Thank you Bowart

I had a moon somewhere, but I just lack of the confidence to enlighted it. I am afraid of height as you do. I knew that I am a rabbit and I don't want to be a deadly puppet. I am full of imaginations and dreams. Thanks you for your encouragement for letting me know no matter what comes next, think poistive and be true to myself, and finally one day, I will be able to stand in my stage and receiving as much cheers and laughers as you do tonight. I hope, my dear friends, you will be able to see this show or this passage. Hold on to your balloon because it will get your to your moon. Good night, my Moon.

6.4.2008 Lalaluna by Wolfe Bowart, shared it with icecream lady :)

A re-visit

The first time I had paid notes on the word, process, was dated back at the first year of university. It was repeated many time by various professors and classmates. This word didn't make any impact on me when I first en-conuter it. What I care is the get my homework done and how to get things right in such an strange place. Why should I revisied my idea, for it is already the best idea I had. Why should I write down my thoughts and take pictures of the working process for I already know what the final product look likes. Why should I waste all the time to dual with such a meaningless word, process? Do process take a place in my learning so far? As I recall, in all my years of junior high experience in Hong Kong up to S3 and senior high learning at Canada, the word process never had came across my mind. What I care is I only had a week time to finish the assignment, and I hardly had time to re-visit my works for whatsoever reasons and time. I was extremely lost when PROCESS become such a huge things in my university years. I remeber the first assignment for " motion class" in my 3rd year, we were asked the make a piece about "Time", and shared it in next class. What I had done was to draw two different pictures, one with the eye open, and one with the eye closed, and I had spend almost half of the time to frame the picture, so to make it look professional, and that's my finish piece. I were so pleased to show it in the critic board. I think, you can fill in the rest of the foolish story. Since then, I hated the motion teacher, and her name is Saron Romenro. She is a big fat, mean and grey hair witch that make me sick. And I didn't think she can ever take me any further in my study. Days passed Days, suddenly, I realized what PROCESS is about in her class. I can't recall what she had done very specific, but She really made me different. I remeber there was a time, she gave us another challenge, that is to make a 30 seconds motion piece and that had to convey a feeling. No topic, no limited, only 30 seconds. I had no idea at all at the first time, just feeling lost. However, I recall a piece that what done by my classmates for his last assignment at her class. He had used a software, Primeir, that mix with still slide to create a piece about War in general. It was so powerful. And that caught my attention. I was a kindergarden level when I came with the time of using computer at that time. But I knew I must use this software to create my piece of work, I must. Then, I set down before the computer, and tried to recall my memories of what iccidents that catches my stronger emotions, suddenly, the event of June 4, the Tin On Men iccidents rebounds in my head. I was just a kid when it happened, but the pictures were vividly in my head. I started to search some reference and pictures in the net, as I glazed at those thousands and millions pictures, my tears had drowned my heart. I kept crying along the way. That the first time, I really knew that I must do something about it. Finally, with nobody can relay on any help about the software, I read the mannual and tested the result step by step alone in the computer lab for a week. I draw many many pitcures amd explores many many materials. I want each lines, colors and picture to show my feeling. I listened to Baroque music for insights, to get the right notes, the perfect pitch, the stress. I didn't said a word in my representation day, and everybody didn't said a word, including Saron Remonro either.

The time when I had class or not having class with her is another lesson for me to learn about the word, process. She was never satisfied, and forever asking me headache questions. She loves to looked at you very quitely when your eyes were full of spankles and listen to your thoughts. She sometimes will walk in the lonely computer labs to lift you a bit then gone quitely. She will wrote you extrememly long long response even if You asked her a single question after graduate. I am such a lucky person to have her in my life that given me chance to learn what process is about between a teacher and a student.

However, as time moves on after gradute, I started to forget what process is all about and only the products are matters. The first, the second, and the third boss are very easy to please. The liked all the works/designs I had done for them, even I admitted that were crap. I suddenly realizes process is not important, only product/effects is important in the real world. Of course, that shallow idea didn't make me become a prominent designer that had missions and vision to change the field of designs in Hong Kong. For it is the challenge that I made to myself when I graduated. Then, I moved on for a teaching post, because I wanted to become the second Saron Romenro? ! Or just because the paid is much higher for a freshman ? I had been teaching five years for now, as I looked at my career as a teacher, I had made some meaningful statements, and I had become very confident in my teaching experience. However, there were times, (It happened since last years) I doubted how many students will remeber me as I remeber Saron Romenro? A few or none? Then I asked, why shall I keep on working in this meaningless enviroment? To cherish a mandune process is extremely tough, and to credit oneself with worthless products is a pain. The pain to lose ourself, what we are, and what we need. Again, I am a lucky person, for me I totally had none expectations in taking a MA course in Hong Kong, for it is a city of products and produces expected outcomes. Why I will take this course then? Because, I need a Master degree. ( How pitiful for the reality) However, thanks for nicks for letting me know who I am, and what we needs as a humanity. Thanks for never satisfied Ho for questing my answers all the time and to let me re-visiting the most precious monent of PROCESS for which I had been lost in my life for so long. I am still enjoying in my process monments for my project 2. However, I still think of all of my learning is a therapy class, because they all shape me into somewhat different and yet invite me to this wonderful journey of process.

