A painting of cats

Two weeks ago, I began doing something I used to do when I was younger but had to drop without much regret for not looking back because there were things in life that I thought needed more of my attention and finite source of energy. I stopped drawing sketches on pieces of paper and declared I am no artist and felt nauseated pretending to be one.

But there was a blank wall waiting to be filled with something, anything that would make it look less empty and white. Well it wasn’t exactly blank as there was the beige metal cover of the box that contains the main switch of the condominium unit. This metal box does not lend the unit that de regueur industrial feel, something that interior designers of late, those wanting to hop on the bandwagon of coolness have been utilizing in all their projects, unknowingly transforming all cafes and places catering to yuppies into endless permutation of that industrial aesthetic I am beginning to abhor.

I bought a 20X20 canvas board, some tubes of primary colors acrylic, and paintbrushes. Color palettes were out of stock in the two National Bookstore branches I had checked, so I had to improvise by using the plastic case of the acrylic tubes to mix my pigments (how pretentious this word sounds).

My cats had to be exiled to the bedroom as I painted them from a photo I took of them a month back. And below is the result of that weekend project that now makes the wall of the living room less bare and my cats curious about the two figures that bear little semblance to them.


tumi and mimi




Two questions: negative capability

From a rumination while drinking beer on a hot afternoon:

It often comes rather late to an artist, writer, or to anyone who sees himself to be either or both, that the decision to be any (or both) is a disconcerting choice. In the end, consumers of an artistic production matter less because the production of a piece of art or writing anchors less on what the reader thinks than the artist’s. After all, the reader has long considered him dead, so might as well return the favor and do a piece of art or write as if the reader is as dead.

This graphic story by Linda Barry aptly captures this problem.







Be a guest writer

For how can something be truly a representative of a certain sector if it is a thinking of an individual who has, for the longest time, been trying to isolate himself from the rest of the world?

Only after a necessary question is asked do we begin to find the correct solution.

There have been plans during the conception of this blog to invite guest writers. Few people responded. The articles submitted were either too specialized or to technical for the tone of this blog. There were email correspondence that showed promise but eventually died out. Either the proponents have given up or I was too inefficient in updating this blog that I ended up losing the people who could’ve been partners in realizing the main objects of this blog – letting twenty-somthings express themselves and challenging existing stereotypes associated with these group.

It so happened that I belong in this group who are in the forefront of change caught in a setting of constant flux. You may brand us ‘confused’ if you find yourself in the extreme end of cynicism or ‘simply seeking adventure and trying to have a real taste of life that they are just starting to live’ for people who empathize with our struggles.

They say that the twenty-somethings of our time are apolitical, indifferent, disinterested, selfish, even asexual. But time and again we have proven them false. We saw ourselves involved in the very vortex of change situated in different venues: in our family, community, university, the national scene, and in the world. We are as diverse as the colors that represent us, the job we do, or the opinions we have of life in general.

We questioned prevailing mores, challenged the status quo, and transcended our supposed fate. We work in places unimaginable during our parents’ days. We travel to places beyond the confines of the comfort of our culture. No one can impose their thoughts on us, compel us to stay in one place, or do what we hate to do.

This blog is a celebration of that free spirit. And what better way to celebrate this spirit than to write about it.

Going Against the Current is inviting all twenty-something to write about anything – your experience, victory, defeat, first love, travel, work, passion, art, angst, sadness, frustration, hope, dream, plans for the future, disappointment, opinion, political leaning, school, sex, writing, food, fear, prognostication, prediction, criticism, anger. . . .

. . . .anything.

(You may send your entries to eraserattsokfev@yahoo.com.) And from there we’ll see.