Tuesday, July 01, 2008
and the moral of the story is...
Have you ever been caught lying? I don't think I've ever really been caught lying. I mean yeah, I've probably made thousands of little white lies in my life, most of which have been found out about 5 seconds after I've said them.
Things like
"Did you clean the sink like I asked you to?"
"...yes."
"No you didn't."
"I didn't have time."
I once lied to my teacher in 3rd grade to save face. She had reprimanded me unfairly in front of my entire class, bordering on humiliation. To top it all off, she set up a private audience with me that afternoon to give me a chance to apologize to her for setting her off that way. Being 9 years old, I thought the whole ordeal was my fault, and I showed up feeling like the most wicked child in the world.
So when she asked me to explain my "behavior" in class that afternoon, I burst into hysterical tears and told her that my parents didn't love me, that they ignored me, and that the rest of my family mistreated me.
It was a total lie. But it distracted her from wanting to squeeze an apology out of me, and made her feel sorry for me instead. In fact, she was so worried that she set up a PTA meeting with my parents to discuss my *ahem* issues.
It was only when I was older that I realized that what she did to me was wrong. I didn't do anything wrong, I was 9-years old for godsakes. She shouldn't have humiliated me like that. She must've been PMS-ing or she's an evil bitch. I'm not sorry I lied. I hope she finds out I did.
But yesterday I lied, and I am deeply sorry for it. It was to a customer. A regular of several years at that. V.I.P.! She always orders the same thing. Grande skim Caramel Macchiato, extra dry, with extra caramel drizzle. Then she sits in the corner with her little spoon and eats it up. Every day. Every. Single. Day.
She's alright, but on some days, when I'm in a touchy sort of mood, it sometimes ticks me off how she'll stand beside the bar and watch us make her drink everyday, and I mean WATCH US, like a sentinel, or like the coffee police. I don't think it would tick me off as much if she actually chit-chatted with us a bit, but she never does. I don't know if it's because she's an ice queen, or if she's just painfully shy.
So today, after having steamed her skim milk and finding that there was not enough to fill up a Grande cup, I cheekily topped up her drink with 2 spoonfuls of whole milk foam. Take note, not even the actual milk itself, just the froth on the top that is maybe 90% air, and 10% actual milk. She was watching me of course, but I didn't think she knew I was scooping whole into her skim.
So, I hand her her drink, smile, tell her to have a nice day and all that, but she looks me in the eye all of a sudden.
"Did you put whole in this?", she asked me.
"No", I said. Naked lie, right there. I knew it as soon as I said it.
I can pin-point several reasons why I did it. Number one, admitting to it would be potentially falling into a very ugly trap. Second of all, it was only the tiniest, most miniscule bit of whole. Seriously. Thirdly, I hated the way she was watching me. When a customer watches me like that, I get pressured to make the drink faster than I usually do, and I hate that feeling. Didn't help that it was a highly customized drink.
She took her drink and went to her little corner. I breathed a sigh of relief. But somehow I felt awful. Supremely awful. Worse than than how I felt in the 3rd grade. Sure, it was a petty lie. But it was precisely the pettiness that made me feel worse. I was betraying a paying customer, taking her money and giving her something that isn't what she thought it was. It was a petty lie, and worse, it was a completely unnecessary lie. A bold-faced, naked lie. Where was the justification for it, really?
And of course, it always feels worse when you actually get away with it. Fortunately (?), I didn't.
She came back. She handed me the drink.
"What's wrong?", I asked her. Hypocrite.
And in the tiniest, most timid voice ever (I've never actually heard her say anything aside from "grande skim extra-dry extra-drizzle caramel macchiato"), she said, "I saw you put whole in my drink. I can't have whole, not even a tiny bit, because it really gives me an upset stomach."
There it was in the Grande cup she was holding, the coffee-stained milk, stained almost as badly as my integrity. She spoke so softly, so shyly, as if it was she who should be ashamed of complaining that she was handed the wrong drink, and not the shame-faced liar who had made it.
