Yes, Virginia, Even Chainmaille Can Get ADD

Once upon a time, a sedate length of parallel chain decided it had had enough of being boring, and went on a journey of discovery. Along the way, it met an exquisite European 4-in-1 whose silvery shimmy up and down the chorus line could send shivers down any red-blooded male spine, and oh, the nights they had together. But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end and the 4-in-1 shimmied onto more exciting conquests. The parallel chain resumed its not-so-sedate existence but never quite forgot what it was like to dance, twirl, and get a severe case of Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) while falling in love.


Parallel ADD: 0.5cm rhodium-plated copper and 0.7cm rhodium-plated steel, silver-plated copper handmade clasp.



I'm not even sure what weave that centre bit is any more; it started out as a 4-in-1 but I kept adding smaller jump rings so it's technically a 6-in-1 joined by only 2 rings instead of 3. Or something like that. Hence the name Parallel ADD.

==
The night of the great Venetian Ball, she could hardly sit still for anticipation and fretting about what to wear with her moonlight-silver gown. Pearls, said her sister. No, moonstones or diamonds, argued her mother. Her grandmother, however, said not a word but went to her jewellery box and drew out a pair of ornate silver-and-crystal earrings. The perfect complement, and everyone, from mother to sister, agreed.


Byzantine Baroque: 0.5cm rhodium-plated copper, Siam AB Swarovski crystals.

Inspired by the gorgeous Byzantine pendants in the gallery section over at Blue Buddha Boutique.

==
She needed a necklace desperately, a red one, and what she had at hand were glass beads the colour of autumn leaves and scarlet fire. What took shape made her remember the colours of the Kentucky hills in autumn, the beautiful red-and-gold-and-orange tints of falling leaves and bright scarlet berries heralding approaching winter.


Autumn Fire: Red China glass beads, gold lucite leaves, antique gold seed beads, pressed Czech glass beads, acrylic teardrop, Siam AB Swarovski crystal, rhodium-plated chain, silver-plated toggle clasp.



This piece is special because I finally got to use some beautiful lucite and acrylic beads that I got in Jakarta during the Asian Choir Games. Memories and beads, a lovely combination!

Inspired by April's lovely designs at Vanity Vault.

==
"...this is supposed to be a set of Byzantine earrings, yes, but couldn't it possibly be combined with a Japanese weave just for variety...err, oops, no that doesn't work, wait, let's make it 4-in-1 instead..."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why these have been dubbed the Byzoops earrings.


Byzoops: 0.5cm rhodium-plated copper, 0.7cm rhodium-plated steel.

A Necessary Presence

When I suggested, "I can make something for a present" a month ago and you said yes, sure, I was desperate. Creative rut for months and months on end, nothing to show except half-withered dreams and dry bones in a valley. I needed something, anything, to prove to myself that I hadn't lost one of the most precious things in my life - the ability to create something out of nothing, beautiful things out of the unexpected.

And we discussed designs. You talked, I sketched. Slowly, the ideas started coalescing - sluggishly, it's true, but they were there. That was the important thing.

But oh, it wasn't easy, trying to create again. And you sat through it all - the venting, the tears, the frustration at being unproductive, and you told me that eventually, I would be all right. You didn't understand much of it, but you tried anyhow - even down to shopping for supplies in a part of town you regarded as an absolute nightmare, but braved still because you were stubborn and thought it was only right you did so.

At the time it seemed impossible that I'd ever weather this barren period. But you believed in me anyway even when I didn't believe in myself.



And you were right. The creativity came back. Slowly, painfully, but it drifted, settled, and suddenly it was there one morning after I'd finished Shakti. It was such a good feeling after being so dry for so long.

I couldn't have done it without you there to scold me, to make sure my head was on straight, to listen when I needed an outlet, to remind me that it wasn't the end of the world just yet.

Thank you, acushla. For being there, and for getting me started all over again.

And to Carol, Jer, Jenn, Becca, Eloise and Laura and the rest of you who've been there through the whole ordeal and weathered it through with me: thank you all so much. All of you have been necessary presences for which I am so grateful.

Once Upon A Not-So Long Time Ago...