What is a wound?

Do you have a wound?
Before I entered the Saturday Therapy class, I thought I didn't.
Does wound has to assoicate with sadness, disappointment and pain?
Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

Times with it about pain ***
Last January, I came to visit a friend of mine who had just born a baby girl. It was a sunny day. The sky was blue. It was such a remarkable Sunday. On our way to the hosptial, Man and I were talking about a trip to somewhere. We were both happy and full of hope. As we approaching closer to the hospital, i suddenly didn't want to go. Because, i know I will be asked.
As I looked at the bady, I started to imagine, if he or she were here, perhaps it would be the same age, having a bright eyes likes mine and a funny smile likes Man. A familiar voice disturbed and said, " You are not looking very well, you shall better go to see that doctor and taking more rest." It was what I had been expected. However, sometimes we had been expected things will happened, can we show an expected facial expressions as response for the fact that it's really hurts?

Times with it about growth up***
I knew Man was very frustrated when the miscarriage happened. For he is the one who eager to had a baby, and I am still not
in the mood to becoming a mother. I am not sure can I be a good mother, but I want to learn now. The miscarriage experience shines like a star which inspires me many thoughts about relationships.

I suddenly realizes I had such a strong connections with my mother which I had never experienced, although she had beed gone for eight years. I had the same feelings, worries, and missions as she did. For me, she always reminds me of a fighter. I want to be become her. I am sure that most of the mothers will fight for the best for their love one. As I were watching the film " In Love We Trust" with my best friend, Sandy, who is a dreamy girl with a supportive boyfriend and family, I thought, if I were the mother I will do the same as she did, because it is my baby. Of course, if I were Sandy, who is still single and searching for her life, I will doubted the fact that is it the best way to solve the problem.
Because mother and daughter are just different.

Last night, Man and I were chatting about baby. Just a year, both of us had change. I am happy because I know we had becoming more mature. I know he loves baby, but he said to me yesterday, " if I would had to choose, I would rather no having a baby, because you are the most important person for me."

everyday life- where the story begins

Just a simple square, our stories begin.
Papers,folds,denial,acceptance,courage,Tears,empty chairs,trails of scars,open it, close it and re-open it. The stories of Xenza's and Chris's meet at the cross road. Without a nod, but they touch one another's hearts. How many time have you heart being touch? a few? Time flies, only the empty apartment is left behind. Hold on, someone is outside. Who is he? I don't know him. Is he a spy? I have nothing here. Shall I open my door for a stranger? No! I shall turn off all the lights and close all the blinds. He keeps watching me! He keeps on describing my next move, my next speech. Who is he?

Scary stories creep into our everyday life. Who wrote those stories, and whom are they write for? You and me? Or, everyboby? I don't want to be notice. Don't write my stories! I hate the flash light! Don't put me on the spot for I am just an ordinary person with such a mundane life.

Is life likes textbook with pre-assigned assignments and procedure for not making mistakes? Then, what is mistake for?

Is life likes a blank page with no boundary that invites imagination,trials and errors to explore different possibilities for a master piece to settle?

What's matter, is only do you believe it.
I believe in Peter Pan, and you?

Feb29- the missing and the found

What is the feeling of having the birthday on 29th of Feb?
What is the feeling being the survivor of the second world war?

Lucky? Sad? no response?

The fragmented and charcoal dark black brick of the parliment of Dresden suddenly appears to my mind shortly after the first image ( the poison truck) from the short film "World of Glory". The same tonal of darkness and the deathly air make me feel uneasy, and I can imagine, it must be a heart-breaking monment for most the European. For them, to sit quietly to watch the film is impossible. The glaze of the actor is like blaze of insult cutting through the audience. If they ( the survivor) sit still just because they are the lucky one. Then, what is the real meaning of "Lucky", after a series of devastating incidents? Being " Living" is it a luck ? How are the Livings afterall in those years? With no one to share with? With thousand pairs of eyes to stare at? Living in a hosptial like environment with no private space? With the enoch of screams repeats in your dreams? However, the marks of the shoes cannot hide. It cannot hide your fear. It cannot hide how your crumled toes nearly broken down when you saw your loved one being send into the poison room. It cannot hide the fact that you had been stepped onto the scene which you are here speechlessly and even you know they are insane. What is "Living" after all those inhuman actions and incidents? Who are we?

Hey, how's the Lam Hoi Fung's show at the Hong Kong Stadium? Are you laughing all the way through? I bet, it must be the most entertaining show in the year of 2008. You, audience! "The -Saint"! Continuing building your happiness onto someones' pain.

STOP THAT !

What is Arts Education?

