If A Star Fell From Heaven -

Would it look like this?

And would it let me wear it around my neck or would it struggle to return to the night sky and look down on me with disdain -- a mortal who dared to pluck it from its velvet paradise.

Wishcasting Wednesday: What Do You Wish to Take a Break From?

Everyday I wake up and I am thankful for another day.

And then I remember – it’s just another day, the highlight of it being the challenge of getting to the office on time. YES! I made it – whoopees around and a little victory dance to my desk.  And it goes downhill from there rather quickly.

That little clock on my laptop, sitting innocently in the right hand corner, is my friend.  I like it because it tells me how many more hours to the long, long day are left.  Sometimes we fight – I hate it when it seems like it’s going soooo slow.

I sit there. And sit some more. I watch people come and go and they all look soooo busy. And I feel the isolation all the more.  Drudgery. Day in and out the same things to do. I can finish them in no time.  Nothing changes, nothing happens.  My brain starts hammering out ideas but either no one is there to share them with or everyone is too busy trying to be superstar.  The phone rings and my assistant (why I have one, I do not know) picks it up.  As usual, it’s for her. I eavesdrop hoping I can chime in and contribute, hoping she will ask for my opinion.    

I sit some more. And I wonder what I’m doing.  They all tell me I’m fine, stay where you are. But my head and my heart are clamoring for something – I am like a thoroughbred at the starting gate, pawing the ground, knowing I can win the race – but the gate never opens.

I wish that I can take a break from the monotony of it all.   I wish the gate opens and I am allowed to run, to test my ideas and find out if they work, to see more of this world, to be part of it all – and yes, to make mistakes so I can learn some more.  I am bored – bored to death is not even enough to describe it. Death might not even be as boring if I end up where I think I’ll end up LOL.   I tell them I have a brain. They tell me yes we know you do but stay where you are.  You’re fine.

 I keep pawing the ground.  I think I will just push the gate open myself and run off to somewhere where I can be useful and feel fulfilled.

Lost Week-End

It happened.  The thing I dreaded most – waking up on a long week-end and then sitting down at my work desk to find that I was absolutely stuck.

The beads were quiet, the findings didn’t even want to look at me.  I fingered chain after chain and strand after strand of gemstone beads trying to get a squeak out of my imagination – just a little one enough to kick start me into finishing even just an earring – and still nothing.  Desperate, I walked over to my stash of magazines and books and started leafing through pages of lovely photos and inspiring art work – I looked up to see that it was 4:00 p.m. and I still had nothing. 

I don’t know if it was the rains that week-end that caused it.  The grey skies and gloomy atmosphere certainly made me feel out of sorts somehow – like a cat waiting to give birth my mom said, alternately pacing and then sitting still to brood.  I also don’t know if the prospect of having three whole days to create sort of intimidated me and caused my muse to exit the building for sunnier climes.  I can do that to myself you see – scare myself  by expecting too much from little ol’ me that I literally freeze and all my creativity turns to something that looks like a plate of cold french fries.

It also could have been because I was still recovering from the flu.  A bad cough on Tuesday had signalled the start of two days of fever and chills, not to mention bones and muscles feeling like they had just been pulled through a thresher.  I had to go to the office on Friday even if I wasn’t totally okay yet and I don’t really know how I got through the day.  So maybe there were still remnants of the virus lurking in my system and my body was telling me to take it slow and not over exert myself.  

During all three days, I woke up slowly each morning and, for the first time in a long time, my feet didn’t feel the urge to hit the floor running.  I lay there, listening to the rain fall on the roof and the muffled sounds of a house slowly coming back to life after an evening of rest. 

And I didn’t make anything.  Not even a wrapped bead.

I sat through the week-end doodling in my sketchbook and now these strange faces are staring back at me.  I rediscovered collage and remembered how much fun it was to just cut and paste random bits of paper with no real end in mind.  I splattered paint with my 2-year old niece and together we marvelled at how watercolour can form puddles of bright rainbows on paper and she surprised me at how well she knew her colors (“That’s OWANGE! That’s PURPOW! This is GWEEN and that’s YEWOW!”).  I took up my pliers and tools for a while to fix a favourite necklace for my 8-year old niece – and was promptly rewarded with the sweetest smile and a hug.   

