I love the energy that you find in youth hostels; it's a universal one. In hostels all around the world, this fresh energy sputters out like water from sprinklers in a spring garden. People come from all over anxious for new discovery and exploration of their chosen destinations. This is, after all, what bonds them together--the thirst for adventure in a foreign land. You walk into any hostel and you're immediately met with the buzz of excitement and curiosity. People meeting each other for the first time, sharing their stories, laughter and learnings (a high degree of networking always taking place).
There is a sexual charge in the air too. Libidos are stirred and on high alert--the possibility of sex and romance is everywhere. I know I've had my fair share of hostel stories that have involved walking in on people locked in a passionate embrace (of sorts), or being kept up all night by the raucous shenanigans of new lovers on the top bunk.
People also become immediate friends, it almost seems superficial. But really, it's not. This is what happens when people find themselves in unfamiliar places, far from the comforts of their home; they seek out comradeship among like-minded folk running on the same juice of freshly squeezed spontaneity and zest. It's contagious, and one can't help but feel the rush when that connection has been established, albeit a short-term one.
Hostels occupy a liminal space; it is a fleeting kind of world where permanence doesn't exist. It is a place for those who are in-between places, and made up of transients who are mostly just "passing through"--hence the heightened sensibilities all around. It is a revolving door of new faces and an epicenter of diversity. Some come back and some never do, but none ever stay forever. Bonds are made and broken everyday. You may never again remember the names of the people you bunked with, but you will never forget the adventure.
I would like to live in Almodovar's world, where kitsch houses are outfitted with brightly colored wall paper, retro prints and patterns; where the world evolves around women who are mad, beautiful and powerful vixens; personal histories are enmeshed with torrid love affairs, family secrets, heartache and tragic romance; where every emotion, feeling and sensation is magnified and explored through humorous wit, intense passion and sexual freedom/deviance. This is not an ordinary soap opera kind of world. This is an animated world that exposes humanity's wounds to the volatility of the human condition. It's a world that spins on its own axis and holds up a mirror to our imperfections, wanton desires and search for identity. It's a world on steroids--you're barely keeping up when the next twist to the plot presents itself through some extraordinary circumstance.
Any Almodovar fan would know what I'm talking about here. And if you're not sure, go see any one of his films. So much of them, of course, relate to his own past and cultural heritage in Spain. Although, when I am in Spain and I mention how much I love Almodovar, I usually get a smirk from the Spaniard I've told this to, followed by their insistence that life in Spain is nothing like an Almodovar film, and that they are all incredibly misleading. Correct. Of course. Otherwise, what you get is a country with people who are very sexually and morally confused and can't keep their pants on.
But to be clear, I don't judge Spain by Almodovar films, nor do I see this country entirely through his prism--this would be silly and very misguided. His films transcend borders, both geographically and emotionally. They may take place in a specific country with a specific history and cultural struggle, but the trials his characters go through in life carry universal significance. We see our lives played out in these theatrical melodramas--they move us to the core. Also, very important to remember is that Almodovar believes, first and foremost, that "movies are made to entertain"--hence their beyond-belief stories and larger-than-life narratives. But unlike Hollywood blockbuster films that are made solely for this purpose, none are able to make us feel the way Almodovar films do. It's like he's got some magic formula which gets me every time--my eyes stay glued to the screen even after the credits come up at the very end. I am completely bewitched.
For the first time in my life, I went to visit an acupuncturist at the Circle Community Acupuncture. I've heard some pretty amazing stories from friends who've had successful acupuncture treatments before. It's helped some of them quit smoking, lose weight, eliminate muscle pains, deal with allergies, alleviate stress and treat depression. I've never been a cynic, always a believer, but my lazy bones just never found the time to try it out. I would even find myself advocating for it and recommending it to other friends who had never done it before. But what experience do I have??? None. Until a friend of mine here in San Francisco insisted I try it out and took me with her as a guest--and I got it for free!
So, as an acupuncture virgin, let me try to explain how my first time felt.
First of all, as a first timer you get a consultation with the acupuncturist after laboriously filling in a whopping form with health related questions about your history, habits, allergies, diet....just about everything involving your bodily and mental functions. At the consultation, you're asked to explain some of the pertinent health issues you'd like to address with the treatment. I wanted to be as honest as I could be--after all, this woman is about to prick me with a dozen needles, they better be the right places or who knows what might happen!
