I think I underpriced myself.
That's not really important.
I realize, tonight, before I carry them to Cebu, that I will no longer see them after this.
I realize, tonight, they are my babies.
I love them and have toiled to make them as beautiful as I could.
Making art is quite an experience.
It is generous in the act itself.
Thank you.
And thank you.
I say thanks to the creator in me.
And say thanks to the creation that is me.
Saturday, June 15, 2019
Monday, March 19, 2018
About him
On January 17, I forced myself to watch a performance. It was my third show for the day and I wasn't looking forward to watching another show by myself. On my way into the performance space, I saw a friend in the crowd. She had called my name, and prompted me to sit with her. What a surprise, I thought.
A good looking caucasian man in a t-shirt steps onto the stage. He began to speak with the audience. His rapport was undeniable and his presence captivated the entire room.
I was spellbound immediately. As he progressed with his act, I began to notice strangely familiar details in his piece. Details that seem to have come from my own world and history. He spoke the language of my childhood, with a reference vocabulary of sci-fi movies, prehistoric creatures, and heavenly bodies, all wrapped in the black of the night. He continued to narrate his story, revealing in the process, his Grindr use. I began to admit I had to meet him. Throughout the performance, I wrestled with this attraction, constantly questioning my reaction to his presence.
Towards the end of the show, I felt the needed to find a way to naturally connect with him. Just before the blackout, I muster all my focus and asked for the universe and my guides to help me. I stared deep into his face, willing him to look at me. As he scanned through the audience with his sharp gaze, the last pair of eyes he meets are mine. I knew that he had seen me. After that, the audience, including I, gave him a standing ovation.
I added him on facebook as my friend and I waited for him to come out for his meet and greet. But we had waited at the wrong door, and my friend was hungry. We headed to the ramen restaurant next door. I had a beer. She treated herself to a bowl of ramen. I added him on facebook. Later that night, I checked my instagram and find a message from him. I left him a message on facebook. He replied. We exchanged numbers:
We met for the first on January 19th before his closing performance.
We would meet again the next week on January 25.
On February 3rd, he took me to see a cabaret show. We met up at his hotel and had Chinese dinner at nearby Chinese takeout. I remember he'd hold my hand, kiss me, and put his arm around me throughout the evening. I felt pretty and prized. He had swept me away.
* * *
On February 7, I purchased tickets to Madama Butterfly. I invited him to see it with me. I needed to see Butterfly die as a means of letting go of my self-imposed narrative of romantic tragedy. Bringing a date would also mean, I would start opening myself to the possibility of a love without tragedy.
* * *
We met up again on February 9 to hang out at his hotel.
* * *
February 22 was a rainy day. We met up at the Met Opera for Madama Butterfly. I wore my favorite shirt, my beloved blue malong, the silver shoes I got myself from Harrison, my favorite boxer briefs, and lastly my favorite dinosaur socks. We ate a thai place for dinner. After the opera, I asked for him to come home to my apartment with me.
* * *
February 28, we hung out at his hotel. I stayed until 3 the day after.
* * *
March 06– I said goodbye to my friend Jie from Taiwan. We went to Dumbo and had Chinese lunch.
I meet up with him later that night. I spent the next day with him again. He worked on his piano while I did my routine for Princess.
* * *
March 07– I went back home to prepare for my performance at Pinto Manhattan. On my way out, I noticed that my passport was missing. I went through with my performance anyway and spent the night ransacking the apartment for my passport after.
* * *
March 08– I went back to his hotel to find my passport. We couldn't find it there either. I went to the consulate to begin dealing with the situation. Distraught, I went to see him play at his hotel. We would later be dragged along by his friends to see a performance. I sleepover at his hotel
* * *
March 10– He invited me to sleepoever with him again,
* * *
March 14– I moved to the apartment in the next building.
* * *
March 15– We meet at the Mattachine Party. I slept over at his hotel.
* * *
March 18
My birthday. This was just yesterday. I met up with him in his hotel. We went to Prospect Park and lay in the grass. We agreed to cook and eat dinner with his partner at their home. We spent the night at my apartment, celebrating. He shared with Stravinsky and optical illusions.
* * *
I leave on April 11. I have been living a dream here in New York. I love him.
A good looking caucasian man in a t-shirt steps onto the stage. He began to speak with the audience. His rapport was undeniable and his presence captivated the entire room.
I was spellbound immediately. As he progressed with his act, I began to notice strangely familiar details in his piece. Details that seem to have come from my own world and history. He spoke the language of my childhood, with a reference vocabulary of sci-fi movies, prehistoric creatures, and heavenly bodies, all wrapped in the black of the night. He continued to narrate his story, revealing in the process, his Grindr use. I began to admit I had to meet him. Throughout the performance, I wrestled with this attraction, constantly questioning my reaction to his presence.
Towards the end of the show, I felt the needed to find a way to naturally connect with him. Just before the blackout, I muster all my focus and asked for the universe and my guides to help me. I stared deep into his face, willing him to look at me. As he scanned through the audience with his sharp gaze, the last pair of eyes he meets are mine. I knew that he had seen me. After that, the audience, including I, gave him a standing ovation.
I added him on facebook as my friend and I waited for him to come out for his meet and greet. But we had waited at the wrong door, and my friend was hungry. We headed to the ramen restaurant next door. I had a beer. She treated herself to a bowl of ramen. I added him on facebook. Later that night, I checked my instagram and find a message from him. I left him a message on facebook. He replied. We exchanged numbers:
We met for the first on January 19th before his closing performance.
We would meet again the next week on January 25.
On February 3rd, he took me to see a cabaret show. We met up at his hotel and had Chinese dinner at nearby Chinese takeout. I remember he'd hold my hand, kiss me, and put his arm around me throughout the evening. I felt pretty and prized. He had swept me away.
* * *
On February 7, I purchased tickets to Madama Butterfly. I invited him to see it with me. I needed to see Butterfly die as a means of letting go of my self-imposed narrative of romantic tragedy. Bringing a date would also mean, I would start opening myself to the possibility of a love without tragedy.
* * *
We met up again on February 9 to hang out at his hotel.
* * *
February 22 was a rainy day. We met up at the Met Opera for Madama Butterfly. I wore my favorite shirt, my beloved blue malong, the silver shoes I got myself from Harrison, my favorite boxer briefs, and lastly my favorite dinosaur socks. We ate a thai place for dinner. After the opera, I asked for him to come home to my apartment with me.
* * *
February 28, we hung out at his hotel. I stayed until 3 the day after.
* * *
March 06– I said goodbye to my friend Jie from Taiwan. We went to Dumbo and had Chinese lunch.
I meet up with him later that night. I spent the next day with him again. He worked on his piano while I did my routine for Princess.
* * *
March 07– I went back home to prepare for my performance at Pinto Manhattan. On my way out, I noticed that my passport was missing. I went through with my performance anyway and spent the night ransacking the apartment for my passport after.
* * *
March 08– I went back to his hotel to find my passport. We couldn't find it there either. I went to the consulate to begin dealing with the situation. Distraught, I went to see him play at his hotel. We would later be dragged along by his friends to see a performance. I sleepover at his hotel
* * *
March 10– He invited me to sleepoever with him again,
* * *
March 14– I moved to the apartment in the next building.
* * *
March 15– We meet at the Mattachine Party. I slept over at his hotel.
* * *
March 18
My birthday. This was just yesterday. I met up with him in his hotel. We went to Prospect Park and lay in the grass. We agreed to cook and eat dinner with his partner at their home. We spent the night at my apartment, celebrating. He shared with Stravinsky and optical illusions.
* * *
I leave on April 11. I have been living a dream here in New York. I love him.
Saturday, December 16, 2017
I have been happier than usual with a joy that has never been so potent, so lucid, and so convincing. I feel as though I am one of the luckiest human beings in the planet. Being able to do and have the things I desire, and being given the time, opportunity, and resources to further deepen and strengthen my art practice. I find it is still quite a melange of sorts, kind of like primordial pond scum but in a cute and optimistic way like flubber haha but the intention to evolve, to expand is there. I am confident that I will find my way nonetheless at my own perfect time. I have been investigating the notion of happiness. This began in Manila, after staging some acts of healing and reconciliation between myself and the figures of my past: family, friends, Cebu. I am unearthing insights on this subject from my experience with religion and fanaticism through a new work in progress. It's called "Church B" for now.
I've been having a consistent urge to perform but what? how? have been the frustrating questions. I'm a bit saturated with my performance techniques, even my themes. How does one transform? How does one find new impetus, new stimuli, perhaps even a new muse. I am happy and for now, the closest thing I have to an intention is to share this joy. How to do this without being patronising or didactic?
3:19 am Manhattan, New York
I've been having a consistent urge to perform but what? how? have been the frustrating questions. I'm a bit saturated with my performance techniques, even my themes. How does one transform? How does one find new impetus, new stimuli, perhaps even a new muse. I am happy and for now, the closest thing I have to an intention is to share this joy. How to do this without being patronising or didactic?
3:19 am Manhattan, New York
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Missing Beuys
So here we are again. I'm back in Dusseldorf. I actually had a very good day experiencing good (and bad) art through the Skulptur Projekte in Munster.
Without these grand distractions though, I am once again confronted with myself. I'm more and more becoming conscious of the reader in this secret blog. I had imagined I would share this with one friend, just one. The primary candidate is Carlos. Why, I don't know. Maybe, perhaps, he seems to have the most accurate grasp of my nuances despite being unfamiliar with my experience as a member of the lower class (which is something I carry with me until now).
My cat is missing. Beuys, please come back. Yesterday, while I was getting weary of worrying about money, the cold, and pretty much the usual internal isolation amidst over-extended company, I began to meow at strangers discreetly. Every time I would pass by someone, I would meow. Beuys had just gone missing then–back in Manila.
I'd like to think this is the main source of my anxiety today, having had an admittedly and refreshingly exhilarating and enriching day of art.
I started watching Haneke's The Seventh Continent until finally giving in to my restlessness. I'm just going to have to wait for Ea to give her notes on her piece.
I'm taking life a day at a time, an hour at a time when it gets bad. Sleep helps a lot.
Still, there is much to be thankful for. I am in Europe and I managed to catch a city-wide art festival that only happens once in ten years. I'm 32 years old, I have a partner, I live in a gorgeous apartment with the perfect housemate. And I have a beautiful cat, who is right now probably on the way home.
I love you, Beuys. Be quick about it. I'll be home soon too.
Friday, September 29, 2017
Talking in my sleep
I had the most beautiful dream.
There was a concert in Iceland. Or a protest. Or both. A few children were on stage singing "You've been flirting again".
The focus shifted to the last solo.
The child was trembling but still sang beautifully:
"Some things you never should owe."
I want to live in Iceland.
There was a concert in Iceland. Or a protest. Or both. A few children were on stage singing "You've been flirting again".
The focus shifted to the last solo.
The child was trembling but still sang beautifully:
"Some things you never should owe."
I want to live in Iceland.
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Hermit Talk
My body is sore. Such is always the case when I enter into Eisa Jocson's process. Princess is showing tonight. I feel more confident about it now. Perhaps I should direct all my energies–all of them into this. There is no point responding to my mother's messages saying "God put him(Duterte) there to clean this world" and telling me again and again to return to Jesus. Fuck that shit.
I did my daily soak in the tub. I couldn't sit still. However, I did manage to stay in the tub for a good 40 minutes, exactly as I had planned. I thought perhaps it would be better to take a walk instead. Walking around a foreign country has so far yet to afford me a sense of safety. Or perhaps, Dusseldorf is just not that great of a city. It might even really suck. Yesterday I tried to imagine I was just walking down the streets of Cebu. We were on our way to another Japanese restaurant. Surprisingly, I was in the mood for conversation. Until I too got fairly annoyed by my own excess of speech. I had a beer and some cold tofu with nato, a pleasant surprise.
These days I'm beginning to really think about my death in a more practical manner, something that is bound to happen, maybe sooner, maybe later. It doesn't matter. What matters is I am ready and also I am really not so fond of this world as of late. I'm hoping it's just that. It would be too unfortunate to miss out on things. But yes, this is how I feel. I have to acknowledge this. Sometimes, a clear escape is all so enticing. I'm going to get more books. I really don't mind being a hermit. I really don't.
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