"
Medium: Oil on wood panel

Finally, some long overdue artwork.

on Windfall_

2009-10-06T23:11:00.018+08:00

Oil as a medium continues to befuddle the amateur hands. There are many occasions where despite your best intentions, the brush actually removes the paint beneath rather than coat it. For the past seven weeks, I regarded most of my works with this gnawing contempt that they are unnervingly sub-par.

True, they qualify as works of labour but works of love?

But something within snapped: I start to let go. No longer do I agonize about exact, anal-retentive details, but the overall structure. Details qualify as naught if there is no form. The price of detachment is caring lesser but also liberating the hand, eye and mind. As horrifying as the prospect sounds, I became a lesser perfectionist but rather a realist who has come to terms with my imperfect reality and human condition.

Thank God that for the first time in weeks I actually enjoyed oil painting.

"In life you can absolutely count on one thing, - everything can turn around in one day, in one minute sometimes. Don't you dare to give up, - you might be a moment away from a windfall."

on Confidante_

2009-10-06T00:51:00.008+08:00

Here we are again, with a fatigued mind and an equally spent body, our hands hovering over the keys, hammering away, sometimes furious, sometimes hesitant.

Tappity tappity tap.

Type a sentence, reread it and if we like it enough it stays. Or else, highlight it and press backspace/delete; just like that, paragraphs that never saw the light of the day gone in a heartbeat.

In our quietest moments, we seek solace in the confidante that is the internet, hoping that maybe someone, somewhere, is reading this very line behind a screen.

on Boat_

2009-10-04T23:50:00.009+08:00

Perhaps one day the boat will be tethered to the port again. For now, it is detached and adrift in its own tide, sailing far to sea. Soon, it will be a white blip that melds with the horizon, on a wild odyssey that promises everything and guarantees none.

Yet in the face of wretched calamity, there will be a deep sense of serenity and silence. The boat's name?

Titus III.

on Self-Portrait with Vanitas Symbols_

2009-10-04T15:26:00.014+08:00

Was reading Self-portraits by the publisher Taschen and I came across this gem by Dutch artist David Bailly. Amazing techniques aside, this is an arresting self-portrait because of its choice of repertoire of still life and numerous paintings.

The old man in the oval looked like a severely aged version of the painter, which on closer inspection resembled the monotonous rendition pinned on the wall (notice how its gaze is directed back at the artist), and also the man playing the instrument (its gaze directed heavenward). The women in the oval is his wife and altogether, they form an oval composition which parallel the oval palette hanging on the wall.

There are direct and nuanced allusions to mortality and the ephemeral quality of life. The skull, a memento mori, and the hourglass are common fixtures in such paintings. The roses in bloom, beautiful albeit dying, echo our mortal predicament. A wisp of smoke from the candle indicates its 'life' was just extinguished. The glittering coins and pearl necklace remind us of the riches which we cannot bring away from this world. Three surreal bubbles hover daintily over the still life, promising to burst any second now.

And then it hit me. The fifth self-portrait tucked in the shadows behind the glass. Invisible to the cursory glance, a portrait- composed from the shadows and texture of the wall- gaze with a certain resignation at the virile male statue and roses in bloom, with one eye through the (looking) glass so to speak. It is interesting to note that the artist painted this when he was 67, clearly not in the younger form depicted, but with hindsight and a clarity of an impending fate that awaits all men.

What a wonderful self-portrait, what a wonderful tribute to human mortality.

on I am_

2009-10-03T00:40:00.006+08:00

I am the cosmic matter that bears witness to the splendid moonrise in the infinite space.

I am the ashen smoke that escapes from the mouth, here for a few seconds then gone and (dis)integrating into the atmosphere.

I am the embryo in the mother's womb, safe and secure from external flux.

I am the play of light and darkness, the amalgam of transience and eternity.

on 呼，吸_

2009-10-02T15:56:00.005+08:00

Decide to have a great day and go have one.

Take yourself out for a walk.
Read that book you wanted to.
Catch up with friends.
Treat yourself to ice cream.
Do art for art's sake.
Make peace with yourself.
Do all of the above.

But most importantly, remember to breathe.

Exhale all your residual breath then inhale till your lungs feel like they are bursting. It's called 呼，吸.

要先呼才能吸。要先张开手心才能捉住幸福。

on Mystery_

2009-10-02T00:36:00.005+08:00

Perhaps there is no stock answer to the secret to art, the universe, life, and God. The onus lies in your mettle to arrive at an answer that makes sense to you, and only you.

