an Artist Date

After a rather long while I found myself finding time to get out of the house and do something purely to inspire myself and shake down some ideas from the slumbering shadows in my head.

I went to Heima along Brixton which is about a ten-minute walk from home. I told myself I would only look and soak in the creative energies and not buy anything. I ended up leaving with a shopping bag of goodies and a mental list of what to go back for. 

I did not spend very much. Just a little. Nothing like how I would spend in a bookstore. Besides, I seriously felt that I needed a boost of creative inspiration plus some proper reward for successfully moving out and moving in and keeping the family's spirits up and positively bent.

Of course, count on me to get all fired up for creative work just before the start of a new dayjob work project, when bulk of my time is about to be taken away. I seem to have a knack for hitting upon the muse button at the last minute, just when I have to go someplace else and it could not be helped.

In any case I refuse to be disheartened by the amount of time left. The work will only take three and a half weeks, four at the most. After that I have half a mind to keeping November to myself to write the draft for my second novel, with small art projects to serve as breaks in between. As I was browsing at Heima I am reminded of how much I really love the interplay of image and words and thus I would like to strive and practice it in my creative works. 

That is all I have to say for now. I write this post on my phone while tucked in bed. The very heavy volume of Sherlock Holmes awaits by my side. I hope to solve a few more mysteries before I call it a night, but to you I bid a sweet good night!

monday meanderings

I really should not be meandering. I am up to my eyeballs in to-dos and I have been having bouts of hyperventilation since this morning from sheer stress over work.

Taking power naps help to calm me down, as well as eating. Then there's sneaking in a few chapters from a book and stealing a few minutes to paint.

For the rest of June, my work schedule will be rather tricky. Three projects overlapping. I know I mentioned sometime ago that I would not even attempt doing TWO simultaneous projects and now I have three. What can I say? The bills have to be paid and one of those three projects has proven to be a profit loss for me so I have to make up for that loss by stuffing in two other projects.

Bills and day-jobs can really be major killjoys sometimes.

a sunday cat, and some sunday thoughts

I have been trying to get myself to work since this morning. So far I have ended up writing pieces that had nothing to do with work, and watching the last episode of Downton Abbey, and reading a book.

It is impossible to work on a Sunday. One can feel the holiday-ness of it. Even the sun is a certain shade of gold that meant Rest and Play.

I thought I have not made any art for weeks so I took out my little Moleskine plain notebook and made this:

I was hoping it would get me energized to work. It didn't. Why do I even bother to try to work in the first place? I think I feel guilty for being sick last Friday and not being able to work at all.

I also do not trust my immense capacity to:

Work pains me. At least the kind of work that takes me away from the writing I want to do and the art I want to make. It would not have been so bad if it were simple work, nothing that taxed me to the point of exhaustion. But the nature of my day-job demands a lot of mental effort, and mental effort is exhausting. I also have to exert extra effort to make up for my lukewarm heart.

I am reading this book on the science of success and I can understand perfectly what it is trying to say but as simple as it sounds, it is very difficult to practice. My mind is a noisy babble of anxiety and impatience that possibly slows me down towards the life I want.

I must not be distracted. The day-job is a means to an end. I must be careful not to get trapped as if it is an end in itself. I was in that cage once. I must never get caught again.

"Play your roles, but KNOW that they are NOT YOU." - Joseph Campbell

my very own Project Life

I am inspired by Becky Higgins and her Project Life. But I cannot afford her beautiful templates and kits plus at some point I still want to do a bit more hands-on when I put things like this together. I also want space for my writing, lots of writing, not just photos and images. So I decided to design my own Project Life by getting a plain ring binder, printing papers, magazine scraps, old decorative calendars, and the like to help me get started. It is also a great way for me to have a hard copy of all my digital journals and blog posts -- my own way of securing myself a copy of everything I have written with a computer and thus taking away the fear that they would all be lost in cyberspace when the zombie apocalypse comes around.

There is a lot of cutting and glueing and doodling and coloring involved. Very therapeutic. I also find myself re-reading old journal entries and realizing that I had worked out some things that have been troubling me without realizing it at the time. I also enjoy discovering the patterns in my writing topics which help me with whatever it is that I am struggling with at the moment.

Right now I would love to do this all day but I need to get some work tasks done. How I wish for the day when I will never say those words "need to get some work tasks done"! How I wish that all I need ever say is "need to finish writing the latest book" or "need to complete the pieces for the next exhibit"!

new tumblr page

To help spread the happy energies and inspiration I have created a tumblr version of my art page.

Drop by at lovemarichit.tumblr.com

currently hooked

The exercises get more complicated as the chapters go by but I am having tons of fun! This is certainly something to feel good about when other things in my life are needing a boost.

