the trouble with art

The trouble with making good, honest art -- in my view, the only kind of art worth making -- is that you really cannot plan in advance how it will turn out. Good, honest art takes on a life of its own, is resistant to attempts to be responsible to anything other than its truth. i've heard writers talk about this before -- about how their best work emerges sometimes in spite of their plans and plotting.
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This of course is terribly inconvenient, and as a friend and fellow-writer said once, almost inimical to living responsibly.
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i've had two artist friends say this to me in the space of three days -- one a much respected senior poet and essayist whose work inspired me to start writing in the first place, and second a good and trusted songwriter friend who's been a wonderful companion on the journey so far, someone i can really talk with because we look at so many things the same way. "It's a sacrifice that you must make" -- apparently. To sacrifice the need for certainty, for stability, for knowing-ahead-how-things-will-work-out.
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i think some people take to this better than others. Because, obviously, to not be able to predict with any degree of certainty how things might turn out in future, means that you can't make reliable plans, not for yourself, and definitely not with other people. No wonder the stereotypical artist is selfish, egotistic, and irresponsible. It's a bit more difficult if you're just naturally not the kind of person who's comfortable with putting yourself before everyone else, or if you actually like the idea of keeping your promises, being dependable, being the kind of person others can count on. Perhaps this swinging between teaching and writing is, after all, the best route for me, like C said. i don't think i could ever just be an artist. i'd probably die of a guilty conscience.
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the emperor's new clothes

Or, speaking truth to power.
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There is a reason why the only person in that Hans Christian Andersen story who was able to speak the truth about the Emperor's nakedness was a small child. It's such a wonderful story -- in my view, possibly one of the truest children's stories ever written -- because we are so often complicit in the very deceptions and corruptions that we deplore in others. And we all recognise this, just as the Emperor and his courtiers recognised it by the end of the story, but the procession goes on because to disrupt the show would be too costly for us.
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The interesting thing about contemporary culture is that so many widely accepted "truths" are in fact ideas posited by people on the fringes, based on the marginal experiences of these individuals who then go on to attempt to extend their experiential knowledge into all-encompassing theories that, in my view, constitute a kind of cultural-intellectual colonisation. There's no denying that these theories do hold some truth. But their truths are not universal. And the problem is that these thinkers gain so much traction, at least in the intellectual / cultural spheres, partly because the whole point of being a career-intellectual is to explore new frontiers, discover new ideas. Who cares about the old ideas that apply to the majority. Let's chase after the shiny new things that will get us honours and acclaim and secure our careers, even if these ideas by their very nature are descriptive only for a minority of the population who share our issues, problems, or even personal weaknesses.
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After i'm gone, i'd like the executors of my will to put together a collection of all my politcally-incorrect gripings, and publish them posthumously. i suspect that from that distance in time (God-willing it will be some distance ... ), some of these thoughts might even look rather visionary. Haha.
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a sense of proportion (2)

Now to be balanced about balance ...
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Obviously there are some / many cases in which any kind of genuine contribution / achievement can only be reached when one is totally committed to an endeavour. Basic problem of scarcity, right: we only have so much time and energy. Limited resources, infinite wants / needs. We all have to focus on some things in order to do them well.
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What i mean by 'balance' is not about being a Jack of all trades and master of none. It's about being totally committed to whatever one is responsible for, yet being able to let it go gracefully if letting go is what's required. It's about being able to see that, no matter how important something is to us, there are (many) other people for whom this thing doesn't even figure on their mental horizons, or who, God forbid! actually disagree with us, and to recognise that these other people have the right to think differently, because their disagreement or lack of caring takes place in the context of their own particular life circumstances, values, needs, concerns, etc. To not have to force our own concerns and issues on other people, because we recognise that they may simply not care about the same things as we do -- and to be ok with that.
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That's what i mean when i talk about proportion. Just the ability to put one's own concerns into perspective.
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i think it's a problem that especially affects people who are passionate about whatever it is they do. This starting to think / wish that the rest of the world would think like them, be like them. This wanting to impose; and the consequent inabilty to respect and value different perspectives, different ways of being. i think it's why interacting with activists (in whatever area: human rights, religion, environmentalism, feminism, etc etc ... ) is often so fraught with tension and nastiness. Because for them, whether consciously or not, it's about power, and about wanting to have their way.
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So the secret is to care passionately about something, without hijacking that caring / passion into a means through which we seek power and control over others. It's a really difficult balancing act.
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a sense of proportion