...Girl met Boy and immediately wanted to punch him in the nose for being completely obnoxious. Not a very promising beginning, but faerie tales don't always start promisingly either. Real Life, taking a page out of a faerie tale, decided to go that route because Girl discovered a short time later that she and Boy had a lot more in common than both of them had ever thought possible. They agreed to disagree on the things they couldn't agree upon. They argued, and agreed to argue fairly, and learned to call timeouts when things got a bit too personal or fiery. They laughed at Calvin and Hobbes, Cthulhu cats, and other matters of complete mystification to most of their friends - but it was their own 'language' which they understood and were comfortable with. Parallel thoughts, divergent paths.

Boy's birthday came, and Girl wanted to make him a present. After a lot of thought, she decided that something lasting, symbolic, and aesthetically pleasing would probably work best. She settled on a chainmaille pattern, thought about it, sat down, and made a bracelet. She named it Parallel Divergent, because of the parallel chain focal segment, and to celebrate the differences that made things beautiful.


Parallel Divergent: 0.5cm and 0.7cm rhodium-plated copper and steel rings, 19ga Argentium silver hand-made clasp.

And yes, Boy did like his present.

==
Shakti: from the Sanskrit shak, 'to be able', meaning 'sacred force or empowerment'...
--http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shakti

"I'd like you to make her something," he said, and she agreed, albeit reluctantly. Little by little in the doing, her creative winter began to thaw, and by the end of her project, spring was well on the way. She named the bracelet Shakti; somehow it seemed fitting and appropriate.


Shakti: 18ga and 22ga Argentium silver, garnets, amethysts, Siam AB Swarovski crystal and Miyuki seed beads.

A commission for a friend. It turned out almost exactly like the charted design and I learned a lot along the way - the callouses are still on my fingertips from about a month ago! She finally received it, so I can post the pictures up safely now.

Jasmine Drops and Oceans Deep

I've been asked for a while to post what I've been working on this week so, Swati, Mei, here's your wish! I'm especially pleased because after 8 or 9 tries I finally managed my first pair of hammered hoop earrings, complete with detachable charms. Thank you sooo much for the tips Swati, they helped tremendously!


==
Rain. Steady, impervious, falling to earth, breaking into a million tiny droplets on the old, old stones of the temple.

"Do you believe in forever?" she asked, arms folded around her knees as she huddled on the steps for shelter. He started to answer, then stopped, watching the interplay of sunlight and rain on the gnarled jasmine tree beside them. Reaching out, he let the falling blossoms catch on his work-roughened hands, then held them out to her like an offering.


Jasmine Drops: Vintage lucite bellflowers, Chinese olivine faceted crystals, brass beadcaps.


I want to spread my wings --but I just can't fly
And like a string of pearls
Pretty girls go sailing by...
Ocean deep --I'm so afraid to show my feelings
I have sailed a million seas
Solitary room...

--'Ocean Deep', Cliff Richard


Ocean Deep: 22ga Argentium silver, top-drilled blue-gray cultured pearls.

On the Terrace

There should have been an earthquake. Howling. Instead, there was only silence and a heat-drugged landscape, indolent under the heavy air. When the storm came it battered down relentlessly, washing all those words - everything that was ever said on that terrace - into the churning mud below. She watched as the crushed flower petals swirled over the edge, falling like tears at a grave, and thought, So this is how the world ends - without even a memorial to mark its passing.

I Am...

...very tired. Somewhere along the line, I lost my creative streak and it hasn't seemed to want to come back. I wonder whether I'll ever get it back, to be honest.

I haven't created any wirework in God knows how long; my brain just blanks when I have to think of designs. I haven't any ideas and they don't seem to want to come no matter how much I tweak and fiddle and mess and fret. Whenever I look at the beautiful jewelry pieces my other friends make, I just feel worse, honestly - I used to look for inspiration, now I just look and wonder why I can't seem to do any of it any more.

Days like this, I just want to give up.

What am I talking about. I've given up already.

Musings on the New Year

I cannot. I could not.

Two new years: one over, one drawing to its final fifteenth day.

Forever. Never. Two words poles and poles apart, magnetized by their very disparity. Who knew that it was so easy to switch from one to the other, just with the elimination of three letters and a replacement?