And still I created nothing.

I sat through lunch and dinner with my children, laughing at the antics of my 17-year old son and listening to the little bits of trivia my 12-year old passed onto me now and then.  I looked across the table and realized that my daughter had grown into a woman – and I didn’t feel old, just really, really fortunate to have them.  

And I created nothing.

I went to bed on Monday evening wallowing in the thought that I wasted three whole days. 

Or did I? 

Wishcasting Wednesday: What Do You Wish to Begin?

I've been living in shadow, afraid to step across the threshold into the sunlight that lies inches from my feet.  I watch other people live their lives the way they want to -- following paths they have chosen, playing games with rules they made up -- and I wonder if I can ever be like that.

Everyday I get up and put on my mask.  It is not me, it never was. I only wear it because I have to, because people I love depend on me wearing that mask so they can live the life they want. So I stand still in the shadow, waiting till it's safe to take the mask off and live. It can be an awful bore most times, and a gut wrenching pain always.

I wish to begin living authentically. The mask is old and worn and has started to fray. I am starting to fray and unravel.  Maybe I should let it - let the mask fray into shreds and drop useless at my feet that stands inches from the sunlight I crave.  Then maybe I can look in the mirror and see me.  I am sure I will like what I see.

And maybe, after living all these years in the dark, wearing clothes and shoes that don't fit, walking steadily but never dancing, humming but never singing, talking but never speaking, touching yet never connecting - I can finally BE.

Well Whaddya Know

I always thought I was invisible. You know the drill -- you keep raising your hand but teacher never calls on you and you're sooooo sure you know the answer and someone gets called and she/he flubs it. That's what happens to me all the time. Or at least I THOUGHT that's what happened to me all the time.

I didn't know I was being talked about. And this is the kind of gossip I like -- being mentioned in Entrepreneur Philippines Online.

And to think I woke up today feeling majorly blah. One never knows how a day can turn out.

Sometimes It's In the Small Things

I ran into Betsy at the Bazaar Love Triangle.  She was wearing turquoise chandelier earrings and sat minding a table filled with organic soap, wine made from local fruit and a host of other unusual products.  That afternoon, as we stood watching Rock Balancing Philippines create a sculpture from rocks, balancing each one carefully and creating interesting cairn-like towers, we shared our views on handmade items and how they rarely do well in venues where people go to look for the mass-produced, inexpensive stuff stamped with the Made in China or Made in Taiwan seal of knock-off authenticity. Later, I walked by her booth and saw a deck of tarot cards laying there – she said they did readings too.  That , and the conversation we had earlier about the value of handmade, made me suspect she was a kindred soul.  And of course the turquoise chandelier earrings were a dead giveaway.

A few days later my suspicions were confirmed when I saw a comment she left on my Facebook page-  her profile picture was that of Frida Kahlo. 

And as we are wont to do when a new friend is met on the much maligned yet much used social network (come on, you know you visit your page almost everyday), we dig deeper.  I was glad I did.  Visiting her page told me there was much more to this slim, diminutive woman.

That she painted came as no surprise to me – the passionate words on art and handmade and the plight of struggling artists trying to be seen in a world of mass-produced gave me an inkling.  But seeing her work was a surprise.  She doesn’t paint on canvas. She paints on eggs.  Yes, eggs – you know, the kind you fry in the morning with bacon so you can get your daily cholesterol fix and feel burpy and queasy all day? Those kind of eggs.

Coming from a family of artists (her grandfather was a high realism painter, her aunt a portrait artist and art educator) she developed a love for painting early in childhood and had become quite adept at watercolor (a medium that terrifies me!).  So did she take fine arts in college? Of course not – people like her never take the usual, expected route.  Instead, she became a veterinary medicine major who happened to get sidetracked into theater, Teatro Umalohokan,  and who also happened to be part of Pintados Umalohokan, an art collective that painted murals on sidewalks and canvass. 

