Listening To Jackson Pollock

On Tuesday, I walked into the Guggenheim museum for the very first time. That evening also marked the very first time I listened to Jackson Pollock.

Over half the floor space on the fourth level at the museum currently showcases Pollock's art work - from his early pencil on paper pieces, ink/paint on Japanese paper to his signature oil on canvass.

I think the fact that I scored free tickets to the Pollock installment of the Works & Process series at the Guggenheim made the evening all the more sweeter! haha.

The evening began with viewing Pollock's works and continued with a music performance by 13 musicians (strings, percussion...) as directed by John Zorn, who as I discovered that evening was one of the best in his field. he was recently certified a Genius!! he's just won the McArthur Genius Award.

The music was basically an interpretation of Pollock's abstract artwork. (discounting watching Sunday in the park wuth George) this is the first time i've experienced anything like that... having a music perofmance directly tied to an art exhibition.

Like Pollock's work- the music was abrupt, disjointed and largely abstract, while at the same time cohseive.

Still there was something about the music that I wasn't too crazy about. It was noisy and cluttered at moments and almost a earful.

While i could understand where it was coming from in terms of echoing Pollock's works... I left the theatre wondering if the music could have been a little more palatable even as it retained intrinsic qualities of Pollock's works. At certain moments - the cluttered music did create a slight earsore (sorry, genius). This was unlike the artist's works - even with his cluttered brush strokes/drip method etc... - which are visually appealing. well in my biased opinion, at least.

STill, i must say that the entire event was a refreshing way to presenting art....

And i do maintain that pollock's works are best interpreted through progressive house music.

Live To Write...Write To Live?

I read Asian American writer Maxine Hong Kingston's Woman Warrior (as part of an American Studies elective) almost a decade ago.

At the time, I remember thinking to myself how i felt the writer's personal strength as an individual coming through the stories she told. She was direct, unafraid and unapologetic in telling her stories. I felt that and I admired that.

As with some of my other favorite writers (plath, cunningham, Franzen), what i loved about Maxine Hong Kingston most was her honesty. She was writing from her heart - she was writing as truthfully as she could.

writing truthfully isn't easy.

you get obsessed with details. why does XYZ only take his coffee black with no sugar? Or why is ABC terrible at counting? or What goes on in the head of a dying person?

Since I left my job on May 5 - I've had a couple of doubt-laden jolts as a writer. The solitude that comes with writing throws light on our expansive internal lives and our subconsious. It makes clear the fuzzy images of our memories and gives words to old festering hurts and moments of exhilaration from childhood.

Nothing escapes you as you write in solitude - in fact you chase the memories, pain, happiness, hopes, anxieties, grief, joy and relief from your past, present and future. Your words and characters, i guess, can only be believable cos they stem from truth and reality - yours and others - others.... as you try to tap the consciousness of those around you.

It gets overwhelming at times. But it always pays off cos something usually quite brilliant happens after the initial frenzy - there's a calm of awareness and more importantly acceptance. And there's also a cathartic release.

i guess, this is why they say there is therapy in writing.

Maxine Hong Kingston has obviously experienced the gift that comes from writing - and it seems she has made her purpose in life not merely her writing - but sharing the gift of writing with those around her.

she has been conducting writing workshops for war veterans. The workshops have culminated in a book of stories and poems from the workshop participants.

many veterans from the Vietnam war and the Gulf wars have taken part in these workshops. they've all managed to seek some form of release and therapy in writing - as witnessed during wednesday's reading.

so, does a writer live to write or write to live.

maybe the answer isn't as important as sharing the gift of writing.

maxine hong kingston has surely been leading the way.

Maxine Hong Kingston -Reading @ Coliseum

totally lucked out...that Maxine Hong Kingston (Woman Warrior) was in town on Monday for a reading at the Coliseum bookshop -off Bryant Park. =)





Can't believe this. I read Woman Warrior as a lit text!!!!!

Brooklyn

waiting for train to manhattan












peter luger steak house - a Brooklyn institution


















Debs, Natalie & Me


















Cafe Shane - Diner just by St John's Place














Bike Shop along Union Street














Tras & me brunching

Lazarus in Park Slope

Today i feel like Lazarus.

Reborn into another life.

i have new eyes

new memories

a new taste in my mouth

as i work on my coffee

my cookie and column

i have found park slope

park slope has found me

Today i feel like lazarus

reborn into another life

after manhattan

---- thoughts at 3:59 pm, Tea Lounge, Park Slope, Brooklyn

So instead of hopping on an express headed back to familiar grounds... i decided to squander my time and take a chance.

I walked past the Brooklyn Museum train stop, right past the Grand Army Plaza, right past the Farmer's market, strolling annonymously on Union Street. I walk to 5th Ave. Brooklyn's 5th... and found the famous secondhand shop- called the Beacon. I read about this place... and so it felt familiar even as i walked through its doors for the first time. I walked out with my third purchase of oversized sunnies since i got to NYC... and a pair of vintage shoes. All in: $24.

I did more window shoppin' and made a mental note to myself to check out andy guthrie's website. (www.andyguthrie.com) he was lined up to perform at this restaurant called Night&Day. Details were all on an A4 sized colored copiedposter on the window of the restaurant.

And then i stumbled into the famous Tea Lounge. A coffee/teashop with an ecclectic mixof vintage furniture and people who remind me of me... but just white, black and in between. many were reading... really reading. writing... and some talking. choice music: indie/folk/rock





i ordered my coffee and two choc chip cookies immediately... and sank into a cushioned rattan chair...to start typing away. now.

and there i saw myself in tea lounge. exiled from manhattan...feeling like lazarus, born again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I once heard that when elephants wanna die or know when their last hours are near, it is said that they would find a dark cave to lay down to rest.

Famous Brooklynite writer Paul Auster (quite a looker *swoon*) who claimed Park Slope as his home must have heard that same elephant story too.







In his novel The Brooklyn Follies, protaganist Nathan Glass, a retired divorcee returned to Brooklyn- his birth place.

"I was looking for a quiet place to die. someone recommended Brooklyn"

opening lines from Nathan.

Now, I've not read this book. (note to self, get a copy) but something about this afternoon at Park Slope makes me wanna do that soon.

I have a sneaky suspicion, that nathan too, ironically becomes a lazarus on his return to Brooklyn. just a wild guess on my part. When i'm done with the book. I'll keep you guys posted.

the kettle

I was pleasantly surprised when i heard the kettle coo yesterday. it sounded so foreign. It felt kinda inane for me to take my camera out to take a shot of the kettle, but i was compelled to do so. hah!

IRONY

I went for a discussion on globalization Wednesday, where globalization guru Thomas Friedman (The World is Flat; The Lexus and the Olive tree) said many things, but one thing really stuck out for me.

Friedman: "Blahhhhh blah blah blah blah.... I only got my first cell phone a couple of months ago.... so if you were to leave me a voicemail...I wouldn't know how to respond..."

Me in my head: "wtf?"

Friedman: "....i feel deeply disconnected.(pauses at some point here as laughter fills room)..i only talk the talk.."

Me: "!@#$%$#"

Friedman: "Blah blah blah blah blah."

nyc etc...

I woke up today and realized that I'm set to leave NYC next thurs!! while i'm looking forward to the campervan trip with Han in LA...i think i'm gonna miss this place. I've been feeling very native about the city lately - i must look it too cos random people have stopped me on the streets asking for directions. hahahahha! I set them off on their paths ... "Urban Outfiitters?? Walk straight all the way down on this street and cross at the traffic light... you'll see it..." "Nearest train stop??? walk straight and turn right... you'll see the Brooklyn museum stop." the last six days seem pretty packed... There's KJ's birthday bash on Saturday at the Sullivan room... where he's the opening DJ (check out www.kanejuan.com)... or something like that. another person has even asked me to go to church on Sunday!! I'm seriously thinking about attending the service. =) anyways... more readings ahead before i leave. Amy Tan (Joy Luck Club) and Maxine Hong Kingston (Warrior Woman). ..goodbye lunches...may wanna squeeze in time for a broadway show and/or the MET museum for that Rembrandt exhibit....

my hemingway one true line

"sometimes when i was starting a new story and i could not get it going...I would stand and look over the roofs of Paris and think, 'Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.' So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence that i knew or had seen or had heard someone say."

-- excerpt from A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway


if i had to write my one true sentence right here, right now: it would be... "God is good!" As a Christian (Catholic), I've never been known to be evangelistic, cell group going or/and bible quoting. I'm not entirely sure if this "God is good" declaration is an exception or perhaps the whisper of winds of change. let's see.

but i do know. it is my one true sentence now as i write.

my NYC trip has been enriching thus far as a writer. My first 10 days were kinda marred by some dodgy chest/abdominal pains. but that's all gone now. so, yay! of late, it's amazing how some events have come together - underlining not merely Emerson's ideas of how the universe conspires... but simply the synchronicity of blessings that come our way in our daily lives...

okay before...you guys (i'm assuming percieved and real readership here) think:"what the hell is she talking about." i'd better cough up the stories that led to this story. hahah.

some do, after all, say God is in the details.

until this morning - i've been worried about accomodations in NYC now that I've extended my stay till the end of the month. I've been happily staying at debs - but come wednesday i have to find another place to crash... cos debs is in the midst of moving to london...

quite miraculously... housing options have come my way. a singaporean gf's friend (singapore dude who's a DJ) has kindly offered me a space for a couple of days... plus another friend's ex gf (who's in the theatre business) has also opened her doors!! what's interesting is... another friend whom i know (this guy who studied theatre in Yale...) from sometime back is also currently staying with my friend's ex gf! synchronicity!!! happy family! hahah! this is all wonderful.. cos while being in NYC has been good for my writing and fun... i must admit that i do miss my friends, boyfriend and family. so chancing upon these individuals has really been god sent!!

okay here's another one!

on my flight back from madrid to NYC last week... i started talking to this lady, who researches linguistic education, seated next to me. Her husband, a lawyer, and her had to leave Madrid only after two days cos of a sudden death in the family. As our conversation dug deeper into our life stories (it was a six hour flight) - i learnt about how her son decided to leave the legal profession to start his property business in washington dc, while her daughter who works for the government on capitol hill is really a musician at heart. in exchange, i shared with her my career story and desire to be a published creative writer. Because she came across wise, more experienced with matters of life and living and more importantly cos she was a stranger, i decided to also open up alittle... to share with her some of my hopes and fears about writing. at some point, she became acquainted with my family....i gave a short biographical account of each and everyone of them, my father, mother, two sisters and two brothers. she also became a little familiar with my love life.

all this was interesting cos i usually hate talking to people during flights. as the plane started its descent into JFK... my new friend and I were exchanging contact details.

i woke up sunday morning to a lovely surprise in my inbox. my new friend has dropped me a note. since returning to NYC... she met a book agent friend of hers. according to her, she mentioned her encounter with me and he (mr book agent) suggested that i give him a call! that has kickstarted my search for a book agent.. or at least got me to seriously start thinking about that.

again. synchronicity. there are no coincidences.

right now i'm thinking. still thinking... about how progressive house is music on a jackson pollack canvass... my birds of a feather cliche thoughts (see two entries back)... and my one true sentence... God is good.

brooklyn celebrates words

On saturday I spent an afternoon in Brooklyn. The open space outside the Brooklyn Borough Hall was filled with scores of book lovers, writers and publishers. It was a sunny day sponsored by the final spurts of summer.
(top right: US-based Jamaican novelist Colin Channer)

I sat on the steps that ran up to the large double breasted doors of the historic Brooklyn Borough Hall. Before me was a stage. Poets and writers took turns sharing their words at the mic. The backdrop was a farmer's market, downtown brooklyn skyline, a garden and blue skies.

What struck me most was not so much the obvious talent that was showcased... but more of how each artist stood before the mic and spoke with so much conviction as they performed their work of written words. how inspirational!!!

so many words touched me that day.... here are some gems...

from a poem as recited by Rigoberto Gonzalez
"Smile and I exist."

and on the back of a young lover of words... (see last picture)

NYC is filled with so many great writers!!! next stop:

NYT columnist Thomas Friedman on Tuesday!!!

Excuse me, I think I'm a romantic

Last night I went to a book reading. At about 6:30pm, Francine Prose stood in front of about 80 people in a conference room at The New School off Union Square to talk about an obvious favorite topic. Reading and writing.

Her recently released book Reading Like A Writer is currently No. 18 on the NYT Bestseller's List.

While she read passages and shared her thoughts on creative writing and reading as fuel for writers - i was delighted by a sense of communion shared by her and the individuals gathered together. Laughter roared in unision with perfect timing, as with grunts of disapproval and smirks of agreement.

here's a classic case of birds of a feather flocking together...

cliches are power packed lines of wisdom frequently brushed aside as too common and therefore boring ... sometimes we are warned to steer clear of them lest we be tied to being unoriginal in our ways of speech, work and art.




In this instance - as the cliche of the moment emerged... i felt connected and understood by a group of individuals i've never seen before and in all likelihood will never see again.

yet in a fleeting moment and for a shared space of 60 minutes of a book reading, we arrived at the same point...each coming from our own streets, our daily chores, worries, families, jobs, time and countries. to share this communion... this common interest that binds us all.

moments like these make me bow to the greater force (whatever religion you subscribe to.) the congregation at the reading last night, to me, was as much like a Jackson Pollack painting as a dancing to progressive house. As i type away at Starbucks on Astor place, i'm heartened by the music i hear. Everywhere.

Excuse me, but i think i'm a romantic.

ibiza

At the risk of sounding like i'm country name dropping (as pointed out by an editor recently - haha) I went to Ibiza last Thursday. It was a last minute decision where I found myself in a Hamlet-esque situation: "To be (in Ibiza) or not to be (in Ibiza)."

I bought myself a seat on an Iberia flight to the party Island south of Spain four hours before the flight - let me just say the exhilaration of being somewhat whimsical and adventurous should be bottled and sold over the counter. It felt like a turning point in my trip away from home. one of cape of good hope proportions.

Yes, Ibiza in short was amaaaaaaaaazing. according to a person from the contingent of friends/relatives i was gonna meet in Ibiza, the island used to be the choice playground during the ancient times of the Roman Empire. In many ways, it still is.

Seafood and paella were readily available.... as was fresh sangria and Ibiza sun, beach and sand!!!

On the first night, i experienced Pacha for the first time. The club is touted to be the birth place of house/dance music and is today still considered a mecca for clubbers from all around the world.

clubbing aside, the island's sand and pebble beaches are beautiful and somewhat spiritual - clearly manifested by its people. By "its people" i mean the people of Ibiza and/or those drawn to it. Along the beach fronted by the Chinrigay beach bar- it felt as if men, women, straight, gay, young and old, naked, semi clothed were weaved into a quilted fabric that danced with the seabreeze. Flapping freely, with hands flailing up and down embracing the elements - sun, water, sand and wind.... someone in the group said: "this must be what it's like in heaven."

So here are some pictures for my friends and loved ones back home.

And oh, btw, i've extended my stay... I'll be back mid oct. I'm back in NYC now. But i'll be heading to Los Angeles at the end of the month, and then to Vancouver before hopping on that plane set for home.

times square

i walk quickly down the stairs into the subway station. it is tuesday evening.

it's drizzling a little outside. there was still some light before i left the open skies and traffic noise, to soon find myself in a train spiralling through underground tunnels of Manhattan.

two stops later, i emerge at times square, somewhere between 42nd and broadway.

I walk out into the pouring rain. darkened skies and a slight shadow cast from my umbrella fall on me.

i stumble out to the streets and roll out onto Times Square like a silver ball bearing in a game of pinball.

neon lit signs call out to me. to run through the alleys and speed by the traffic lights.

the colors are blinking, vivid and seductive. like vegas on speed.

the other burrows are just as crazy. each offering you a play - of words, sights and sounds.

it intoxicates - i stand in the middle of it all with my eyes closed. i feel the flux in all directions. the sleeves of my jacket are flapping with approval. and my hair gets styled by the frenzy. i open my eyes. i'm flanked by tall talking billboards, famous faces, news and tickers and the dark blue sky.

I'm tired. Overrun. I walk into the path of a dark alley - corked by large moving bodies of human traffic.

They flip me up, to my right and then to my left before another last brash flip that sends me back onto the street.

it never sleeps.

Desiderata

i found a poem handwritten on a sheet of doctor's office notepad that slipped out from between the pages of a borrowed book.

it's a lovely poem - Desiderata - by Max Ehmann sometime in the 1920s.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Unblinking At Malcolm Gladwell

The other day while Aaron and I walked away from Whole Foods at Union Square, I caught a glimpse of my first celebrity sighting in NYC.

Malcolm Gladwell (left) the New Yorker writer and author of The Tipping Point & Blink, was walking and talking with a companion - just an armslength away from me.

I knew it was Gladwell because his hair gave him away.

My first two seconds of thinking would have sent me running into his path to say: "Oh my gawwwwwwd you're Malcom Gladwell. I've read your work!!! Can we have coffee one of these days to talk about writing and your books...I'm a reporter writer too, from Singapore."

That dialogue was played out in the inner speakers of my head.

In my 3rd second of thinking - I thought about what XYZ told me the other day. No one stares or gawks at celebrities in NYC. "It's just way too uncool." I thought it strange cos many New Yorkers (and many elsewhere in the country and world) would go home in the evenings to watch celebrity news on TV or scour through trashy gossip mags or check out gawker.com

I succumbed to my 3rd second of thinking. And am kicking myself now. Kinda.

I should have in Gladwell terminology: Blinked.

(Other authors I'd love to Blink at... Jonathan Franzen & Michael Cunnigham)

peach tart

a little coffee shop (Adore) off union square, i swear, serves the best peach tarts.