"I realized it for the first time in my life: there is nothing but mystery in the world, how it hides behind the fabric of our poor, browbeat days, shining brightly, and we don’t even know it."

— Sue Monk Kidd

on Will_

2009-10-01T00:49:00.004+08:00

Possess not only the will to live, but above all, the will to love life.

The fog has lifted and it's so stunningly bright.

Art does not merely illustrate life. It is a part of life and we are all invited.

on Self-pity_

2009-09-30T00:49:00.006+08:00

“Laugh at yourself and at life. Not in the spirit of derision or whining self-pity, but as a remedy, a miracle drug, that will ease your pain, cure your depression, and help you to put in perspective that seemingly terrible defeat and worry with laughter at your predicaments, thus freeing your mind to think clearly toward the solution that is certain to come. Never take yourself too seriously.”

-Og Mandino

At the end of the day, we simply choose. Be the victor or the victim of circumstance.

Pay no heed to the fowler's snare. This is my life and it's a life worth living!

on Productivity_

2009-09-29T00:24:00.005+08:00

Can't remember the last time I was productive in school. Art is about passion but also going with your feeling, your spirit so to speak. Finally something is changing.

As I walked home, I can't help but to smile to myself. It's so great to make peace with God and myself after such a long time.

:]

on Transience_

2009-09-27T22:28:00.006+08:00

And so He deposited the word as I sat in the pews: Know this too, my child, that suffering is not forever. Nothing of this world is. For this too will come to pass.

Will you tell me then, "Well-done, good and faithful servant!" when my earthly chores are done?

***

Make peace with your self.

Make peace with your self.

Make peace with your self.

on ♥_

2009-09-27T01:55:00.016+08:00

How do you know that you're loved?

If you still wake up tomorrow, it's because life loves you. You're given another chance to continue unfinished matters. To start something which you haven't. To make amends. To correct wrongs.

And if you don't wake up tomorrow, then God must love you even more to take you home.

Anyone remembers this old song? For some reason, it keeps replaying in my head tonight.

♥

to Dear Friends_

2009-09-27T00:54:00.017+08:00

Dear friend,

Heard that you have some back and eye issues. May you get well soon. You're a lovable child of God. May He bless and heal you soon.

***
Dear friend,

I am sorry about what I said about grades. I understand you're second-guessing yourself and your choices. Just keep at it and it will be fine! You once told me that friends should share burdens and problems. I'll be here for you if you want to share your ups and downs. Sometimes it's easier to be stoic and strong, but most of the times it's not. Always remember: we're here for you.

***
Dear friend,

I do agree with you. My blog is getting way emo. So is my life. But I avow to pick up the pieces even if it takes forever. Thanks for your words of encouragement, and no, I am not angry at you. Some think you're loud but you brighten up people's lives. Never stop being chirpy.

***
Dear friend,

Some people take a transatlantic flight that is 20 hours, some take supersonic jets. What happens when you're not there yet? You just have to keep walking till you reach your destination. We can go to sleep on a train or a plane and wake up in a different part of world and not bat an eyelid. If only we have more faith in ourselves. Life is always about the journey.

I will get there. If not now, then eventually.

***
Dear friend,

Groups dynamics change all the time. I will know, right? It must be difficult when the people whom you were close to are not as close anymore. But at least it's for a good cause. You should be happy for them. If you need to hang out with anyone, always feel free to talk/hang out, okay?

PS: It's great to make peace with the world, but better to make peace with yourself.

Yours sincerely,
le matt

on Answer_

2009-09-26T17:41:00.013+08:00

The answer is simple.

Embrace thyself. Embrace who you are meant to be. Like the wind in the valley, like the messiah in the golden fields, this shall be your destiny.

***
"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

on Photorealism_

2009-09-25T23:41:00.007+08:00

"As a style, Photorealism has a few detractors, who often dismiss it as pointless, or non-art. They fail to realize that many photorealistic paintings are not mere copies of photographs, but interpretations of reality based on the artist's vision. The act of merely copying a photograph has no artistic merit except to hone one's artistic skills...

Often, the artist's deviation from the reference material is unconscious. Despite my best efforts, my own unconscious stylization creeps into all of my work, and it is a struggle to keep it subdued.

