christography

Last might, my grandfather who passed away when I was 5 came to visit me.
I remember his sweet smell of smoke and the sounds of him unwrapping a sweet that he could never eat; because he was diabetic.
Ah Kong, how r u?
I asked, but I knew it was me who needed to give the answers.

Since we last spoke, I have done much. It’s been decades and I do miss you.

By most traditional circumstance, most people would agree that a man, in his 20s and early 30s, finds his way while building a career.  By their mid 30s, they would want to have someone to share it with. By 40s, they are stable and know who they are and what they want.
I am of course, not traditional.
I’m constantly living life passionately, I’ve created at least 3 careers for myself by the time I was 24. I am working on my ((at least) 4th and 5th now.

However, it was the time in-between that I am most proud of.
In my younger days when I spent time teaching music to kids younger than me. In my slightly older days, when I would spend time teaching people much older than me, or my parents.
The time when I became instrumental in the creation of the Music Elective Program; sitting in front of a group of oldies who just asked me questions about music and too young to know what the implications were.
The time I rescued two dogs from the sea, and also an old granny and her granddaughter from a python.
The time I went skinny dipping in the open ocean with new friends.
The times I was  teaching under-privileged kids, or kids with disabilities and ended up with a program that would help these kids be more independent when they left the homes.
Or the villagers that I spent a week with teaching English and ended up tasting the best plain rice I’ve had in my whole entire life.
The time i quit my well-paying job to help a young photography school off its feet and to get an important photography program that wouldn’t be what it is, if not for the heart and hard work we’d done for it.
Or the time I created a photography outreach program for teens and ended up being a councilor saving the futures and lives of young artists.
Even the times I spend talking to my artists friends to see how I can help them overcome their creative blocks.
Even the little moments, when I just had a wonderful time with my friends over my favorite Chicken Rice, or the best massage I had in Cambodia while sharing life stories with the masseur.

In all that I do, I’ve met many, many mean and bad-spirited people. It was a life full of betrayal n hurt too. But it is those kind and wonderful souls that kept me going. Kept me believing that there will always be good people, and these people I hold precious to my heart and my soul. Most have said that I lived a life more than myself. And I agree because these people represents my other hearts and souls.

I’m in my 40s now, feeling much older after all the journeys and battles.

On my 40th birthday, I’d lost a 9 year relationship 9 months before and ready to move on. I realized that I’ve wasted some time trying to figure out what is right and wrong that I’ve also missed out on some wonderful things - if only I’d stayed opened to the many different options.
On my 40th birthday, I’ve set different directions in my life, and different agendas. Looking forward to more stability, and I want to share this journey with someone I truly love, and someone who truly loves me.

- - - -

A diamond glistens in the  young smooth hands.
Uncut.
Full of knowledge of the world it has already inhabited for a long time.
It shares freely what it knows
It cares fully what it knows.
It shines for our future together.

The stars have spoken,
Our stars were meant to be together.
Aquarius to Capricorn to Rat to Monkey.
The stars glistens like fireworks on the waterfront, for our future.

The dark honey I drink warms my heart.

The mango I eat is full of sweet sweet passion.

You don’t see the sparkle.
You don’t see the glistening eye.
For what it is,
I think it is a fear.

Fear that it is not really love
Fear of our combinded differences
Fear of committing to more than work and friends
Fear of hurting me.

All it takes is that first step,
The first step which would calm all hearts
The first step that would allow the real answers surface
The first step that would have erased all the fears.

My pillows rustle in my ear
As I hear my tears.

The doors slams as I shut my eyes.
The wet wind sticks as I open them.

My throat hurts from the silent screams. This night was not meant to be.

It was yet another night of sleeplessness.
- - - -

The love that has not been.

There are not many people like me, of my background, and history, and my way of living. Of my courage, my foresight, and my determination. My honesty, my pride, and my passion for those around me. My idiosyncrasies, stupidity, and clumsiness. Maybe that’s all in the wrong century. I should have been born way earlier.