Mulling over a few conversations (well, actually, more like one real-time discussion and several other ongoing conversations of the sort that happen within a community, in different media, and extend over years), i'm starting to think that one of the things i most value is a sense of proportion. Being able to put things in perspective. Which is so difficult, innit. It's so easy to allow our own concerns -- whatever they may be: political activism, family, art, quantum physics, cooking -- to take on an apparent importance waaaaaaay out of proportion to their actual importance in the bigger universal picture.
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i guess that's what i find so suffocating about social / communal bubbles. Everyone sharing the same concerns and talking incessantly about the same things, all the time. As if our navels were the centre of the universe. (Interestingly enough, the ancient Greeks called Delphi, which they thought to be the centre of the world, the navel of the universe. Ok i digress.) i guess we lose a sense of proportion when our egos get tied up with our endeavours. The result is almost unfailingly ugly.
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Yet what we do in life is important. Our individual choices and contributions are important. To lose a sense of that importance, would be to make a mistake in the other direction.
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The challenge, i guess, is to maintain a sense of balance. Or, back to the title of this post, a sense of proportion. To stay on the middle way.
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i honestly do think the important thing is to find one's identity in God, in Christ, rather than in the things we do. i think doing that, properly, (the operative word being 'properly' ... ), puts everything into perspective very nicely. To see our selves as loved by the eternal God, and yet, to see our selves in relation to the eternal God. It's a rather mindboggling kind of balance to keep, but one that, i suspect, if done well, will lead to a deep and genuine peace and stability that is incredibly liberating, not to mention incredibly attractive.
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piquant lyricism

In other news. Prokofiev's Violin Concerto No. 2 in G minor, Op. 63.
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At some point i think maybe about 10 years ago, i started getting tired of lush Romantic melodies a la Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov, et al. They all seemed rather jelat, too sticky-sweet and sentimental. i think that's when i turned to Bach for his clean, elegant clarity -- like a glacial lake lucid and cold and yet somehow achingly beautiful.
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But sometimes one does miss lush melody. Which probably explains why i'm finding Prokofiev's 2nd violin concerto so compelling. Because it's got lush melody (in a singing violin voice, no less!), but with just enough piquant, spicy harmonic surprise to be eminently listenable without crossing over into kitsch.
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Classical music post-19th-century takes some getting used to, i think. But i suspect there comes a time in most music-lovers' lives when they feel the need to take in, to welcome, those jarring dissonances, if not for anything else, then at least for the sense of newness and surprise that they bring, the way an unexpected chord or note can jolt you awake and cast a different tone on your day.
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i'm sure some essayist somewhere must have written something along these lines before.
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aerodynamics

Some birds look more aerodynamic than others.
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Those goodness-knows-whats, for example, that i first noticed at Sungei Buloh, then saw again today at Bishan Park -- they look like they were made to live up in the air. i've never seen one up close, or doing anything else other than flying. So in my mind, they've become these almost-black silhouettes of tiny ultra-sleek fighter jets, sometimes gliding but more usually darting on some invisible updraft. Something like a nervous twitch about their flight.
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Then herons, which definitely don't look like they were made to fly. The way they have to curve their necks into an S-shape, tucked against their napes, the rest of their body stretched out like they were doing a plank-exercise in a pilates class -- they look like they must be in pain.
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There are lots of bird species in Singapore, partially because we're a transit point for many migratory species, in the same way we're a transit point for so many other things. But i guess it's also a testimony to our City in a Garden, that so many different species manage to make a home here. We must be doing something right, with our trees and parks and (tiny) nature reserves. Maybe i need to learn to see this place through their eyes.
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In other news. 'Aerodynamics' reminds me of that scene from Dead Poets Society where Neil talks to Todd about his aerodynamic wannabe-flying-desk-set. Gosh. That was one memorable movie. Mushy and possibly excessively Romantic, no doubt, but there was something about it that spoke to many people in my generation. Not many movies can claim as much.
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jamie's 30-minute meals

One of the good things that happened during the Taiwan trip was that i discovered Jamie Oliver. This was totally un-deliberate on my part. It was just that having all that time in the evenings, with nowhere to go because a ten-minute walk in any direction would have taken me down a deserted mountain road flanked by forest with only the stars above for company, meant that i ended up watching TV, something i rarely do at other times, because there always seems to be something else to occupy my attention. But the quiet in the room at night was a bit discomfiting, and having the TV on made it better. So yes, channel-surfing on a Taiwanese mountain led me to Jamie Oliver. Hooray for 21st century globalisation.
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The wonderful thing about Jamie Oliver is that he makes it look all so easy. And it is, really -- there's no big mystery to cooking. Like so many other things, it's all about whether or not you bother. And if there's one thing that comes across in his cooking show, it's that he bothers. In the most seemingly casual, laissez faire way. But the fact is that he cares about food, about how it's prepared, how it looks as well as how it tastes, how it's served, how it makes people feel.
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This all probably explains the big stupid grin that spread across my face when i picked up Jamie's 30-Minute Meals at the library today. Just reading those recipes is a pleasure. Looking forward to trying some of them out.
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first world problems

i think one #firstworldproblem that is really a problem (as opposed to most #firstworldproblems ... ) is the first-world desire to have everything. The inability to choose and make sacrifices. The inability to recognise limits. In other words, greed. (Let's call a spade a spade.)
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Basic fact of human life, right: you can't have your cake and eat it, too. Some things are just basically incompatible with other things, and you just have to make a choice, and suck it up with the consequences.
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a quiet life

