A Girl's Story

I was enjoying the color, the palace, the beautiful shots, the mood, the fun, shoes, clothes, cakes, a story of a girl's life, when in that white tent, at night, someone began to rub the rim of their glasses.

Tears blurred my vision. I was thinking of that night of ours.

Has it been a year already. It felt like yesterday, it felt like a second ago, and it felt like forever.

I like this movie, how it was made, and the sound track. For we all want the same thing, living now or a year ago, or hundred of years ago--intimacy, love, warmth and strength.

The cry and longing has not changed, even you have all the best cake and clothes in the world at your hand's reach, or just being a working girl like me.

Some moments and things in life are just worth more than others. However you look at it. Like when you texted me "someone in Jake is rubbing their glasses tonight, I was thinking of you".

Search and Found

I was typing in my blog name to find my blog today. And I found that someone else may have viewed this blog by seeing the related web sites served up by typing in the keyword "elias canetti".

It was on some sort of a unheard Search engine or free encyclopedia called "Sirchin". My post Eraritjaritjaka is the number 4th on related blogs.

For a second, I decided to try my luck on the almighty Google. After going through the first 20 pages and see the page number is only growing--I am that vain and wishful thinking, I decided to admit that I am no expert on Elias Canetti and obviously, Google knows it.

But why Sirchin have my post? I know it must has a much smaller database of content and key words inventory than Google, but why me, no, I should not get personal here, it is about Elias. But why my post? It has no doubt boosts my self esteem as a blogger for whatever it worths.

To test its width and depth of knowledge, I tried to type in another keyword where I usually get some content on, it found nothing.

The article in the last page of this weekend's New York Time Book review talks about how writers can ensure their works being smartly found online using some hacking or whatever technology the author think only the computer geeks holds the key.

Actually, you can pay for yourself to be found online. It is not very unlike a yellow page ads, but it all depends on what keywords you want yourself to be related to and and the price will depend on how many others are competing with you for that keyword.

It is all about supply and demand. You really think Google has a business model that is revolutionary?

However, how much you pay for a click on that keyword will determine the position of your website on the list of website being served up. You know that the possiblity of getting clicked on decrease substantially if it locates on the second page and after, in other words, only the compulsively obessesive ones will find you if you are not serve up on the top portion of the first page.

Most of us have a quite unique keywords, our name. We look for loved ones, newly met ones and secretly admired ones and secretly disliked ones, online. And if we are lucky, we are being missed and being looked for. We or those who look for us type in the names. Names as a key word are usually searched by people who have already known us in some capacity.

But sometime, when we talk about things, totally unknown people found us through those topics, clues, comments we made, review we typed, or if somebody stole an image that we posted, or any piece and bits of information. Through the web, we are connnected with stangers with common interest or common inquisitions or common color preferences, willingly or not. Through the web and our key words, we are easier to be found.

But, maybe also easier to disguise. An anonymous name is all we need when we can freely roam in the realm of cyber world if we do not want to be found by people who know us in the real life but can still have a ture voice.

The world is getting smaller every day. Connection and communication and information sharing never seems easier. Yet our true self seems never so trival and small. It almost feels like when you can talk to some species on another planet, when that distance does not matter anymore, then the intimacy of the world around you are so much discounted as well. Why bother say hi to your neighbor when you can talk to the guy in Australia like a long lost friend.

Maybe we feel safer to be found and loved on line rather than found and loved through a encounter in the bar. To have someone show up on my website is better to have some stangers show up on my door.

But if you know me, you know that a big catch is imminent.

All the information in the world and all the keywords together, no matter how you refine it to match up with what we are looking for, will not enable us to find one thing: A heart that determines to hide itself.

Still, we never stop seraching for it, and to believe that we can find and can be found again.

This Word

Me: Do you mean Empathy Room.

Friend: Sorry, typo, not empaty room, Empty Room, or abandoned ones.

Me: or Derelict

It came out, a word that makes my heart miss a beat. I remember how I first learn it, from you, and how I see it in different books and movies, Secetary, My Own Private Idaho, Wim Wender's photo book...and now.

I just miss you so much.