It’s time to evaluate again – the measure of a life, the measure of a season, the measure of time that’s left before it’s too late. Let’s face it – there’s always time to evaluate, we just don’t want to do it because it involves a peculiar brand of brutal honesty. The ability to be comfortable with oneself requires the focused gaze of an electron microscope and the surgical skill to prune away dead matter. Not always pretty. Not always ideal. Oftentimes, the reality can be far worse than our rose-coloured glasses have led us to believe.

Uncomfortable truths. Prickly bones of contention.

Necessity.

Ugly, ugly little word, that – takes effort to spell, takes even more mental constitution to put into practice some days.

Last year was a chapter closing for many things in my life – some expected, others not. I can’t lie and say that most of it was welcome, or that I handled some of it with anything less than unmitigated stupidity and boneheadedness. In the end, life went on and so did I.

And now, looking into a new year with its new influx of uncertainties and change, I wonder if I have the capacity to make good on the lessons learned from 2008 – to be kinder, to be more mature, to be bolder, to step into a whole new season and move on with no regrets. To look back, without heartburnings.

Old friends, new friends, old lives, new lives. None of these stand alone; in the grand scheme of things it’s all intertwined like the complicated ecology of a tropical rainforest. When the non-essentials are pared down, what’s left is the core of all these combined elements – the sometimes-shaky, unsure, sometimes-arrogant, stubborn-beyond-measure will of steel that’s me.

They say that labels can be derogatory – I don’t disagree with this. But some labels remind us of where we’ve come from and where we’ve been, and in their own way, they’re badges on the battle scar coats we carry around with us.

So here’s to 2009, with its vagaries and quirks and eccentricities – to the precious friends I have, to the friends I’ve met, to everyone who’s invested time and effort into my life, to new experiences and to challenges that might make the Titanic seem small. Here’s to love, craziness and fun, and everything that’s made me what I am: the Great Unknown, the Intoxicating Artsy Techie Emo Geek Babe, the Artist, the Writer, the Bitch, the Crazy One, the Friend, and the Spindle Girl.

Here’s to you, my friends. Thank you and I love y’all.

Damned Fool Girl, There She Goes

FOOL’S GOLD

You gave me the stars in a wineglass
Like some errant fool, I let them fall:
One by one. A piece of me.
A piece of you.
The world in a handful of sky
And I dropped it all, lost it forever.

--26th Jan. 2009
1.15pm


Oh, and on top of that I screwed up my laptop settings apparently. It's a -wonderful- first day of Chinese New Year all right.

Dead Computer Blues

The phrase 'it never rains but pours' isn't particularly something that figures in my vocabulary but of late I've had to admit it's held noxiously true. Progression of this evolution of thought follows as below:

1) 3 months ago, my computer, Catalina de los Angeles, started freezing up and locking for no good reason.

2) Opened up CPU, cleaned dust out.

3) Freezing and locking up became worse.

4) Repeat step 3.

5) Spontaneous rebooting starts taking place alongside freezing and locking up.

6) Fatal computer death.

7) 5 days of computer deprivation.

8) Catalina sent for repairs.

9) Catalina brought back for testing.

And now she seems to be working just fine...and I've got a new laptop in the bargain! So. Either way, taking some time to catch up. If I haven't emailed or replied to anyone yet, I will, just need a few days.

Passing into the West

Today we made history.

Today, the combined choir of the Young KL Singers, the Malaysian Institute of Arts Music Department and the KL Children's Choir ended their three-day run of Howard Shore's Lord of the Rings Symphony at the Dewan Philharmonic Petronas with the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra.

The show premiered on the 19th of December. Four months of blood, sweat, more tears than I could possibly imagine, worry and stress, culminating in three nights of fear and trembling on stage, wanting to do the best we possibly could. Two nights of missed cues, thumping hearts, wrong notes. And it all ended in the best performance we've ever done.

Hearing the refrain Nef aear, si nef aearon echo in the symphony hall was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard - no mistakes, perfect time, voices light as air, clear as glass.

Listening to the men's chorus singing the Dwarven refrain of Un du abad, ku gan aga aznan on that last lifted note swell with the tenors in high register took my breath away. It was beautiful. It was moving. It was everything it was supposed to be and it brought tears to my eyes for the first time since we started singing in the symphony hall.