In the night, I hear voices in my head. Voices from my friends.
“Chris, you deserve better!” I keep hearing.. but where is “better” been hiding?

“Chris, you are too quick!” I keep hearing.. but where has “slow” taken me?

“Chris, you better not put in too much or you’ll be hurt again.” I keep hearing.. but how else will people know the real me?

“Chris, will you start protecting yourself? Loving yourself a little more?” I keep hearing.. living life with passion is how I love myself.

“Chris, you should go out and meet more people.” I keep hearing… but I’ve met many people, and it’s not often that my heart misses a beat as we sync.

“Chris, but you have friends who love you!” I keep hearing.. but my friends are those who said all the above, and a lover would not required words. To understand, hold me, and just need to listen and tell me the most appropriate things when I need them.

Will you please hug me again, Ah Kong? Please?

Last night was at The Man Theatre Festival, for Ivan’s performance of The weight of Silk on Skin. The title itself spoke of much, plus the fact that Ivan Heng will be playing a full solo, as a man, was attractive enough for me.

I was so taken in.

“The meanings of the words” Ivan used to say when he was directing other actors, can be clearly seen in his own execution. The imageries were painted so fully with the simple twist of his hand and a stare into the back. He could be a great painter if he took it up!

There were lines in the show that reflected how I felt at this current (many) state of my life. In one state, I’m at once in love, and out of it. In another state, being involved, and suddenly, taken out to hang like salted fish - too stinky to include into the everyday smells of tasty morsel. In another state, I have to now consider letting go of the things I love, while at the same time, hold on to the little parts that will hopefully still make the full. It is difficult to be in a situation like this; the state of the junction. The junction that might never have traffic lights to guide you.

As I sometimes stare out into the darkness, I have glimpses of the stars, and the reflection off the new water. Lights that are much more inviting than traffic lights.

I feel that in the last 9 months, something is slowly being exorcised from my being.
I no longer feel the need to look after so many people. I look after a few choice ones.
I no longer say yes to everything that I will work hard to achieve. I’d rather say yes to things I’m comfortable with, that I feel for, and can accomplish easier.
I no longer feel tired from the badness of people, I feel happier for the good ones I know.
I no longer need to be someone else, I am me.

I am tired from so much passion that I have for life that I dun have enough energy to enjoy it all.
I am sad from some of the things that I see are wrong, but I no longer engage.
I am mad from all that dancing I do when I am sad.
I am tearing from all that singing I do in my head when I need silence.
I am happy that i feel all that!
I am happy for all the small victories that happens in my and my friends’ lives.

The weight on my shoulders have been slowly decreasing.
And I walk lighter these days.

I am slowly happy again. Not quite delirious, yet.

I happened to catch a program on tv while waiting for the time. It was a show on the relationship between a gangster-turned-good-father and his soon-to-turn-bad-son. It was only 2 minutes into the show and I was in tears. The father bared his heart and told his son about how much he really loves him, and hopes that the son will not ignore him and share his life with him. He loves him.

I cried not because it was so moving, I cried because I realized again, that I never had the love of my father.

Remember how when I was really young, maybe only 3 or 4 years old, he took me to the old Satay club by the river, and he sat me on this really skinny railing, and told me to smile as I wobbled scarily to balance myself. I cried as I was afraid I would fall into the river behind, or the sandy concrete path in-front. He only said “Smile! Or I won’t let you down! SMILE!”

Remember how when I was slightly older, maybe about 6 years old, and I peeked into the bathroom where my maid was taking her shower as I was looking for my “Jie jie” (sister). She screamed when she saw me, and my father took a cane and I ran into the other toilet and locked myself in. He kicked the door down, and whipped me so hard, I was bleeding.