Art, Art and More Art

I combed through the Chelsea galleries on Saturday afternoon, from 25 street, zigzagging to the 20th. That is lot of walk, climbing up and down, pacing back and forth, like I was thinking, although I was also looking.

Problem with me is that I don't follow specific art news to know what to focus, so I had to cover it massively and leave it to luck. That spontaniety and anticipation for the unknown excites me, always. It just require extensive labor.

It turns outs that I have been lucky, actually, so lucky to have seen something really extraordinary.

Not everything I saw were impressive, but what I like the best are the following three, their works put me in awe and in feeling of love.

1. An illustrator who loves red--Hope Gangloff.

Her lines are very clean and simple, yet the mood, the shape and shade are perfect. Her charaters, highlighted with just red shoes or a lips or a cigarette stub in their mouth, a shirt, are urban, lying around, moody, purposeless, but living. It reminds me of characters in novels of Murakami. And red is the highlight color in most of her drawings, if there is color at all, besides the black strokes of her ball point pen.

Red rules. Ask Bono.

I like the above drawing very much and so many others which were part of the solo show at the Susan Inglett Gallery at 534 West 22nd Street until yesterday. So yes, it ended, and I was lucky to decided to be there on the last day. That means that we were destined to meet--very chinese way to look at it.

I am sure we will see more of her work. Here is the website with more splendid drawings.

2. Canadian Invasion -- Death from below: The Upper Layers of the hades Geofront

I always like the monster painting in the tradition of Goya. That may answer for my dark side. But these monsters, like in the animation movie of Hayao Miyazaki, mostly have a soft heart or a painful past, thus warm and intimate, thus leaving room for empathy, or transformation of the viewer into them.

These are the amazing graphic paintings by Nicolas Di Genova, the imagination, the detail and accuracy, the humor in the replacementment parts, trees growing out of the back of monster sheep, butterfly with head of horse. This is the art that take me away and come back feeling more and happy.

He draws with belief and zeal. You can feel it. And imagination is what disguishes art and craft. There is so much of it in his drawing, the imagination that starts in reality but ends in infinity with somtime subtle change of compositions of what we know and see before.

And this drawing blog has the interesting collection of his work.

3. Rise from Junk

Project runway judges often ask the nervous designers: You got to have your own perspective.

Vik Muniz shows just that, all new, original, irony in perfection and large scale yet decpetive through photographic remake. Greek gods rise from industrial rubbles. And not to say I saw my beloved Carravagio's Narssisis again--Nice surprise.

The Brazailian artist is truly the designer, he directed art students to put rubbles along the outline based on classic master paintings from a scaffold, he show us videos when this vision is being realized.

It is the use of such cold and empty modern materials or the aftermath of it to tell stories of deity and unearthiness that delivers true irony.

I took photos but I can not seem to add more images to this post. Check out his work here.

And I encoutner lot of red in all the shows, even in street, yesterday and today. I will post them soon.

Today I walked around the buildings in Dumbo with friends to see the open studios of Annual Under the Bridge Art Festival. It was a sunny but chilly day.

I remember when I was in DC and was looking for a winning painting in the national portait competition. I was amazed by the number of artists from Brooklyn that have been nominated in the competition. It is an area indexed espeically high for artists, extra high concentation for excellent ones. Like when you throw a small rock to a the crowd, you have a much higher possiblity of hiting the head of an great artist here.

But for any day, even a bad artist always beat a good soldier, to me--a person who seek to express himself via form of creation rather than destruction is forever more lovely and honorable.

The buildings in Dumbo was filled with artists and art lovers or appreciators, like the market. I love it. Its openess and calm moves me.

But after 2 or 3 buildings, we felt no more art, no more walking, it felt like holiday shopping trip toward the end. I just needed a cup of hot coffee and looked at people. A worn out weekend of over dosage of art appreciation, with a more worn out heel of boots.

I was thinking of you, of couse, and was not thinking of you, in the space and time we could have enjoyed together. For we share the love of many of these works.

I felt closer to you walking to the same galleries that you took me. And there is more happiness than sadness that fills my heart. I smiled, I smiled for I love you still and that love will never be lost, and it warms my heart when I look into the paintings that you will also like--I know.