So that's why she watched us like an owl every time we made her drink. She wasn't a prima donna. She just didn't want to get diarrhea. And she wasn't snotty, she was just really shy.
I will not repeat the apology I made, but I meant every word of it. There was no contesting the truth in my apology, and the other spoken realizations she heard from me. I had never been so sorry towards a virtual stranger in my life.
She got a new drink on the house, she got a coupon that entitled her to a free drink, and when she left she smiled and waved as if she had truly forgiven me. Not that she was ever truly angry in the first place. She was too nice. I, on the other hand, would have thrown a fit if I had been in her shoes.
I think I already know what the moral of the story is.
---
I have a new customer crush. It's been awhile since I've had one. Most of the time, the hotties are one-time wonders. They come, order, stay for a while, and walk away with their latte never to be seen again.
This one comes every now and then. He looks like Jake Gylenhall. And he works in the store a floor below us. I know because it says so on his ID. I put a heart on his hot chocolate today with caramel syrup. He'll never see it. The drinks come with lids.
---
I've learned that there 3 kinds of difficult customers
1) The ones who complain but who actually want to give us a chance to make things better. They're not actually "difficult", they are actually real, decent people who are honestly dissatisfied with their drink but don't act like it's the end of the world.
2) The ones who want to be angry. They like their anger, and they like the attention it commands. They don't want to make things better. They burn bridges. And their satisfaction is in seeing us scurry and chasing after them.
3) Junkies/ druggies. They're a bit like number 2, except they're high and usually rude from the start. Rude, difficult, and totally out of it. If they storm out angrily over some weird/ bogus complaint, most of us don't bother chasing them down.
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Friday, June 20, 2008
Cockatoo Island
This is me standing in the dirtiest damn bathroom on this earth, and making it look cool nonetheless.
It's the Biennale right now, which is a big, international contemporary art festival that takes place in Sydney every 2 years. Parts of Sydney are flooded with installations.
For today's design excursion, we went to check it out, mainly the 50 or so video installations on Cockatoo island which is a 15 minute ferry ride away from Circular Quay. Cockatoo Island is a Corregidor of sorts, abandoned, and filled with tunnels, ancient, rusting machinery, old deserted buildings, cannons, etc.
It was a fine winter's day, with beautiful soft-box lighting, and it had rained in the morning, and there were big puddles all around the island reflecting the sky. The mood and the color palette reminded me of a Miyazaki movie, and the ancient, nut-and-bolt, rusty machinery reminded of "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow".
More on the site.
It was a strange and beautifully dreamy industrial scene. I'm in love with rust.
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Thursday, June 19, 2008
some stuff i've been working on
A fairy-tale inspired chair. This one is derived from "The Princess and the Frog" where the princess drops her golden ball into a pond, and ends up taking home an unwanted bed-fellow.
Here it is beside the miniature version I made first.
Believe it or not, they are both miniatures. The one on the left is about the size of a matchbox car, and the larger one is only big enough for a Barbie doll. The full-sized version comes next.
Some nudes I made in life-drawing class.
I'll always remember the exchange between me and my dad when I showed him this.
"I think you made his d*ck too big."
"Hindi, malaki talaga!Lastly, just some good old paper and pen. Did this on the train, scanned it when I got home, and added on the text digitally. A colored version can be viewed at alaism.deviantart.com.
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Thursday, June 05, 2008
breakdown
So I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown a while back. In trying to be a superwoman design student and a model employee, I successfully eliminated my social life, my family time, sleeping time, and my spiritual life. I lived in the same house as my mother but never had real conversations with her. I gave up all hope of just sitting with my friends for an hour over coffee. I learned to function even though I would randomly fall asleep here and there during the day. I haven't prayed in ages. Having time to plop down on the sofa and watch some telly for even 15 minutes became a distant memory of the past.
I guess the last straw came when extra homework was dumped on us, and I saw that the only possible way to squeeze it into my impossibly tight, meticulously planned schedule was to quite my job and not sleep for the next 3 days. I turned around, walked out of the classroom, found the nearest bathroom, and broke down. I didn't know what I was crying about. I suppose I just completely lost it. And I suppose I had it coming.
