Realizations from a Recent Rendezvous with a Roach

A few hazy evenings ago I got home and went straight to my Macbook Pro in my bedroom to put down some thoughts from a sudden inspiration. I was barely five minutes into my writing, when I heard some scraping sounds behind me, and I turned just in time to see some creepy crawly slip behind one of my paintings on the wall. I decided to leave it alone, thinking I had some time before it came out and I could always get to it later. Then the damn thing came crawling out and it was a f—king HUGE ASS COCKROACH. Literally I was like, OMG OMG WTF WTF OMG OMG WTF…

And to make matters worse… just like the penguins I create in their lovely world in the sky… it liked to FLY!!! ARGH!! I hate cockroaches, and I’m kinda scared of them (probably from the childhood trauma when I was 6 and one sprinted literally across my bed WHILE I WAS IN IT…), and as long as they stay away from me, I’m totally cool. But when it’s fluttering around my room, landing on my stuff, taunting me with its giant twitching feelers, there isn’t much else I can do except squeal in terror and attempt to nuke it with a whole lot of F bombs. Which clearly didn’t work.

Anyway, my brother happened to pass by my room at the time, so he got a roll of newspaper, and before he proceeded on my behalf to whack the bejeezus out of the little devil, I quickly closed the wardrobe door that was kept open by a jacket that needed to be dry-cleaned from 6 months ago. The newspaper attacks started from the top of the white cabinet where I kept some books and other trinkets from traveling, where my Tennessee license plate was displayed together with a Statue of Liberty and a pig with sunglasses, both made from those stress ball kind of material. Together with a Coca Cola football from almost 20 years ago, these items ended up on the floor as my heroic bro removed them to gain access to the monster, and as he whacked at it, there was a little poof of a dust storm.

The cockroach flew across the room to the chest of drawers outside my bathroom, where I had hung a t-shirt and running shorts on one of the handles. It hid between the shirt and the drawer, and after Aaron moved the shirt, the terror ended up on the floor behind extra bottles of liquid Dove and Pantene, and under the drawers. I grabbed my flashlight and followed it under my table, which housed a basket of scented candles I was never going to use and some paintings in an ArtFriend plastic bag that was disintegrating. This was when Aaron seized the opportunity of the space beneath the table to destroy our common enemy (whacking it a few times more than necessary), and it received a watery farewell down the toilet. *insert MAJOR SIGH OF RELIEF*

I wish I had documented the process (like the social media pro that I am, ahem ahem) to better illustrate this little story, but this post really isn’t about the victory over that nasty nasty thing. That really wouldn’t be all that interesting because I’m sure you’ve got your own heroic tales of taking down this vile creature, perhaps even more entertaining than mine. But as I looked over the aftermath of our victory - the stuff strewn on the floor, the dust under the chest of drawers and on top of the cabinet, the hoarder’s paradise beneath my table… the one thought I had was: Why do I have to many things? How did I come to have so many things? And why are they still here?

And that’s just what the eye can see. What I normally pretend not to notice is the wardrobe filled with clothes I don’t wear, the cabinet filled with trinkets that have no use, the junk in the drawers I tell myself I'll use someday, the box full of old journals and stories I wrote from the first half of my life, old photographs from late-teen-early-adult years, old letters from friendships exist now only on Facebook, a bagful of stuffed toys, and earlier artworks and song lyrics that were messy and awkward and abandoned halfway - all signs of a life spend accumulating unused things and unfinished projects. Signs of a half-lived life, halfway gone, and still half-fucked. And if I were to die tomorrow (which, let’s face it, is a very real possibility), who would I leave behind to deal with this mess, and what can they do with it but to get rid of it anyway?

It was ultra clear to me - I can't LIVE like this. I can’t LIVE knowing that someone else would have to clean up after my messes, to continue to pretend that it doesn’t happen, to lead a life filled with unimportant things, unfinished work and half-arsed efforts. The real battles cannot be fought when there are all these incompletions and clutter in the way, all merely distractions, excuses, and self-created obstacles to keep me from what really matters, to keep me from fighting the good fight. And perhaps right now my good fight is about these things, to sort out the messiness of my existence, to cut out the fluff and get to the core of what’s real and what’s truly important.

In the words of one of my literary heroes, Paulo Coelho: "It is always important to know when something has reached its end. Closing circles, shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn't matter what we call it; what matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.”

So what do we really need to let go of? Why do we continue to attach ourselves to things that only clutter our worlds and hold us back from our truth? Why does the mess exist in the first place? And even after we declutter and sort things out, how many times would we have to continue this work before the mess is finally gone?

I’m still searching for my answers, and I may never know all of them in this lifetime, but one thing is for sure, I definitely need to de-hoard and declutter, so that at the very least, if I were to encounter a cockroach in my room again, there will be fewer places to hide, and I increase my chances of winning the fight.