Even I could not turn around and say, "look at this", or feel your arms arond my waist, but I know you are some where, looking at something beautiful. For you are an artist, you create things funny and beautiful.

To some extent, we all are.

World Around me

Jon Stewart shouted: Republicans, own your scandal, don't rationalize it! "

I feel so thrilled to hear that, at 11 PM at night, extremly tired--not like my usualy typical immigrant aloof reaction to political heat in this country.

I feel that is a good sentence. It summed up the absurdity of the situation and many situations.

Own it. There are so many things that we don't want to own, but want to rationalize or derationalize--our fear, responsiblity, choices.

Before Jon Stewart, after working until 10 pm and pretty much brain-damaged, I went home to catch an episode of Project Runway--a reunion special. I still Love Jay. The gay winner of Season one. I loved his creativeness from day one and his candid attidudes. I saw him once in Byrant park shooting the segment where he was driving around in a new SUV and sat and talked to a doll in the park. Jay is cool. "You selected a gay guy for season one, an Aisan immigrant for season 2. You will select a black guy for season 3." He said.

Truth is Michael is really good for season 3. He derved to be the favorite. I watched projecct runway with utter loyalty and never go online finding out who is wining if I miss it. I wait for the encore.

How stupid can someone get? Keith, the cute guy who was kicked off continued to wage a losing battle rather than being cool. He is talented. He should have waited for another chance. But now he is just a little annoying kid.

Making clothes is cool. For a moment I fantasize about the idea of being the type of designer who can just be a so-called muse for someone, a critic, a selecter, never having to sketch, or lifet a needle. I need to find my partner. Since I like watching beautifully designed everything, but I don't create, don't sew or saw, don't draw. A muse, yes, it sounds very pretentious and annoying.

My boss sent me the article in New York time. The author was reciting the experience of the mid-air collision of his small plane against the big plane above the jungle of Amazon. It is powerful. I could not open the file. Do I really want to read it? A frequent long-distance flyer with unconquerable flying anxiety. I was always busy on planes, all senses in motion, make sure everything is in order, as if the airline has paid me for a security checking job. I chose that job, withnot added benefit of club membership.

I may read that story at some point, but story of chances and fate lingers with me.

Only lately I found I have enjoyed flying as well as life with a more calm demeanor, appreciateive and humorous. I stopped fearing about many things. I am more peaceful with what I can and can not do, control or deliver.

I am more peaceful with the now and the living, rather than worrying about the silence and emptiness of upcoming and after living.

And I work for a reason. And I was less fearing about what I do or did in work or with life or in love. I am creating number again. Sometime they work, sometime they don't. I really do not care about how many emails to sell something got clicked anymore, while the world move on with its own worries.

Just know that I can not stop working and do whatever I want just because I have heartache. It does not work that way. You continue, you pretend you heal. You laugh again. You laugh for watching Cobelt report. You laugh for missing him, still.

Shooting at schools, violence in Africa, Japan's new prime ministor is a nationalist. News filled the air. Can any of us really do anyting about it? I think of Che, he did something about it with what he believe. He is the real idealist, the action type.

We survive. We still drink Martini and counting the days. We are still faced with possiblity or impossiblity of starting or continuing a love affair or a love relationship. I don't want to fall in love anymore or any longer. Or I do.

Move on. Keep marching. We are told, that is better.

Blog space is much mor quieter lately. I read, but do not comment. Chris' Geico died, dried up. Sad.

Eeverying has an expiriation date. New movies comes out based on the book we know. New books published. Authors that we talked about, his book I got for you, we just won't talk anymore.

Can we project two different scenarios? Sure. We pull number out of the thin air. We tell a story based on assumptions and what we know.

Educated guess, isn't that how we rationalize everything?

But there is right and wrong in this world, right or not right, right and far right, yes, I really love the writers for Daily show and Cobelt report.

They kick ass, I pull something out of it and call it projection, and in between those, I wrote this quiky blog post to give my poor brain a much needed change of scene and thought.

Own it, whatever it is.