And when the same men's chorus stormed into 'Urus ni buzra! Arras talbabi filluma! with full deep bass volume, it was all I could do to not smile from ear to ear because of just how proud I was of them. Our men! (For the record, Asian voices don't do bass very well. Lots of tenors, lots of baritones, true basses? Very hard to find. Most of our basses are either transplanted baritones, or else they have the range of a Bass 1, ie: not that low. This part of the symphony was one hell of a challenge for them and they pulled it off.)

Today, things just fell into place. Clicked, like magic. The women sounded like the warriors they were supposed to be in Movement 3, mysterious and bell-like like the Elves they sang about in Movement 2, full of fire and rage in Movement 5 and Movement 6. The men rounded out that sound in all the Movements - warm, rounded tones, solid. And the children sang like angels, especially our boy soprano. The mezzo soprano and baritone soloists were on the top of their form - perfect performance today, all shivers down spine.

The soprano solo of 'Into the West' in the last Movement has never failed to touch me every time I've heard it these last few days. Today though, it brought me to the verge of tears because in a way, that's been our journey - all the rehearsals and the insane administrative work, and worrying about just how we're going to sound and how prepared we are - and now, it's over. Like the Grey Ships, we're passing into the West too.

It's been hard. I've been ill for the entire week, and have totally lost my voice, but today I managed to sing the last three Movements (I'll pay for it tomorrow I'm sure.) It's been a logistic nightmare in many, many ways.

But I would do it all over again, if just to hear the echoes of the choir's voices rising and falling, supporting Ann de Renais' bell-like 'Into the West' as it lifts into the air. This is why I joined choir. This is why I work for a choral academy. This is why, like a sucker for punishment, I come back to choir again and again. Because it's a labour of love. Because to hear something as perfect as this and know we've helped to make it happen is the best reward for all those agonizing months. And just maybe, sometimes, it's all the reason I need to carry on.

And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the West.

Bravo, MPO Lord of the Rings choir. I am so. Damned. Proud. Of all of you.

Dream: Berlin

Tired, sick, discouraged. Maybe that's why the dreams are so vivid.

***

Dark night on the streets. Grey, formless, it’s mixed up with another dream where I remember bright lights in a shop window – triangles and other ornaments in red neon and sparkling fairy lights. Lots of people. There always are lots of people, all faceless and nameless and they’re walking quickly, always never showing their faces. I’m walking too, past little lanes where there is water on the tiles – little lanes like those in Panglima Street or those alleyways locally here where there are drains and the backs of shop houses. In the other dream I know I hid with a group of people or at least came into contact with some like minds.

In this dream, I remember soldiers. Huge cordons of them around the city, wearing Berlin colours and bright brass buttons on their jackets. They’re menacing. The sheer force of so many of them makes the air prickle with danger. It makes me uneasy. I look at my companion – he’s faceless and nameless too, but a comrade-in-arms, that I know – and we both think with the startling clarity of thoughts in dreams that with so many of Germany’s forces gathered en mass like this, one good hard blow would cripple them permanently.

We must have agreed. In dreams, things like consensus happen as if by magic, completely naturally. The roads are dark. We’re on the way to where Berlin has headquartered their forces. Ahead in the night sky, a plane lifts off and the glow of the aerodrome halos in the darkness, menacing and cold. There are trees silhouetted against the halo and I think, ‘Luftwaffe.’

We need to hide. There are searchlights and beacons all around us as we try to get into cover. One of the beams catches us and throws us into high relief and I am terrified in case we are discovered and shot, but somehow, miraculously, the guards leave us be. We are in a drain, an overgrown, weedy monsoon drain shallower than most. I go down a little ways, and discover that it’s a hidden passage to the sentry box. We need uniforms or disguises. There are three doors near the sentry box – again, with dreams, the most illogical things seem possible. I know one of my comrades manages to find a uniform, and another, but when it is my turn, I can’t, and I remember thinking that we need to hurry, I can see their boots under the stalls and if I can’t find something to wear and soon, there will be trouble.

