Let It Go Let It Go Let It Go

I've been working on a small series of abstract compositions using a different color palette from what I'm used to, and a slightly different technique of painting. I am liking what I see, but I am also driving myself crazy with my impatience. I am having some "control" issues, which is keeping me from unzipping and letting go to create free flowing work. For some reason, these shapes have a constraining power over me and I can't seem to work around them. They are playing tricks on me. But I know I have to be patient. I have to let it go: the idea that I may not like the result of what I'm currently doing. The process of painting (creativity in general) is not just about knowing what works for you; but also knowing what does not. Let it go!

The Evolution of My Abstraction

me back in 2006 preparing for my first solo exhibition in the Philippines

My painting is undergoing an almost complete overhaul. My rhythm and flow has not changed much, but my style and subject matter has seen some serious renovations. As a young artist in the Philippines, exhibiting solo for the first time in 2006, I introduced myself as an abstract painter heavily influenced by the Abstract Expressionists of the New York School in the 1960s. The likes of Robert Motherwell, Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Franz Kline (et al) taught me how to find myself on the canvas and to discover nature itself as it emerged from the process of automatic action-painting.

For the last four years I labored under this style of painting--exploring color and line in ways which transgressed the conventions of representational or figurative painting. The "freedom to express"--however vague this may be--was the intention itself. And the way in which I communicated this intention was to emphasize the subliminal power of our creative impulse in producing compositions that deny dictation and instead evolve organically--unhindered by aesthetic rules or structural blue prints. I use to say that the key challenge (and perhaps the only rule) to this process was the need to suspend criticism for as long as possible. The moment I stop to think about what I'm doing, is the exact moment that could bring doubt, uncertainty and instability to a piece of work. "Thinking" is anathema. "Doing" (and getting lost in the act of doing) is key to solving the mysteries of creation (breaking it down to its very core) and understanding the human condition. The act of painting is synonymous to the act of discovering.

A lot of this is changing for me. Not in the sense of denying one mutually exclusive path for the next, but in building up from a foundation that had already been laid. I have no doubt that abstraction will forever be at the very crux of what I do with my art. However, the abstraction at play in my work today lends itself to a slightly different set of organizing principles. It's early days still, but my work is moving into the realm of narrative drawing/painting. Quite simply: I am interested in telling a story.

This gradual shift is a fascinating one to me--and one which does not come without a huge set of challenges. I have moved into a world of imagery and illustration where my compositions can seem somewhat surreal, and yet, hold meaning through the ways in which the images are organized in relation to each other. I am still using the same techniques of automatic drawing, making sure that nothing is held back. In fact, making mistakes is still fundamental to the painting process.

The one crucial difference is that I am thinking about every step of the process, and the composition as a whole. My perception has grown to include not only what is in front of me, but the next three or four steps ahead of what I plan to lay down. It is unnerving, not because I am incapable of seeing beyond what is in front of me, but because I am in completely new territory. I am making the kinds of mistakes that I am not use to making.

Brain Drip

New image on the homepage of my website. Collage and ink. Simple.

Breakfast Of Champs

My typical breakfast of eggs on toast

Random fact about myself: I cannot start my day without breakfast. I'm useless without it. My body will automatically go on starvation mode otherwise. I hate this mode; it feels like my stomach is attempting to digest itself literally. Breakfast is my brain food. I can't hit the studio without it. Now, lunch and dinner I've been able to skip before--depending on what's kept me from listening to the ominous gurgling sounds of my digestive system. Moving lunch to 4 or 5 pm can happen quite a bit, especially when I am in the middle of wet paint and idea bubbles about to burst. But nothing--and I mean NOTHING--gets in between me and my breakfast.

Unearthed Draw-A-Thon Sketches

Armed with a bottle of red wine, I decided to re-organize my plastic Office Max storage unit filled with sketches, drawings, research and various other artsy bits and bobs. I came across these sketches which I had completely forgotten about. They are sketches from my favorite figure drawing sessions in the Lower East Side, back when I was living in New York City (2007-09). I loved these sessions because they had incredibly diverse models--some partially dressed in theatrical costumes, others fully nude--and always had three or more sessions simultaneously taking place: you had the 30 min poses, the 5 min, 2 min then 1 minute poses. In under an hour I would have a sketchbook filled with incredibly diverse lines, angles and compositions, using all types of material from the traditional charcoal and graphite, to pens and inks.

The artist who runs the place, Michael Alan, always had great ideas for these "Draw-A-Thons", as he calls them. These sessions have been described as "a figure drawing and performance art marathon that offers an alternative to conventional figure drawing by adding narrative, theatrical, and musical components in a public space where artists create and form community."

If you are in New York and would like to check them out, either go to Michael's website or email him at artisticrevolution@gmail.com about upcoming sessions (the location may have moved to DUMBO). I highly recommend them.

My 9-5 Strive

I came across this illustration by Steve Powers today. I think this pretty much sums up the daily drudgery of a classic 9-5 cubicle-bound existence. The word "tired" comes to mind when I reflect back on my days as an office monkey. "Productive" does not. I was definitely "high on tired". I can assure you the motivation in this kind of setting ranges from slim to none. My little shovels attempted some serious digging at times, but only to discover that like the picture, my light bulb stayed buried deeper than I'd dared to venture. Inspiration was lost among the piles of paperwork to "process" and ridiculous emails to respond to. Not a single independent act was warranted without permission from a boss who didn't even know how to navigate a Word document. My imagination had run away, incensed by what I had subjected it to, and was nowhere to be found.

For The Kids

The inspiration: Piet Mondrian's, The Grey Tree, 1911

Yesterday was a day for the kids at a middle school in Oakland. I volunteered my time to create this Mondrian-inspired mural inside one of their portables for Special Education classes. The walls were flimsy and covered with brightly colored tissue paper which had been left to wither away for two years. It was also crowded with all sorts of worn out posters and a hodgepodge of pictures that only added to the clutter. It was definitely time for a makeover.

Dance, Dance, Dance

Ideas dancing in my head; none seeping out of it yet. All I know is that I must step into my studio everyday to coax the dancing onto my drafting table. I am working and keeping my hand in flex. I am no longer just sloshing paint around, but re-examining my process to welcome new ways of dissecting ideas and romancing the space.

I have one solo show this year in Manila to work towards. I'm hoping for a couple more, and indeed, working on getting some gigs here locally in San Francisco. But I'm in no hurry to get more exhibition time; I'm more focused on creating new work and challenging myself. Just breathe.

Devil's Spoke

Devil's Spoke
song by: Laura Marling
from the album: I Speak Because I Can

I might be a part of this
ripple on water from a lonesome drip
A fallen tree that witnessed me
I'm alone,
Him and me.

And then life itself could not aspire
to have someone be so admired
I threw creation to my king
with a silence broken by a whispered wind.

All of this can be broken
All of this can be broken
Hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground.

And root to root and tip to tip
I look at him, my country gip
Let it up, I own his fears
But someone brought you close to tears.

Many trains and many miles
Brought you to me on this sunny isle
What of which you wish to speak
Have you come here to rescue me?

All of this can be broken
All of this can be broken
Hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground.

But the love of your life
lives but lies no more
and where she lay
a flower grows.

The arms are fed
the babes have wed
and the backs have bled,
keeping her in tow.

But I am your keeper
And I hold your face away from light
I am yours till they come
I am yours till they come.

Eye to eye
Nose to nose
ripping off each others clothes
in the most peculiar way.

Eye to eye
Nose to nose
ripping off each others clothes
in the most peculiar way.

Lesbian Vibes

Is it the hair?
The fact that I don't wear makeup or dress up much?
The way I move or take up space?
My broad shoulders?
The way I speak? The ideas I sell? The thoughts I choose to share?
I met a very interesting woman last night who claimed I had a lesbian vibe.
I reassured her, "it happens to me a lot".
But I don't exactly know why.