Photographic reference is almost always used as a guide by photorealists, but becomes less necessary as an artist gains proficiency, and understanding of the elements of photorealism. While reading the list of the elements of realism, consider that no other artistic style demands so much of an artist. Photorealism is by far, the most difficult artistic style to master."

-quoted from Blair Art Studios

To all artists who insist there is no point in replicating a photograph immaculately, the crux of the question should be: Could you?

on Deserve_

2009-09-25T23:31:00.008+08:00

Tu non meriti una persona come me.

The term 'forever' is really a misnomer- at best, it means the time one stops breathing, never mind who or what's left behind.

Living and bearing what isn't easy, self-afflicted or otherwise is what truly defines the human stain.

Thank God for great friends- the best balm to soothe a broken heart.

on Pearl_

2009-09-24T15:33:00.013+08:00

"A pearl is a beautiful thing that is produced by an injured life. It is the tear [that results] from the injury of the oyster. The treasure of our being in this world is also produced by an injured life. If we had not been wounded, if we had not been injured, then we will not produce the pearl."

-Stephan Hoeller

Practiced the fasting of thoughts but failed. Unremitting thoughts make self-destructive maudlinness. There's a need to do something drastic to snap out of an impoverished psyche and a crippled mind.

I can feel my sanity unravel.

Life at its core is about struggling and coming to terms with it. Behind every redemption and salvation is a tenacious struggle. With life. With death. The feeble bows out early from the game.

Let's throw down the gauntlet, Matt. Level with me here, this is what's left of your sanity speaking. You're a survivor. Your family and friends care about you and your state of being. If you don't get your effing act together, you are obliterating yourself and everything that you have fought so hard for.

You've squandered yourself. You've squandered the emotions of everyone who cares for you.

Are you content to live like this?

To die like this?

2009-09-23T15:54:00.011+08:00

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?

on Universal_

2009-09-22T17:21:00.011+08:00

It doesn't matter that you cry in French, German, or English. All tears whisper the same universal language.

on Ecclesiastes_

2009-09-22T00:46:00.008+08:00

Light is sweet,
and it pleases the eyes to see the sun.

However many years a man may live,
let him enjoy them all.
But let him remember the days of darkness,
for they will be many.
Everything to come is meaningless.

Be happy, young man, while you are young,
and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth.
Follow the ways of your heart
and whatever your eyes see,
but know that for all these things
God will bring you to judgment.

So then, banish anxiety from your heart
and cast off the troubles of your body,
for youth and vigor are meaningless.

-Ecc 11:7-10

on Everything_

2009-09-20T15:03:00.025+08:00

And sorry for everything else.

on Journey_

2009-09-15T23:55:00.021+08:00

Time to pack my bag and lose my way and find it all over again. We are intrepid travelers on one heck of a journey. It's okay to venture into uncharted waters, take a detour if you may.

It's okay to take a stab at life. It's even alright to lose ourselves and lose it all.

But more importantly, where are you headed at the end?

Life is not how fast you run, but how far.

on Over_

2009-09-15T17:11:00.007+08:00

If you were him, what will you do, who will you call, what will you say?

on Raison d'être_

2009-09-12T03:04:00.018+08:00

I love that feeling of walking through the downpour today, feeling vulnerable and small but utterly alive. How great is it to be alive, to pursue the perfection I will never attain; to chase after dreams of post-youth.

Matt, never, never throw it away.

:]

on Synchronicity_

2009-09-10T00:19:00.012+08:00

In doing art, there are times when you feel a synchronicity- an experience best described as a connection that flows through your being via your tool and unto your work. This occurs when you let loose preconceived inhibitions and allow the artwork to communicate with the soul. Piet Mondrian maintained that the artist is essentially nothing but a mere channel, which is humbling but true.

Synchronicity should come off as instinctive and common, but unbeknown to us we fight it with our conscious and rarefied intellect. The more rational or logical you reckon, the worse it becomes. What occurs at least from personal experience is when I decide to pay no heed to the brush/artwork but only my tempest of a mind.

Robert Motherwell said it best, "In the brush doing what's it doing, it will stumble on what one couldn't do by oneself." Today was yet another lesson that illuminates the lesson of trying too hard and failing even harder. Yet again, I tried to rationalize my art approach. My main poison comes not so much from an overt ambition but lacking the fundamental wisdom to 'go with the flow'.