A life away from Facebook, away from the noise of a thousand egos contending for power and prominence. A life just spent minding my own business, doing what i'm called to do to the best of my abilities, and allowing the Universe to do the rest. That sounds very nice indeed.
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choices

A serendipitous constellation of happenings and conversations in the last few days -- all basically to do with choices. i guess, the meaningful choices are necessarily also the painful ones. It's only when we have to choose between things that are equally good, equally desirable, things that we want equally much, but are mutually incompatible -- i guess that's when the choices actually become significant in a life-shaping, character-moulding way. i mean, all major choices are path-changing; but only a few, the kinds that demand some painful sacrifice, are the choices that really will tell us what it is we value most, what it is we stand for.
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the true and the untrue (3)

The thing / trouble with literary writing is, the Real Thing can only really come from a writing self that is speaking its truth. Maybe not the truth, but at least, its own truth. You can tell -- the kind of writing that is done as an intellectual exercise, because somehow it doesn't ring true. (And some people are very intelligent, so they generally pull off a pretty impressive job -- but you can still tell, this writing comes from the head and not from the heart. Something about it just feels false, somehow.)
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And even with writing that comes from the heart -- i think it actually makes a difference what kind of heart it's coming from. Some hearts are better than others. Fact of life; deal with it. And it shows, in the writing. A writer's worldview and values do have an effect on the writing. i guess, the kind of writing one is drawn to, says a lot about what values one resonates with. For me, personally, there are some writers whose work i know i will never take to, and whom i suspect i will not like if i ever were to meet them in person. (Of course, sometimes you fall in love with someone's writing, and then you meet them in real life and they turn out to be absolute jerks. But that's a slightly different problem.)
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i guess this means that there are actually not that many writers whose work i can say i unequivocally love and admire. Oh well.
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留一片蓝天

This has got to be the song of my heart, living here in Singapore ...
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星星住在天空　人群住在地球　宇宙之中我们不寂寞
沙漠拥有绿州　山谷拥有河流　天空也有彩虹
他们留下什么给明天的孩子　陪他一起认识地球
留下高楼大厦　还是公路烟囱　谁能做他的朋友
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留一片蓝天　让白云彩霞都有一个家
留一片海洋　让海鸥飞翔　没有人会阻挡
让地球每个角落 都靠近天空
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留一片草原　让蝴蝶和花都有一个家
让地球的孩子可以找到他　说说心里的话
让世界的每一天 都充满阳光
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留一片蓝天 留一片蓝天
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the true and the untrue (2)

Now i remember why i stopped reading Brenda Miller a few years back. Not because of the quality of her writing -- she writes well, no doubt about it. But her life decisions! Her ethics! Were / are such screw-ups! i think, at that point in time, i just simply had no patience to read about yet another obviously intelligent woman who somehow could not apply that intelligence to her own personal life, who just kept making wrong-headed, stupid choices, over and over again, without ever seeming to learn her lessons. i could not -- and still cannot -- understand what kind of desperation might drive any human being to make the dumbass decisions she'd made, and somehow to not be able to see where her mistakes were. And i guess i had better things to do with my life than to read any further, beautiful writing notwithstanding.
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Right now, i need to read beautiful writing. Can anyone recommend beautiful writing that's not written by screwed-up people with screwed-up personal ethics? William Fiennes asides, that is. i can't just keep reading The Snow Geese over and over again, can i?
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the true and the untrue

After this review, no more. No more agreeing to review books that it turns out i don't like, and that i then have to lie about just for propriety's sake (this time round), or for kindness's sake (the previous time); and no more being dumb enough to tell the truth simply because i was too young and idealistic to lie (the first time). Surely pretending to like books, or at least pretending not to dislike them, must be the literary equivalent of what some people do, which is to pretend to love their partners / spouses when actually they don't. Surely this kind of lie eats away at you somehow, lessens your ability to love really and truly.
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Conversely. How wonderful to re-encounter a familiar author and to re-discover writing that first spoke to you years ago, and to realise that it's still beautiful, still true. To be thus reminded of why you even got into all this in the first place. Why is Brenda Miller not more well-known? Her writing deserves to be more widely-read. It's the kind of writing that leaves a little ache inside where the words have touched something deeper in you without actually filling that place. The kind of writing that leaves a space at the back of your throat, almost but not quite touching the tongue. God i want to write like that.
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gah!

