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2007-08-02 4:09AM / 標準BLOG / 會員可以看

tomorrow is "the show". though i have prepared the work to hang, dropped it off well in advance and know it will be curated by good hands- i can't help but feel a deep anxiety. i will be taking a lot of pictures tomorrow and promise to post them up as soon as i can.

though i kind of miss scarborough and toronto in general, san francisco is making it hard for me to say no:
-the public transport, MUNI is amazing as it runs on a gps system.
-the streets are all grid formation so it makes a lot of sense to get around, (until the downtown core, but what the hey..).
-japantown, which is frisco's answer to our pacific mall, is quiet and busy at the same time, full of character, (as much character as a mall could have) and has pretty much everything japanese, not just jewellery store after bootleg dvd store after bubble tea shops. heck, there's even a kinokuniya which is generally bad news for a nippon/bibliophile. and a beautifully modest boutique that sells original japanese woodblock prints.

there is much more, but i'll spare you the rantings of an unworldly traveller.

creatively, frisco has been amazing. there is a real air of creative energy here, not just in the things found in bookstores and the many galleries- but more so in the people. on the weekend i spent almost an hour talking with the director of the margaret keane gallery sharing ideas and even discussing some of my work. considering i came in in cargo pants and flip-flops and there were other patrons in the gallery, i was impressed that he would spare the time for me. if he was b.s.-ing, he did a great job of it, and for a long enough time.

on the second day, i bought an oversized sketchbook as to simulate/replace painting momentarily. it got my entire arm moving again, a feeling that i had forgotten for some time now. this, some unearthing of old ideas- and you have me gung-ho to make some fresh work when i get back.

oh, and this, just puts a smile on my face.
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the watcher, mixed media, 2013

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Tessar Lo

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i was born in indonesia. ...
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i was born in indonesia.
in 1989, my parents brought me to canada.

soyez amoureuses, vous serez heureuse.
d'où venons-nous? qui sommes-nous? où allons-nous?

I stopped and turned to look behind me. The slope twisted palely down toward the town like the tracks of some gigantic insect. I looked up at the sky then, under the moonlight, and glanced at my palm. With a rush of understanding I knew this wasn’t my hand anymore. I can’t explain it. But at a glance I knew. My hand was no longer my hand, my legs no longer my legs.

Bathed in the pallid moonlight, my body, like some plaster puppet, had lost all living warmth. As if a voodoo magician had put a spell on me, blowing my transient life into this lump of clay. The spark of life had vanished. My real life had fallen asleep somewhere, and a faceless someone was stuffing it in a suitcase, about to leave.

An awful chill swept through me and I felt choked. Someone had rearranged my cells, untied the threads that held my mind together. I couldn’t think straight. All I was able to do was retreat as fast as I could to my usual place of refuge. I took a huge breath, sinking in the sea of consciousness to the very bottom. Pushing aside the heavy water I plunged down quickly and grabbed a huge rock there with both arms. The water crushed my eardrums. I squeezed my eyes tightly closed, held my breath, resisting. Once I made up my mind, it wasn’t that difficult. I grew used to it all – the water pressure, the lack of air, the freezing darkness, the signals the chaos emitted. It was something I’d mastered again and again as a child.

Time reversed itself, looped back, collapsed, reordered itself. The worlds stretched out endlessly – and yet was defined and limited. Sharp images – just the images alone—passed down dark corridors, like jellyfish, like souls adrift. But I steeled myself not to look at them. If I acknowledged them, even a little they would envelop themselves in meaning. Meaning was fixed to the temporal, and the temporal was trying to force me to rise to the surface. I shut my mind tight to it all, waiting for the procession to pass.

How long I remained that way, I don’t know. When I bobbed to the surface, opened my eyes, and took a silent breath, the music had already stopped. The enigmatic performance was finished. I listened carefully. I couldn’t hear a thing. Absolutely nothing. No music, no people’s voices, no rustle of the wind.

-excerpt, Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami

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職業: 畫家 , 作家 , 動物訓練師
性別: 男
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