books and grandmothers

I went on an short walk yesterday to clear my head and to get some air. I also decided to drop by the warehouse store across the street from my building which sells tons of overruns and other imported bargain items.

There was a section on second-hand books so naturally I browsed patiently as much as I could stand the heat (the warehouse was very poorly air-conditioned). I was rewarded for my efforts with three books at ridiculously low prices.

One was a copy of The Hero Within by Carol S. Pearson, a classic favorite among Jungian enthusiasts (I learned about it when I attended a Jungian Summer Class way back in the late 1990s). It's quite hard to find and when I chanced upon it in a bookstore it cost about Php600. I already have my own copy but I could not let this other copy go. So I bought it and gifted it to my sister who also has an appreciation for mythology and archetypes. It only cost Php69.

The second book is titled Sixteen Pleasures and it's a story set in Italy. I remember that I used to have that very same book many years ago but I never got to read it and then it got sold during a major clutter-clearing phase. It only cost Php59 so I thought of it as a second chance to read the book. I have also been lately gravitating to a lot of Italian (food, books, even the video game I am currently playing is set in Italy!) so I am indulging myself.

The third book is the best of them all at Php45 (that's roughly a dollar). It's a beautiful cookbook with beautiful illustrations on Mexican cooking titled My Abuela's Table.

Abuela means Grandmother. 

This inspired me further to keep on working on my own personal recipe book project where I intend to include my grandmother's own recipe. A few years ago she gave me a notebook where she had handwritten her own recipes for my own use. The notebook itself is falling to pieces so I better rescue the pages!

Have you had any lucky finds lately?

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.

the gifts of clarity

Ever since I have been clarifying aspects of my life in the past few days and acting according to that clarity, there have been little events that demonstrate how things can fall into place.

No it's not magic or superstition. The way I see it, because I am clear with what I want and where I want to go, then my own awareness is attuned to that clarity. As a result, I am better able to spot opportunities or to recognize the things, people, and events, that can be helpful to my cause.

As opposed to being vague and uncertain, even if all the chances were given me, I would fail to recognize them as opportunities because I would not be sure that they are indeed opportunities. There would be doubt and there would be fear and there would be a lot of hesitation.

I am not even referring to grandiose desires here. Even with little things this whole formula of clarity leading to paths does work. When I am sure and clear then I am better able to discern what the next best step would be. And it is not about knowing exactly how and what the next step is for the whole stretch, but simply knowing at that exact perfect moment that it is time for the next step. My intuition is sharper. My gut-feel is more solid.

One of the first things I became clear with is my desire to literally write better and write more. I mean writing by hand, improving my penmanship, creating more handwritten works such as letters and postcards and design in general. I have been greatly inspired by a friend and role model, Leigh, who has very beautiful handwriting (and who also happens to be a passionate pen collector). I have been shying away from acknowledging my own enthusiasm for pens and handwriting until I actually lost patience with myself and decided that I want to nurture that aspect of me. Hence I made that post openly acknowledging myself as a pen enthusiast and its natural relation to a fondness for calligraphy and lettering.

So that became clear to me : I want to learn more and practice better handwriting, I want to eventually be able to do some level of calligraphy, I want to have my own modest pen collection, I want to integrate my writing skills into my artwork, I want a stronger handwriting habit in my daily life, I want to have a decent foundation of knowledge on pens and inks and their applications.

One of the first things I did was send a personal message to Leigh to thank her for her very enlightening blog because reading her posts definitely helped steer me in the right direction -- very useful since I really had no idea how to begin. In response, she gave me a vintage pen -- which for me was like a blessing and a welcome and a recognition all rolled into one. Her generosity helped dismantle the last few traces of any hesitation to move forward.

The note was written with the pen. Sadly I cannot yet reproduce the same quality of penmanship. :D

On that very same day, my mom stumbled upon my long missing glass dip pen -- it has been missing for years.

Today I took a walk around the neighborhood and found myself in a Surplus Shop specializing in items from Japan. I left the store with:

Five Ink Brushes at only Php10 each. 

A brush pen (also at Php10) that looks like it can be refilled with ink. It writes beautifully.

From deciding to evolve the literal act of writing it naturally followed that my own writing, the poems, the stories, the journals, also took a step to level up. It is like a whole Writing Revolution in my life, my writing is expanding itself and deepening itself, both inside (content and meaning) and outside (penmanship and calligraphy).

Already I am beginning to feel its ripple effect on other aspects of my life. The next thing to be bathed in the spotlight of clarity is my desire for baking, which in itself has always been on a defensive half-baked stance. I have started to sort it out since last night, and the resolution of the matter will be the subject of another post.

Have a great weekend!

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.

omnisketch

Omnisketch is a new iPad app that I downloaded just today. It caught my eye when I was updating my iPad apps. It only costs $1.99.

Here is my first piece using the app. It feels like drawing in ink or thick watercolor and I like some of the effects and the variety of brushes. But a part of me still feels like "cheating" and I would still prefer to make more art with real paper and pencil and brushes. This app will be very useful though when I am out of the house and have to wait or when I am in a cafe and don't feel like reading or writing. It can also be useful as a drafting page for works that I intend to do with real paper and watercolor.

I've been drawn to a lot of water images lately and maybe it's because I feel like I am lost at sea. I'm looking for the rainbow and the pot of gold. I'm looking for the land that I can call my home. I am looking for the compass that will tell me if I am on course and where my True North lies.

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?