Effort is not necessarily proportionate to success, and there is such as thing as trying too hard- overworking and missing the mark. Note to self: the right amount of strength will propel the catapult successfully, nothing more or less.

on P.S. Guess What?_

2009-09-06T20:57:00.022+08:00

I am hardly a huge fan of the sappy romance or romcom genre- which self-respecting guy is?- but the premise of a dead husband writing to his wife was intriguing enough for me to watch on a lazy Sunday afternoon. And by lazy, I mean myself.

In retrospect it wasn't as moving as I thought it will be. Perhaps this is the cardinal novel-is-better-than-movie syndrome that plaques most adaptations. Here are some lines nonetheless that I liked.

"...You said you wanted me to fall in love again, and maybe one day I will. But there are all kinds of love out there. This is my one and only life, and its a great and terrible and short and endless thing, and none of us come out of it alive."

"So now, all alone or not, you gotta walk ahead. Thing to remember is if we're all alone, then we're all together in that too. It helps me sometimes."

P.S. Look up Ephesians 4:31-32. Only if you want. :]

on Night Run_

2009-09-03T23:04:00.015+08:00

She was resting on the park bench, head on her handbag listening to muffled music from her cell phone. I can't quite make out the language. English? Mandarin? It was 10.30pm and she looked unmistakably forlorn. The park was deserted save for a group of teenagers huddling around the exercise equipment. There were no lovers making out for a change- probably due to the lunar seventh month.

It was great to not pay heed to time. I ran, sprinted, jogged and ambled, just letting the endorphins do their job. My running mantra is simple enough: Run till your sides ache and run some more. Run till your shoulders are glistening with sweat and run some more. Two women, then a man, passed by. I was doing my eighth or ninth round when I espied her standing up with her arms crossed. As I rounded the band, she approached.

*in Mandarin* "So do you jog here every night?"
*catching my breath* "No, just feel like jogging tonight."
"So, how many rounds have you ran?"
"Many."

By this time I had a good look at her- a Chinese national, about five years my senior.

"So do you play badminton? I am looking for someone to accompany me to play badminton."

I could be imagining it but I heard a more audible stress on the word "accompany". In all honesty, I did play badminton but the last time I held a racket was more than a year ago. I am not sure about you but randomly approaching a stranger to accompany you to play any sport is highly suspect, if not plain weird.

"No, I don't quite play badminton. Sorry."

If her face was momentarily crestfallen, I didn't see it. For by then I was already on my way, catching the wind.

on Regrets_

2009-08-30T19:17:00.009+08:00

A life with no regrets is one that has never been lived.

Everyone errs. Everyone once hurt someone they treasure and love. Is there a "I'm sorry." you wished you had said? Is there a "Thank you for being my mother/father/sister/brother/friend." that should have been said ages ago?

Or did you wait for the rosy spring to melt into the frigid winter and missing your chance for good?

Death itself is hardly fearful. What's truly fearful is our regrets at the end of the journey, knowing we could but did not make the difference.

残念な。

on 友達_

2009-08-28T12:17:00.005+08:00

Finally, a non-emo song. :]

on Break_

2009-08-27T23:42:00.010+08:00

When the madness of this world seems to encroach and envelope you; when the burden of the world seems to be break your shoulders, remember: we are no Atlas, we are merely finite humans.

Learn to take a break from ourselves for ourselves.

Today's lesson: Learn to put down what you can't bear.

As you look up at the sky with overflowing reverie, what is it that the sky is contemplating?

on Leaves_

2009-08-25T18:29:00.004+08:00

"Leaves are wings that can't fly. Wings are leaves that have fallen unto the skies.

Loneliness is one person's revelry. Revelry is the crowd's loneliness."

on Saying_

2009-08-24T23:38:00.012+08:00

I always imagine the day I can take all your hands and shake them and say, "It's okay, it's going to be okay. We're all going to be okay and it's finally over."

~~StitchPOMOTarotCardB612BBQChickenWingsPanadolPillsChickenPieBotakJonesEurope.~~

on Chemical Reaction_

2009-08-24T22:21:00.015+08:00

No two people can interact closely and come off retaining their former selves. A part of me is lost and traded off to gain a portion of your essence. Such is the irrevocable rule of chemical reaction and indeed life.

One can't helped but to doubt how much of our character, constantly bombarded by new elements and thus evolving, truly belongs to our original essence. The character which we pride ourselves upon is really a result of various interactions, compounded from here, there, everywhere... a phenomenon known as "rubbing off on" someone.

