Belen in the Lab

 It’s December once again. ‘Seems like it was just last month when a knife fell on my head when the pumpboat I rode in was navigating along turbulent waves the day after New Year. Once more, Christmas is fast approaching.

Finally, after juggling my schedule between classes and research, I finally found an excuse to sit down and use my Faber-Castell 48 colored pencils. I know my friend, Jack, will be green with envy.

The piece would have taken me an hour to finish but an unfortunate little boy (we’ll call him Budoi from Grade 1 section 10) forgot his sling bag at the office so I had to help him out. The glasswares are part of an orchestra I play with in the lab lately. I decided to arrange them to depict the nativity scene, inspired by the pervading season in the air.

This is not exactly my favorite time of the year. A lot of bad memories in my life happened at this season. However, there are those small number of memories that give me light feeling and even a happy glow.

Because of them, I am giving Christmas another chance this year.

Nocturnal Wish

For more than a week now, I have been besieged with sleepless nights. Oftentimes, I drifted off to sleep around one or three in the morning and woke up around six, in time for work. To tire my mind out, I watched movies or read books. But this is a tricky strategy especially if one is wearing eyeglasses.

There was a time last week when I slept as early as eight in the evening. I just came home from working at the lab and hit the sack, dead to the world. But I woke up as early as two in the morning. Unable to sleep anymore, I did some works, played some games and at the end, watched the battle of night and dawn.

But something mystical happened on Saturday night. It was way past one and my mind was very much awake. I tried different positions just to get comfortable enough to catch a wink. Defeated, I watched an episode of Fringe.  While Olivia Dunham and the rest of the actors try to figure out how to save our universe from destruction, my eyes glanced towards the window.

Something white flashed against the black night. It was curved at the edge.


It was a quarter moon.


I smiled. This is one perk of my new place. It has been ages since I slept while watching the moon. Then I forgot Peter and Walter Bishop. Or even Agent Broyles.

I’ve crossed slumber-land.

Bouquet for Mama

One of Mama's favorite species of Vanda

This is my second post for this month. I must be oozing with creative juice. “Classes haven’t started yet, kigs. That’s why!” countered my alter ego.

A bud of hibiscus
waiting to bloom

I spent All Souls’ Day with my parents in Bohol. For the past 5 years, Bohol became a second home. My parents live there and it is where my Dad grew up. Since rural life can be pretty slow, I’d like to amuse myself sketching the flowers in Mama’s garden.

Mama loves gardening. One can find daisies, bougainvillea, hibiscus,  vanda, chrysanthemum, adelfa, cattleya, santan and those I couldn’t name. She also have San Francisco planted at one side of the house.

When Mama wasn’t yet burdened with gout, she used to have collections of different varieties of a particular plant. Back in Gensan, she used to have a collection of different species of vanda, San Francisco, santan, and bougainvillea.

A bougainvillea found
right outside the porch

At some point, I looked at her garden back when I was an elementary kid, more of a forest. You can’t blame me though when the bougainvillea grew up high and its branches seemed everywhere. Not to mention, a fortune plant stood at the middle. But the sweet smell of the gardenia and Chinese sampaguita can entice a little girl to stay and play.

I did mention that Mama has gout, not to mention osteoarthritis to contend with. Her gardening becomes limited. So to step up to do the job would be my Dad, her knight in rusty armor.

To give you an idea on how they interact with regards to the priceless plants of my Ma, just imagine an elderly couple: the woman nearing 70 while the man mid-70s. The woman directs the man to plant a hibiscus seedling near the path.  Later on, the man presented to the wife the weed he uprooted from the garden. To the wife's dismay, it was the hibiscus. They sure are way past the honeymoon stage. 

Byways Along Our Highway

It has been a long time since I made an update. There is only one post for October and if I am starting a pattern, this might be my only post for November. I certainly hope not.

Let me share with you this ink drawing I named Highway. Even though this won’t earn me a P5,000 cash or a P5 coin, this piece has a special meaning to me.



During my month-long absence, I realized some points in my life. One of which is that we are all travelling on a highway. Some travels in groups. Others with a partner. And there are those that travel alone. They are referred as “the lone wolf”.