I turn the chainmaille ring on my finger and think that such a small gesture against Germany’s massive army is like a piece of tiny chainmaille in a sea of boots. A drop in the ocean. I wonder why we’re doing this, and the implications of failing. We don’t seem like heroes, just madmen.

When I wake, echoes of the Luftwaffe and the sour taste of futility linger like tired rags.

Adventures in Photography, Insanity, and Invention

Creative blocks stink.

They sit in your head, weigh down your psyche and weight your hands so when you pick up a marker or a pair of pliers, nothing presents itself. Not even the veriest smidgen of an idea. Other people's work becomes a source of wide-eyed admiration and immediate despair, and you want to throw up your hands forever and just give up because nothing will ever, ever be good enough. Words trickle onto a blank screen, you read them and promptly delete everything. You attempt Nanowrimo, because only a totally insane person would do that, start late because of show, fall sick, write in a frenzy and bottom out at 40k words because you miscalculated the cut-off time and besides, you fell asleep in total exhaustion after one hour's sleep the night before - and the one hour nap turned into six hours instead.

The last few months have been like that.

Perhaps it's just because I've been far too busy rushing from one production to the next, but creativity has taken an extreme back seat. Mostly, I've just been too tired to do much more than hope the next day is a little less hectic.

These two weeks have been looking up a bit though - after three horrible days of migraine, I finally staggered out of bed this morning (woken up by Buddhist funeral bells and chanting, of all things) and decided to get to some creative work after I finished the remainder of the costume plot I had to plan out for the Christmas play.

The result was one pair of earrings I've named Venetian Rose, and a lot of photography. And I mean, a lot of photography. I've had my camera for about three years and still never quite figured out how to tweak all the settings until I futzed around with it this afternoon.

So, finally, after months of black-hole-in-the-mind, this is what's been taking shape over the past couple weeks.


The Alien Zap Bracelet, named because the glass beads resembled little alien planetoids floating around. This is probably my favourite bracelet at present. All the colours make me smile.



I had the great privilege of meeting Stephanie Sersich, the glass artist, in Maine several years ago before I came back home - I'm also a proud owner of one of her spiky knotted bracelets, courtesy of a dear friend and his mother. When she published 'Designing Jewelry with Glass Beads', I immediately asked my brother to get the book for me if he could, and he did, bless him. This was an attempt at her Kinetic Earrings - except I couldn't find flat discs so I improvised with some foam cut-outs for making greeting cards, some waxed linen thread and some cheap lucite flowers to pair up with some shell beads and Czech pressed glass. They -were- fun to make!



Rebecca Mojica of Blue Buddha Boutique's Shaggy Loop Bracelet with a Mercenary's Twist. I wanted to make one of them the minute I saw the tutorial, but could I leave well enough alone? Nooooo, of course not, I had to add little bits of artistic wire and beads for colour, inspired by a tutorial in Beading Daily - and since I had to handcoil and cut all those coils, it took a few days to get a relatively simple bracelet made. I wound up making an S-clasp for it as well, and I was quite pleased with how it turned out. Next time though, I'm getting better quality jump rings. These were a -hell- to close flush.



A better view of the entire bracelet. Oh and yes, that's an iPod packaging case. How on earth did I never realise that the plastic casing an iPod comes in when purchased makes an -excellent- photography stand for earrings and bracelets when one has no decent surfaces to take pictures on?



It wouldn't be be me if I didn't make matching earrings of course.



Venetian Rose. These turned out exquisite; it's just that the photographer is lousy.

And that, pretty much, sums up my day, apart from rehearsals at night. Next installment - the Overdue Chronicles of the Great Turkish Drop Spindle Project, and when I've actually -scanned- my London journal, some excursions into that too.

Random Facts, Courtesy of C.

Somewhere along the way my blogging habit went out the window, somewhere around the time I lost my mind I think.

In an attempt to correct this, Chris has very kindly tagged me in a desperate attempt to get -something- going, or so I think anyways - sneaky but effective, dude!

So. Here we go, the Seven Random Things About Me Meme:

1. I am a Confused Soprano. Technically, I am a lyric soprano but I apparently seem to be developing a rather more solid alto range than I want - which means that any time the chamber choir needs an alto, guess who gets the call-up. This has earned me the nickname of 'The Travelling Soprano' or more aptly, 'The Confused One.'

