Category Archives: Creativity

Day 3: Hit my stride

I had anouther migraine and vertigo attack, so I kept quiet the past couple of days. This is technically day 5, but I’m not going to be finicky. It is what it is and I need to go with the flow. 😊

I got my Canson XL mix media sketchbook this morning. It’s huge!!

I wanted to test drive it right away! The paper is thick, flat, and, again, it’s gigantic. I had no idea what to draw or paint, so I chose my muse, Twister. You can’t go wrong with cats. 🐱

He was begging for merienda… okay, he’s too elegant to beg… He was gently suggesting that I give him an afternoon snack, so I drew and Disney-fied his feed-me-pretty-please face.

And finally…

I have to say, I had a lot of fun making this!!! I want to do more! 😊 Like I said, you can’t go wrong with cats. 🐱

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Day 2: Colors

Colors are overwhelming, but I’m breathing through this. It’s okay. You learn something new today.

Done with Miya / Himi jelly gouache

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Quarantine art

So this happened: My orange sweet potatoes started growing “hair,” so I am painting faces on them. Acryl gouache on root crop. 😂😂😂

That was fun! So I wanted to do more. 😁

I got a new set of paints online a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t had the chance to use it. I’ve seen this all over the Internet, so I ordered it. It’s the Miya/Himi jelly gouache set of 24 colors. It’s the cutest thing! Look at this!

The ever-so-curious Diego Kumquat dunked his nose in the paint! Thank goodness it's non-toxic.

The ever-so-curious Diego Kumquat dunked his nose in the paint! Thank goodness it’s non-toxic.

I haven’t done anything with it yet except make swatches. I’ll label them tomorrow. I prefer natural light when I’m painting.

I’m excited to use them. Yay!!

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Jump!

Okay, enough TV. Let’s play.

(I haven’t painted in… 2 or 3 years? More about that next time. Need to face my fears right now. Yes, let’s feed the soul and not the fears.)

Eeeeeep.

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Horror Vacui

How would you feel about inhabiting the empty spaces in your life? 

I am far from being religious, but the Jesuits have a soft spot in my heart. And this, this speaks to me. 

I struggled with Horror Vacui in 2016 and I have been wanting to face this issue head-on this year. There’s just too much running around, too much fire and air, too much static, to many to-do lists. I need my quiet time, to inhabit my empty spaces again to find my voice, to just be
http://pinsoflight.net/2017/04/16/horror-vacui/

Happy Easter, friends. 

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rePORTS at 98B

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“rePORTS is a mode under the “TALKS” program of 98B. It features local artist presentations of their trips, residencies or conferences outside of the country. It aims to provide a platform where artists who have gone overseas can impart to the local art community the process they went through before, during and after these trips, and more significantly, their experiences and learnings.”

Reposting from 98B’s FB page. See you on Saturday! 

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Lord of (the F)lies

“Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man’s heart, and the fall through the air of a true, wise friend called Piggy.” (Lord of the Flies)

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Another year older

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I spent my birthday in Escolta surrounded by worn out spaces from a bygone era that whisper their stories through the chipped walls, fading paint, and the layers of dust that embrace forgotten belongings. The nicks and cracks alone can make even the most prosaic of men to wax nostalgic, but there is no room there for sentimentality. A decrepit shop window surprises you with an intriguing art installation, while the former site of a department store is now the home to a bustling community of artisans and creative entrepreneurs. The elegant architecture remains—albeit weathered and worn—but it is now charged with youthful, colorful, contemporary energy that makes you look forward to the future, that makes you excited to see what’s next for this place.

It was not a bad way to spend my birthday. It gently reminded me that everything old can be made new again, that change is constant but old things need not be discarded. It made me remember my favorite line from Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman: ‘Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit. ‘Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost.’ Not a bad day at all.

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Art Class: art journal

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Start keeping a creative journal now! Contact me if you want to learn how to do observational drawings and basic watercolor & collage techniques. Email: teacherstephp@gmail.com or text 09167676574. #artclass #Manila #drawing #painting #watercolor #journal #Sketchbook

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On losing my voice

From September 2006. Almost didn’t recognize myself.

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Child of Saturn

Something clicked into place inside me. I awoke with a start, jumped out of bed as the sun rose, and started cleaning my room. I threw open all the windows, scrubbed the floorboards, dusted my bookshelves, and changed the sheets. I rearranged the furniture with Herculean determination; I would have torn down walls and transplanted my room to a sunnier spot had I not realized that I was only renting a room and did not own the place. General cleaning was in order.

This could be the effect of the Full Moon or it could be that I just got tired of being tired. I spent the whole day yesterday in bed, nursing a colossal hangover. I didn’t really drink that much; with two bottles of beer and a sip of cheap red wine, I willed myself into drunkenness. I was desperate for a reprieve from that barren child who had been spending endless hours splayed on the floor, defeated, reeking with suffocating saturnine malaise and dripping with melancholy.

I was only able to slip away from her tight grip for a couple of hours. When I opened my eyes she was roosting on my chest, scratching the lint on my shirt with muddied claws, staring at the black moth that somehow got into my room. I wonder if she would let it escape. Too exhausted to move, I allowed myself to be swallowed by darkness. An hour later and I was up. She had moved to a corner, her scraggly head resting on a pile of dirty clothes. The moth was gone.

I rummaged through the fridge for nourishment. I opened a bag of fresh greens. My body was screaming for meat, but I couldn’t be bothered to cook. I finished half a gallon of water hoping that would flush down the toxins and cobwebs from my system. There was still no running water (it was the third day; the manager of the building said it would be back by tomorrow) and the electricity was low. I could turn on the fan but not the lights, the telly but not the computer. Frustrated, I return to my room. Mélancolie, as I now start calling her, coaxed me to return to bed. With nothing to do, I gave in. Sleep took over instantly.

It was dark outside when I woke up. The lights were still not working; I turn on the TV. Not even the Sports News could rouse an emotion from me. Spain lost to Northern Ireland? I turn my head the other way and face the wretched creature that has been siphoning my energy. I study her face with indifference—her slithery hair shining in half light, weathered skin that was both greasy and parched, pudgy and taut, her eyes drowning in darkened sockets. She was not malevolent in any way, I realized. She was just devoid of everything; a useless lump of mass occupying space for no reason at all.

I began talking to her, asking her questions. She remained in her wraith-like state, more interested in flicking specks of dirt from her nails than speaking to me. I poked, I prodded. WHY ARE YOU HERE?!? Her apathy enraged me. I started pulling her at her yellow-stained sleeves. I pushed her off the bed. I grabbed her neck and threw her against the night table. WHY? WHY? WHY? Not a screech, a whimper, a moan. WILL YOU EVER LET ME GO? My head started to throb. I wanted to kill.

I stepped back and started to weep. The scream that was thrashing inside my lungs for days was no longer silent. Primordial anger, hate, sorrow, pride, guilt, and wrath pulsated within my shell, erupting from my chest, tearing down the stone cold moor around my heart. I am sorry. I was wrong.

I sat in front of her; I am shivering. She doesn’t ask for comfort or care; I offer her none. I reached for the nearest trinket on the table, a half-eaten chocolate bar, and left it beside her. I bid her goodnight.

Something clicked into place within me this morning. She is gone. Saturn’s child will be back someday. In the meantime I am alone again. I am free to open the windows and air out my soul.

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