I was sat down on the comfiest lazy-boy in the world, and then the pricking commenced. I had a couple needles inside each ear (ouch), a few on my arms and wrists, and also some on my legs (shin areas). I was asked to stay for at least 30 minutes, and off my journey went.
It was intense. After about 5 minutes, I could no longer feel the epicenter of pain for each needle prick. I felt a wave of something (current? the yang of my yin?) go through my entire body, and I imagined the energy flow looking a little like a connect-the-dots game with my needles as the dots. But that was just my imagination acting up I think.
I felt light and numb. Ah, this must be the anesthetic effects. I had to wiggle my fingers and feel the couch to reassure myself that I was still in my body and not floating in mid-air. Strange sensation.
I dozed off a couple of times into short deep sleeps, waking up a little confused, "did I just doze off?", "where am I?".
After 30 minutes, the needles were taken out and I was told that I should think about a weekly treatment to see if it might help me with my issues. I agreed, with a half-baked smile that looked like I just got totally blazed.
I walked out of there with my friend, as light as a feather, and as spacey as ever--as if my head was detached like a balloon just floating above my body. But I was energized and felt pretty good about myself. Placebo or not, it certainly helped spike up my mood and channel my energy appropriately. It was definitely worth it. And I reckon I'll be doing it regularly from now on.
I'm feeling the blues. It comes and goes as it pleases, unannounced and unwelcome. Unfortunately, I'm not a productive depressive. If anything, my melancholy keeps me numb when it decides it's time for a visit. The most I can get away with is writing down my thoughts--which I do a lot of, as it seems to be the only motor that keeps on running when the tank's half empty. The rest of my creative muscles are completely paralyzed; but I am also willing to accept wholeheartedly that this could be a simple case of extreme laziness. But the other night, I was able to churn out some drawings in this state of numbness. Maybe I can, after all, get something done in this awkward place of limbo/laziness.
I noticed how cathartic it was to color in with the pen, and I didn't care how long it was going to take--I was willing to sit there all night scratching its fine tip up and down on the scrap of paper. "Wax on, wax off", was the mantra that kept repeating itself in my mind. Up and down, side to side, front and back, and all around--over and over again. Is this what meditation is like? I was able to empty my brain of discord and idle thoughts, if only for the time it took to complete a picture. Short-term meditation, maybe? Whatever it was, it knocked some peace and stillness into my dysfunctional thought process. I was no longer wallowing in despair, which is just such a useless state of mind.
Thomas Edison, c. 1918-1919
According to Thomas Edison, "Genius is 1% inspiration, 99% perspiration". We dreamers could learn a little from this. It's great to have ideas, but even better (and ridiculously harder) to make them happen--and this is where most of us slip into the cracks and fall into the vast abyss of space and time. God knows how vast the graveyard of my ideas have become. I seem to discard of them like lollipops--I suck them dry of their flavor and sweetness until i get to the very thing that holds them upright--the hard part--which I send away to the wasteland of ideas that coulda-woulda-shoulda.
So what holds me back? Apart from the fact that the actual "doing" part is way less glamorous than the "idea" part, there is also the "fear" part. I know I have the stamina to pull ideas off, but what keeps most of us from doing anything is the gripping, all-consuming fear of failure, of judgment, of being cast aside as another unoriginal and mediocre experiment that's just more stale than savvy. And then what? All that investment in time, energy and resources--was it worth it all?
I came across the 99% Conference on the Behance Network the other day. Frankly, I'm a little tired of the conference scene (there's just too many of them!) but this one stands out a little--it has the feel of TED, but retaining it's own brand (and of course, is much smaller and less techy). I was pulled in by the speakers and the quick blurbs they had about what each of them had to say about generating and executing ideas. It's all very basic stuff really, but packaged in such a way that has maximum impact to the audience. The simplest message can be the most effective:
"The purpose of a strategy is not to come up with the right answers. It's to enable you to act." -Frans Johansson
"Transforming society begins with transforming yourself."-Martin Ping
"Don't get angry. It's not useful."-John Maeda
"We must not be afraid to kill new ideas that will take us off course."-Scott Belsky
And my personal favorite....