I was curious as to why she paints on eggs.  Betsy explained that she once stumbled into a shop that sold washi papers used to make what is known as washi eggs.  Pretty simple really – you take the Japanese washi papers and then use a decoupage technique to cover the eggs with them and you seal the piece with lacquer.  Of course a girl who wears chandelier turquoise earrings and reads tarot cards would not settle for such a simple craft right?  She took it to the next level and decided to paint on them.  And I must say, she does a marvelous job.

She has painted on all kinds of eggs, from the regular grocery store chicken egg, to the more challenging quail eggs (I cannot imagine the skill that goes into painting one of these little eggs! I'd most likely eat them than have the patience to paint them), and even ostrich eggs.  Betsy says it takes her about two days to finish a piece, given that there are no mountaineering trips scheduled :-).

Her mother and child themes must reflect the contentment she feels being full-time mom to her child.

She also loves to paint images of tribal Filipinos. Look at the penetrating gaze of the woman in the center - no matter how small, Betsy is able to capture nuances in expression.

And of course, the question on which came first, the chicken or the egg, is not something we ask when we see her collection of bird themed pieces.

The detail on this is quite amazing

I was tempted to call these Matryoshka dolls but to me they seemed to be strong, creative ladies joyfully wrapping themselves up in what life has to give

I’ve always wanted an owl.  One that looks like this guy

Betsy creates these pieces for those who appreciate it.  She admits that it is not for everyone but each piece is created from the soul – inspired by the everyday things that we fail to notice because of the rush we always find ourselves in, little vignettes of life from a simpler time.  She treats each one like a gem, carefully bringing forth the story she wants to tell on the small surface she has chosen to tell it.  Sometimes, meaning can really be found in the smallest things.

Betsy accepts custom orders and she also has several pieces ready from which you can choose from. Reasonably priced, considering the skill and talent that goes into making one of these, they would make perfect gifts for that someone who seems to have everything, or maybe a lovely token to remember a moment passed, a season gone.  To see more of Betsy’s work, visit Ysab Egg Art on Facebook.   

Some Days I Draw -- At Least I Try To

Disclaimer:   I have no formal art training. Color theory, perspective, texture, line and all those words that trained and learned artists use might as well be a foreign language.  Feel free to laugh -- not so loud though. My children think I know what I'm doing. 

And now back to regular programming.

I have never taken an art class. Well, okay I guess I did -- but it wasn't REALLY an art class. We had it on the porch of a friend and our guest teacher was another friend who had us paint a still life from an arrangement of bottles and fruit that she laid before us. My youngest son, who was about 7 or 8 years old then, was with me and he came up with a nicer looking painting.

But I do like to draw. Faces mostly. And for some strange reason, bowls and cups.  Go figure.

Over the years since that first - and last - "art" lesson, I have accumulated (and lost) an assortment of pens, drawing pencils, soft pastels, tubes of acrylic paint, putty erasers, tubs of gesso and all sorts of paper in different thickness and grain that I have lost count.  I have since whittled my supplies down to two sketchbooks, two sets of soft pastels, a box of acrylic paint, a tub of gesso and a set of Conte drawing pencils.

Some of the faces I have drawn are dreamlike and surreal.

Some of them sort of look like me -- I think.

And then there are some that look like people I've run into while rushing to do what the day demands of me

I tend to draw slowly -- each stroke of the pencil, each mark made - is done almost meditatively.  And when I draw, like all the times when I'm doing something creative, I get lost.  I disappear for a while and die to become what I am drawing.

There are moments - no, days - when I just want to sit down somewhere and draw. And I hate it  when that urge to put pen to paper hits me when I am in the middle of a meeting or when I have to finish a project or report or, worse -- when it comes first thing in the morning when I get up and realize it's Monday and Friday evening is still a long way off. I give in sometimes, secretly doodling in my notebook while the meeting's chair drones on and on about what's wrong and how we can make it right.  The back of 7-11 receipts are not spared when the urge to put image to paper  comes strong in the middle of a hectic day at work. I have also left my favorite table at my favorite Starbucks branch littered with those little brown napkins that are covered with squiggles that look like - wait for it -- my cup of coffee (I told you I have this thing for drawing cups and bowls!).

Few people have seen what I draw.  So putting them up here is my one brave thing to do this month.