Different we may be, our inherent curiosity often prods us to check out the byways, the little roads we see that littered along the highway. And this is when the journey becomes interesting. For just like a game, each turn can break or make us. It might bring tears on our eyes or laughters in our lips. It can teach us to fight or die. It may consume us.

In the end, we find ourselves moving towards the direction of the highway. Given the patience of time, we reach the main road. But whatever we have experienced in the byways, we know we are no longer the same person at the start of the journey.

Grid It!

Although most of my works since the rebirth of my art is portrait, it does not mean I am good at it. Much to my model’s disappointments, they don’t look like the same on my sketch pad.

Take a look at my early portrait in graphite of my good friend, Ising. Anyone can quickly point out that there is something amiss in my proportion and if no one has seen the photo from which I modeled this portrait, her earring is the telltale sign that this is indeed, Ising.

Proportion is the common bane of starting artists. The head is too big, relative to the neck. The forehead is just too wide. One eye is bigger than the other. But there is a solution to that.

Grid.

If one is copying a portrait from a photo, lightly draw a grid on it. If you made an 8x8 grid, make sure you draw the same grid size on your canvas or sketch pad. This is not difficult if you have Photoshop. You can actually place a grid on the photo using this software.

Once the grid is in placed, you can start drawing methodically. You won’t go wrong with the proportion since you know how many squares are the head of your subject based on your grid.

The downside here is that making the lines for your grid would be tiresome. Well, you can start placing your grid while watching your evening primetime “100 Hundred Days to Heaven” or “Nasaan Ka, Elisa?”. Once these programs are over, you can start making the portrait you have been planning for days.

Once I learned how to use grid effectively, here is another portrait, this time in charcoal, of my friend, Bai Ising. 

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The photos from which I copied these portraits were made by Pareng Jotay.

A Wise Leafless Tree

My cousin, Hera, asked me to draw this piece for a wedding she organized. My staunch ally, she has been excited when I told her I am dirtying my hands with paints and graphite.

Her request is a great timing for I have been planning to draw trees. It must be my activist response to the subtle denudation around me or an effect of my Sunday sojourn to feed the mice. Nevertheless, it was a pleasure to start painting this living wood.

The university is rich with different variety of trees. Every morning, I enjoyed looking at the verdant foliage that looks like velvet. It is quite fascinating to any artistic eye to watch the playful sunlight as it teasingly kissed the leaves. However, only very few, including my friend Leonore, will be fascinated at the wizened leafless trees.

But there is a lesson or two to be learned from trees bared with its verdant crown.  Amidst the beating of the sun and lush beauty around it, the leafless tree stood its ground, with humility and grace. When people scarcely look at it except in dire need of firewood, its hands continue to reach out to the azure sky, proud of its dried and cracked branches.

When I almost reach the end of the road and I have cataract on my eyes, hemorrhoids in my ass, wrinkles on my face, varicose veins in my legs and arthritis every cold night, will I be able to reach out with grace, humlity and pride like the leafless tree? Or will I live the rest of my life, eaten with despair and grief of pains I can’t let go?

A lesson from the leafless tree. Ring!

Take Home

Filipinos are very fond of taking home leftovers from parties. There are special reasons for these.

One, there are many leftovers during the party.

Two, the partygoers rain so much praises on the banquet that the host is so flattered that she has to pack some for these people.

Three, (and this particularly happens if your mother is my Ma), if your host is your mother, she would pack for an army so you won’t starve for days. But you would see her the following day.

Last Saturday,  I took home a different kind when I dropped by the celebratory party of the College of Arts and Sciences (CAS) that coincides with the birthday celebration of its dean, Dr. Ramon S. del Fierro.

After our lunch, my friend Jinky was quick enough to ask Sir Monch-kins the centerpiece on our table. Since I know my friend is not the type to fuss on flowers, I asked from her the centerpiece and took it home.

And here it is in watercolor. I hope I did justice to the ornament for these are beautiful flowers that mirror the kind heart and strong disposition of Dr. Ramon del Fierro himself.