I realized that I didn't even have any time for myself. No time to feel my feelings. No time to think and hear my own voice. No time to quiet myself down and just sit still. Everyday the past few months, I'm up early, and with my body still begging for sleep I get ready, eat a quick breakfast, then I'm on the go to school or work (sometimes both in one day), and when I get home, I immediately get started on homework till I fall asleep with my hand still holding the pen.
What followed the next few days was a break down, experienced in small increments. Meaning, instead of one big breakdown, I had a series of smaller ones, involving collapsing into sobs randomly at work and school. I felt so trapped in my own life, or that I was being stretched in 5 different directions. All my commitments are like little pet monsters that I've been feeding well this whole time, and now that I've run out of food, they've started to eat me. I began to resent everything I was committed to.
And so, it has become clear to me that it is time to revise this little program I've been following. I simply cannot go on this way. I'm not asking for time to out every weekend. I don't need to see my friends every week. All I want is time to watch a DVD at least once a week (without falling asleep), time to have real conversations with the people who matter to me (i.e. my mother), and more importantly, time to just sit quietly, peacefully, and think of nothing. Time for myself. Time to feel gratitude, and oneness with all. I miss connecting with my spirit. A girl needs to renew herself every now and then.
And so, I have spent the next few days telling myself that it's okay to be imperfect, and it's okay to be a little late for class sometimes, to not have fantastic marks in class, and to sometimes have a spontaneous meet-up with friends, and to spend money carelessly (but not too carelessly). I think I've loosened up a bit, as evidenced by the silly little mistakes I've been making the past few days, like mindlessly toddling into the wrong train (which took me in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go), forgetting I had work, and accidentally super-gluing three of my fingers together (I wish I had taken a photo).
I've since been on the recovery path from my 4 days of craziness, and I think I'm beginning to feel grateful about life again.
I'm glad I'm doing what I'm doing, I love my job and my course, I love my life, not because it's always easy or pleasant, but because I feel it is rich with meaning and value.morning has broken
Discovered a new old song today. I love the prayerful way Cat Stevens sings "Morning Has Broken". I believe that the truest prayers pleas, or requests for a favor. The prayers that really open us up are the ones where you're just simply grateful, for big things, and small things, and everything in existence.Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the word
Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day
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Tuesday, May 27, 2008
important art has never won the popularity vote
Several days ago, police raided and shut down an art exhibition by renowned and celebrated Australian photographer, Bill Henson. The exhibition featured photographs of adolescents, some as young as the age of 12, captured in the nude. The artworks were denounced as obscene, with prime minister Kevin Rudd calling the works "revolting", and commenting that we should "allow kids be kids".
However, the arts community, the law society, as well as his former models, stand by the artist saying his works are not pornographic.
Verbatim from an SMH article:
Although Henson could not be reached for comment yesterday, he told the Herald this week he had chosen to work with children at the beginning of puberty because they were "half in childhood, half in the adult world" and this "creates a floating world of expectation and uncertainty". He told the Herald in 2006: "It's an impossibly oversimplified notion, this 'loss of innocence'. It's not like you cross a painted line on the floor; it's a progression."Bill Henson claims that the models in the photos, although nude, were not sexualised.
First of all, I have never seen the photographs, only little cropped thumbnails they've been printing in the paper with all the supposedly "obscene" bits, i.e. breasts and genitalia cropped out. I would rather see them for myself before judging whether they truly are "pornographic". What I do remember thinking when I saw those thumbnails was how beautiful and evocative the lighting was. Someone even commented in an article that even Henson's detractors must admit that the photographs were beautiful.
Pay attention, folks. This is an important time for the art world. Art that matters is that which raises questions, which stirs debate, which forces society to look at themselves and examine the grounds on which they base their moral standards and laws upon.
Why is it okay to splash videos and images of clothe but highly- sexualised adolescents in magazines and MTV, but wrong when a an artist of Bill Henson's stature photographs them in the nude, but unsexualised?
