The Midnight Lecture
Oil on cradled canvas
36" x 36"
Work in progress
Sunday, May 1, 2016
2:11 PM
2:11 PM
The Hermit of Cubao
Photo by Marlon Cagatin, December 13, 2015
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Friday, April 29, 2016
Done painting for the day.
S.and I did groceries in the rain this afternoon. Bought another new ice cream flavor, two balls of ham, three boxes of cereal, more instant noodles (an emergency cache), kitchen detergent, chocolate candy for the granddaughters (only now do I connect this with a dream I had!), and two cartons of milk.
Aubrey asked for two more candle holders--lanterns, actually--for her bedroom.
S. still working on the first of his nine-panel painting for M.'s cafe.
Caught the replay of American Ninja Warrior: U.S.A. versus Japan. Clint Eastwood should have been watching this too.
S.and I did groceries in the rain this afternoon. Bought another new ice cream flavor, two balls of ham, three boxes of cereal, more instant noodles (an emergency cache), kitchen detergent, chocolate candy for the granddaughters (only now do I connect this with a dream I had!), and two cartons of milk.
Aubrey asked for two more candle holders--lanterns, actually--for her bedroom.
S. still working on the first of his nine-panel painting for M.'s cafe.
Caught the replay of American Ninja Warrior: U.S.A. versus Japan. Clint Eastwood should have been watching this too.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
I value my friends more than I value their political leanings. The former is constant, the latter is ephemeral.
My REAL friends, after all, have had to put up with my flamboyance, my cosplay moments, my vanity, my eccentricities and quirks, my unpredictable seasons of art, my unusual worldview, my religious disbeliefs, my sarcasm and condescension, my dire predictions, my biases, my reclusion, and my habits, yet they remain my friends.
My REAL friends, after all, have had to put up with my flamboyance, my cosplay moments, my vanity, my eccentricities and quirks, my unpredictable seasons of art, my unusual worldview, my religious disbeliefs, my sarcasm and condescension, my dire predictions, my biases, my reclusion, and my habits, yet they remain my friends.
Is the voice of "the Filipino" the voice of the majority or is it ever the voice of him who stands alone?
If it is the voice of the majority, why, then, are most Philippine national heroes men and women who stood alone and actually died for doing so?
When a person says that he is proud to be a Filipino, what exactly does he mean?
If it is the voice of the majority, why, then, are most Philippine national heroes men and women who stood alone and actually died for doing so?
When a person says that he is proud to be a Filipino, what exactly does he mean?
Almost done reading Lu Xun's Old Tales Retold. I realize that I am losing 80% of it in doing so because, despite its footnotes, I do not have the original tales in their un-retold version, I am missing out on nuances about the famous personalities who lived within the era, I am discombobulated by how the author uses the stories to advance his political agenda, and I do not have a complete background of pre-PROC.
What I find fascinating is how the stories are written. They do not have typical beginnings, middles, and endings, they are unusually post-modern, and some even end abruptly. Within these stories, there are exquisite vignettes, such as that in which a princess gives birth to a length of iron, how a smith forged two blue swords from it, and how his son later sought to avenge his father, who was executed by the king.
Lu Xun is known as the forerunner of the cultural revolution in China. Most of his stories are dated 1935.
If I have any friend out there who is into Chinese political history, he/she is welcome to have this book.
What I find fascinating is how the stories are written. They do not have typical beginnings, middles, and endings, they are unusually post-modern, and some even end abruptly. Within these stories, there are exquisite vignettes, such as that in which a princess gives birth to a length of iron, how a smith forged two blue swords from it, and how his son later sought to avenge his father, who was executed by the king.
Lu Xun is known as the forerunner of the cultural revolution in China. Most of his stories are dated 1935.
If I have any friend out there who is into Chinese political history, he/she is welcome to have this book.
"Tornadoes" (Night of Wednesday, April 27, 2016)
Significant Events of the Day:
It was the day after the U.S. Embassy program at the Ambassador's Residence, and I was able to work on my painting again the entire day.
The Dream:
I am on a street in Malate. It is a bright afternoon. Everything is relatively peaceful until I notice that there are two tornadoes in the distance coming in my direction. The tornado on the left is dark and foreboding; it is the same tornado that has been appearing in many of my dreams since I was a little boy and that I have come to interpret as my Shadow, comprised mainly of suppressed anger and dark urges. The tornado on the right is surreal; it is like an image from Cartoon Network and is made up of colorful, printed balls and machine parts, and is spectacular but threatening.
