Restore

All I can say for this one is...this is the end.

Gather

I have been working a whole lot on my thesis lately and I have a precedent that has inspired me. I chose to draw what I had seen in this skate park in West Oakland where the kids in the area feel free and claim ownership in the midst of volatility.

Cherish

Three years ago, at the beginning of spring, I sat with my friends at DuPont Circle in Washington DC. I guess I cherish that day because it was one of the last springs that I probably would ever spend with those three girls at the same time.

The crazy yet amusing part to that day was the troupe of clowns that descended upon the circle. One of the clowns, this 12-year-old boy, was definitely not amused by the antics of his cohorts. He sat by the fountain and wistfully stared into the distance. I took a picture of this sad clown (as those things typically amuse me.)

Journey

 

The process...

The Steel Pan was born out of a yearning for expression in a village with no voice. She was molded, pounded and bent into a harsh young woman by the hands of her maker, but the sound that escaped from her lungs was enough to mesmerize a wayward youth. "Sweet pan!" the adoring sailors would exclaim, as her music sashays down the city streets at dusk. The aristocrats and almost-but-never-will-be aristocrats cringed at the sound of her melodious voice. Uncouth! The vice of vagabonds and bandits! The whore of the town!

It was only when the young sons of respectable families began creeping out into the night to indulge in their torrid affairs with her, that the older, distinguished gentlemen began to take notice. "Let us refine her! She will do well entertaining us in our private gatherings." Pan learned etiquette. She was married off to money. Her rough, callous skin was smoothed out and buffed. She was now appealing...acceptable to engage the masses. She left behind her first love whose steady hands fashioned her in the darkness of backyards and garages. Her sweet voice was broadcasted and televised to the world and she became a cultural caricature.

Alas, with the Pan's journey toward the rich man's acceptance, what happens to the voiceless village when their one form of expression is enticed away from them?

Uplift

"The Black represents for us the dedication of the people joined together by one strong bond. It is the colour of strength, of unity of purpose, and of the wealth of the land. Red is the colour most expressive of our country; it represents the vitality of the land and its peoples; it is the warmth and energy of the sun, the courage and friendliness of the people. White is the sea by which these lands are bound; the cradle of our heritage; the purity of our aspirations and the equality of men and women under the sun. Thus, the colours chosen represent the elements of the Earth, Water and Fire which encompass all our past, present and future; and inspire us as one united, vital, free and dedicated people."

 - The meaning of the colors on the Trinidad and Tobago flag,
With compliments of the permanent mission of Trinidad and Tobago to the United Nations.

I guess this is my cynical representation of the Red, White and Black.  

Begin

Spoiler: the world started with a big bang. Sorry to spoil the ending of the story for you...

It's funny that we would never know the truest of truths to our beginnings until our lives end...or maybe we would never know. Maybe we will take our last breath and everything that we experienced all our lives...every prayer we had said...every good deed we only did to be in the "good books"...would be towards no eternal repercussion. If, in fact, the world started with a big bang and we are all evolving creatures with no souls, the atheists wouldn't even have a single millisecond after dying to be cognizant of their ultimate moral victory over their God-fearing counterparts. Poor atheists! No time to gloat for being right all this time! I guess the only true possible victors to this rather pathetic debate would be those who believe in an afterlife of some sorts and, if they are indeed right, can be finally vindicated from those heathens who thought otherwise.

I started off painting what I thought would have been a "big bang"...I ended up with a hazy night's sky. I guess we will have to wait for the final episode to find out the moral to this story.

Offer

Well...how shall I start this one?

I found these two dolls and a toy lobster splayed out by the edge of a sidewalk in residential DC, in an apparent "donation" attempt. I found their state disturbing yet mesmerizing. Only the Lord knows if the neighbors who left them there chose to indecently expose their limp bodies like this, or some perverse passerby violated their innocence out of sheer amusement. The fact of the matter is that, through this stage of being offered to the streets for anyone else to claim, these dolls were indefinitely abandoned.

Abandoned, violated and used, with frozen smiles on their faces. 

Behold

I've been suffering from stifled happiness lately.

It's the kind of happiness that your work schedule and the general atmosphere of life does not permit you to expose.

It's the kind that makes you feel selfish and guilty of even feeling, even as your responsibilities are falling stagnant by the wayside and deadlines keep lurching towards you.

It's the kind that makes you giggle in privacy and squeal upon awaking on mornings, but you dare not let the sorrow of the world hear your exclamations and attempt to snap that joy away from you.

This piece reveals the joy that I protect in a little box of my heart as I mask myself with the troubles of the day.  

Trust

Question: Are artists happy?
My personal answer: No one can be described as "happy". Happiness is a temporary state. What artists are is a personal revelation of ALL states, whether visible or hidden. The artist is "complete". This world prefers "incomplete" people and admires "complete" people at arm's length. The world needs incomplete people to remain numb so that the overall propaganda/status quo can continue to function.

Anyway, enough of my rambling. This piece was based on me trusting my hidden fantasies - that inner child who could care less about rational ideals. I consider this very rudimentary in its technique, but it was necessary. My childhood was far from perfect but in the midst of all the grayness that surrounded me, it was nice to still imagine in color back then. 

Range

    

  

         

        

     

If one were to ask me "what is my range," the rational side of me will draw a linear graph depicting my range of development from birth to my current ripe old age of 30. That, literally, is what I intended on uneasily providing an artistic representation of this week, but then I happened on a happy accident with my acrylic paints. I discovered the way my discarded paints were drying onto my palette - there was a sheen finish that I found after peeling behind the front side, which was usually textured with remnants of paint daubs and careless sploshes. I am clueless to the reasons why I seem more fascinated these days by discarded remnants than my usual thirst for clean, new and perfect. We shall see where this goes...

Anyway, I am surprised as to why I was able to drop that first idea so quickly, but I do feel it does somehow capture my "range". 

Provide

I found this metal board discarded in the studio and I was drawn by its deep red color. I envisioned a face on it - an emotional face. Ironically, the face ended up evoking any and every perceivable emotion from others than the one I chose to portray. The part that troubled me the most was painting the eyes. I struggled to really make them the way I needed them to be. After finishing my painting I missed the color of red that was hidden behind the paint, - which I initially intended to keep somehow in the portrait anyway - so I slashed into the background until I saw what I once loved.

I honestly feel like I managed to conjure up something that has eluded me for a while. It feels separate from me on the surface but sparks something innate inside of me.

Touch

Week 1 - Touch

I began with this feeling for something long and tactile to be handled and be heavy to hold. I proceeded with this discarded wood with the intention to give it a fake facade and then, with the red, "scar" the "perfection" of the white and puncture its apparent seamlessness. I wanted to "bloody" the pristine - to bring about the human to the method. It is my struggle in my design - not necessarily in the technical portrayal of my work, but bringing the human into my work, the disorder, the imperfection...in hopes to bring about true beauty.