I have been having dreams of slaying dragons and I know my subconscious is telling me something very important. Maybe I will meditate on it by painting more.

inktense urge

This set of Inktense Blocks was an impulse purchase. Although it has been on my wishlist since August of last year, it was not a priority item. It is an expensive brand and work projects have been few and far between.

But there I was, standing in front of the display, and all of the sudden there was a surge of energy from the pit of my stomach and the next thing I knew...

sunshine within the storm

I am being thrown about by financial tornados and heart tsunamis. I crawl my way into the eye of the storm and anchor myself with a paintbrush, a pencil, and a pen.

Colds and cough kept me at home today, with not much to do because sudden movements made my head hurt and make me want to throw up. A low fever flits in and out, undecided whether to camp for the weekend or just treat me as a pitstop.

Things certainly look more dreary when you're sick. I surrounded myself with the comfort of my books and made myself busy with art-making. I slept when my eyes started to hurt or when my skin started to burn again.

Watercolor and charcoal is fast becoming my favorite combination. Here I recreated a set of lucky fish that used to hang from my ceiling. I got rid of the fishes when they got torn and too dirty. I don't know if it was coincidence but the money-making projects dried up after that. So I recreated them by hand and will hang them in my home again. Just to be on the safe side of universal rules and schemes and energy flows. Just in case.

This one is a bit of a play with words and ideas and feelings. 

I did not get to do much work-related tasks today. My head hurt when I tried to steer my mind towards serious thoughts that required strategy and rationalization and very careful crafting. After a few failed attempts I decided to put off the work tasks for when I am feeling much better and when my head is more cooperative.

2013: The Year Of True Paths

I woke up very late today because I got home at almost four in the morning. My sister and I spent the first couple of hours of the new year watching Sense And Sensibility and taking good lessons from Jane Austen.

When I got home I was still very much awake and had to read myself to sleep, which meant that it must have been almost five in the morning. In keeping with one of the themes I intend to embrace this new year, I progressed through The Jane Austen Guide To Happily Ever After.

I changed my curtains into a sunshiny polka-dotted piece in the hopes of attracting money energies. At this point, every little bit will help, as far as I am concerned.

In the evening, I dared to spend a little bit of cash to treat my family out to dinner. It has been a long while since we could afford to celebrate by eating out in a nice restaurant. But I figured, it is the new year, and the energies are fresh and hopes are recharged. We went to a place we have not tried but which promised delicious celebratory comfort food. We had traditional dishes of crispy pata and kare-kare with steamed rice. We were served a complimentary basket of crispy delicious cracklings while we waited for the meal to be served.

Before leaving the house for dinner though, I finished a piece that was inspired by a private joke and secret among myself, my sister, and a common girl friend.

When I got home after dinner, I did one last journal page and admired my own handiwork. Love will be taken seriously this year, in all its forms and expressions. I will not be embarrassed by it, nor will I treat it like an afterthought.

2013 will be a Year of True Paths. After the rebirths of the previous year, it is now the time to nurture what have been reborn and rediscovered. To let these, by their nature, invite the right kind of people, opportunities, events, and experiences. The true ones that will nurture my own spirit and happiness. True friends, true loves, true passions. There will certainly be a lot of walking, aching feet, occasionally getting delayed by either hunger or exhaustion, maybe sometimes putting off the forward march by a day (but never more than a day). There may even be some doubling back, because of something forgotten or something missed. A loose end slipping out that must be cut clean. But always, always, it will all end with moving forward, even if it means leaving things and even people behind (like when they don't wish to walk with you nor catch up with you nor carry their own weight in the journey.) 

In moving forward I hope to see new places, meet new people (even if it is seeing the same old people in a new light that will forge deeper relationships), gain beautiful new experiences that will bring new lessons (or new ways of learning old ones). I hope to learn new things, to discover side journeys that will help me grow, and also I hope to be something new and something true to other people. I hope to be a true friend, and when the Universe says it is time, a true love. 

What true path will you be walking this year?

around the mango tree

I had lunch with a very dear friend today. He also used to be my boss and is a believer in the kind of research work that I do (i.e. my dayjob). At the same time he is a staunch supporter of everything else in my life. But most importantly he has become the best kind of friend anyone can ever hope to have in a lifetime.

We agreed to meet up at a bookstore by noon. He came from a meeting so he was a few minutes late, which meant that I ended up discovering and finding books. There was this blank moment and then I am suddenly in possession of three new books that I could barely afford (although they were priced quite low for a regular book).

My friend and I had lunch at a Thai restaurant called The Mango Tree. We had pomelo salad with prawns for starters, then grilled steak with thai sauce and seafood with hot basil. We were so engrossed with catching up that I totally forgot about taking a snapshot of the food. But here's a snapshot of the ever delicious Illy coffee.