Bill Henson's detractors claim that his photographs are material just waiting to be snatched up by pedophiles and child pornographers. (And interestingly, I was told that Australia has a pretty rampant pedophilia problem. Take note that I have not found evidence to support this claim.) Does not the pedophilia problem then lie in the very fabric of Australian society and not in a bunch of artistic photographs of nude adolescents?
Will shutting down this exhibition really help in eradicating child pornography? Or does it just expose the extreme and possibly unhealthy levels of malice in society?
There was a time in the era of sepia where it was actually fashionable to have your prepubescent child photographed naked. Now we can get lynched for taking a photo of someone else's fully-clothed child playing in the park. There's perverts and pornographers out there. Don't take any chances. When can a photo of a nude adolescent just be a photo of a nude adolescent again? We live in times of suspicion.
Let me tread dangerously near the line even more. I was disappointed with PM Rudd's views on the whole issue, saying that we should just "allow kids to be kids". I don't get this whole belief that kids should be completely isolated from their inherent sexuality for fear of loss of their innocence.
I just believe that people are born sexual by nature. It is not something we "become" when we hit puberty. Rather it is something that we are but isn't immediately realized. It is so much a part of us that often, the first characteristic we notice about strangers and people in general is their gender. Age, and physical attributes only come second.
And I feel that it is unhealthy to suppress such a natural thing in our kids in the name of innocence. I'm not saying we should teach them to act and dress like little lolitas, and throw them to the child pornographers. I'm saying that a photo of a naked adolescent wouldn't be such a malicious thing if we healthily recognized, embraced, and integrated certain aspects of human sexuality that we consider ugly and therefore choose to keep hidden in the shadows.
Children can be sexual creatures. This does not give perverts or pornographers license to exploit and violate our children. Rather, it can open our eyes as to why the problem continues.
Overall, I think this whole Henson uproar is an interesting example of how art can change and challenge society. In all major societal changes, there must be a force acting as the catalyst for change. But because too much change can be dangerous, there must also be a directly opposing force to counteract it. The key is balance. All opposites must exist in a delicate state of tension to avoid unhealthy extremes. As a law, if a force becomes too powerful, its collapses under it's own weight, giving room for the opposing force to dominate and so on and so forth. There will come a time when the balance will shift and society will become tolerant of those photos.
*** Added note after reading comments: I think it's very interesting how everyone has their own valid viewpoint to give. In a way, Henson has done his job as an artist by forcing society to reexamine the way it is structured. Art can either mirror society, sometimes in unpleasant ways, either that or stand as a foil or contrast to the society around it in a sort of "reverse reflection".
I believe that Henson's photographs will be socially accepted in another time and another set of circumstances. Michaelangelo's paintings in the Sistine Chapel were considered obscene during his time (they painted over them), as was Toulouse-Lautrec's paintings. What's important is that Henson's photos have raised questions, and that is the job of an artist.
I also believe that the tension between art and censorship will always exist. Rightly so. The beauty of it is how the two opposing forces forever struggle to find a new balance every time there is a shift in society.and speaking of malice in art...
We drew a guy in life drawing yesterday. Oh em gee, he was quite yummy. A real fine specimen of the male specie, amazing hip bones (drool), and quite well-endowed. And every time he would pose, he would close his eyes, and he looked rather beautiful. I was trying so hard not to stare at him.
I mean, when a model is posing it's okay to stare at because you're drawing him, but in between poses it's generally rude to stare. I also feel that there is some sort of unspoken rule that you should never talk to the nude model. It just feels inappropriate.
But after our mid-class break, when I returned to the classroom a little earlier than everyone else, he was there reclining on the dais, draped in nothing but a sarong, and reading a book. There were only a couple of other students in the classroom. I had this natural inclination to chat him up because it felt rude that everyone was talking to each other, but ignoring only him. Then I started thinking that it felt wrong to talk to strangers whom you've just seen naked, so I decided to just ignore him, too, which was probably the same reason why everyone else was ignoring him.
But somehow my attempts to sort of go along with everyone else in any situation never work. He called my name. I looked up in surprise. What does the naked man want with me? Anobaaaaaa I'm trying not to stare at you inappropriately so stop talking to me, I'm supposed to draw you, not talk to you.