2. I am an avid cook who destresses by standing over the stove and stirring up risotto. My dream is to have a large, airy professional-standard kitchen - eventually. (Right now I'm confined to a slice of kitchen where standing room can be a little awkward for even one person, and the occasional stray cat.)

3. I'm gluten-intolerant. As a result, I can cook for almost any food-allergy, given I spent three hellish years in university learning to adapt to my new eating habits and those of my vegan friends as well.

4. I love the Metal Gear Solid series. I can't play any of it because I get motion sickess, but I love it.

5. I read. Like a fiend. As in, a book or two a day. I have to consciously slow myself down when I'm reading non-fiction so I can make notes and bliss out, like the book I'm going through right now, Gideon's Spies (it's a history of the Mossad.)

6. Once upon a time I dated a Goth guitarist who used to play for the beginnings of what is now Abney Park.

7. I'm ambidextrous with the mouse. I often forget which side it's on, since I switch between hands without thinking whenever space constraints dictate. This often gets me a good swearing by people who have to use my computer afterwards.

And now since I'm supposed to tag people, here are the rules of it:

-You must link to the individual who tagged you and post the rules of TAG.
-Post 7 random facts about you.
-Tag 7 bloggers and link to them.
-Let them know that they have been tagged by leaving a message on their blog.

With many apologies, I thusly tag only 5 people:
Marcelo
Marcos
Armand
Constance
Daniel

Catalina (my beloved computer) has been giving trouble of late, so depending on how temperamental she is, updates may come either tonight or tomorrow - also depending on how well my camera shots turn out for the Great Drop Spindle Project, and the recent jewellery.

And to break up the monotony, I hereby present the newest Indie Band to hit the scene: The Voodoo Puppeteers, courtesy of the dressing room in the hotel that the choir was due to sing at for a big French function...



The choir was horsing around in the dressing rooms while waiting for our performance to take place. This is a rare instance of me getting in front of the camera to actually pose because by and large I -hate- taking photos.

And now, to learn up an orchestra score...

RE-ZOMBIFIED

...I am, actually, still alive. In rather more zombified fashion than previously. Highlights of the last few months include:

1) Research/vacation trip to UK - there are pictures. Marcelo, yes, I got the HMS Belfast from the outside (badly!)

2) 7 nights of choir rehearsals a week

3) See #2.

4) Making a drop spindle last weekend.

5) See #3.

More later, when I've scanned some stuff!

Eight and Eight = 1 Lifetime, Bonus 2

There's a plane somewhere over a vast expanse of sea and sky right now, on course for Thailand. Somewhere in there is my best friend; with him, neatly packed, is eight years in a life encompassing past and present, condensed into eight days of a crazy, often heat-filled, wonderful visit.

How do you compact eight years into eight days? A year crammed into twenty-four hours? How do you measure the worth of smiles, in-jokes, fur, lemon meringue soup, Abyssal insanity and friendship over the span of a lifetime across several different continents?

I don't know. In a way, I don't need to know. When someone's willing to drive about twenty hours out from Oklahoma to Virginia Beach on an utter whim merely because a mutual friend is visiting me, stagger into my apartment at 5am in the morning with the accusation, "YOUR TOWN PLANNERS WERE ON CRACK!", and drive back home the next day for another twenty hours because he had to work - measurements don't count any more. That's the stuff memories are made of. That's the stuff my memories of Jer are made of, and so much more.

Jer the Furstack is the only person who's ever had the distinction of having me bake him Lemon Meringue Soup. There's a story to that, but suffice to say, lack of cornstarch in Lemon Meringue Pie is a bad thing. He survived Irish dance class when I dragged him with me on his second visit. He's seen me through fur, fire, distance and sword - quite literally this time around, that's another post on its own - and he's always been there. Even when he was stationed in different parts of the world, he was always there in some form or other, be it email or the occasional appearance on a game.

We had eight days together and we crammed eight years of a lifetime into it, and another few years to tide us over before the next visit - whenever that is, but it won't be another eight years, for sure.

Old lives, new lives. A not-so-distant past merged with my present in the form of an old, precious friendship.

Here's to many more years of broken epees and lemon meringue soup, Furstack.