A part of who we are is unwittingly transferred and converted from one body to another- akin to the conservation of energy- even long after our physical bodies die. Just as the philosophy of Plato or Nietzsche lives on after their deaths, it is in the same vein how the dead is immortalized in the living.

on Equality_

2009-08-23T22:55:00.016+08:00

Are all men created equal?

There is a popular saying that everyone is equal before God's eyes. This to me merely means everyone is judged equally. Indeed, to go so far as to venture that everyone was made equal is not only a suspense of logic but also a suspense of faith.

It is disparaging to imagine that a perfectly healthy and virile body is 'equal' to one with physical defects. Or the wealthy and powerful has any common denominator with the destitute and enslaved. Perhaps the term 'equal' here is ambiguous.

A close friend believes that everyone is made equally. Where you lack in height, you make up with agility. In essence, our core makeup of flaws and strengths will negate and balance itself so everyone is equal in that sense.

If one believes in Creationism, it is reassuring to entertain the notion that everyone is made equal, that there is no preferential treatment. However, the only thing that God imbues in everyone equally is the ability to choose; a free will. Even if one possesses close to zero faculty of thought, our free will still manifests itself.

The beauty in human betterment lies in the fact that we are never equal, but constantly striving to surpass ourselves and one another.

on Park_

2009-08-23T01:42:00.008+08:00

One does not need to visit the savannah or a safari to see the circle of life in motion. A visit to East Coast Park duly suffices. As a matter of fact, what one witnesses if he chooses to see could be far more splendid than a pride of African lions hunting.

From tentative steps of learning to cycle/rollerblade to effortless gliding at mind-numbing speeds, the park is nothing short of a great congregation of interaction regardless of age, class or occupation. This is the coalescing of humanity stripped of all unnecessary societal or self-imposed constructs.

The park is human intellect and rationality 'debased' to pure fight-or-flight instinct; a survival of the fastest, nimble and able-bodied.

on Kite_

2009-08-23T01:33:00.007+08:00

Many analogies about kite-flying abound with regard to human relationships. I like to see it however as a tussle between will and intellect. Eddied by circumstance, our will is volatile- soaring and dipping, never ceasing to wrestle away from our hands. or intellect in this case.

And yet the kite must surely know that once freed of all restraints, it will surely spiral wildly before its ineluctable plummet. Indeed, without the temperance of intellect, our boisterous and tempestuous will could only culminate into self-indulgent negligence and destruction.

on 24_

2009-08-10T01:40:00.010+08:00

"We have done our best, God will do the rest.
God has done His best thus now we can rest."

Thank you for the cross. Thank you for creating and loving me. Forgive me, oh Lord, for all my sins and iniquities.

on Good versus Evil_

2009-08-09T23:51:00.014+08:00

To simply ascribe Man's heinous acts as bestial is a direct insult to animals, for they hunt and kill out of necessity, never massacring thousands or even millions to satisfy certain twisted ends.

Indeed, if we were to examine the human condition closely, humans are the only living incarnate to afflict suffering on a deliberate and perverse basis.

It is easy to put forth that the "good versus bad" morals are in a constant state of flux, ever evolving to meet certain socio-political climate. GK Chesterton said, "Men do not differ much about what things they will call evils; they differ enormously about what evils they will call excusable."

The volatile and subjective nature of which Man defines as excusable evil becomes thus a logical fallacy. For example, killing someone is an inexcusable crime, but killing oneself is usually a sorrowful, pitiful affair. In essence, both involve the taking of a life.

Society keeps people in check but society itself is not a firm yardstick for humanity. What it does best is deterrence- the usage of fear to keep people from running amok and say, plundering or murdering others.

If you commit a crime, you get a sentence and go to jail. If you are law-abiding but harbor thoughts of plundering and murdering, nothing happens to you if you do not act out your desires. Society thus keeps action in check, not thought which you will agree is infinitely more dangerous.

There is however an elegant solution to it. Any guesses?

on Permanent_

2009-08-05T01:13:00.009+08:00

"This song was written for David's brother, Adam Cook, who passed away on Sunday, May 2, 2009 (age 37). He battled brain cancer for 11 years before his passing."

on Tedium of Thought_

2009-08-04T22:07:00.013+08:00

Some days we have to remind ourselves to breathe. Realize that this path, that life in itself, is a tumultuous struggle.

A while ago, I was still musing about the maxim: knowledge is power. Schopenhauer wrote that it is remarkable that with the mere addition of thought, humans amplify their pleasure and pain when deep down, we are concerned with the same animal needs such as food and shelter.

