Wednesday, November 21, 2007

To the Elusive One

You are the elusive one.

You relish the feeling of being chased, of being desired, and of being envied. You enjoy the thought of your beauty being the object of conflict among men, of conflict among couples. The men often ask “Who will you choose?” The spiteful women, on the other hand go “WHEN will you choose?” as if your answer will put an end to discords of the heart.

“Not now. Not yet,” you mysteriously and haughtily reply, for everyone knows you will lose the moniker most desired by the aging, the plain, and the already possessed. And so you continue working your way up a higher pedestal, finding the best job in your field and making it known to everyone that one must reach your professional stature before he can reach your heart. Some chasers give up, settling for others who look like you but who will never be like you for the simple reason that you make their hearts race and breaths shorter as they race with other men to catch up with your quickening pace.

You boast of your love to travel to wonderful and exciting places. As time passes your travels become more frequent and more far-off, all the more distancing yourself from those who run after you. The more determined men still pursue you, trotting from continent to continent and flashing their souvenirs to rivals, just like you do. The only difference is that they have better pictures as yours only have you on them.

While elusiveness may last, beauty and youth won’t. One day, you will grow tired of running, too. And one day, they will realize you are not worth pursuing anymore. One day, they will understand that in order for relationships to work, they must woo and sometimes be wooed, too. They will grow tired of doing the one-way chase. One day, they will meet a seemingly elusive one but will succeed in possessing and being possessed. So one day, they will just stop running.

But, being the elusive one, you have vowed never to do the chasing. “Others have not given up,” you try to convince yourself, for even if you slow down you know they will not be able to catch you that easily. The numbers will dwindle but they will be enough to keep you alive.

You will always be the elusive one, yes. But you will never be the one with the happy ending.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Ops!

It‘s not about being good and being right. It’s not about studying diligently nor is it about choosing the right books to read. It’s not about working hard nor is it about sucking up to climb one rung higher. It’s not about doing more. It’s not about doing great. It’s not even about praying fervently.

It's all about opportunities. Just that.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Virgo

Another lucky soul got the project. Oh, well, anyhoo, I enjoyed making the drawings. If you're a mag and you want my horoscope illustrations, do holler!

Friday, October 19, 2007

Somebody actually liked my work!

...so I made another one. This is actually a follow-up to my Leo illustration.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

A rotten day turned fresh

Just when I thought this awful day--of encounters with people who will never appreciate me or any of my work, frustrating debates with mediocre supervisors, and (worst of all) acne (yes, beauty will always be the tormentor of the insecure)--will be coming to an equally awful end, I get a phone call from far far away telling me that I am missed, an email from a faceless name admiring my artistic efforts, and a sweet surprise from the fridge (Time out in chocolate form? The folks at Cadbury are geniuses).
Yes, life is still worth living.

Monday, October 8, 2007

I'm starting to draw again

So what do you think of this one? She's a Leo.

Friday, October 5, 2007

The Classroom, Giftedness and my Muse

Coming up with a creative output for my Creativity and Giftedness class was not an easy task. As I've said before, since I graduated from college I have been led to believe that my muse has left me, along with her my ability to transform my emotions, sadness especially, into poetry and art. It has been more than seven years since that realization and until now I am struggling to overcome my poetic tongue-tied-ness and artistic lethargy.

After learning from this course that one cannot teach the creative unless one is creative, I felt a sudden wave of panic. How can I teach, then? The need to find my muse became all the more urgent. In my teaching career I am still at the stage of struggle as the transition from the corporate world to the academe is proving to be quite difficult. With the harsh realities of teaching beginning to sink in—schools turning into mere enterprises, unsupportive (and mediocre) superiors and equally unsupportive parent-clients, the exodus of good teachers to greener pasteurs—I felt all the more compelled to seek other endeavors not only to help me thrive and survive in this profession but also to keep my sanity intact.

Seeing an old journal-cum-poetry-notebook gave me an idea on what kind of output to have. I have always wanted to see my works published. Writing a book is actually in my "things to do before I die" list. My major product, therefore, was a small collection of favorite poems/writings salvaged from memory (along with one new material which suddenly came about after one creative encounter), mingled with photographs and vector illustrations. The images were either a direct product of a creative pursuit (photographs taken during my travels) or a piece inspired by it (digitally produced and/or enhanced).

The experiences from which the product materialized included mostly travels to new and less chartered places—road trips that stretched from Antipolo to Quezon and an exploration of Cagbalete Island (in Mauban, Quezon)—as well as to the more crowded spots like several markets in Benguet and tiangge's in my hometown. Seeing places, I believe, brings me nearer to my ever-fleeting muse. Indulging in gastronomic and aesthetic adventures—tasting new fares, treating myself to simple spa treatments, as well as painting faces and bodies for several campus events—proved to be inspiring, too. Exploits of the tongue and body helped me to find exquisiteness in the simplest of things, including the appreciation of my own body, quirks and all. Some endeavors, like listening to music (Tori Amos in particular), watching television (National Geographic and Discovery), reading (I have just started reading Alvin and Heidi Toffler's "Revolutionary Wealth"), and chatting with colleagues and students over fish balls and kwek kwek, though simple, seemed to have squeezed more cerebral juices than the other activities. Perhaps the most surreal of experiences was when I went under the knife to have a lipoma removed from my back. During the entire painless procedure, words, which I later arranged into poetry, drifted into my thoughts like a mantra. The poem I cannot consider to be a "masterpiece"; nevertheless, it was included as an output because I believe the event from which the inspiration came was one of those rare moments that my muse has made her presence known.

