Coming To Terms With Reality

What does this even mean? Why do we always have to give way to "reality"? Why is it always assumed that we must give into the "facts of life", the "way things are"? Because it's just the way it is. Isn't it? I know I'm being a bit vague. My troubles are mostly vague and I struggle to place a finger on them at times. When I feel lost, I blame "reality". I blame "the way things are" when I loose focus. I blame society. I blame the world. I can get pretty dramatic at this game. Blame is so easy. It's one of my favorite cliches. Structure is the big red target; my own agency is kept safe from the finger pointing.

A Statement About My Art

I'm up later than usual (1:14 a.m. is "late" for me) trying to wrap my head around this artist statement I am determined to complete for my website face-lift. I'm not even sure if I want to call it that necessarily; "artist statement" just sounds so bold, and final. Either way, as I mentioned in my last post, this endeavor is not a walk in the park. How do I avoid sounding pretentious? How do I refrain from falling into the trap of solipsism? Well, we must allow for a degree of solipsism here, art to me is the personal after all. But more importantly, how do I reel people into my world and give them the right tools to get to the root of what I myself can find pretty overwhelming and overstimulating? Story-telling is important to me, and I want to engage interested and like-minded folk in the discourse of my art, and vice-versa. So here is what I've come up with, so far. This is the most honest statement I've written about my work in a very long time.

About My Work

Experimentation and play are important aspects of an artist's methodology. They help provide the kinds of "accidents" that unveil hidden connections or relationships between different forms and images. This is why I place more emphasis on the process of painting or drawing, rather than a need to have a desired effect or end-product at the very outset. Trial and error is the mechanism by which the energy of my art comes from. It draws from both my imagination and the external world around me, and is framed by a subconscious negotiation of these two worlds. I like to think of my work as fragmented outcomes of a unified search for the unknowledge that gets lodged between what I know and what I don't know (a "missing nothing"). What takes place in this dynamic space between the known (the physical world from which I take my subject) and the unknown (its limitless potential for transformation) is what I try to unleash through my work. It is in this space where I am free to manipulate my materials and subject matter--and in the process discover new techniques and facets of expression--until it becomes something uniquely of my own creation.

Simplicity is Daunting Enough

I'm in the process of updating my website, and what pains me the most is coming up with a brief "artist statement" to put up on my "About" page. I am taking great lengths to avoid the waffle and pseudo intellectualism that seems to dominate most artist websites. I don't blame the artist; I'm guilty of this transgression too at times--but I acknowledge the need for something different. And I'm trying.

When it comes to web 2.0 I'd rather lay it down in plain and simple language - if I can help it. I'm not hinting that I'm some secret genius who finds the need to "dumb down" for the internet - quite the contrary. I find that narrowing down what to say and simplifying how one communicates online does in fact require a sharp writing acumen. It's not easy to do!!! My objective just happens to be less about proving my knowledge of the dictionary from A-Z, and more about deconstructing thought in its simplest form (though an excellent grasp of English can't hurt in this endeavor).

I try to avoid the look and feel of a thesis. Afterall, I'm not doing a Phd. And I would rather be accessible to the majority of people that are simply browsing the internet for something interesting. Now, of course, I do want to be thought-provoking; but who says only big words can achieve this? Words with 7-9 syllables are more overwhelming than they are revealing. Language has the power to dress up the mundane in art, and to serve it in a silver platter. Just because someone's a whiz at describing ideological dichotomies or dialectics, doesn't mean that they are with the paint brush or pen as well.

Most work can speak for itself, and I'd prefer to have a statement that compliments rather than overwhelms a piece of work. It's not rocket science thank god. Good art can be felt instantly, and this feeling can be sustained by the art alone. But articulation is crucial, in my books. Taking that further step to understanding the motivation behind the piece completes the artwork I think.

This is what makes the language all the more important than text that accompanies the art just because you were told you needed to write something smart about your art. And this is why it's taking me bloody ages.

So I've come up with my own personal rules, and they are as follows:

1. I think I am going to write in the first person. It makes sense, considering I am the artist. The third person can seem a bit too formal for my liking (which is how I have it right now).

2. No big sweeping philosophical statements that can make the reader (and myself) cringe to the highest heavens and roll their eyes until their eye balls hurt.

3. Keep it short and simple.

4. Avoid too much description of the art itself as the writing should be more about motivation - focus on the "here and now". Don't dabble too much in the past or the future....

5. Having said #4, the "here and now" should involve a personal narrative that is uniquely your story. The magic of story telling has a lot to do with effectively communicating your art.