Anyway he basically asked me if I was Filipino (I get asked that every day by random strangers) and if I knew any Spanish because he was learning Spanish and the talk went this way and that, and it was an actual conversation, even if he didn't have any clothes on.
I am a total failure as an artist. Here I am being trained to be a professional, and I can't talk to the nude model without blushing. I'm exactly the kind of artist you shouldn't ever pose nude for.
When I am in the zone, I can look at a naked man and see him as an arrangement of lines and contours, 3-dimensional shapes, and light and shadow, and be completely desensitized. But once I lift my chalk pastel from the paper and dust off my fingers, a yummy naked man is a yummy naked man.
Then again I am known to stare in an absolutely shameless manner at guys in wet shorts when I'm at Bondi.
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Tuesday, May 20, 2008
patay
Lesson learned today: you gotta think with your own brain because in the end, you know best.
Ok, so I have this teacher whom I really want to impress, and it's precisely that reason why I always seem to fail horribly in her class. It doesn't help that she's an ice-queen, a harsh critic, and just plain intimidating. And it's not like she doesn't have the right to be that way. She's a book illustrator. A damn good one. She wins awards and shit. And because she has done so successfully in one of my dream jobs, I look up to her as much as I hate/ fear her.
I make beautiful artworks when I am NOT in her class. Once I start on something in her class, I tend to try too hard and end up making stupid decisions because I want to please her. Her subtlest comments can make or break me. I've churned out some pretty horrible stuff in her class, stuff I wouldn't make if I weren't in such a state of anxiety.
Anyway, today I decided that was all going to change. I decided it was absolutely ridiculous how anxious I'd get before her class and how desperately I wanted to please her to the point that I wasn't enjoying learning anymore. Besides, her opinion is not the be-all and end-all of my career as an illustrator. Even if I consistently bomb in her class, it doesn't mean I can't carve out a career of my own.
Also, I decided I was tired of trying to please her and consistently failing, and realized that I never would anyway, and so I might as well just create to please myself, final assessment be damned. And so with that mindset, I walked into her classroom not giving a f*ck to put it mildly. It helped that today's medium was chalk pastels, which I am quite comfortable with.
I laid my paper out on the table. She pointed out that it had ugly creases all over it. I gave her a tight lipped smile. E anong magagawa ko, diba?
I started on my still-life drawing amidst an out-of-nowhere lecture she was giving to the class about how if we wanted a career, we all had to grow up because if we didn't care, then she didn't give a damn about us either. Up yours, maam.
I attacked my work with focus and confidence, I knew what I was doing, and I was working in the natural way I like to work.
Half-way through, she pointed out that my work was getting muddy and that instead of working it, I should just start a new one instead. I gave her a tight-lipped smile, and turned my focus back to my work, shutting her out.
T*ngina mo. Feeling mo ba ikaw lang ang may alam kung paano mag-chalk pastel? Feeling mo ikaw lang ang magaling? You don't know everything. You're not God. You're not the alpha and omega of my future s an artist. I will be better than you someday purely out of revenge, and I will do it my way.
My classmate came over and glanced at my work. "It's looking good, Ala."
"Thanks, I'll remember that when I get my 60-mark." (A 60 is a passing grade, but an un-special one).
I didn't give a damn. Maybe my work sucked, but I could only do what I knew how to do. And frankly, I didn't care what she thought anymore. I was doing it my way, the only way I knew how to do things, and the way I did it best. It was all about making me happy. Me, me, me.
Throughout the class she kept passing by, shooting meaningful glances at my work, and keeping silent (which admittedly made me just a little nervous). But soon my drawing started to come together, just like I knew it would.
By class's end, I handed my work in. "It's very nice", she said.
That stunned me. Wow. She's never said anything nice about anything I've made. The fortress I had been holding up against her all day went down long enough for me to mutter a rather sincere "thank you". Suddenly I didn't hate her so much.
Major demon slayed today. I've got its severed head on a stick.
2nd lesson learned today: magpakatotoo ka!
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