Fashion Can Also Inspire

I love fashion, but I am no fashionista. If t-shirts, hiking boots, and hoodies are in vogue then call me trendy. But I doubt this is the look that keeps the fashion world the billion dollar industry that it is. I prefer to gaze at this world from the outside, like a voyeur lurking at the periphery.

It's a world full of fun, fantasy, extravagance, and the promise of escape from ordinary life. I am in awe by the imaginative heights that these fashion designers take their craft to, which at times transgress into the realms of installation, sculptural and performance art. I love fashion that is theatrical, eccentric, daring and extreme--exaggerations or caricatures of who we are. The more utterly unwearable and abstract, the better.

Some of the clothing become sculptural pieces to me, that speak to artistry in so many crosscutting ways. There is definitely a fine art to it. Creative expression and the unabashed freedom to explore subject matter is evident in this craft that, like all other art forms, has its high and its low.

Famous examples of cutting edge fashion designers whose work I admire: Vivienne Westwood, Alexander McQueen, Christian Lacroix, John Galliano....oh dear, I can't go on for much longer with this list without having to google I'm afraid. As I said, I'm no expert; just an admirer. Regardless, I find myself transfixed by some of their designs, and inspired by how "outside of the box" their geniuses lie. There is much I can learn from this world of design.

(photo above: Alexander McQueen; below: Vivienne Westwood)

My Deck And Feline Assistants

Yesterday was the first time I took my paints and materials out onto my tiny little deck at home. It was a beautiful Saturday with the sun bursting through every nook and cranny; the air was fresh and welcoming; my cats were in a frenzy to get some of that fresh air; and I had been itching to christen the deck with my enamels.

It was also time to go large. After three months of small scale drawing, getting back into the groove of larger dimension work (4 x 3 feet approx) was a little daunting. This is also the first time in years that I've begun a series on wood panel. Needless to say, time is ticking for the much anticipated Spring Open Studios in this city--and I have to get my ass in gear for this, despite the heaviness of my day job at the moment.

There Is A Genius For Everybody

Image taken from TED of Elizabeth Gilbert, 2009

Click here for her TED talk

"Aren't you afraid you're never going to have any success? Aren't you afraid the humiliation of rejection will kill you? Aren't you afraid that you're going to work your whole life at this craft and nothing is ever going to come of it, and that you're going to die on a scrap heap of broken dreams with your mouth filled with the bitter ash of failure?" --Elizabeth Gilbert, 2009

Well, I know I certainly am. All the bloody time. To the point where I've avoided taking any plunges into the unknown with my creative work and have recoiled into the "safe" zone where success or failure can't be measured. But where does this fear come from, and how has it perpetuated into a collective fear of creative ventures?

This quote is taken from a TED talk by the acclaimed author Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote the highly successful memoir Eat, Pray, Love. This particular author is on a serious mission to change the way we think about the creative genius, and all the pitfalls or demons associated with the concept. We put too much pressure on ourselves, as creative minds, to constantly produce extraordinary work over and over again--as if we were somehow placed here on earth to be the source of all "divine, creative, unknowable external mystery".

We have placed the genius on a pedestal and by doing so have opened up a world of narcissism and self torment. And what happens when we are unable to tap into that same genius from within that was able to produce that one amazing piece of work? Utter devastation and madness. We have collectively built up this notion that creativity and suffering are inextricable, and that real geniuses are doomed to live lives of anguish and grief over their work because of it.

This is no way to live, according to Elizabeth Gilbert. It's the kind of thing that would drive anyone to drink gin at 9:00 in the morning. Good point. We need to have some "protective psychological construct" to avoid this kind of self-destructive force. Another good point.

As much as I enjoy romanticizing the tormented artistic soul, I do agree that it is a dangerous idea and essentially very destructive to the human psyche--and probably not at all a fun place to be. I highly doubt Silvia Plath was having the time of her life when she was going through her dark episodes. Nobody has to go through that grief.

The solution: To think about ingenuity the way Ancient Greece and Rome did; that your genius does not necessarily come from within you but from without--like a disembodied spirit helping you along the way.

The argument: We know that the creative process does not always happen rationally (we've all been there) and can sometimes even feel "downright paranormal". Inspiration comes in ebbs and flows--sometimes in the most awkward instances. There's no reason to believe that it's all coming from within yourself which can be fully controlled--that you are the main portal of something we can't even fully understand.

Basically, what it boils down to is that we need to think of a way to escape this idea that if the work isn't flowing the way we want it to, then we're not really as capable as we thought we were in the first place; or that this bottleneck somehow represents the end of anything great to come out of the creative process ever again. This does not mean that we should give up, or torment ourselves with the magnitude of such a burden.

The conclusion: Don't let it kill you. Your genius is your guide that will come and go. You will recognize it when it's there; but when it's not, you will keep on going as you do, with the same routine, the same ethic, the same lifestyle, until it finds you again--which it will.

The End of the World

photo taken from the blog: O Camiño Norte a Santiago

There's nothing better than a trip to the coast in Marin County, California to give you a sense of calm and satisfaction from the simplest of pleasures. When low, seek out your highs from nature, good friends and great food. I'm always in best form when I find myself by the ocean. When I was last in Galicia, Spain, I was taken on a trip to a place once believed to be "The End of The World", or Finisterre, its Spanish name. Cape Finisterre is a rock-bound peninsula on the west coast of Galicia that faces the Atlantic where you see nothing but blue skies and water. The first settlers of this peninsula believed it to be the westernmost edge of the world--to them it was literally where the Earth ended. The Romans called it the Sea of the Dead as it was, and still is, the end point of many journeys. It is indeed one of the most captivating places I have ever been to, and not only because of its breathtaking beauty (we stayed to watch the most stunning sunset), but also because of its place in history and its spiritual symbolism to travelers and pilgrims everywhere.

Access to the ocean is so important to me. It probably comes from a combination of growing up in the Philippines, spending countless summers in the South coast of Spain, and having lived in coastal cities almost my entire life. It does feel like it comes from deeper than that though--that the magnetic pull of the ocean speaks to something beyond my own experiences and travels. It has the power to silence all ill will in an instant, and to sweep me away from all of my self-imposed burdens.

my photo, Stinson Beach, Marin County, March 2010

Spotmatic Matrix

I've had my circa 1965 Asahi Pentax Spotmatic for nine years now. This crafty little machine has taken me places I had never expected to go. I call these places "delightful accidents". Taking photos with an SLR, with no automatic shutter or aperture priority setting, is an interesting ride. And to make things even more interesting, I never bothered to fix its lightmeter. All of these, of course, help make a picture perfect, but by no means are they requirements for a glorious photo. I am not a professional photographer, so I go with what works for me. My own version of technical tinkering is literally trial and error; I've mourned over so many ruined rolls of films--RIP all my underexposed film rolls.

These delightful accidents, however, is what keeps me going. And since little spotmatic here isn't getting any younger, more accidents are surfacing--caused by a faulty film advance (the "winder"), rewind knob, or some other mechanism. Bottomline, my little SLR is in trouble with its glory days fading slowly. But here's an example of when my film advance didn't work properly by exposing the same film twice. I know photographers use this technique a lot--but they normally plan the shots.


I don't usually base my paintings or drawings on my photographs. And if you look at my portfolio, you'll see why--there are barely any figurative pieces, or portraits from life. I tend to use images for collage purposes only. So my photographs are very separate from my paintings. They serve a different purpose for me, and exercise a different part of my creative instinct.
























Photography for me, is firstly about documenting; and secondly, about creating new meaning, or recycling reality--transforming it in the process. It's not just about taking a still shot, frozen in time, that represents a fixed reality. To me, the image is no longer of the real and is left open to interpretation. Even journalistic photography leaves much to the imagination and is subject to a variety of political/cultural interpretations. When I take a picture of an object that frames it outside of its original context, there is an abstraction that instantly changes my relationship to it. It's this alienation that can be haunting and magical. The image may be fixed in time and space, but the meaning it evokes can take you to another place.

Susan Sontag's writing on photography opens up a whole new world for understanding the photograph and has influenced my take on it. I also have to mention Guy Debord, a Marxist theorist and filmmaker, whose work has blown my mind (I can only take them in doses--heavy stuff really). A seminal work of his, The Society of the Spectacle is a must read. A little on the academic side, but quite satisfying and eye opening, if you have the stamina for it. Did I mention his work is what inspired the film The Matrix? Yep, badass.

Fast Art For Lack Of Time

Doodling is all I've been able to do right now. No layers, no fuss, no reflection--just instant doodles. I'm in the business of fast art these days when I barely even have the time to read a book. The Spring Open Studios is near and my portfolio is looking a little thin. Dust is starting to collect in my studio where I have not gone to visit in a while. Mostly, this has to do with the fact that I've set up a nice little craft area in my own home, with a draft table and a setup with all my india inks. Since I haven't been working on my larger canvas pieces (which is an extremely messy process) I haven't had the need to venture into my studio, which is a few blocks from my place. But I do miss the nurturing solitude only an artist studio can provide. I miss the dirty, stained wooden floor; the stench of turpentine; the dried up bits of acrylic solidifying on my work table; the bits of scrap paper piling up in the corner waiting to be transformed into something greater (they never do). There was a momentum I picked up last September, which I have not been able to sustain over the last few months, as my other commitments started to weigh down on me.

There's been so much juggling around that I haven't been able to get comfortable with one idea and to soak it up completely. I labor under a fickle sense of aesthetic because time is of the essence and can't be wasted, so I dabble quickly with one thing before switching to the next thing. This is not an ideal modus operandi. Fickle will get me into a pickle (I had to do a rhyme--it was just too easy). So, what am I saying really?

I think what I'm saying is that I lack a coherent vision right now--or that I have too many competing ones. Both have their own challenges. I'm somewhere in the middle, right between the two. It's so frustrating to know that I can't work as intensely as I want to on some of these new directions I'm taking--and its because I'm spreading myself too thin. The classic dilemma from straddling those two worlds. I fear I'm not getting anywhere.

This Little Buzzer of Mine

So I nearly shaved off all the hair on the right side of my head--by accident. I didn't take note of the guard that was on the buzzer (how I never noticed "9mm" is beyond me), and just went ahead with gliding that motor along the side of my ear. I let out quite a gasp when I heard that zzzzziiiippp and off with the wind that great chunk of hair went. What the hell was I thinking? I think deep down I wanted to make a mess out of it because I have been tempted several times now, in the last few months, to go close to bald. Every person's got to try it. It promises liberation from the shackles of...well....hair; and vanity for one. But with my frame, I would risk looking like quite a bit of a bloke actually. Could be a fun experiment.

I do cut my own hair most of the time. I have gone years before without ever going to a professional, and it definitely showed. I was that girl with the DIY-G.I.-Jane-do back in boarding school. It was not my MO to fuss with such things like hair as a teen. Either I have it very short, or plain, long, flat and dull. And I always turned "dull" into a bun on the top of my head so I figured short and pixie was really my thing. The amount of money people pay to get their hair done can reach extraordinary heights. It's almost just as ridiculous as buying your miniature dog a hoodie. But maybe if I was blessed with luscious thick hair, I'd be singing a different tune.

So for now, I have to work some magic to conceal this little patch of barely-there hair with the longer bits from the top of my head--especially when I'm at work. Unfortunately for me, I don't work in an office where buzzed heads on ladies would fly. Maybe this is precisely why the temptation is so great to go the full monty with this bright yellow buzzer of mine.