Until now, perhaps due to low self-esteem, the word "mediocre" still passes my mind whenever I look at my creative output. But it’s the start of curing my so-called artistic gout. Sans my muse, I was still able to create something I believe is worth sharing.

The experience, therefore, has taught me to never stop looking for my muse, however frustrating it may seem. After all, I have nothing to lose. In fact, I gained a wealth of wisdom from the search. More importantly, I was able to rechannel my artistic energies into other worthwhile undertakings, which helped uplift the spirits dampened by the challenges of this seemingly not-so glamorous profession. Moreover, I am now able to heave a small sigh of relief at the thought of facing the exceptional in the classroom. I anticipate such encounters that may bring about the rubbing off of some of their gifts on me, if not bring my muse back for good.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Ibang Klase!

If there is one thing that's still keeping me sane, it's art. Do visit our exhibit. Read on...

IBANG KLASE!

On its sixteenth year Ang Ilustrador ng Kabataan (Ang INK) grows older and turns over a new leaf with "Ibang Klase!", the theme for this year's annual exhibit. It is Ang I.N.K. members' way of paying tribute to the personalities who peopled and memories that colored their individual high school lives.The Crush ng Bayan, the Nerd, the Bully, the resident school ghost, ghost-hunting in the school grounds, soirees, first love, first date, first kiss, first dance, graduation, grad ball, prom king and queen, choral fest, intrams, newspaper drive, drama fest, declamation contests, debates, yearbook, diary (or blog), school ring, high school fair (jail booth, kissing booth, marriage booth, concerts, crush, rollercoaster ride with crush), cutting class, school paper, high school orgs, sleepovers, zits, first deodorant, first make-up kit, first shave, algebra, biology, trigonometry, geometry, physics, P.E., gym practice, immersions, retreats, merit and demerit slips, quarterly exams, high school summers, summer camps, excursions, field trips, first smoke, high school fashion, Seventeen magazine, Sweet Valley High, Judy Blume, Bob Ong, celebrity crush, school uniform, cutesy accessories, first makeup, etc. Funny or sad, sane or crazy, memorable or forgettable, these are our memories of high school.

Opening cocktails on14 August 2007, Tuesday, 6 p.m.at the Archaeology Wing, Powerplant Mall

Weekend Activities:

Saturday, 18 August 2007
1 p.m. - Face Painting
2 p.m. - Illustration Clinic with Don Arado, Liza Flores, Jordan Santos and Wilson Tortosa

Sunday, 19 August 2007
12 nn. - Face Painting
1 p.m. - Storytelling session
2 p.m. - Art Workshop with Jomike TejidoExhibit runs from August 14 to 23, 2007 at the Archaeology Wing, Powerplant Mall. (Mall hours)

To contact Ang INK, please visit our website: http://ink.group.ph/

Ang INK would like to thank the following for making this event possible:Powerplant Mall, Lampara, Oishi, Vibal Publishing, Krispy Kreme, Adarna House, Tahanan Books, WWF and Anvil Publishing.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

"I fear that I am ordinary just like everyone..."




Since 96 I've been wallowing in mediocrity...I long to live a life less ordinary!

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Visita Iglesia, American Style

My Easter visit to the East Coast is perhaps one of the most memorable. I felt the divine presence in the beauty of both God and man-made wonders as we traveled from state to state, strolling, spelunking, and road-tripping. Indeed, what better way to celebrate the Resurrection than to embark on a spiritual journey of sorts. The highlight of the trip, however, was a post-Holy Week visita iglesia, which took me to three of the greatest Catholic churches in the US.

The Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, DC cannot be missed, owing to its great size as well as its proximity to the famous Catholic University of America. Numbered among the largest churches in the world (and the largest I have ever visited), it spans more than 77,000 square meters and its two levels—the Crypt Church and the Great Upper Church—can accommodate almost 7,000 worshippers.

It houses more than 30 chapels, most of which were gifts from different cultural groups such as the African Americans, Irish and Mexicans, just to name a few, and were in honor of the different images of the Blessed Virgin enshrined there. Our very own Our Lady of Antipolo (known to Antipolo denizens as Our Lady of Good Voyage) has her own special place at the Crypt level. Also at the Crypt is the Memorial Hall, where thousands of names are etched on marble walls and pillars, a tribute to those who supported the Basilica since its inception in the 1920s.

Renovation was going on at the Upper Church during our tour. The once bare domes were replaced by magnificent mosaic ceilings, each one a grand assortment of tens of thousands of colored tiles depicting different biblical themes. Two domes—the Redemption Dome and the Knights of Columbus Incarnation Dome—were dedicated recently; one more has yet to be unveiled. One has to see them in person to truly appreciate their breathtaking beauty, and we were fortunate enough to be one of the first groups to have done so.
Of course, a visita is not worthwhile without hearing Mass. The Eucharistic celebration at the Basilica should not be missed, especially when one gets the chance to hear the cherubic voice of one of its singer-commentators. It was a heavenly experience indeed.

A few blocks from Baltimore, Maryland’s Inner Harbor stood America’s first Cathedral. The Baltimore Basilica, as it is commonly known, was established more than 200 years ago by John Carroll, the first US bishop and founder of Georgetown University, together with US Capitol architect, Benjamin Henry Latrobe, to cater to the spiritual needs of the growing population of American Catholics following the adoption of the Constitution.

Many significant events unfolded within the Basilica’s walls such as the launching of the Catholic University of America and the ordination of Father Michael J. McGiveney, founder of the Knights of Columbus. Well-known figures from around the world have knelt on its pews, including Pope John Paul II, Mother Teresa, and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Fortunately again, the Basilica has just completed its 30-month long restoration and renovation. Unlike the Gothic churches of Europe, it donned a neoclassical look, and is believed by many to be one of the best neoclassical architectural masterpieces in the world. If we have visited a few months earlier, the tour guide told us, we would not have recognized the bright, American-style interiors, which was how Latrobe envisioned it to look like. Twenty-four skylights, which had been previously removed, illuminated the altar while hazy handmade glass windowpanes gave us a picture of the life in the once simple and dust-paved streets of downtown Baltimore. The Crypt, too, has been refurbished, enabling the visitors to pass through its dimly lit red-brick walls.

Amid the bustling streets, tall modern buildings, and highly commercialized shops of the Big Apple towered a grayish-white structure that has been a spiritual haven for tourists and New York Catholics alike for more than a century now.

Like its European counterparts, the Cathedral of Saint Patrick is a magnificent Gothic work of art. Two identical 330-foot spires shoot up to the skies. It has dimly-lit interiros, great and intricately designed arches, as well as beautiful stained glass windows. The Great Organ of some 7,000 pipes hovered over the giant Gothic bronze doors which opened to the city's modish Fifth Avenue.

Unlike the two churches we visited, the Cathedral was teeming with people, probably tourists like us, and had tighter security. A group of high school students on their field trip sat at the back pews. Flashes from dozens of cameras lighted up the shadowy interiors. Outside, more tour groups sat on the church steps and took pictures.

Noon Mass was being held when we got there. Although we were a bit far from the altar, our Pinoy instinct told us that the celebrant and commentator looked and sounded like our kababayans.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Of pianos and old dogs

Some say you're never too old to play the piano.

There are some, however, who say you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

So, what is it really, then?

She is just napping

Years ago I thought my muse has left me for good. She slipped away quietly, while I was out in the big world occupied with those so-called matters of consequence. When I became fully aware of her disappearance (which began when I lost my pink poetry notebook), a new kind of depression enfolded me. Before she left, when I was depressed, sadness just flowed through my fingers and released the pain into inked or painted messages. Now, it's as if the painful black ink has dried up in my veins, disabling my digits and numbing my brain. Artistic gout, that's what it is.

I tried searching for her--in solitude, in disorder, among the crowd, among the shadows, in between sips of alcohol (she seemed to have reappeared, but only for a moment brief enough for me to compose something intelligible), only to find myself still empty and at a loss for words. I even tried going back to where I felt and embraced her overwhelming presence--through the little cracks of my colorful college days--but no trace of her.

After nursing a fever and staying mostly in bed for 24 hours, reading Og Mandino's The Greatest Miracle in the World, a thought suddenly came to mind.

Maybe, she is just sleeping.

Could it be true? Could she be here all the time, just slumbering, without me knowing it? Being narcoleptic myself, I haven't thought of that. But asleep for years? That's some sleeping sickness you got there, muse.

Maybe it is true. It is perhaps why inspiration sometimes comes to me, like some odd pixie dust lifting me up to the air in one happy or sad thought, and then suddenly drops me back to the hard earth. I can almost picture her in a scene where she is on the verge of wakefulness and then, realizing there's no hurry waking up, goes right back to slumber.

Perhaps it's the fever that's causing me to think deliriously. Perhaps it's some other form of depression. Perhaps it's God's Memorandum starting to work its way through my soul--count your blessings (I have a muse, just a sleeping one); proclaim your rarity (I have a muse, just a sleeping one. Yay.); go another mile (I will try to go on, with or without her); and use wisely the power of choice (I will try to go on, with or without her--as if I have a choice).

Whatever it is, one thing is for sure. I have not given up looking.

If you're listening, my dear muse, this is your wake-up call.