Remember how when I was even older, maybe 8 years old. And he’s been asking me to keep a diary. I never knew what a diary was, so I asked. All I was told was to keep a note of what I’d do every day. Being young, my days were more or less the same. 6am wake up. have break fast, shower, change into uniform, go to school, etc. And so it was repeated day after day in this little book. A few weeks later, he asked for the book. Having been so diligent in keep the record, I handed it over to him proudly. When he saw it, all he did was to throw it in my face and scolded me. I don’t remember if he hit me, maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. But I do remember being extremely hurt by the words he said.

I never had the luxury of a good allowance, always having to answer to my parents for every single cent that  I spent. Right down to the 10 cents. We were not poor, but I remember living on the generosity of the school stall aunties who’d give me extra.

When I was about 11 or 12, some tai yi long (illegal money laundering gangsters) took down the door of our home. Being the first home from school, I was shocked to see how the door was missing. I did not dare to go into the home, and I don’t know where else I could go to since I do not have enough money on me. I walked to my uncle’s house a few roads away. He called the police and things were a whirlwind after. The ‘adults’ keep me away from what was happening until the things were ’settled’. We had newspapers stuck together as a make shift door . For one week, we had to wait for the door to be replaced. My dad was nowhere to be seen. I had to sleep in the living room to protect my mom and my younger brother while they slept behind their own respective locked door. I was scared shit, but I had to be the man of the house. For the love and sanity of my mom, I had to keep up the brave front. That was the first time I developed migraine; so painful that I’d sometimes go partially blind. He came back only after the door was put up.

My younger brother started school. And he was given a larger allowance than me. He didn’t even have to keep as tight track as I had to when it came to spending.

My father continued his string of gambling habit. Illegal and otherwise. One day, a man called to tell my mom that my father was seducing his wife. Apparently, the kids would call my dad “Dad”. Apparently, they’d known each other since I was 1. Apparently, they were old lovers. They had a big fight. He left. I was actually happy.

In my younger brother’s school days, he broke his arm and had to be hospitalize. I hid myself in the hospital room, and stayed over with him. I do love my brother. The next morning, when I went to the washroom, my father came in with a woman and forced my brother to call her “Mom”. He just sat there and cried. I came in just in time to chased them out.

He came back after a few months. My mom forgave him. Or at least so that the family could be kept together.

Throughout these years, I was already a performing  musician. Never once was I told that I was something, I was always told that I would amount to nothing if I kept doing music. Despite the fact that I performed in Japan and Australia.

2 years later, the ‘lady’ appeared again. Another fight between them. He left.

One day, he secretly came back home while I was home. I had a fight with him, and he said

I. was. not. his. son.

He took his belongings and he left.

My mom talked to me about money and education. She could not afford for both me and my brother to go to school together. Since I was already making some money as a musician, my brother was given the opportunity to study instead. I was then going into NS already anyways.

A year later, he came back and again, my mom forgave him. And I gave her my word that I would support whatever decision she made. She needed that.

Initially, he would try to get money from us to go gamble. After a while, we just stopped. He has by then retired and was living on pension.

Many years has passed since then. And he’s now just the quiet old man too afraid to make any sudden move. There are oftentimes that I thought that perhaps I should just forgive him and ‘live happily ever after’.

Then about 2 years ago. He suddenly placed an interest in my further studies. He asked if I’d like to go and study in the university? Of course I would. I have been thinking that for a long time, but not making enough to do that, I could never make that plan forward. I was surprised that he even noticed and cared. I asked how I was to pay for this since I’d need to be doing this overseas and would need quite a lot of money. He said we should sell the house to fund that. I knew right there and then, that all he really wanted was half the money of the sale, and he would leave us with no place to stay.

I. am. not. his. son.

As the gangster-father held back his tears professing his love for his son. I did not hold back mine, in the emptiness that engulfed my heart.

My Peranakan works are going to de Musée du quai Branly, as part of the Singapore representaiton in Baba Bling exhibition. I’m the only living artist for this exhibition, the rest are highly precious antiques. I’m excited and happy!