As both tornadoes approach I see LL, the stage director. I tell the crowd, "Everyone, go inside!", meaning, inside concrete buildings. LL and I dash up the stairs of a two-story building. It has a coffee shop on the ground floor and living space on the upper floor. As we go up the stairs I tell LL, "No one listens to what I tell them." He replies, "No one listens to a seer in his own country, like that woman." "Cassandra," I say, and he assents.
We wait anxiously in the sitting room on the upper floor. I watch the two tornadoes come down the street and cover the sky above us completely. The dark tornado swirls by, and then the surreal tornado follows. One of the big, cartoon balls bumps against the window but no damage is done. This is followed by a cartoon machine part shaped like a dumbbell or a wrench. It crashes against the roof of the building and I am momentarily terrified. The dumbbell/wrench stays where it is, against an eave, for a few seconds, until it is finally swept away.
Later I ask one of the old ladies who work in the coffee shop whether they still produce the chocolate balls that the coffee shop is known for. I am interested in buying one. "Kakainin natin," the old lady suggests, but I say no, because I intend to have the chocolate all to myself.
Since the tornadoes have passed LL and I go downstairs. Once again, at the counter, I ask another female employee whether I can purchase a chocolate ball, this time to bring home to my granddaughters, but the female at the counter says that it will take time to prepare, that it is big and heavy, and that I need to have a bag and a soft wrap to protect the chocolate for my trip home. I have none, and I so decide to pass on the purchase.
Back on the street I see that the roof gutter was dented by the cartoon dumbbell/wrench within the surreal tornado, and I shudder at having come that close to danger.
My Interpretation:
The second tornado is the creative aspect of my Shadow. I have been working on a painting recently, and it depicts denizens of the Philippine underworld. It is possible that, even at the age of 65, my Shadow has become my ally, although it is still an overwhelming figure, and will probably remain so.
My interest in chocolate might reflect my hunger for some companionship at this time. I choose complete solitude when I am writing and painting. My attending the Embassy event could have jump-started this dormant need within me, despite my desire to live my life as an urban hermit, because it really was nice to mingle with old friends and former co-workers once again.
It was the day after the U.S. Embassy program at the Ambassador's Residence, and I was able to work on my painting again the entire day.
The Dream:
I am on a street in Malate. It is a bright afternoon. Everything is relatively peaceful until I notice that there are two tornadoes in the distance coming in my direction. The tornado on the left is dark and foreboding; it is the same tornado that has been appearing in many of my dreams since I was a little boy and that I have come to interpret as my Shadow, comprised mainly of suppressed anger and dark urges. The tornado on the right is surreal; it is like an image from Cartoon Network and is made up of colorful, printed balls and machine parts, and is spectacular but threatening.
As both tornadoes approach I see LL, the stage director. I tell the crowd, "Everyone, go inside!", meaning, inside concrete buildings. LL and I dash up the stairs of a two-story building. It has a coffee shop on the ground floor and living space on the upper floor. As we go up the stairs I tell LL, "No one listens to what I tell them." He replies, "No one listens to a seer in his own country, like that woman." "Cassandra," I say, and he assents.
We wait anxiously in the sitting room on the upper floor. I watch the two tornadoes come down the street and cover the sky above us completely. The dark tornado swirls by, and then the surreal tornado follows. One of the big, cartoon balls bumps against the window but no damage is done. This is followed by a cartoon machine part shaped like a dumbbell or a wrench. It crashes against the roof of the building and I am momentarily terrified. The dumbbell/wrench stays where it is, against an eave, for a few seconds, until it is finally swept away.
Later I ask one of the old ladies who work in the coffee shop whether they still produce the chocolate balls that the coffee shop is known for. I am interested in buying one. "Kakainin natin," the old lady suggests, but I say no, because I intend to have the chocolate all to myself.
Since the tornadoes have passed LL and I go downstairs. Once again, at the counter, I ask another female employee whether I can purchase a chocolate ball, this time to bring home to my granddaughters, but the female at the counter says that it will take time to prepare, that it is big and heavy, and that I need to have a bag and a soft wrap to protect the chocolate for my trip home. I have none, and I so decide to pass on the purchase.
Back on the street I see that the roof gutter was dented by the cartoon dumbbell/wrench within the surreal tornado, and I shudder at having come that close to danger.
