The Artist

Say yes if during an art class at school, be it primary or secondary when you’ve completed a piece of art assignment, feeling very pleased with your masterpiece, handed it in with pride; only to receive a ‘D’ with the accompanied remark of ‘could do better’ or worse still, no remark at all.

Every time that happened, my interest in art waned and my confidence that I was able to produce anything of much worth at least in the eyes of the educators dwindled. In addition to boring ‘lessons’ if I could call them that, the world of art that I was introduced to was hollow and uninspiring. To say the least, I never attempted the subject again after secondary two.

One of my closest friends was an art teacher. She took the subject at ‘A’ Levels. I remember peering over her shoulder when she was doing portraits after school hours outside the art rooms. When she was going through her teacher training, I listened to her tales from her classes: sculpture, pottery and painting. I envied her talent for translating what she saw and felt into a beautiful visual that could be appreciated by all. I was enthused but refused to listen to the tiny voice inside of me that urged me to try.

Then, two years ago, I borrowed this book from the library. It was in celebration of bountiful women and there on the cover was a painting of a reclining big woman and to me she was gorgeous. The thought that "Hey that would be so me!" popped in my head. I was determined to capture it on paper with my own hands. It was draw or die.

So one afternoon, I pinched my niece’s drawing paper and started sketching, by instinct. The only technical thing that I paid attention to was proportion. I used watercolour pencils and a wet brush for colour and voila, my first painting as an adult was created. Of course, I did this in semi-seclusion. I was afraid of being found out. And I only had the courage to frame it and put it up in my room last year.

(Bountiful) Personal Comment: Mediocre and proud of it!

Last year, I had made the decision to develop my creative spirit as one of my life goals. I believe that everyone is born creative. It is a God given gift. Somewhere along the road to adulthood, some of us snuff it out or lost faith in its importance.

So this year, I am taking baby steps.

I want to live loud.

I want to make stuff.

I want to be an artist.

"Say yes if you’re an artist
Say yes if you’ve known it
from the beginning of time"
RUMI

My Hand Said

When I was 21, I dabbled a bit in palm reading. The lines intrigued me and I was convinced they were put there by God for a purpose. A sort of guide, a map to our lives and future if we choose to follow it. And like a landscape, they change over time in concert with various events in our lives.

At that point in my life, I was just out of the local university, working as an administrator at a child care centre. It was supposed to be a 3 month temporary stint which stretched to a year. I took that time to figure out what I wanted to do. And the idea of being able to peep into what lay in store for me was fascinating.

I borrowed a couple of books and read up on the subject. I even got my boss (he reads palms and practices numerology) to take a look. I discovered certain truths about myself. My heart line indicated that I am an emotional person and that I would be devoted to my partner. My life line showed up some health problems which were on the other hand supported by other lines which would ultimately help me out. My mental or head line pointed to creativity and there were signs of confusion and trouble.

I was disturbed by that last one. It had uncomfortably hit the mark. I was a clueless, fresh arts and social sciences graduate without a clue what to do with her life or to be terminology-precise, career. When I chose the subjects I read at university, it was more for the purpose of interest. I had told myself when I was a kid that if I did get to university, I would be reading Psychology, Sociology and Malay Studies. (Actually my dream was to do archaeology – I had a thing for Indiana Jones, but NUS didn’t offer it) I dropped Psychology second year because I was terrible at statistics which was compulsory. I declined reading Sociology as a single major because I did not want to limit myself. At the end of three years, I graduated decently enough.

Horribly worried, I set out to do a bit of self-exploration. (What I thought was self-exploration then). I was somewhat resistant to teaching. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problems with the profession. They are the shapers of our future generation and there have been a few teachers in my own past who have inspired me to be a better person. (And a select few who made my life miserable) Though alright I admit, I did cop out and sent in an application for either the position of an education officer or school administrator. (There, I did give myself an alternative choice)

The stronger calling for me at that point was to be in social services. I applied for the job of Welfare Officer at a Family Service Centre and was offered it relatively quick. My tertiary education was funded by a self-help organisation and I felt a duty to offer my services back to the community. After two years, I left and worked as an Administration Manager at a school. The workload was hell but I enjoyed it. My friends called me a workaholic.

Then I came to a sudden realisation. I did not want my life to be endless work: bringing work home, going in on Sundays, no time for my nephews and niece and my Mum. I did not believe in a so-called career: climbing the corporate ladder, being graded for the work you do, mocking the intrinsic value of it. So I took myself out of the game. I pottered along for a while. I was a friend’s Personal Assistant for a short period of time. (Sorry Suz that it didn’t work out!)

Then, I really took stock of my life and what I wanted it to be. I wanted a simple life, where I can focus on my health, allowing spiritual growth, dedicated to learning and developing my creative spirit, working on my own time and choice. I realised I need not have a career in the universal sense of the word. I chose to make my own definition, combined jobs that give me enough to subsist but give me room to lead a more integrated and purposeful life.

That is in itself a huge work in progress and I do stumble along the way, scraping a knee or two.

My dicky (dictionary in short - what were you thinking?) states that to be confused is to be disordered or mixed-up.

I am then, to bring back to the topic of palmistry, confused (perhaps in the eyes of others) but I would call it a sort of conscious and intentioned confusion. And I wouldn’t want it to be anything less.

My Muse

And so I've decided to do this blog thing...for real. Inspired I guess by a certain someone I met over the weekend. It seems like a natural thing for me to progress to. I love writing...don't know whether I'm much good at it but hey it helps me unwind and unburden my thoughts and feelings. What better way to start this off than this piece I wrote after that encounter. Nothing romantic...it's more of admiration.

THE BOY WITH THE WORLD IN HIS EYES

I saw

A boy

With a crooked grin

And the world

In his eyes

Enticing

His old school charm

I became drunk

Basking

In his bona fide grace

And they told me

Chivalry is dead

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