I always believe that people and events come upon us when we are ready to receive the message. Something along the line of the saying that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. For today, my friend has been the strong gust of wind that blew on my sails and helped me move forward with an optimistic heart. He shared a number of inspiring stories, particularly how the tide turned just when he thought it never would. I like that image of the tide turning, of last-minute plot twists, even a deux ex machina, a divine intervention, an explosion of magic.

Today my well of hope has been refreshed. Even when many things are still up in the air and seem to be evading resolution.

I have started re-writing my novel after letting it rest for a couple of weeks. And again I am experiencing that joy and calm that lifted me up before amidst the uncertainties and trials. Anger, despair, and fears are channeled into this creative endeavor. When nothing much is happening in real life, it helps to make things happen on the page.

On the way home I finally made myself purchase a large old dictionary with yellowing pages for a creative project that I have been wanting to do for months. I was postponing it because I thought it cost too much given my budget constraints. When I checked again today, however, the shop was on sale and the price was a third of what I thought it was.

I walked home from the mall (where the secondhand book shop was), my arms aching with the weight of the dictionary. But I treated it like a little exercise and did not mind the burning pain in my muscles as I dodged traffic and marched steadily through the varying slopes of the sidewalk.

I am now back on my writing desk, CSI: New York playing in the background, and chores lined up for the evening. It has been a good day.

quick shots

I've been busy -- mainly drawing, painting, writing, reading, and today it was working.

My house chores are way behind but I'm pleased with the creative productivity.

The week started well and hopeful.

Latest piece. I have quite a number of drawings waiting for color in line.

Making the wait for a meeting worthwhile with a book. Finished two books this week.

I have a watcher keeping me safe and supervised every day.

to the farmer's market

“We very strongly hope that the traditional will not be lost. One really worries, because our mothers all cooked but I doubt if our children will. Our grandchildren? Who knows? Maybe they’ll open packages for dinners. There is a real danger of cultural loss if you lose food, just like when you lose a language.” -Doreen G. Fernandez

my sister's dream self

The Girl With Purple Hair And A Flower Tattoo

a surge

I spent most of today painting. Couldn't help it. Couldn't stop. The blank pages drew me in and made me draw.

I finished this one last night.

This is my first finished piece for the day. Watercolor + Gouache

Today's second piece : Watercolor + Gouache + Lace

A Special Piece for my best friend in Canada. The photo does not do justice to the colors or texture so she will still have a bit of a surprise when she gets the real thing. :)

Third piece started but I made myself stop so I could take a breathe and rest. It would not do to deplete my creative well so soon.

I have started drawing and painting in my sketchbooks instead of hiding in the safety of my art journal pages. I can actually tear the pages off and frame the pieces. Maybe I will do that one day.

perspectives

I could really use some perspective on a matter that I am working to resolve right now. Either I jump in ahead or wait for the waters to flood in. There are quite a number of factors and feelings to consider. And there is also a deadline. For now I go for the best advice of the moment: make art.

a poem on scratch paper

translated into OmniSketch + PicMonkey

When I am better with my penmanship and calligraphy I will do this on actual paper with collage, watercolor, and ink. I'm still struggling with the pen angle and the right pressure to create the thin and thick lines of letters. It's like grade school all over again, but more fun.

The poem was from a random series of phrases as I was testing the flexibility of my dip pen on tiny notepads. It almost seems like a love poem, except that I am not in love. More like I'm borrowing from the memory of being in love (and being ignored). Yes, anything can be inspiration, even the recollection of events that led you into a merry chase to nowhere.

just do

It should not matter where the writing comes from or how the writing is done. The writing could come from a sad memory, or a sentimental musing, or the simply fact that I cleaned the cat's litter this morning. The writing could be done in my journal, handwritten in ink with a vintage fountain pen, or scribbled hastily on a square notepad with a Sharpie, or even typed into my iPhone with the Momento app or typed into my computer with Ommwriter. None of these should matter. Sometimes the writing will catch me at odd times and at odd places. I must simply write.

"How carefully are we willing to listen? How much control are we willing to surrender for the sake of allowing creativity to move through us rather than out trying to flog it forward for agendas of out own?"  - Julia Cameron

I like to imagine myself, beautiful like a dream, sitting by the window and writing. My hair would be in a neat ponytail. My back would be straight. I would be in a pretty vintage dress. My fingers would be ink-stained for effect, folded around a vintage fountain pen. And before me would be pages and pages of beautiful writing, in perfect penmanship. Poems and essays and little stories. With appropriate sketches and drawings in ink and watercolor. So perfect. So admirable.