We intensify our needs so as to intensify our pleasure, and therefore pain. While animals are concerned with momentary gratification, we concern ourselves with anxiety and hope. Alas, emotional/spiritual pain originates from the faculty of thought- reflection and introspection.

Therefore, knowledge is not only power, but also a crushing source of discontent. This is further corroborated in the book of Ecclesiastes.

"Then I applied myself to the understanding of wisdom, and also of madness and folly, but I learned that this, too, is a chasing after the wind. For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief."

-Ecc 1:17-18

on Cope_

2009-08-04T00:58:00.003+08:00

Some of us laugh, some of us cry,
Some of us smoke, some of us lie,
But it's all just the way that we cope with our lives.

ARTicle 20_

2009-08-03T03:10:00.003+08:00

"Carte Blanche"

Charcoal practise, 3hrs+. Was trying out a structural approach to shading inspired by Henry Yan. Thanks to J for lending me her book!

on 脚本_

2009-08-01T11:25:00.011+08:00

东风夜放花千树，
更吹落，星如雨。
宝马雕车香满路。
凤箫声动，玉壶光转，
一夜鱼龙舞。

蛾儿雪柳黄金缕，
笑语盈盈暗香去。
众里寻他千百度，
蓦然回首，那人却在，
灯火阑珊处。

—— 辛弃疾

on Stasis_

2009-07-31T01:08:00.018+08:00

If everyone draws or paints in the same way, what is the point of technical excellence? What is the point of aesthetic beauty? It is as interesting as watching paint dry.

Are we producing clones, factories or artists?

What is the worst thing to happen to an artist?

Say you discover a new way of painting apples and people buy your pieces. You achieve prestige and wealth. Here's the dilemma: Change your style and lose your patrons, or be condemned to painting apples in the same style all your life.

Let's play guess the artist.

a)

b)

I never aspire to be the best. Who is the best artist in the world? There simply isn't such a thing.

Greatness, however, is different. There are no shortcuts to great art or artists.

Answers: a) Picasso b) Dali

on Volition_

2009-07-30T09:40:00.010+08:00

A man got to do what he has to do.

Follow through.

Keep walking. And never go back to Erebus.

on Talent_

2009-07-29T22:25:00.016+08:00

Let's talk about talent.

"He has talent. She is talented."

Personally, the term has been cheapened and turned to a mockery, overused and overrated. We look at brilliant artists and what is our first instinctive reaction? They are freaks of nature.

We oft neglect and discount the diligence, the fastidious dedication to their craft. No one is born with a silver brush in their mouth. Perhaps one could be predisposed to artistic inclinations. But to merely mention that a person is talented- even if he really is- is to severely undermine the countless years of blood and toil.

It also helps that classical painters or sculptors have no advent of Facebook, Blogger, YouTube or whatever vices to siphon their precious time. They can't simply take five and go post a tweet.

And perhaps it's better that way.

on Uncertainty_

2009-07-28T00:14:00.018+08:00

To immerse one's soul entirely into art is undoubtedly the highest form of catharsis. And to transfer pain to paper is pure divinity.

***
In other news, I am genuinely surprised today that I could still recall Newton's First and Second Laws! Which reminds me of Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, one of my favourites.

It states that if you determine the exact position, X, of a particle, then you cannot determine its exact momentum, P. If you determine its exact momentum, then you are basically clueless where the hell it is. Maybe some equations will make things clearer.

And you wonder why I left engineering?

on Aquarium_

2009-07-26T12:35:00.002+08:00

Footage: Jon Rawlinson
Music: Barcelona - "Please Don't Go"

Full-view is a must.

ARTicle 19_

2009-07-25T15:00:00.002+08:00

"Take Your Place"

Left: Paris, 26 June 2009
Right: Singapore, 24 July 2009

on Black_

2009-07-22T21:26:00.003+08:00

Thanks to A, my digital arts teacher who first showed this at a workshop.

on Dubito, ergo sum_

2009-07-19T16:53:00.013+08:00

I just had a chilling dream. But let's digress for a bit.

Hearken back to Zhuang-zi's famous grapple with identity: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming I am a man?"

Go back to Descartes and his famous "Cogito, ergo sum." I think, therefore I am. After all, how do we know anything at all? How could we even know whether anything exists at all?

You see, the elegant solution in Descartes' doubt in existence lies in the basis of doubt itself. For him to doubt his own existence, there must be a doubter. In other words, Descartes could not doubt the fact he exists because he is able to doubt.

For Zhuang-zi's problem, lets apply what C S Lewis wrote in The Weight of Glory, which is really an extension of Descartes'.

How to differentiate whether we are dreaming or being awake? Simply put, if we are truly dreaming, there is no awareness of being awake. When we are awake, there is an awareness of us dreaming and being awake.

So what Zhuang-zi should really ask himself is not so much whether he is a butterfly or a man, but in which state (organism) does he both possess the consciousness of being awake and dreaming. That's the Zhuang-zi that exists.

Back to my dream. I dreamed I was a young boy and there was a school bully. He was taunting and leering at me, so I lost it and took a swig at him. He keeled over and hit his head against a metal rod, slicing the hemisphere of his cranium off. His head was turned away from my aghast face so i could not see the cross-sectional of the head, but only the decapitated appendage. Copious amounts of blood poured forth. I screamed but there was no sound. As a matter of fact, the whole sequence was strangely a silent affair.

It doesn't take Freud to explain this dream to even myself.

ARTicle 18_

2009-07-18T21:31:00.007+08:00

Was intrigued at how the statues reflect all those ambient greens. This is one of the figures at Musée Rodin (Paris).

"Rodin Fever"
Tools: Mixed medium

And oh, check out lematt.posterous.com. It's le matt without the verbose, melancholic bull that he shoots on blogspot. So now you can choose: win-win!

on Battle_

2009-07-17T11:16:00.004+08:00

Day 4 of battling this tenacious fever. At least the medication is suppressing the temperature. It's still above normal temp but not much. If I could still compose a coherent post, that shows I am not delirious yet. Down, but not out.

Conquer this fever. Cast it out and castigate it.

He already paid the ransom. And by His stripes we are healed.

on Mortality _

2009-07-16T22:04:00.011+08:00

'A man's spirit sustains him in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?'

-Proverbs 18:14

Third day of fever: your mind just feels like about to cave in. You are all woozy and your temples pound. The fever sears, and you feel your dendrites burning away. The world shifts beneath you. You look at your palms and they feel strangely foreign. "This is my hand?" you wondered.

The truly scary aspect of life is not how vulnerable we all are. But in forgetting that we are not going to be on this world forever.

There is one way however to be immortal. Become the stories that you tell. Leave your legacy; your lifework in people's hearts. We only become sorely missed when we are gone. Art appreciates when the artist dies.

***
"Remember those posters that said, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life"? Well, that's true of every day but one - the day you die."

-Lester Burnham, American Beauty

on Donnie Darko_

2009-07-13T13:12:00.008+08:00

Some films haunt you like a tenacious specter long after viewing; like residual sensations in a phantom limb. These films leave you flummoxed, wanting more, and we in vain try our best to mollify an unreachable itch.

There are so many movies and anime that- what's that polite word- mess with the mind. They sledgehammer both sense and logic, but often end up either too convoluted or trite.

Donnie Darko however was sheer amazing.

on Vicissitudes_

2009-07-10T23:25:00.025+08:00

We were and still are survivors. This is but one of the vicissitudes of life.

Fooled me once, shame on you. Fooled me dozens of times, well, I must be addicted.

The key to lying well is to tell the truth paradoxically. People doubt when you are honest to God anyway, and who could you blame really? Alas, we are all cynics.

It is incredibly self-pompous to believe that one could be the light or save anyone's soul. Only the Lord saves. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

If only vanquishing such cancerous nostalgia was easier, but it has proven to be herculean hitherto.

We are too hard on ourselves. We self-flagellate too much. Please be kind to yourself. More.

I'm a writer, an artist, but above all, a storyteller.

And this is my harrowing tale.

on Reckoning_

2009-07-09T00:08:00.008+08:00

How could you swallow this mediocrity that's spat upon your face? This feeling that's engulfing you is screaming: have you been so caught up in the fray that you have forgotten?

Have you forgotten your raison d'être?

Here's the irony: if we never lose ourselves, how could we find ourselves? But what happens when you find yourself? Then what next? It's all over when an artist finds himself. Familiarity breeds contempt.

It's a good time to die for your art, but where's the challenge in that? Living for your craft, now that takes some brass tacks. Finding excuses for your dearth of skills and doing what you're great in ad nauseum is certainly easier than going for broke.

This July, go for broke. And leave the cow manure out this time.

on Princes & Paupers_

2009-07-08T12:18:00.014+08:00

One couldn't tell for sure whether it was jet lag but it definitely qualified as surreal, almost akin to an out-of-body experience. It felt like I wasn't there physically, merely staring through a looking-glass. Perhaps the mind was too awestruck to react. It's one of those panoramic, slow-panning shots in the movies with the Sistine Chapel, St Peter's Basilica and Colosseum, but you know you're not physically there. Just an observer looking through the eyes of the lens.

But here I am.

We got lost at Vatican City- we missed the rendezvous time and place as we were too caught up adoring Michelangelo's pièce de résistance. It was a feat to follow the trail of saints and sinners, princes and paupers. We were overwhelmed as God's presence manifested and abounded betwixt columns and statues.

It was a good day to pray, cry and repent.

on Archetypes_

2009-07-07T01:16:00.012+08:00

Labels are for sardine cans not humans. But this is still worth a look. This was done by a Philadelphia art teacher, categorizing and sketching some twenty archtypes of art students he has seen over ten years. Thanks to M for the link.

What kind of art student art you?

Excerpts from the Europe trip will come soon (hopefully). It wouldn't be a blow-by-blow account, mainly highlights that deserved more than a mention. A picture says a thousand words but there are stories which a photo can't tell. In fact, a photograph or a painting can be terribly limited if you think about it. You can only see what's happening at the moment, never before or after. You can certainly imagine or infer but you will never know for sure. Perchance that's the point.

***
Ever woke up some days feeling that you died and were born again?

on Breathe_

2009-07-05T00:11:00.006+08:00

I see your face in my mind as I drive away,
Cause none of us thought it was gonna end that way.
People are people,
And sometimes we change our minds.
But its killing me to see you go after all this time.

Mmm mmm mmm
Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm
Mmm mmm mmm
Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm

Music starts playin like the end of a sad movie,
Its the kinda ending you dont really wanna see.
Cause its tragedy and itll only bring you down,
Now I dont know what to be without you around.

And we know its never simple,
Never easy.
Never a clean break, noone here to save me.
Youre the only thing I know like the back of my hand,
And I cant,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to.

Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt.
Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve.
But people are people,
And sometimes it doesnt work out,
Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out.

And we know its never simple,
Never easy.
Never a clean break, no one here to save me.
Youre the only thing I know like the back of my hand,
And I cant,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to.

Its two a.m.
Feelin' like I just lost a friend.
Hope you know its not easy,
Easy for me.
Its two a.m.
Feelin like I just lost a friend.
Hope you know this aint easy,
Easy for me.

And we know its never simple,
Never easy.
Never a clean break, noone here to save me.

Ohhh

I cant,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to.

Sorry (oh) Sorry (mmm)
Sorry (eh eh) Sorry (mmm)
Sorry (eh eh) Sorry (mmm)
Sorry

on Sojourn_

2009-07-04T04:56:00.012+08:00

Alas, I have returned from my twenty-day sojourn to Europe! Much as I will love to say I enjoyed myself, all I could manage was that I certainly saw and learned a lot. The fun moments were interwoven with too much melodrama regrettably. We took a stab at reconciliation but it still didn't work out.

It is every artist's dream to go to Europe.

It is every artist's dream to live and die for their art.

All good things come to an end. All bad things do. When it comes to an end, and as we walk away with that understanding, let's just treasure the indelible memories.

In the long haul, this will be good for all of us. What we need is space, not proximity. Proximity led to pain and anguish, as evident yet again from this trip.

Don't have to be my shadow anymore. Don't have to avert your eyes and steal glances anyone. Don't need to call me teacher either. This July, I shall walk alone.

Thanks for ever being my friend.

on Farewell_

2009-06-09T23:13:00.011+08:00

Fare thee well
My own true love
Farewell for a while
I'm going away
But I'll be back
Though I go ten thousand miles

Ten thousand miles
My own true love
Ten thousand miles or more
The rocks may melt
And the seas may burn
If I should not return

Oh don't you see
That lonesome dove
Sitting on an ivy tree
She's weeping for
Her own true love
As I shall weep for mine

Oh come ye back
My own true love
And stay a while with me
If I had a friend
All on this earth
You've been a friend to me.

~18th century folk ballad

This shall be my last post before flying off to Europe. Fare thee well dear friends. Take heart and take heed. I will return before you can say "Paris, je t'aime."

Well, maybe not that fast.

Deus vobiscum.