My Interpretation:
The second tornado is the creative aspect of my Shadow. I have been working on a painting recently, and it depicts denizens of the Philippine underworld. It is possible that, even at the age of 65, my Shadow has become my ally, although it is still an overwhelming figure, and will probably remain so.
My interest in chocolate might reflect my hunger for some companionship at this time. I choose complete solitude when I am writing and painting. My attending the Embassy event could have jump-started this dormant need within me, despite my desire to live my life as an urban hermit, because it really was nice to mingle with old friends and former co-workers once again.
Art As A Reflection Of The Unconscious
For approximately 50 years now the U.S. Department of State's Art in Embassies program has been allowing U.S. ambassadors worldwide to select, for installation in their Residences and offices, works by young and promising, contemporary American artists. The most apparent objective of this program is to enable American ambassadors to enjoy original artworks on their walls. The subliminal objectives are to elevate the spiritual consciousness of American ambassadors by constantly exposing them to original art, and for the American artists to gain exposure to viewers in different countries around the world.
Significant changes occurred when Ambassador Philip S. Goldberg arrived in the Philippines. For the first time, the Department purchased works not only by contemporary American artists but by contemporary Filipino artists as well, and installed them in the many interiors of the buildings on the U.S. Embassy compound. Ambassador Goldberg furthermore selected, for installation in his Residence, only works by his favorite Filipino and Fil-Am artists.
Seven of these works were opened to viewing during a reception showcasing Art in Embassies, renamed, for this occasion, "U.S.-Philippine Friendship through Art," at the Residence Tuesday, April 26, 2016. The seven works are Leo Abaya's Negotiating Space (2005, acrylic and oil on linen) and This Can Happen Elsewhere (2004, oil and acrylic on canvas); Jeff Huntington's Jose Rizal (2014, collage and acrylic on canvas); Athena Magcase Lopez's Weavers in a Cave (2007, oil on canvas) and A Home Between (2009, oil on canvas); and Johanna Poethig's Isang Gabi (2009, digital print) and Lapu Lapu and Manong Benny (2014, digital print of a detail of her 1984 Ang Lipi ni Lapu Lapu mural).
I should mention that another of Ambassador Goldberg's favorite Filipino artists is National Artist for Visual Arts BenCab. It was, however, most difficult to obtain any of BenCab's works because he had none available for installation--like Elmer Borlongan and Emmanuel Garibay, he is paid up well in advance for a line-up of paintings he has not yet even begun working on.
Ambassador Goldberg was too kind to give me a few minutes to discuss his seven choices of artworks. While I would have preferred a more intensive interview, there was a crowd of other guests that evening, including representatives of the art community in Angono, Rizal, who presented him with his portrait delicately rendered in lovely pastels.
Of the seven works in the Residence, I focused on four; it is these that most reflect the Ambassador's intriguingly deep Unconscious.
Ambassador Goldberg has consistently expressed a keen interest in Philippine history. That his choice of Leo Abaya's This Can Happen Elsewhere was located in the most frequently used room, known as the Oriental Room, was no surprise to me. The iconic image of the ancient Filipino is really an alternative image of the map of the Philippine Islands, usually depicted as a woman. Abaya's use of a picture frame over which the image overflows conveys the modern need to think of the Philippines as going beyond borders. It is a commentary on immigration, a portrayal of the Filipino as a citizen of the world and eternally in an Elsewhere on this planet.
Athena Magcase Lopez's Weaver in a Cave and A Home Between are really a diptych, and I felt that it was unfortunate that the former is located in the dining room and the other in the den. The Ambassador himself explained, during my brief conversation with him, that, like Abaya's piece, the two paintings also address the theme of immigration. They indeed depict dichotomies and unities of time, space, culture, and sensibility. They have a secondary message about gender, and, to me, are the most visually appealing of the seven.
The final piece I admired in this collection is Jeff Huntington's Jose Rizal. Though different in style, it is as haunting as a Rene Magritte. When asked as to why he chose this piece, the Ambassador said, "Of course, it's Jose Rizal," almost apologizing for the fact that, of the seven pieces, it has nothing to do with the theme of immigration. It is, nonetheless, what one does not see that is truly most important. This is a masterpiece of a portrait. When viewed with the lights on, one sees the unmistakable face of National Hero Jose Rizal. When the lights are turned off, the face morphs, in the semi-darkness, to the face of international boxing hero Manny Pacquiao. As such, it is truly another painting of the Filipino as being in an Elsewhere.