A Preview to Nude Art

To be able to draw a nude portrait has been on my bucket list when I re-started art. It would come as a surprise if you know me 15 years ago. Raised in a conservative family and awarded as one who emulates the virtue of Notre Dame, I hope I won’t be adjudged unfairly for this shift in interest.

This is not my first attempt to nude art, neither was the painting entitled “A Woman Unchained”. There has been several attempts in the past and I can say, modesty aside, that I have improved in my figure drawing.

But why nude?

Figure drawing has always been a challenge to me. One of the many ways my big brother devised to tease me when I was a kid was to draw me in an exaggerated size, making me look fatter than I really was. Though I wanted to get even, I can’t draw a human figure as good as my brother.

Not anymore. Shame on you, Kuya. :)

I read from a book that to be able to draw a person, sketching them in nude is an excellent starting point. It makes sense for when a person is naked, the lines and muscle tones are very much visible and distinguishable. No clothing will distract the artist’s view.

And if I may be poetic about it, the human body is a beautiful masterpiece. If  an artist will be able to draw it on canvas, it would be tantamount to paying homage to our Creator.

Itapon, Basura Nyo

Sa bawat araw na ginawa ng Diyos, marami tayong nagagawang basura. Balat ng kendi, buto ng prutas, plastic cups, bote ng Coke, papel, balahibo ng manok. Ilan lamang ito sa mga basurang ating tinatapon sa mag-araw.

Dahil sa talamak na pagtatapon ng basura sa ating kapaligiran at ang mga kaakibat na problema nito, likas sa atin ang maghanap ng kasagutan. Karamihan, pinagbubukud-bukod natin ang bawat uri ng basura. Malata, di-malata, residual.


Meron namang biodegradable, non-biodegradable. Sa ganitong sistema, may mga basurang  nare-recycle. May iba  namang ginagawang biofuel.

Ngunit may mga basurang di nakikita. Tinatago natin ito sa kaibuturan ng ating kaluluwa. Mga pighati, poot, kabiguan, inggit, galit at iba pa.Ito ang mga basurang karapat-dapat na itapon sa paglubog ng araw. Sa tagal ng panahong pagkimkim sa salansang na damdamin, ito ay aalingasaw at sisira sa bawat relasyon ng mag-ama, mag-asawa, o magkaibigan.

Ito ang mga kaugnayang di natin hahayaang mawala. Kung sa gayon, isang mapanglaw na pagsalubong ang ating maidudulot sa pagsikat ng araw.

Sketch it..Live!

As Pareng Jotay had mentioned, taking photos of a toddler is no easy feat. For one, setting up the lights will wrack one’s analytical brain, only to realize that the little subject is no longer within the shot area. I may have not assisted him shooting his nephew but I can surely testify how much effort he puts in to get the right combinations of exposure, shutter speed, and power. (Free advertisement ni, P’re.)

I am not here to talk about photography, though, I plan to buy my own camera next year. It could be a Christmas gift though, if my brother is reading this.

I am here to talk about making a portrait of a live model.

Pareng Jotay was my first victim er … model. Very few people knew how many portraits Jotay had to endure until I was able to at least show his George Clooney-look on paper. This is my first portrait of Jotay, live! He was working on his netbook while I sketched him using a graphite pencil.

Lesson #1, never sketch while the model is doing something. Unless, of course, you asked him to minimize the head movement.

In my frolic with arts during summer, Carmel was gracious enough to sit for our class. I was personally grateful to her for she sat especially for me as a make-up activity  for my absence (No, I didn’t get sick or married, no one died in my family, and I was not sent by USC to represent the school to Big Brother’s house!)





Eventhough Carmel has to sit still for an hour, we allowed her to take breaks in between to stretch her sleeping muscles and mainly to relax.

Lesson #2, be considerate to your model. True, making her a portrait is not an everyday occurrence but one has to remember, your model is doing you a favor for sitting still when she can do other important personal stuff.





My third model is Stian, my classmate in art class. This time, we applied lesson #1. We let him surf the net. Our only request is for him to hold his head in one position. Afterall, we will sketch only his head.



Lesson #3, show your model your work, no matter how far the real one looks, for his comments.

Some might go berserk because the portrait looks like a monkey. Some will just smile and go in their quiet ways. Some will give you helpful comments.

While some, like Stian, would say “That looks like an actor from a movie! “.

Bai Awak Went to Town

The Chemistry Board Licensure Examination is coming up and I can’t help but feature my lucky charm when I took the exam in 2001. No, it was not the then-chair of the department who enticed luck to perch on my shoulder.



Mama bought me this bayawak or water-monitor lizard, if you want the English name, as a Christmas gift. I was already in college then but on that particular yuletide season, my child alter ego took hold of my sanity and asked Santa a toy bayawak for Christmas.

Kuya Bugoy and I love to dress up the bayawak. He usually tied a bandanna (a la Robin Padilla) around the head of the bayawak and put on a Ray –ban on its eyes. Mama would reprimand us, warning us of lighting bolt from the sky for making fun of an inanimate object. When I drew this, Mama was about to reprimand me as well but decided not to when she saw my plan. Knowing her, she must have whispered a prayer to redirect the lightning bolt away from me.

When girls usually have rag dolls or stuff toys beside them on their bed, the bayawak slept beside me. Mama warned me I might get nightmares when I woke up in the middle of night and the lizard’s head is reared up.

Well, that never happened. But I could never forget the surprised look seamen gave to my bayawak when I boarded the ship to Cebu.

When I went to Manila for the exam, the people at the Air Philippines’ check-in counter asked me to find a container for my bayawak. Even though it is a toy, it might cause a stampede inside the plane.

However, I missed the frightened scream when the visitor of my roommate in Manila upon seeing the bayawak on my hotel bed.

Whether this toy is my lucky charm or not, it is no longer important to me. When I saw this toy over the weekend, I know its body striations would be an interesting subject for charcoal.

Once done, the piece did give me something more than a lucky charm could. It gave me a satisfaction I usually get when I finish a piece of art.


Good luck to the examinees. Wanna borrow my lucky charm?

This Shoe is Made for Flying

Eight hours from now I will be on my way home and I haven’t packed up yet. Important things got in the way. Foremost of these is this watercolor painting of my sneakers or sneaker since there is only one. :-p

I have started this piece last Sunday, inspired by rhyming lines I kept repeating on my head while feeding the laboratory mice. Rushing home, I grabbed my sneaker and placed it on my table. Feverishly, I made the outlines and decided to use my new water color paints.

At a young age, I knew what a watercolor is. My eldest brother, Kuya Bugoy (he is not a pain in the ass unless he started teasing me fat when I was a kid), used watercolor in his drawing. He paints portraits of men, women and lovers.  However, it was only recently (actually nine minutes ago) that I learned the difference between watercolor and acrylic paints. Watercolor paints used arabic gum as a binder while acrylic paints used ..well..acrylic resin (Organic chemists better hit the Merck. It might come out in Chem 120.)

It took me days to finish the piece. Duties in the salt mines took a chunk of my time, among other things. And yes, my sneaker is becoming a familiar sight on my study table. Plus, I had a hard time controlling the watercolor. It attracts a lot of water and once I made a mistake, the trick of using white paint to cover it didn’t work! That’s why I ended up with gray shoelaces. :)

My beginner’s charm may not have worked on this piece. But just like my acrylic paintings, I am glad to finish this. It is one hurdle conquered, new technique learned, and a soothing balm to a weary traveler.

Let me share with you the poem, Snickering Shoe, that started this all:

‘Twas a day of blue

A snickering shoe

I found in my stew.

Blubbering lots o’goo

This snickering shoe.

Suddenly it flew

Up and down the loo

Then I couldn’t chew

‘Failed to bid adieu

To the snick’ring shoe.

Color Dilemma

Picture this in mind: A man breezing through the hallway in white pants and shoes and blue dress shirt. I must admit I have seen a man like this before and I know him. Can’t believe he was wearing a Christmas green polo shirt and a golden brown corduroy pants with brown sandals (and navy blue socks showing) while clutching a black bag ten years ago.

True, colors can be intimidating.  My good friend, Ising, would spend a good amount of time to plan her wardrobe for the whole week. From the color combination of the clothes down to the accessories to be used.
It is understandable for who’d want to be  the topic in a conversation of two individuals you don’t even know.

“Unsa man na iyang  gisul-ob uy? Green na gani ang blouse, green pa jud ang slacks.”


“ Murag sagbot sa kadalanan.”


When I first dipped my brush in acrylic paints, I was definitely intimidated. For one, I didn’t understand Andreas’s instructions. Then, my meager knowledge on color harmony has seemingly dissolved in acrylic. It’s no wonder I got this as a result:

A work of art a Kindergarten can very well improve. I could still see the hard look Andreas gave to my piece, trying to come up with a suggestion to save my work.

But on the second try, my meager knowledge on harmony has recrystallized out from the acrylic medium. Some of my teacher’s instruction was becoming clearer to me as I got used to his accent. I made this piece before I called it a night.

This may look like another poor attempt to abstract but I initially planned to make this look like a ribbon. Then as the night went on, it became an eagle then a snake. As of now, I don’t know what this is but it gave me confidence to try my luck  at home.

This led me to this piece.

Photo by Joel R. Locaylocay

I can think of a lot of reason why this is not good. For one, the paper was not suitable for wet techniques as it wrinkled due to excess water. There is too much blue and I was afraid I would lose all my paints (It does show I am still greenhorn to this! )

Nevertheless, I passed the first stage of acrylic painting. It may be a low-pass, but still, it is a PASS.

A Woman, Unchained*

Just as wars have been waged continuously in the history of mankind, abuses of women have been rampant in all races around the world. Even though , it is a woman’s hand that rocks the cradle, another chain binds the other.

I have personally witnessed different forms of abuse suffered stoically by women. I saw a woman whose voice is not heard by her own husband, a woman betrayed by her husband for a prostitute, and a woman whose tears flow at night as she suffers the body pains given to her husband because of an unfounded jealousy.

I know of a pregnant woman whose marriage she decided to end to protect her child from an abusive junkie, whose love she had blindly trusted.

I saw a girl abused by her own grandfather, who grew into an aloof woman whose pains she carefully hid inside. I know of an orphaned girl whose innocence was shattered by her own uncle.

I saw another girl who is tortured and belittled by her own mother.

These are just a few of the abuses women had suffered. However, it is not the form of abuse that shackled these women for life. It is the self-belief that they deserve the anguish. For if one has suffered such torment, one is bound to believe they deserve it.

Photo by Joel R. Locaylocay

And so this work of art is dedicated to ALL WOMEN who decided to free themselves from the crippling abuse and believe steadfastly that they, too, deserve the fullness of life.

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This work of art is the project I had submitted during the culmination exhibit in my art class, on July 9, 2011. It was done on acrylic on a 24 cm  x 30 cm  triple gesso canvas. Surprisingly, this painting had caught the eye of the grandfather of my classmate, Stian. 

*The title of the painting was given by Mark Gary, the renowned film maker of Sandalang Bahay and Hubad. 

I miss this painting, spent several days on this. Thanks to Pareng Jotay for taking a photo of this woman before the exhibit. A wonderful piece of art, now a memory I would keep close to my heart (it has rhymed!).

The Strobist Next Door

Growing up in a testosterone-laden household impressed upon me  man’s propensity to self-conceit. Meeting Pareng Jotay (as I fondly call him) refreshed and ultimately changed my views on men. In his self-effacing manner, he showed me that not all men are born chauvinistic and that chivalry is not yet dead.

Hanging out with Jotay for years (not that long actually but seems like decades already) doesn’t make me an expert on who he is. But there are facets in his personality that made him a special gift to his family and friends.

At the forefront of this is his selfless devotion to his wife, Susan, and unwavering support to his parents. Although, he had already hung his own pair of gloves (metaphorically speaking), he jumps to his friends’ defense when needed.

A chemist who knows his chemistry well, it is in art on which he excels (that almost rhymes!). A poet and a photographer, he has his own brand of art uncommon to these days. His poetry bespeaks the style of the olden times, where poetry is a fruit of labor and not just a product of nonsensical lines (another rhyme!).

I understand perfectly well Jotay’s aversion towards fashion photography and events. For one, his photos show a lot of depth on the subject’s soul most fashion photos lack. The bustle associated with events such as weddings creates an  imbalance on an artist’s equilibrium, especially if one’s style relies on soulful images.

Speaking in the perspective of a fellow artist, his works had greatly improved through the years. As a friend, I am very proud that he has found a niche in this world. Just like anyone, the battles he had to wage may left him scarred.

But it is his battle-scarred self that made him a loving husband, a dutiful son, and a best friend.

And I couldn’t ask for more. Thank you, P’re.

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Making a portrait is one of my goals when I embark into this journey. The artworks above traced my earliest attempts to my recent work on portrait makings. In particular, the recent portrait was made while Jotay was sitting for me.

Concretizing Abstract

Mama taught me before to use pencils to draw. Whatever mistakes I would make, I could easily remove it with an eraser. When I discovered sign pens in high school, I overlaid my pencil-drawings with ink. Ballpoint pens are good tool for drawing because you can’t always leave to the house without it. Only, once you commit a mistake, you have to find ways to save your work or start all over again with a clean paper.

Inks have found niche in Chinese and Japanese art, specifically in calligraphy. They used brushes and specialized applicators such as bamboo quills. The ink they used are not the same type we used on pens. It is a special type of ink, sold in National Bookstore or Metro as Chinese ink.

Considering the drill my mother taught me, ink-drawing is a challenge to me. When I had dabbled on this in my art class, my most likely theme is abstract. I can just whisk an ink here and there using the bamboo quills. Unfortunately, I have never been a fan of abstract drawing.

I have great respect for abstract artists but my obsessive-compulsive side just refused to lose control. To my credit, I did try and here are the results.

A poor attempt of abstracting volcanic eruption that looks like a party at the tip of the crater instead.

Or something that lies in the chemistry realm, abstracting chemists. Unfortunately, they look more like ghosts to me.

Indeed, I am not good with harmonizing lines to generate abstract beauty. But before, I left my art class that night, I finally came up with this.

Not bad after how many takes I made. 

Frolicking with Pastel

Last summer, I had a chance to make art in pastels: one in pastel chalk and another in oil pastel. I enjoyed using both media, though I prefer the former.

Pastel chalk is made from pigments mixed with starch as a binder. Once applied on  paper, it can be easily spread using your finger or a piece of cellulosic fiber (aka tissue paper). However, this generates a lot of dust that may irritate your lungs. More, it needs a paper with rough surface to hold the pigment. Usually a fixative is used, like a hair spray, to protect the colors and preserve the art piece. You don’t want to wake up one day to find your pastel portrait gone. Afterall, you don’t live in Hogwarts where pictures move and gallivant around.

Photo by Joel R. Locaylocay

Oil pastel, on the other hand, is made of pigments mixed with oil or wax as binder. Since it gives vibrant colors, white papers are suggested to be used. Unlike pastel chalk, its colors stick to the paper. It does not need a fixative but it needs a cover like a glass to prevent accumulation of dust. Personally, I had a hard time working on this medium. Since it dries so fast, I cannot spread the pigments as well as the pastel chalks.

Just as there are many ways to cook a chicken, pastels are another tool to express one’s artistic nature. A good tool for those who are intimidated with paints and brushes. You can used pastels from still-life to portrait. Don’t forget the precautions to preserve your work. You don’t want you work to disappear and leave you with a paper.

That is, if you are not using a page of Tom Riddle’s diary.

Men and their Cocks

(This post is not of delicate nature but rather explores my personal experience, growing up in a household where men participate in cockfighting.)


I grew up in a household of men, with 3 brothers all grown up, male cousins and Dad. There was a time when it was only me and my mother who were the girls. Even our dogs were male and yes, my Dad’s prized roosters (or gamecocks, as known).

Every morning, I woke up to the sounds of the roosters, heralding the day. My brother would remove them from their cages and place them on-field to bathe in the sun and do their ground-scratching exercise. I used to tag along with my other brothers during feeding time. I was in-charge of lugging around the drinking water.
There were activities surrounding the growing of roosters that fascinated me (in a male-dominated household, it’s no wonder why I want to be in).

• My brothers used to remove the comb and wattles and feed them to the rooster itself. They explained that such flesh can increase the stamina of the bird.
  
• When a derby is coming up, the roosters were given fighting exercise during mornings and afternoons. Little gloves were placed on their spur (the sharp part of the back of the rooster’s feet) as to prevent injuring the other roosters. This will be replaced with a sharp blade during a real fight.
  
• Before the fighting exercise begins, my brothers would prime the roosters by holding their tail feathers and facing them to each other. It must be instinct or pure male vanity/pride but these fighters are ready to fly and scratch each other.

On the day of the derby, the men in the family woke up before dawn and off to the site of the fight. They would be gone the whole day. Mama and I were left to man the household but we were prohibited to sweep the floor as it swept the good luck away. At the end of the day, they would return bringing the winning fighters and dead roosters as part of the prize. Whoever wins in the cockfight gets to take home the dead rooster for food. By the way, rooster’s flesh is hard. It would be difficult to chew on it but its soup is good.

My Dad stopped joining derbies when our family grew. As my brothers got married, more female were added to the household. It was becoming difficult for Dad to join a derby so it won’t fall on anyone’s period. It’s bad luck, they say. Lucky for me, though, or I would end up as San Pedro at the cockfight arena.

Letting Go

Showing my artworks has always been a challenge to me. One, a tactless venomous tongue will simply lash out at my work. Duplicitous praises here and there may also come by. An indifferent shrug or being compared to another admirable individual whom I thought is better than me , can crush my spirit so fast.

Photo by Joel R. Locaylocay

Contrary to what most people think, I also have my own insecurities. At times, it shackled me and left me immobile for quite some time. My wise brain (modesty aside) has incessantly drummed me on the benefits of living at the moment and leading a devil-may-care attitude. It has its attractions.

However, letting go is never easy when one tried so hard to bring a semblance of control over a life twisted by fate.

But there comes a time that one has to let go if that is the only way to live.

For an introvert like me, walking and introducing myself to a bunch of artists is a huge step for me. But it pales in comparison when I have to show my artworks and get critiques from them. Several times, I experienced a mental block as to what to draw, fearing I may be not up to the challenge.

It was when we started using colors in class that I began to let loose. I stopped thinking on color combinations and just let my hands do the works. Then I started to see flowing lines and began using colors that I don’t normally find attractive before.

Photo by Joel R. Locaylocay

We have different ways on showing how to  let go. Mine, by creating beauty on canvas, colors and lines. But the objective never changes. We let go so we can experience life to the fullest.

A Paradigm Shift

If there is one thing I missed about high school, it would be the array of black boards serving as my canvas where I could display my art. I would be assigned to update blackboards for any announcements, birthday greetings, and events along with designing them. Since technology at that time was not as advanced as now (we still used the disk-operating system that time), colored chalks were  my medium.

Though such activities ate a lot of my time and would cause me to come home beyond my curfew (and earned Lolita’s ire), it was my fondest memory of high school.

It was in college when I decided to shift my focus to chemistry. It was not a matter of losing interest. It was a case of you-made-the-choice-face-the-consequences kind of thing. I realized the boards in the university weren’t at  my disposal obviously. Since I was on a tight budget, I cannot afford a sketchpad or any art materials. Plus, one cannot really excel or even pass chemistry with conflict of priorities. It is always chemistry or art. I chose the former.

I hid and sealed my art in a box.

Now, I decided to revisit my old interest.

I have blackboards I can use. But I decided to start with a paper and a graphite pencil. I understood I would be rusty from years of ‘inertness’. Indeed, my initial works were like of a child. However, I persist (with a Cheerio at my side) and on one night, alone in my room, I came up with a good drawing of a screw driver (Not a typical core-shaker, I know).


Damn, I’m screwed. I still have it.

After all.