Studio of Self-Love

Photo contributed by Michael Tan.

Recently I was one of 10 artists selected to participate in the Noise Festival Singapore 2015, as part of an installation showcase called Studio of Wonders. The artists and I set up our respective little cubicles along the theme of "Curiosities" - essentially creating a studio space based on what inspires us and our art.

Well, initially I was gonna write about setting up the installation, post some pictures, the usual stuff, but an unexpected comment on my Instagram post about my Studio of Wonders changed the course of my writing:

(Read what's circled in ORANGE).

Screenshot of my Instagram post and the comments from a follower.

So I got this comment from @katybobsyouraunty and turns out she thought that this was an area of my studio! My initial thought to that was... Haha I wish!! ... because the space I created looks pretty darn awesome, a far cry from my real-life studio. (It's a mess, and very cluttered, and needs a long overdue spring-cleaning LOL..)

And that was when it hit me - why doesn't my actual studio look like this?

I had spent a month creating the design for this installation, creating new artworks for it, carefully measuring and planning, sketching when I have pockets of time, painting late into the night (as I currently work full-time). Then on a Monday evening, after 9.5 hours at the day job, I spent 3 hours to put this space together, agonizing over whether I should change my original plan, whether the paintings can be seen from the holes... And then ALL OF IT is sealed behind a wall with some tiny holes for people to peek into, and it's quite ironic that I invested much time and energy into this because no one actually gets to see the full extent of what I've created. And that's assuming they're intrigued enough to peek into the holes to begin with. Which again begs the question -

Why did I put in that much effort to create this studio-for-show than the real one in which I work from and look at every single day?

Well, for me, it's a really simple answer. Because besides myself, nobody is there to look at it, so there really isn't a need to beautify it, to care for it, to make it worth spending time in. It's serves its basic purpose as a space I work in, as a space to contain all my art-related stuff and clutter, and that's all I need from it, or so I believe. But tell me that a gallery owner might possibly stop by and take a look, and watch me scramble to fix it up and make it beautiful.

And really, when I faced up to it, it really isn't about the studio. It's a reflection of my own life, and how I love myself. How much time do I really invest into myself, to do something that's purely just for me? To do something that's not about impressing someone else, or living up to a society's expectations. To do something that's important to me simply because it is important to me (whether I'm aware of it it or not), and because I'm worth the investment of my own time, energy and effort.

I know a single mom who took on a 5-week project to redo her master bedroom because it reminded her too much of her failed marriage. It was one of the most difficult things she had to do, because there were always seemingly more important things than her project, like caring for her son, running errands, working over-time... but she stuck to her commitment to herself, and transformed the entire room within 4 weeks. And she felt happier, felt more connected to herself, and it improved her interactions with others, and especially with her son.

We live in a world filled with busy-ness, taking on various commitments to the people or causes that matter to us, constantly running and striving for success in various forms, but what is all of that really for? Who are you trying to impress? What are you really working towards? And if none of your answers is for yourself, your own happiness, or your own growth, then it really begs the question - how are you loving the most important person in the world - YOU?

So I'm about to jump into what's perhaps one of the more confronting projects of my life - to actually turn my real studio in a Studio of Wonders. It's something I've been thinking about ever since the space was created almost 2 years ago, but I never got down to it. I'll be sharing more on that later, so stay tuned for updates, and I hope this inspires you to create something for yourself simply because it just makes you happier. :)

Here are some pictures from setting up on Monday, 14 September 2015. And also pictures of my completed Studio of Wonders. Before it got walled up :(

The exhibition runs from 16 September - 11 October.

View from the top on Setup Day, 16 Sept 2015. That's outside my Studio of Wonders, scratching my head.

The original plan was to have the Penguin piece in the center.

Dream Tree Totem all setup!

Finished Studio of Wonders!

With sketches on the left wall...

And the Dream Tree Totem and more sketches on the right wall!

Closer view of what's on the table...

"I'm NOT a Photographer": 7 Things I Learned from My First Photo Walk with 70 Other Photographers:

I'm not a photographer. At least that's what I tell myself, and what I started telling some of the first few people I met on my very first photowalk yesterday. I'm an artist, yes. I'm creative, yes. I've been an actress, a set dresser, a singer, a songwriter, a musician, a poet, a writer. But I'm no photographer.


In the process of my self-discovery project that will culminate in my second solo art show in October, I started to hear myself whenever I turn something down and label it as "Not Me". I began to question, how do I know what's "not me" until I really test it out to prove that it's "not me"? And what's with all these labels anyway? I get that we use these labels, such as our occupation, our hobbies and interests, our position in our family, descriptive words as qualifiers of our identity... but how many of these labels do we need to accumulate until we find who we are? And in the larger scheme of things, do any of these labels even really matter?