Art unites peoples because it goes beyond words and because it is always an immediate experience to its viewers. It grounds its viewers while transporting them to another place, to an Elsewhere.
Ambassadors are always in an Elsewhere too. But the ambassador who is fully aware of it is the ambassador who is of true service not only to his country and his government but also to all of humankind.
Members of the Angono art community present a pastel portrait to Ambassador Goldberg.
An interesting cartoon in the dining room, though not part of the collection.
Significant changes occurred when Ambassador Philip S. Goldberg arrived in the Philippines. For the first time, the Department purchased works not only by contemporary American artists but by contemporary Filipino artists as well, and installed them in the many interiors of the buildings on the U.S. Embassy compound. Ambassador Goldberg furthermore selected, for installation in his Residence, only works by his favorite Filipino and Fil-Am artists.
Seven of these works were opened to viewing during a reception showcasing Art in Embassies, renamed, for this occasion, "U.S.-Philippine Friendship through Art," at the Residence Tuesday, April 26, 2016. The seven works are Leo Abaya's Negotiating Space (2005, acrylic and oil on linen) and This Can Happen Elsewhere (2004, oil and acrylic on canvas); Jeff Huntington's Jose Rizal (2014, collage and acrylic on canvas); Athena Magcase Lopez's Weavers in a Cave (2007, oil on canvas) and A Home Between (2009, oil on canvas); and Johanna Poethig's Isang Gabi (2009, digital print) and Lapu Lapu and Manong Benny (2014, digital print of a detail of her 1984 Ang Lipi ni Lapu Lapu mural).
I should mention that another of Ambassador Goldberg's favorite Filipino artists is National Artist for Visual Arts BenCab. It was, however, most difficult to obtain any of BenCab's works because he had none available for installation--like Elmer Borlongan and Emmanuel Garibay, he is paid up well in advance for a line-up of paintings he has not yet even begun working on.
Ambassador Goldberg was too kind to give me a few minutes to discuss his seven choices of artworks. While I would have preferred a more intensive interview, there was a crowd of other guests that evening, including representatives of the art community in Angono, Rizal, who presented him with his portrait delicately rendered in lovely pastels.
Of the seven works in the Residence, I focused on four; it is these that most reflect the Ambassador's intriguingly deep Unconscious.
Ambassador Goldberg has consistently expressed a keen interest in Philippine history. That his choice of Leo Abaya's This Can Happen Elsewhere was located in the most frequently used room, known as the Oriental Room, was no surprise to me. The iconic image of the ancient Filipino is really an alternative image of the map of the Philippine Islands, usually depicted as a woman. Abaya's use of a picture frame over which the image overflows conveys the modern need to think of the Philippines as going beyond borders. It is a commentary on immigration, a portrayal of the Filipino as a citizen of the world and eternally in an Elsewhere on this planet.
Athena Magcase Lopez's Weaver in a Cave and A Home Between are really a diptych, and I felt that it was unfortunate that the former is located in the dining room and the other in the den. The Ambassador himself explained, during my brief conversation with him, that, like Abaya's piece, the two paintings also address the theme of immigration. They indeed depict dichotomies and unities of time, space, culture, and sensibility. They have a secondary message about gender, and, to me, are the most visually appealing of the seven.
The final piece I admired in this collection is Jeff Huntington's Jose Rizal. Though different in style, it is as haunting as a Rene Magritte. When asked as to why he chose this piece, the Ambassador said, "Of course, it's Jose Rizal," almost apologizing for the fact that, of the seven pieces, it has nothing to do with the theme of immigration. It is, nonetheless, what one does not see that is truly most important. This is a masterpiece of a portrait. When viewed with the lights on, one sees the unmistakable face of National Hero Jose Rizal. When the lights are turned off, the face morphs, in the semi-darkness, to the face of international boxing hero Manny Pacquiao. As such, it is truly another painting of the Filipino as being in an Elsewhere.
Art unites peoples because it goes beyond words and because it is always an immediate experience to its viewers. It grounds its viewers while transporting them to another place, to an Elsewhere.
Ambassadors are always in an Elsewhere too. But the ambassador who is fully aware of it is the ambassador who is of true service not only to his country and his government but also to all of humankind.
Members of the Angono art community present a pastel portrait to Ambassador Goldberg.