But in reality, I am in crumpled pajamas or a well-worn shirt and shorts. My hair would be in a messy bun because I just finished keeping the dust in the house at bay. My fingers are wrinkly from washing the dishes. It feels too warm to sit down for any length of time and the clean blank pages of paper only echo a blankness in my mind. My penmanship wavers between okay and confused. My writing churns out snippets of half-hearted poetry, reluctant opinions, and unconvincing stories. My attempts at artful marginalia end up like thoughtless doodles or mediocre sketches.

But none of it should matter, except the simple fact that I write. I make art. Something happens on the page even if it seems not much.

I must keep at it, and then one day it will all come together, fall into place. But I must not think about that yet. I must focus on what is now, what is here. Now I do what I can, write what I can, make art as best as I can. I must not count the days nor measure the hours I have spent nor try to determine if anything has born fruit. Nurture. Cultivate. Savor the surprise when it finally happens.

where i am

"…just start where you are. It's a luxury to be in the mood to write. It's a blessing but it's not a necessity. Writing is like breathing, it's possible to learn to do it well, but the point is to do it no matter what."
- Julia Cameron

I have made up countless rules for myself in order to write. Conditions that I somehow believed to be prerequisites to writing. I have this illusion of a perfect piece of work emerging only when these conditions are met. For instance, the house must be clean and in order so that my own thoughts will be in order. There must be a huge chunk of free time stretched out ahead of me so I will not feel rushed or pressured. I must not be disturbed in any way. The temperature in the room must be just so, not too hot, not too cold. It must be early in the day so I will feel like my writing is fresh like the morning sun. There must not be any work to be done after, no errands, no obligations. Meals must be satisfying but not exhausting nor time-consuming to prepare. Also, the dishes must somehow be magically washed away or else the sight of a full dirty sink will distract from the writing.

Needless to say, trying to meet all of these conditions means that no writing is ever done. Five days would have passed and I would still be planning and preparing to write.

The paper must be smooth. The pen must be perfect. The ink must be an exact shade of turquoise.

Handwritten is better than typing. I should wait until my fingers lose their stiffness from playing too much Assassin's Creed. I must not be sleepy, so it will be better if I lay down for a few minutes and took a nap.

I must finish all the items on my to-do list for the day before I can write. Or else all those to-dos will keep on marching back and forth before me on the blank pages.

All the fuss and all the nitpicking for the perfect time to write. Yet all I have to do is to sit down and to write. Ignore everything else. Write as if everything else depended on it. Write for fifteen minutes. Even for five minutes. In five days that would have already been almost half an hour of writing compared to no writing because the windows needed a curtain change.

I have created for myself little superstitions that make writing like some kind of a Holy Grail. I am sabotaging my own path to the creative life I am craving for.

Today I take a burning torch and burn it all away. The rules, the conditions, the excuses. The distractions, the hidden desire for instant perfection, the reluctance to begin for fear of never finishing.

Today I will steal time to write, and to make art, and I will do it every single day from here on. No, I will claim time, for it is the desire of my heart and the calling of my spirit.

Because really, what is it that I dream of, achingly, as I go to bed every night?

To be a writer and an artist, a creator and a crafter.

Then I must live it. Become what I want by doing. To cease all pretense at preparation, to crush every ounce of fear and brew it for courage. To leap into the void of blankness, of possibility, and to make things happen. To make my life happen. To make me happen.

snail mail project

This is a personal project that is connected to a number of other things that I want to enrich in my life.

First is the nurturing of important relationships and strengthening my personal community of family and friends. There are few things so heart-warming as a well-thought out letter, written by hand, on hand-designed paper and envelope (or perhaps on well-chosen stationery paper) sent and received. The very act itself of letter writing already presupposes time and effort (and money for mailing) taken and spent. We have grown so used to picking the most convenient path (hasty emails, text messages, and worst of all, written text speak) that we have also given up a lot of the meanings and values embedded in things and activities done by hand.

Second is the relearning of those meanings and values. The virtue of patience practiced when waiting for a reply. The careful thought put into the composition of the letter, from the very basics of grammar to proper self-expression and articulation of the message. The recognition of who you actually care enough for to take the time, effort, and money to write to. The value of simply slowing down and making time.

Third is the perfect excuse to make more art. Not to waste all those pretty pens and inks and papers. Also a perfect means to let my art travel to places and be alive and have purpose.

Here are some envelopes I have made to contain unsent letters to former objects of my affection, as well as a repository of old journal entries and old printed emails kept as souvenirs of old almost-love-stories.

Is there still room for old-fashioned mail in your life?

creative storm

Pushed to the brink and dangled over the edge of the abyss, I was left with no choice but to put uncertain hands on blank pages. Soul took over as soon as I relaxed my death grip on reason. I was starving on so many levels but as the pages filled with color and images and words, a sweet delicious taste flooded me and drowned all my inner censors and doubts.