As I said, these are personal rules. I don't really believe that there's a wrong or a right with this activity. Personally, a good conversation over some wine or beer can be just as effective, if not more, in pulling someone into the zone of your work. But I was talking about web 2.0 after all.

Fatherism

Augusto Albor Museum of Philippine Art March 1-31, 1985

Even before I was born in 1982, my father was gradually gaining recognition in the Philippine art scene. Since the 70s and 80s his work continues to build currency, and "Gus Albor" has become a household name for abstract art aficionados in this lowly archipelago I call home. Art is his whole life. It never had to compete with anything else, and still makes up his reality today. He's never tried to do anything else. Despite the very little that he had, as the youngest of eight, from a rural village in Bicol (quite a distance from Manila) he was determined to fulfill what he believed was his calling.

The Artist with a painting "Illumination" 5'x6' Acrylic on canvas 1993

When people ask me what my parents "do" and I explain that my father is an artist, they say, "oh that's nice. But what does he do for a living?". My answer; "He does art". I get it. It can be difficult to wrap your head around this idea. I know that I am myself often incredulous (and secretly resentful) at the thought of someone surviving by their art alone - and nothing else (the independently wealthy do not count). "What do you mean you do art? No job at a coffee shop or a part-time gig at a nonprofit or graphic design firm? You mean, your entire support system comes from the sale of your work? Get outta here!"

But especially back then, when my dad was I guess what we would call an "emerging artist", being an artist was unheard of. It certainly wasn't the occupation of choice, and the furthest away from living the "good life". The abstract art scene was also very small, but a force to be reckoned with nonetheless. It was a growing nucleus that was self-sustaining and resistant. And it needed to be that. It was hard enough trying to make a decent living in the country. The desire to be a full-time artist was not for the faint-hearted; and making that decision was like playing Russian roulette with your soul. Needless to say, my dad missed that bullet; or should I say, that bullet missed my dad.

Transference, 1984, Metal

Never Waste A Good Crisis

For all the drama of the past couple weeks, I think I got my mojo back. My inks have come alive, my pencils ground to their nubs, and my drafting table at just about the right tilt for optimal effect. I was at my wits end and close to giving up a couple times. As much as I try to keep real life from getting in the way of my creative output, it was obvious that my personal financial crisis was affecting my motivation. Worrying about things like rent and the burden of other expenses can be incredibly distracting. I was also driving myself mad because I wasn't satisfied with the new direction I was taking with my work.

But as it turns out, out of hopelessness can come new discoveries. I just didn't expect it to take this bloody long! I realize now that my efforts from day one were never futile - the progress was just ever so subtle and sometimes misleading. Some of the drawings were just plain awful, and didn't speak to me at all. And because it's in my nature to constantly doubt myself (a blessing and a curse), the lack of a tangible leap in my work's development rendered my efforts hopeless.

But now I see that my drawings are starting to take an identity that I can recognize as pieces of my own. I recognize myself in them now. In the beginning, the experimentation felt like I was pushing myself further from myself (does that make any sense?). I knew I needed to test myself and push in the direction or road less traveled, so to speak. It breaks you before it makes you. But my impatience got the better of me - not to mention state and federal taxes (groan).

My new series, however, is still very fragile in nature. And this fragility is fascinating to me. Much could change still - in fact, I know this to be true. But what I'm seeing (and feeling) is a confidence that wasn't there before. Turns out a crisis is what I needed to wake me up.

Pulverized But Not Completely Dissolved

Why the sad face? Well, life, yet again, has thrown in my way some unforeseen and sourly timed obstacles to making 2010 the year that I wanted it to be for me. This mischief has now forced me to rethink certain strategies which deviates from the straight line I've drawn for myself from point A, to point Fabulous. But hey, who says there's such a thing as a straight line?

And the real culprit behind this conundrum is no other than Money. Of course! We don't expect anything less in this drama we call the real world. It is the bane of our existence; the scourge of our lives. That is, unless, we have a lot of it. But hey, money comes and goes, like plans are made and unmade. So what if it's brought me some unexpected twists and turns; it shouldn't have the power to ground me to a paralyzing halt - which is how I felt some days ago when I realized that my dreams of travel and new opportunities have been pulverized. Made into powder, yes, but not completely dissolved. There will always be that space for maneuver, may it be the tiniest peephole you've ever seen.

I sound like quite the optimist, I know. But there was a reason why I avoided blogging for a couple days before I cheered myself up. I was struggling with my loss and going through some serious darkness, before finding the gray areas that we all love and cherish, and without which would be the end of everything.