An interesting cartoon in the dining room, though not part of the collection.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Reflecting over my meeting later this afternoon. Though already a hermit, I think that I should be more and more reclusive.
Retirement must have spoiled me with the luxurious gift of time, and the additional gift that no one can tell me how to spend it.
Perhaps I resent losing another day of painting?
Retirement must have spoiled me with the luxurious gift of time, and the additional gift that no one can tell me how to spend it.
Perhaps I resent losing another day of painting?
Happy 40th Birthday to my nephew G.A.B.! His has been a circuitous journey. As I told him last night, life does not begin at 40. Life begins at 65, when one is blissfully retired, has annuity, a cafe that is being rented, an art studio, an informal antique shop, and, hopefully soon, a dormitory for call center employees.
At 40 you are compelled to work harder than anyone else--harder than the seniors, who are already established, and harder than the juniors, who are always trying to do one over you. (Maybe that's what the saying "Life begins at 40" really means.)
At 65 you can rest on your laurels. You can do anything you want and relax. Then, finally, everything makes sense: Why earn more laurels when one has only one head?
At 40 you are compelled to work harder than anyone else--harder than the seniors, who are already established, and harder than the juniors, who are always trying to do one over you. (Maybe that's what the saying "Life begins at 40" really means.)
At 65 you can rest on your laurels. You can do anything you want and relax. Then, finally, everything makes sense: Why earn more laurels when one has only one head?
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
11:33 PM. Back home from "U.S.-Philippine Friendship through Art" at the residence of Ambassador Philip S. Goldberg. Seen: National Artist for Literature Frank Sionil Jose; visual artist Leo Abaya; Ditas Samson of the National Museum; Raul Sunico, Nes Jardin, Chinggay Bernardo, and Menchi Mantaring of the Cultural Center of the Philippines; dancer Nicola Ayoub; filmmaker and Cordillera culture hero Kidlat Tahimik; photographer Hedwig de Leon; Philippine Ballet Theater's Liza de la Fuente; concert pianist Jovianney Cruz; Lucky Guillermo and his documentary crew; Adelina Suemith of the National Commission for Culture and Arts; potter Ugu Bigyan; old and new Embassy officers and former-co-workers, including the woman who took on my position after I retired, Amiya Rosalyn Sawadjaan!
Hedwig and I had coffee at Gateway afterward.
Hedwig and I had coffee at Gateway afterward.
Monday, April 25, 2016
In the last analysis, just relax and vote. It is pointless to become obnoxious to others just because others are obnoxious to you.
While Filipinos are capable of voting for someone and placing that person on the highest pedestal, they are also capable of tearing that same person down when necessary.
It is the psychological quirk of all people who live with two extreme seasons: the very wet and the very dry.
While Filipinos are capable of voting for someone and placing that person on the highest pedestal, they are also capable of tearing that same person down when necessary.
It is the psychological quirk of all people who live with two extreme seasons: the very wet and the very dry.
You sat back uncomplaining when religion, education, news broadcasting, theater, art, and literature were taken over by show business and melodrama.
Why are you so surprised now that the same is happening to national elections?
Everything in life is interconnected, has always been, and will always be.
Why are you so surprised now that the same is happening to national elections?
Everything in life is interconnected, has always been, and will always be.
5:17 PM. The sun has not yet begun to set on this hot summer day. Third and fourth cups of Classic Roast coffee.
J. arrived. S. still working on the first panel of his nine-panel painting for M.'s cafe. Deliberating what to cook for dinner.
Wondering how much of the rest of this day will be truly mine. Slept earlier than usual last night, and hope that I will do the same later.
Ordered white opal earrings for Angelique.
Quite strange that, when I am painting, ideas for novels come through my head, and, when I am writing, ideas for paintings come through my head.
J. arrived. S. still working on the first panel of his nine-panel painting for M.'s cafe. Deliberating what to cook for dinner.
Wondering how much of the rest of this day will be truly mine. Slept earlier than usual last night, and hope that I will do the same later.
Ordered white opal earrings for Angelique.
Quite strange that, when I am painting, ideas for novels come through my head, and, when I am writing, ideas for paintings come through my head.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Saturday, April 23, 2016
12:05 MN. The werewolf crossed the street to the burger stand. A young man was there ahead of me. Minutes later, two hookers sauntered by, paused, and measured us before deciding to move on upon noting that they were being strategically ignored.
Visited M.'s cafe. MK and I. are on duty. N. is on leave because he needs to wake up early to go to church in the morning. V. and MN arrived from a jaunt in Malate.
I love M.'s cafe on a Saturday night. Everything is Edward Hopperesque. Across the street, a single, caged, incandescent light bulb glows outside Artery Art Space's studio exterior. On its upper level, fluorescents wash the concrete ledges of its gated balcony. At Victory Motorcycles USA (formerly Ducati Motorcycle Shop), fluorescents also light the big, white foyer with an iron staircase, and more fluorescents are lighted in the interior of the second-story machine shop. The scene is devoid of human beings, and I feel that I am in a 1950s, Ray Bradbury, suburban setting.
Walking back home, I see R. the security guard sitting inside the narrow, main-gate outpost, his face lighted up by the alien-spaceship-dashboard-like glow of his mobile.
12:40 MN. I am back at the work station inside my captain's cabin bedroom again. The granddaughters are asleep in their bedrooms upstairs and S. is asleep in the ground-floor studio lounge.
I write while others dream.
Visited M.'s cafe. MK and I. are on duty. N. is on leave because he needs to wake up early to go to church in the morning. V. and MN arrived from a jaunt in Malate.
I love M.'s cafe on a Saturday night. Everything is Edward Hopperesque. Across the street, a single, caged, incandescent light bulb glows outside Artery Art Space's studio exterior. On its upper level, fluorescents wash the concrete ledges of its gated balcony. At Victory Motorcycles USA (formerly Ducati Motorcycle Shop), fluorescents also light the big, white foyer with an iron staircase, and more fluorescents are lighted in the interior of the second-story machine shop. The scene is devoid of human beings, and I feel that I am in a 1950s, Ray Bradbury, suburban setting.
Walking back home, I see R. the security guard sitting inside the narrow, main-gate outpost, his face lighted up by the alien-spaceship-dashboard-like glow of his mobile.
12:40 MN. I am back at the work station inside my captain's cabin bedroom again. The granddaughters are asleep in their bedrooms upstairs and S. is asleep in the ground-floor studio lounge.
I write while others dream.
Painting again is not and will never be like painting before, when I used to isolate myself and lose myself completely in my painting from the time I started through the time I finished.
As a single grandparent and house administrator I now have to stop painting from time to time in order to attend to family members coming and going and to staff members of M.'s cafe who need a variety of things.
The good news is that I am still enjoying painting as much as I was, and that the constant distractions allow me proper detachment from my work.
As a single grandparent and house administrator I now have to stop painting from time to time in order to attend to family members coming and going and to staff members of M.'s cafe who need a variety of things.
The good news is that I am still enjoying painting as much as I was, and that the constant distractions allow me proper detachment from my work.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Underpainting With Middle Toes: Raw Sienna
The Midnight Lecture
Work in progress
Friday, April 22, 2016
Work in progress
Friday, April 22, 2016
Underpainting With Middle Tones: Thalo Green
The Midnight Lecture
Work in progress
Friday, April 22, 2016
Work in progress
Friday, April 22, 2016
Thursday, April 21, 2016
When foreign TV shows blur faces and names on the screen, it is because those faces and names are subject to IPR.
When local TV shows blur faces and names on the screen, it is because those faces and names did not pay them for the exposure. Or, worse, because they are associated with a rival TV station.
When local TV shows blur faces and names on the screen, it is because those faces and names did not pay them for the exposure. Or, worse, because they are associated with a rival TV station.
Going For The Darkest Darks: Violet
A thin wash with turpentine allows me to see how much sky I have in the background, and how much of it can be reflected in the swamp water below.
Incidentally, frequently photographing your painting in progress guides you in composition and tone.
Incidentally, frequently photographing your painting in progress guides you in composition and tone.
Going For The Darkest Darks: Black
Moving on to black. I find that Academy's Noir is the blackest black oil paint--it is the equivalent of Pelikan's black for fountain pen ink, the blackest fountain pen ink in the world--compared with those of other brands: Mars Black (too glossy) and Ivory Black (too matte).
All right, that will be enough black for today. It's like sugar. You can't have too much of it.