i think all artists should spend at least 30 minutes every day looking at photos of the universe (all the galaxies, stars, planets) and of earth in relation to the universe (tiny tiny tiny), and then remind themselves that they are but one out of something like 7 BILLION people living on this one tiny rock in a tiny star system in one small galaxy out of goodness-knows-how-many galaxies there are out there -- and that should solve the problem of outsized artistic egos.
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GAH.
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istanbul

So it's finally happened -- what i've known for a long time would happen, sooner or later. An ISIS suicide bombing in Istanbul. It really was just a matter of time. The nightmare is spreading. God help us all.
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ode to an airport

i have found my favourite place in Singapore. Changi Airport. i don't think there are too many people in other countries who would name an airport as their favourite place. But then they don't live in Singapore, and their airport has not just picked up its 500th (!!!) Best Airport award in 35 years. That's pretty amazing, even by our over-achieving Singaporean standards.
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There's something about Changi that arouses the same sense of fondness and fierce protectiveness in me that our trees do. It's partly the classiness of its architecture, i guess. And also its meaning -- its status as a gateway, a place of transit. But there's more to it than that. i think it's got something to do with the fact that Changi is Singapore's most visible, most easily-recognisable, most customer-friendly miracle baby. 'Most' -- because we have lots of miracle babies. Heck, the entire country is a miracle baby. But Changi is the mother of all miracle babies. It's the most well-loved of all of our emblems of success. Singaporeans in my generation grew up with Changi -- it's the architectural equivalent of a younger sibling you've watched growing into adulthood. Which probably explains why looking at the current construction work there, the way the old car-park at Terminal One has had to make way for a new mega-mall, makes my heart just choke up in a way that's just ... well, just not what one would expect to feel about an airport.
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The airport is more than an airport. It's a community, a home -- to the staff who work there (baggage handlers, trolley uncles and aunties, air traffic controllers, counter staff, etc etc), to the Singaporeans who go there for their weekend shopping. i remember going to there to work on school projects back in secondary school -- it used to be the hangout place of choice among my schoolmates, and lots of students would go there because its vast open spaces and hushed silence provided the perfect place for exam revision. We'd sit on the floor of the viewing gallery, in front of those huge floor-to-ceiling wall-to-wall glass windows, gawking at the planes taking off and landing while working through ten-year-series questions. It was all kinda awesome.
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And you know what? The good thing about Changi is that, unlike other places with sentimental value in Singapore, nobody actually believes that it will ever be taken away from us. It's not going to get knocked down to make way for some newer, more money-spinning thing -- because the whole point of Changi is that it spins money. In fact, it promises to keep on expanding and spinning even more money -- by 2025 it will have an unbelievable five terminals. That place is going to take up half the country! How mindboggling is that! (OK. i exaggerate. But still. Five terminals on an island this size is ... )
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It seems kinda crazy to be praying for one's national airport. But you know what? Why not. i hope Changi will be well and safe and enduring, for a long long long long time to come.
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the courage of our contradictions

My very brilliant JC Lit teacher HC used to talk about the necessity of having the courage of our contradictions.
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Here are two more really brilliant people defending their contradictions:
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"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)"
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(from 'Song of Myself', Walt Whitman)
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and
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"The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function."
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(F. Scott Fitzgerald)
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In other news. i really really miss teaching Lit. Maybe, after the book is done, i'll do a stint back in the classroom. Take up B's offer and go back to Greyland. Perhaps. Let's see where life goes.
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to value and to love

How true. This applies to lots of things.
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“People exploit what they have merely concluded to be of value, but they defend what they love, and to defend what we love we need a particularising language, for we love what we particularly know.”
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(Wendell Berry)
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use the force, luke

The last time i saw the old Star Wars movies was well over 15 years ago. Including the very memorable screening of A New Hope at a cinema in Athens where everyone in the audience cheered and applauded when the opening sequence rolled out across the screen.
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Good movies are like good books. They look different when you watch them at different times of your life, because you've become a different person. i've always known this, intellectually. But it's quite a different thing to revisit a well-loved movie / book, years after you first encountered it, and realise how little you noticed when you were younger. Or to realise how you finally understand what that movie / book is really saying, in your guts and bones.
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The enduring power of those first Star Wars movies is really quite amazing. i wonder what the X-factor is, that the subsequent movies haven't quite managed to capture.
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