Our Monsieur Lee Hsien Loong will be there to open the exhibition on the 4th October 2010. I’m quite sure it’ll be a grand event.

Looking forward to Paris!

I see you when I look up into the blue skies

I see you when I see the grey skies.

I feel you when I have my full

I feel you when I am feeling not so good.

I smell you when I look to the right

I smell you even when I am not feeling all so bright.

I taste you when I wake up to my morning coffee

I taste you when I have my chinese tea.

The image of you

are not images of you.

I see and

I don’t.

Your perfume

My perfume.

Your images

My images.

Your frames

My frames.

I regret coming into the path

I regret letting you come into my path.

No more

Nothing less.

Death do us part.

Death do us part.

It’s not often that I re-considered going back to work (not the going back to work part, but the re-considering part); but I felt guilty coming back to my office after watching A Cage Goes In Search Of A Bird. I had to have a glass of Cognac, followed by a large glass of bubbly with Disco George Michael blasting in the background of my gallery before I started work again.

The play was executed with simple intelligence. Almost everything was in black and white; making everything full of symbolism. I do remember the red color of the fish and the funeral tablet - linking the death of both. Visually, it was stunning stark, the acting standing out almost as if the drawings on a blank canvas.

The almost mechanical sounds, with the almost mechanical acting, with the almost mechanical lighting, made the point of telling the audience that stripped off all the “romantics” of life, this was truly where we live in, and how we lived.The almost-ness suggests the organic forms and movements that were happening on stage, had a chance of life.

As if breaking out of the monotony of the play, it slowly evolved from that rhythm. Into song and dance - seems to be poking fun at the ‘form’ that is fast becoming the norm in the theater world; if there could indeed, be a norm in the creative art world. I totally enjoyed the dancing, especially by Tim. His long limps waving frantically in the air, almost swimming in air, like the bird that got away from the cage.

The symbolism of life giving water, was most obvious when the actor had to deliver a lifeless folder in the rain. He was soaked and obviously “came to life” after the shower.

The deaths were all full of drama, as if to mock at the materialization of the loss. The flush of the toilet, the fall into the grave, the breaking of the bar that held the hanging rope - all symbolic descent to hell. And the customization of modern funeral offerings hint of modern life, all becomes ash.

I wondered if I was becoming one of those birds that one finds in a pet shop; most won’t survive out of the cage in the wild. I wondered if death had indeed been over-played by most. I wondered if life itself was over-played by the “offerings” that life would suppose to provide.

I choose to be the bird that ran from the cage, and survived in the ‘wilderness’.

I choose to be leading an artist’s life, and I am so glad that I have my artists friends who would remind me again, and again, through their works, that life is so much more full of experiences and explorations, if only one chooses to break away from the cage that holds them back.

I am so happy that being an artist has led me to so much more of what life has to offer.

This night had proven to be one hell of a disco! : )

It’s been almost 20 years since I started in the business of photography, and longer if I considered my life as an artist! To slog through so many generations of artists who’ve given up, and so many who did the ‘other’ route. Through this time, I’ve learnt that the only life for everyone, would be the life of an artist. One can be an artist even while doing accounting work, even the toilet cleaner. It is through the understanding of life, and its aesthetics that more can be accomplished. Why else would we have the light we have to see things, and the chair we sit on, the countless recipes that we cook wonderful food from? All because people are artists.

Near the end of last year, an opportunity came about and I found the space of my dreams, high ceilings, huge space (I believe the dreams of many artists who would crave for such a space). It took several months before the space was overhauled and ready for work.

Never one to take things for granted, I took weeks to put in furniture, equipment, everything. With the help of friends, and clients who care, it is now almost done. Fresh and newly minted Light Editions Gallery.

I’ve had so many friends who came visiting, and so many who have sent in their proposals to do a show at my gallery.

I am just so blessed in so many ways, especially when my dream come true. I am living the life of an artist.