All right, that will be enough black for today. It's like sugar. You can't have too much of it.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Going For The Darkest Darks: Burnt Umber
I always use flat, unmixed colors for my underpainting. In this piece, I start with burnt umber, ensuring that it is as evenly distributed as I can make it all over the canvas to contribute to visual unity,
I am taking my sweet time. After watching all those house-construction and house-flipping TV shows, I asked myself: Who wants to live in a rushed house? Who wants to wear a rushed piece of clothing? Who wants to eat a rush-cooked meal? Who wants to buy a rushed painting from an art exhibit?
Every stroke counts--as it should be in house construction, sewing, and cooking. And every stroke should be made as though it were the final layer, and with love.
No arguing with self or others. No senseless stress.
I am taking my sweet time. After watching all those house-construction and house-flipping TV shows, I asked myself: Who wants to live in a rushed house? Who wants to wear a rushed piece of clothing? Who wants to eat a rush-cooked meal? Who wants to buy a rushed painting from an art exhibit?
Every stroke counts--as it should be in house construction, sewing, and cooking. And every stroke should be made as though it were the final layer, and with love.
No arguing with self or others. No senseless stress.
Actually, if one is in a competition and DOESN'T want to win, he starts behaving like an upstart. Everything is directed to the persons who forced him to join the competition as though to say to them, "Let's see you get me out of this."
It's the same thing whenever children are forced by their parents to join contests. They say or do something to punish the parents AND NO ONE ELSE somewhere along the line. They get sick, they throw tantrums, they send out zingers, they turn into black holes.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
While you were yelling at people whose vote you disagree with, I was writing a novel, painting, knitting, and improving my magic. I consider my time well-spent.
A hundred years from now, even if the dust never settles, only literature and art will remain.
And, come to think of it, even my gemstones will remain, long after your voice can no longer be heard.
A hundred years from now, even if the dust never settles, only literature and art will remain.
And, come to think of it, even my gemstones will remain, long after your voice can no longer be heard.
Everyone should stop, have a scoop of ice cream and a sliver of cake, and rest.
Trying to change other people's votes is like trying to change their religion. Or trying to change the kind of movies they watch.
Remember the story of King Canute, who spent his days trying to sweep the waves off the shore and back into the ocean.
Trying to change other people's votes is like trying to change their religion. Or trying to change the kind of movies they watch.
Remember the story of King Canute, who spent his days trying to sweep the waves off the shore and back into the ocean.
Reading how one person will act or react is like encasing that person's auric shell within a translucent container and then inspecting it from 360 degrees.
Reading how a crowd or population will act or react is, on the other hand, like gazing into a dark, olive-green ocean and counting shimmering whitecaps.
Reading how a crowd or population will act or react is, on the other hand, like gazing into a dark, olive-green ocean and counting shimmering whitecaps.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Despite everything that has been said by others about China, I continue to see its ancient civilization, its complex mythology, its exquisite wisdom, its rich literature, its colorful festivals, its fabulous food, its amazing jewelry and textiles, its breathtaking architecture and temples, its mystic rituals, and its creation of one of the mind-blowing divination systems in this world--the I-Ching.
Still working on a new, creative writing syllabus for Singapore. A new program officer is now taking care of the schedule; the former program officer moved on to another job. My workshop has been reset to the rainy season. Yes, even in this heat, we must all know that there is such a thing as a rainy season.
Saw an unusual, semi-precious stone in Chinatown the last time I was there. Hoping that no one has bought it yet.
And of course I hope to come back with at least one Bruce Lee figure.
Saw an unusual, semi-precious stone in Chinatown the last time I was there. Hoping that no one has bought it yet.
And of course I hope to come back with at least one Bruce Lee figure.
Now that I know how to cook six, complete, traditional Filipino dishes, I love that my granddaughters' friends hang out here. I prefer that to my granddaughters' hanging out in other people's homes.
I have become such a snooty cook--I now sincerely believe that microwavable dishes are not proper dishes at all.
Adobong spare ribs are scheduled on Saturday.
I have become such a snooty cook--I now sincerely believe that microwavable dishes are not proper dishes at all.
Adobong spare ribs are scheduled on Saturday.
Running for office has nothing to do with intelligence, capability, health, or responsibility.
It has everything to do with maturity.
Unfortunately, many voters are immature, because they are the eternal adolescents created by autocratic religion and melodramatic entertainment.
What are you really complaining about?
It has everything to do with maturity.
Unfortunately, many voters are immature, because they are the eternal adolescents created by autocratic religion and melodramatic entertainment.
What are you really complaining about?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)