I'm not even sure whether these vibes come off physically or in some less tangible way.
I would think that the "vibes" we speak of have much to do with communication and the nature of our interactions. The way we perform and display carefully crafted visual signposts to each other. Beyond this visual language--which incorporates the way we look at ourselves and each other (our gaze), our facial expressions and body language--there is also the way we speak to each other. Even the way we laugh can say a lot about how we choose to present ourselves in a social setting.

There's no way we're conscious of this dynamic all the bloody time (that would be too tiring), so maybe our behavior is also a direct knee-jerk response to the situation we find ourselves in. Maybe I was giving off lesbian vibes last night because of the environment, and who I was hanging out with? After all, I was in a room were the majority of women were gay. If I were in a room filled with straight men, would I still be sending the same vibes? Also, interestingly enough, every woman who has felt this vibe from me (and has made a point to let me know) also happens to be gay. Perhaps this is the vital link?

Hard Knock Life

Life must be so damn hard as a cat. I mean, you get to sleep in all day long on a full size bed. Your food is never as close to the bed as you'd like it to be. And people be all up in your face constantly with all that darn cuddling. It's a nightmare really.

Until Next Time

It just sort of happened. The tears came. I couldn't help it. My friend just left two minutes ago to fly back home to London, after a month's visit here with me. I'm not one to get emotional--especially since I should be so used to this by now being oceans away from my bosom buds. Every single one of my girlfriends is a long plane ride away, and yet we have all managed to see each other regularly. For all the disruption, annoyance and inconveniences these visits can cause, I remain the loyal bestfriend/girlfriend/soulmate, full to the brim with affection. I am 100% myself with my friends. Zero pretenses. I don't have to be happy, entertaining or agreeable all the bloody time. I am liberated and free to be me. And here I am, trying my damnest to hold back the tears because the house seems so empty without her.

Getting There

The Grand Canyon, viewed from the Bright Angel Trail on the South Rim, 2011

A road trip is maybe 10% the destination and 90% the ride. I say this because having just done one with a friend, I feel it's safe to say that who you do it with and how the whole ordeal is executed has everything to do with the overall fun factor of the destination. There are exceptions, of course. The Grand Canyon, for instance, has to be taken as an isolated phenomenon and will trump even the worst case of road trip fatigue or disaster. It is entirely it's own experience.

I'd never gone on a road trip this side of the US before, so the plan was a simple one: try to see all the major hotspots within relative proximity to each other; a very limited budget; and time. So we decided on taking Highway 1 as far down as San Diego, stopping by Big Sur, Santa Barbara, and Venice Beach. A nice mix of activities that included redwood hiking and camping, toy town exploring, beach bumming, hosteling, city shopping and burrito hunting. The ride down the coast is always a magical one, meandering through amazing foliage and cliffs that take you dangerously close to the blue abyss.

Part Two of the road trip took us inland where we explored the Mojave desert, Death Valley, Nevada, and the small towns in between, before arriving in Arizona, at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. This was a paralyzing moment. What I had once jokingly referred to as just a "giant hole in the ground", presented itself to me in all its glory. With its crimson wash of reds, violets and blues, the canyon opened itself up for us to bear witness to millions of years of geological history, cultivation and astounding natural beauty. This is the most beautiful hole I've ever seen. And yes, it is huge.

Now, despite the fact that a destination like the Grand Canyon can make the road trip from hell seem bearable, there is still much to say about the nature of the journey versus the destination. Road trips are all about discovery in motion: opening up your mind and body to new triggers and wonders. What allows for this kind of environment, and what makes the entire adventure stimulating boils down to a) who you're sharing this experience with, and b) your levels of expectation and flexibility. For me, both a) and b) were on top notch form. Not only was I traveling with someone I knew from the inside-out, she was also someone who knew me from the inside-out. No surprises or spooks waiting to come out in that department. As for b) All that was to be expected was that some crazy unexpected things were bound to happen. They most certainly did; and we conquered.