It is so surprising to hear of a company that claims to do fine art prints in a factory. Yeah, right. Factory.

In looking for my new location in the last 4 years, one of the thing that got to me was the fact that all factories are not great for print production. There are things like fumes from car-repairs shops, food, glue, even from the dyes found in such places.Yeah, claims to make fine art prints. Right.

Did they even think about the climate controls? Or the insect controls? Sunlight control? Any of those? I guess not, and I would shudder to think about their handling controls! *shivers*

Gosh. One of my really good friend laughed at the claims since it was so obvious that it was all to make the company sound larger than it really is. It is, after all, just a distributor of machines, papers and inks. Not to mention that she was witness to prints being mis-handled when they came out of the printer. Gosh.

I didn’t spend almost 20 years of my life to become who I am without conscious, thoughtful hard work and long, expensive experiments to ensure that the printing medias work the best that they can.These new comers are only in for the short-ride. I’m too tired to continue educating people on learning how to distinguish between quality and bad work. I only laugh these days, life’s too short.

Good luck to the artists that go to them, since problems with the prints don’t even come up till several years later. Much like a badly developed black and white photographs; chemical spots don’t always come up that quickly.

Going to a Necessary Stage (TNS) performance always leaves me confused and thinking. This play was no exception.

I caught it last night, wondering about what to expect since I’d heard about the “singles / homosexuals / maxist can change” parts, I’d told myeslf to go with an open mind and just see what comes along.

When it started with “singles”, I was rather bored with the pro-government approach to singlehood. I’d already  been living through it with our daily media bombardment, not to mention in our daily lives from those around us. So when the question and answer session came (as part of the “singles” performance), I was too bored to even think of a question to ask. That was not to say I was not surprised. I was surprised that something like that could come out from TNS.

When “homosexuals” came on, I was ready to just see it like “singles” - more government bells, whistles, logos and trumpets. But as it droned on, I started to see a pattern; that wait, I was changing. I wanted to challenge what was being played on stage. I now had questions for the question and answer session in “singles”, will they have another session for “homosexuals”? No, they didn’t. darn.

Then came “marxists”, which was not really a play, but just a slide show of what’s happened to TNS in its early years being labelled as Marxists just because they attended a theatre workshop that was marxsists. The media and government came around, actually, not the mis-labelled marxists. For me, this part didn’t quite gel with the first 2 parts, though.

QUESTIONS. Why was it that those who don’t change still got to enjoy the perks? The aunt in “singles’ got what she wanted - a family life created by her niece. The mom, in “homosexuals” got what she want when her son got married. TNS got what they want, by staying as who they are (not marxsists, of course, but rather passionate practioners)?

Was this a play about power? Was this a play about how people become what others see of them? Was this about how change has to be balanced by unchange? The ideals of society has remained unchanged, yet people have to make choices of the changes they need in order to conform into this unchanging ideals.

Was this play created to explore how people would like to think or behave when put in a situation where everything is just status quo?

THOUGHTS. As a pro-government play, it had gone on to show what it would be like if arts were all just straight and morally correct and expected. Maybe it should have been a ’snow white with 7 CMIO skates on ice for Channel 5″; more shine, more glitz, more publically entertaining, since it was not meant to “upset the non-thinking majority”. Oh wait, that wouldn’t be TNS, then.

Personally, I’ve always thought change was inevitable. The idea of women only staying indoors have long been overturned due to economics. Even the idea that only women cam give birth is now being developed on, due to the idea of equality (and maybe economics. Hmmm.). But the thing that urks me most is when people assume that ‘moral standing’ is, as it always should be, that ’social responsibility’ is, as it always has been, that being different is not as it always has been. To have change is something that I quite look forward to in my daily life. It is often in the change that new interesting things can evolve, and it is through the un-changing that one can find solice and comfort. To have this play remind me that change in the sea of ‘un-changed’ is as important as un-changed in the sea of ‘changed’.

Bravo, guys!