Jer's farewell present: The Abyssals - Whisper in the Deep Shadows and the Pale Oracle of Dry Bones. Whisper is the one with blue eyes; Oracle could have been lots better, but at 5am in the morning? Sleep won over perfection by a few hairs.

Prettyboys and Brats and Memes...

...because The Brat tagged me, so I'm here to execute some mild revenge in the form of 'It is always a bad idea to tag me, weird things show up.'

So.

Pick up the nearest book (with at least 123 pages).
Turn to page 123.
Find the 5th sentence.
Post the 5th sentence.
Tag 5 people.

Nearest (actually the only) book at hand: Thinking with Type, Ellen Lupton

Page 123, 5th sentence: Similarly, modern architecture had displaced the centered facades of classical building with broken planes, modular elements, and continuous ribbons of windows (followed by diagram and drawings.)

If I tag 5 people at the moment, I may get slaughtered. So I'll pass on that one and look for suitable victims volunteers later.

Spoons and Sporks

Singapore hit like a rush of adrenaline. Four days later I emerged from its clutches triumphant, bearing expanded choral horizons, Kurt Weill music scores, and a spoon.

In other words, I'm back from the Choir Music Camp in Singapore, armed and dangerous and waving flu medication everywhere as a preventive measure against the Flu Epidemic that evidently barrelled on through. With six members of the choir down sick, one can't be too careful, neh?

Then again, I -am- armed with the world's most celebrated spoon. Yes, spoon again, no, I won't explain that, you'll just have to ask. Updates enroute after the vegetating stage of the trip is over.

Vague promises of peacocks landed this gem fifteen minutes ago. The artist's disclaimer is that she's as sleepy as a doped hound dog and therefore, the quality is suspect. Yep, you know who you are.



Get well soon Brat!

Peacocks, Peacocks, Peacocks

It began with umbrellas and ended with books, and dinner, and crazy-talk and lots of laughter. And the realization that fencing duels don't quite work very well with brollies instead of foils, but what the heck, it's fun.

Sometimes, all that matters is the crazy things. Totally random MP3s and the strangest comments in a conversation ever. Fleur, purple fluff, 2am dissolves into hysterics over peacocks, Sinfest snickers, green apples I forgot to eat for two weeks. The kind things - stuffed toys, the Agatha Christie express, scented oils, cinnamon cake, lemon pasta, rides to and fro from choir and house, and dinner to home.

Friends.

Thanks, guys'n dolls. I don't think I could have pulled through this whole week without all of you.

And in honour of the menace that is Peacocks in High Estates, Katashi - something I did for a friend last year or so:



The mask and face could've come out a lot better in retrospect. Maybe next time, maybe next time.

Here's to the peacocks, Brat!

Universal Truths

THE ART OF WAR

Daughter mine, perfect the art
Of lipstick soldiers on chessboard squares
Of kingdoms won by hourglass curves.

The venom of a lover’s kiss
Brings queens to their knees.

The power of guns versus the power of rouge:
The darts of smiles have triggered shots
One glance of the eyes, a jealous rage.

Daughter mine, know these arts
Are lies:
Half-masticated fairytales
Disgorged
From trusting mouths
Mother to daughter, me to you
As much a lie as the fable -
Real men don’t cry.

--SYL, 2008

South Pacific Deep Blue Seas

A spectacular wireworking disaster with an attempted sculptural pendant last week left me with a pewter bowlful of twisted wires and unfinished frames after three hours of total disgust and non-productivity. Last night, being a masochist, I fished one of the mangled frames out, bent things around a bit, and decided it just might be workable. Until I mucked up the wire-wrapping.

So I took it to the steel chasing block and hammered it to death in the hopes of improving it, and this was the result:





It wound up being called South Pacific, because of the colour of the mother-of-pearl shells I was using.

And of course, I just had to have a matching set of earrings and ring to go with, because I'm that sort of weird chick:





Forgive the lousy pictures. My brain's slightly dead from lack of sleep, as I went to bed around 4am finishing all this up. Why? *Everybody chimes in* I'm Insane. And I hate leaving pieces unfinished.

Now I go fall flat on my face and have chocolate.

The sketches from Langkawi WILL come eventually.