"The three most harmful addictions are heroin, carbohydrates, and a monthly salary."-Fred Wilson (quoting a tweet he read)
I was working on this piece when Ray LaMontagne came on my iTunes. His lyrics, I still don't know what love means, found its rightful spot on the top of my drawing. It felt naturally appropriate to crown this water themed creation with the drowning question of love--since falling in love or being in love is like diving head first into the deep blue and being suspended in water. Sounds pretty cheesy, but the truth is, if you were to pause for a moment to answer this question, I bet it would take more than just a pause to find the right answer.
All that we know for sure is what we ourselves have done in the past that has proven a love in many different ways, shapes or forms. These "acts" come in endless varieties, and at least for me, new forms reveal themselves almost everyday. I lost my job recently and the love I felt from family and friends brought it to a whole new level again. What I knew of love before this tragic event was nothing compared to the love that I received as a consequence. So, for me, the meaning of love is constantly evolving with time and experience--even the most random chain of events can bring out the most extraordinary lessons of the heart. I still don't know what love means as a whole, but I certainly know how to recognize it in all its many guises.
I'd love to be a cat. A big, fluffy, well-fed, foot stool of a cat. I'd walk around the living room as if it were my lion's den--and everything the light touches would be my kingdom. I'd be the Cat King. I'd stretch and yawn all the time (more than I do now), lay in various cat yoga stances (for hours on end), and hiss at creatures and things I don't like--no need to voice my disapproval, a hiss would suffice. I'd go looking for sun spots on the ground outside to rest my pampered body, and only look up if the offering of catnip was on the horizon. But even then, I'd wait until my owner would come down to pick me up from my slumber and take me to my food. I would only ever show love when I needed some good old rubbing. I figure that's a fair deal: you get some of my sexy eye glances and maybe some purring, while I get some much needed massage therapy--a simple quid pro quo. Then tomorrow, I'd do it all over again.
I've begun a bunch of drawings on graph paper, inspired by my recent flirtation with geometric shapes and symmetrical design work on paper. I am loving some of the kaleidoscopic drawings and illustration I've been seeing around the galleries here in San Francisco. The bright colors and patterns are contagious and edible--I can almost taste them. Take local artist Lisa Congdon's work for example. Her work is like cotton candy--delicious, sweet and fun. Many artists here seem to be influencing each other in ways that have strengthened the unique identity of the San Francisco art scene. I can't help but be influenced myself.
Though as much as I am inspired by what is taking place outside of my own head space, I am also trying hard to maintain a balance between the "outside" and my "insides". I can't risk loosing touch with my own sense of style for the sake of fitting into what's been proven to be popular and high in demand. I enjoy experimentation and the ways in which local design, architecture, and urban culture finds its way into my imagination and subsequently seeps into my work. This is part of being an artist: the ability to capture, internalize, and then project a meaningful interpretation of one's environment--in other words, to communicate experience in meaningful ways. Your landscape is ever changing, so should your art.
But I fear that in some of my work, that balance between me and everything outside of me can get a bit skewed. This happens when I don't recognize the "me" in some of my studies. This can be trapping because there is a difference between being inspired, and just plain old copying. Picasso did say that "Good artists copy, great artists steal".
There is nothing wrong with co-opting other styles. This is where new energy is created after all, and how major paradigmatic shifts take place that lead us to the next great thing. But there is this little voice in my head, as irritating as it is, that keeps me in check with new directions I take. It asks me things like: "Where are you taking this and how far can you go with it?"; "What does this say or reveal about you?"; or, quite simply, "Do you like it?"
Sometimes I wish I had less clutter in my head to avoid all the pitfalls of self-doubt, or coming off as an impetuous mad woman. But I do get an overwhelming sense of satisfaction when my answer to that last question is a heart-pounding "yes".
I love the energy that you find in youth hostels; it's a universal one. In hostels all around the world, this fresh energy sputters out like water from sprinklers in a spring garden. People come from all over anxious for new discovery and exploration of their chosen destinations. This is, after all, what bonds them together--the thirst for adventure in a foreign land. You walk into any hostel and you're immediately met with the buzz of excitement and curiosity. People meeting each other for the first time, sharing their stories, laughter and learnings (a high degree of networking always taking place).