So I set out to challenge one of my labels, to step outside of my comfort zone of sketchwalks and drawing events and explore another realm of art I once refused to be a part of, simply because "I'm not a photographer."

1. The only person who's really judging you.. is yourself. 

I learned this very early on in the session. You see, out of the group of 70-80 photographers who showed up, the only person who DIDN'T have a large black Canon, Nikon or Pentel was.. ME. Every single person had their professional DSLRs, and a couple of SLRs slung around their necks or hanging off their shoulder, and backpacks with tripods stuffed into them. Me? All I had was a little Canon S110, a hand-me-down from my Mom which fits nicely in the palm of my hand, and my Samsung Galaxy S4, which I had only started using 2 days earlier. I felt SO extremely out of place, like how I felt when I first walked out of the airplane into the Nashville International Airport 6 years ago. I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb, and that everyone was looking at me and thinking: "What is this girl doing here? How come she's here when she's clearly not a photographer? Does she even know how to take pictures?"

 First group photo of the day.

I suppose it didn't help when the first person I tried to talk to (by asking if this was the photowalk group) took one look at my little silver digicam, and he was rather unfriendly, and didn't seem to want to talk to me anymore after telling me I was at the right place. After that I was really worried that no one else would want to hang around me, and maybe I should just leave. It got a little better when I met the organizer, Wilson, and I started talking to another guy, but I still couldn't shake off the self-consciousness that plagued my thoughts and I felt so embarrassed when I took photos with the little Canon. I started to tell people, "I'm not a photographer." or "I feel like a black sheep in this group with my digicam", etc. and then after the 3rd or 4th person I said that to, it suddenly occurred to me that none of them cared about that (except maybe the first guy, who I'm still hating on.. grr...).

Really, the only person who was judging me for standing out like a sore thumb or a black sheep, for not belonging to this group or this event... that person was ME. The truth was, no one else cared if I'm there or not. Everyone is so caught up in their passion for photography, in capturing their own shots that it didn't matter what I was using to take my photos. I guess if I was sketching I would probably get more attention, but the reality was, no one cares if I'm there, let alone if I belong there or not.

Funny thing is, I realize how EVERY TIME I try to join a new group or an event of strangers, I judge myself like this each and every time. Believing that no one wanted me there because I didn't belong. OMG what a delusion!

My first Instagram shot of the photo walk. I absolutely love this photo. 

Coming soon as a painting!

2) People are a lot friendlier than they seem at first, and most times, they are just as scared to talk to you as you are of them.

I'm terrified of initiating contact with a stranger, because you never know how they will respond to you. And after my attempt to talk to the first guy and he shut me down, I was even more shaken. But I managed to gather my wits, and tried again, and I realized that actually people are friendlier than they look. And the only way to find out is to take a chance and talk to them.



3) The fastest way to get people to open up is to ask them about their interests.

In a photography group, it’s pretty obvious. So I'd ask them, “How did you get started into photography?" or "Are you a professional photographer?" And before you know it, they’ll tell you the most interesting stories you never expected, and it gives you a window into their lives. One guy got into photography because everywhere he went with his girlfriend, she would want to have her picture taken with literally everything around her.


4) You can learn a lot from opening up to people and listening to their stories.

A professional photographer taught me how to use the reflective surface of the table to capture an interesting shot.

From a Polish photographer, I learned that in his experience, Singapore is one of the best places to photograph birds because they aren't afraid of people, like literally you can walk down the street and in the tree along the roadside he has found birds' nests with baby birds in them. AND if you're looking to photograph night wildlife, Vermont Cemetery is a great place for seeing owls and civet cats.


 
5) Be prepared to be a subject in others’ photography.

It’s a photo walk, and you’re a person, and if there are photographers who like to shoot people in a natural state, don’t be surprised if you see someone’s camera pointing in your direction. Also, be prepared to take a few group photos along the way.

 After I snapped this alley along Ann Siang Rd and I walked off, someone else snapped this:

6) You’ll never know what you’re capable of until you do something out of your comfort zone.



Before yesterday, I didn't see myself as a photographer. Now I realize that even the word itself can mean so many things. Sure, I may not be a professional photographer with one of those bulky cameras, but I'm an artist, and the camera is simply another medium for creative expression. And nowadays with so many tools and apps, you can always use a filter on your photos to make them look closer to what your vision was. I ended up actually taking more photos on my Samsung and using Instagram filters to turn them into something really cool.

 By using my Instagram square cropper and a filter, I got this cool sky shot, from the photo below.

7) Keep on trying.

Like all things in life, if at first you don't succeed, or you're absolutely clueless about what to do, or you don't seem to get the results that you want. Just keep on trying. Try something different. Try a new angle of looking at things. Try another method to get the result you want. And if things still don't work, put a pause on them and move on, and come back another time.

Here are more of my favorite photos from this walk: