Mangoes for A Client

Months ago, a woman saw my portfolio of paintings and sketches. I can see that she was pleased that she asked me to do a still-life painting of a mango fruit. She planned to hang the piece in her dining room. I agreed. She had some specifications, though.

One, there should be leaves. Done.

Two, it should be a yellow mango. (Yellow is her favorite color, next to brown.) Well, one of the mangoes is yellow. Plus, the green tinge of the other two can be attributed to shadows and reflections.

Three, there should be water droplets. Now, I'll be damned. I missed this lesson in my art class.

So, I presented her this painting last weekend.

My client looked at it closely. She was silent for awhile; her husband piped in that they looked like sour mangoes. I told him that it was just the shadows.

Then, the woman asked for the water droplets. I told her I missed learning that in class and I don't want to ruin my shadows on my mangoes (which I have laboriously figured out! accompanied with dramatic flick of hands!). And as a consolation, if she's still interested to get my services, the water droplets will soon follow.  

Next she asked, "Why blue? Why not white?" I replied that blue brings out the yellow color. Her favorite."

So the woman said, with no ecstatic babble, "Thank you. I am happy."

And I let out a deep breath. Ha!

That certainly went like an oral examination. But I can afford an argument with her for this woman has been my constant client since I was a kid: MY MOTHER. 

As much as she loves to critique my works, Mama used to display my art at home and showed it off to visitors. Unlike my Dad who describes me like a big star, she keeps it simple and humble. And on her 70th birthday, this piece on mangoes will go, as planned, to our dining room where most people convene, on ordinary and special days.

Happy birthday, Ma. This isn't really a medal or an award. But I am giving you a fruit of what I love most to do. 

Mental Shackles

So many times, we found ourselves shackled by our own fears,
immobilized by dread. The sword of Damocles is hanging above our head. A vitriolic decoction, we swallow the draft that make us see our lack of control.

We feel alone, helpless, like living inside a dank dungeon. No sunlight streaming in. No bright tomorrow to look forward to.

Yet, this terror is in the mind, a susurrant whisper that swells into a shout. It warps our thinking process and disables our motor coordination. If we can silence this, we enable ourselves to act and gain back the control on our lives.

In the process, we realize that the manacles that fettered us from acting is just a figment of our imagination and that all along, the manacles are corroded.

Uncertain

My piece called Inner Passion had generated interesting comments from people. They have seen a number of images out of an abstract piece. One said the piece looked like the sun while another said, it looked like a navel. My three good friends unanimously said, it reminded them of a woman's breast. (and no more on which particular part.) 

These comments inspired me to create another abstract piece. It took me the whole summer to finish this due to  work and other responsibilities. Interestingly, when I started taking its photos for this post, I realized that a variation in its layout may also evoke a different interpretation.

I planned to entitle this as Catharsis. Now, I am no longer certain what its name, as I am overwhelmed on which layout I like more. Maybe, this is the allure of abstract art that have drawn artists. I can now see the freedom it bestows. There is no exact ending. Each line takes you to a different dimension. Each brush stroke unveils a new part of you. 

For a control freak like me, it can be overwhelming but surprisingly, it can be liberating at the same time. 

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Now, I am very much interested on what you think about the piece. Don't worry, I have meager psychology background so I won't be psychoanalyzing your comments. It will be fun, reading your interpretation on the piece at the comment section.  

Coming Back

Boatwrecks at Capusan Beach, Cuyo

Rough seas, strange tides

A tiny dot, green and sand

Strangers around

Bonds formed

Peace and quiet inside

Familiar sights, old sounds

Beaten stuff surround

Warmth missing

Tranquility gone

Home, now undone