I went to a seminar about Arts Education today. It was an disappointed one as usual. Of course, I cannot help to share my disagreement with the point of view of the speaker. He put up a clip from the movie, " Philadelphia" and asked us/students to describe the relationships of the visual elements and its symbolic meanings. However, is that it? What's the aims of Senior ( S4-S6 ) Arts Education for the coming years? To idenify or describe the visual elements of a film? Afterall, it is all about art appreciation?
To teach Arts is not an easy tasks. However, many people or even many arts teachers highly underestimate the value and mission of Arts Education. For me, Arts can either be a tools to express feeling and concepts about anythings that worths it's calling, or Arts is a channel for humanity to prose a bigger questions about life and beliefs.
As I looked across the room, at least 80% of the teachers are neither over 40s or complaining the ridical changes of the Educational reform, so why would they still sitting in this room? What's the future of arts education then?

Mother

Chapter 1

The story beings with the pineapple bun. The pineapple bun looks delicious and hot, but there is just one pineapple bun on the plate which two sisters staring at the bun.
"Mother, is it the bun for me?" the younger sister rise up her voice to the mother. " Oh! yes, that's for you, because you love eating pineapple bun." mother replied with strong reasoning. The elder sister left the table quietly with the grips of sadness in her face. " I love eating pineapple bun, too ! Mother", the elder sister said that to herself.

It was 5:45a.m. There was some hum and egg noodle on the mini dinner table for children. Both sisiter didn't touch the breadfest, they just wouldn't open their eyes. That's the first and the last time which mother served breadfest at 5:45a.m.

At 6:45a.m., the school bus still didn't shown up, then the caring mother afraid that her daughter would not have time for breadfest. She ran at the corner of the street, and order a bun and a cup of apple juices for her daughter. However, at the same time the school bus came, and the daughter would only looked at the mother holding the bun and the apple juices in her hand.
During the primary school period, the daughter actually rarely ate any breadfest; not because they don't like eating breadfest, indeed they like eating riceroll at the corner of the grocery store near the school with their mother, their mother started to work at the factory.

Whenever I eat pineapple bun, I always think of that silly pineapple bun incident. As I recall, the reason why I was so disappointed is that my mother didn't pay attention to me. However, I was wrong.

The answer appeared at least 17 years ago. It was such an ordinary day. After school at about 4:45p.m., I came home with loads of homeworks in my hands. My father set at the sofa which seems rare at that time. He usually came home around 7:00 p.m. or even later; however, he was already home that day. He seem pretty happy and asked us to sit down besides him. " We are going to move to Canada", he said it with a big smile. I jumped up and down around the house like riding a horse, I tossed the homework at once. Nobody knows, the real story started to roll.

lost in cage

Life is complex, however it is rather simple indeed. Recently, I had encountered many big questions about life; and these questions or callings keep bubbling in my mind. First of all, what is body? It is a bunch of cells that organizes and reacts to various stimulations? It is a body that is being told what to do and what to wear? It is a machine that keep on working that didn't know what is its value? Why do we often force ourselves to adopted changes that are non-sense or even rebell our moral value? Keep updating who is the next victim of the Edison's case? Yesterday, I went to see the movie " The Diving Bell and the Butterfly". The house was full, and many of them are the 30's and 40"s. What an interesting scene! Are they want to get some inspirations about life? After the movie, I asked my husband, " if you are going to die, what are the things that you wanted to do?" He didn't hesitate and said," i would like to sit at the balcony which facing the ocean, and then look at all of my photographys and enjoying my last bite of jambo scallop sushi." It is such a precise answer, so, what is my answer?

Before I watched this movie, I had already read a similar inspirating story from the point of view of an art therapist. The patient name is William. His story is somewhat likes Jean-Dominique Bauby's story. Both of them are being locked up in their body, and yet their soul and imagination are far beyonds the ordinaries. "What is blessing?" That's the first reflective question that come to my mind. How's my life compares to William's and Bauby's ?Why do I still sitting here, and slowly forgetting my dreams and desire? Why I cannot see beyond the beauty that lies beyond the ordinary? What do I abandon my dreams ? Why do I ignore my inner self?

Being odinary, is it a blessing? Without being bulleying, being invisible in the crowds which they all wear the same uniform- social value, same languages and viewpoints. Is it a shame to be outstanding?

If somebody ask me, what are the things that I want to achieve before I die, I would say, " I want to write a novel of a rather complex and yet simple story about mother."

A Frame

I used to had a cat at my place. She represents spontaneous, witty and territories free at my heart. She wouldn't care when and where you jump up at her face. If she is happy, she will lie down on the floor and let your dirty feet roll up and down of her body. Sometimes, she will even give you a wake up call by putting up her tinny head to your face. Compare to the dog, which will at least bark at you for several time, and tour around your feet, until you give it a signal that you realized it existence.

Which do we look like when stranger enter our territories, the dog or the cat?

Thoughts about life

What is story? What is a good story? Can we create stories that enlighten one's life?

Where do all beautiful stories begin? There is one I picked up in random.

My first impression of the below drawing is rather complex. Let me describe it. The soft and fragile qualities of the drawing encourage me to getting closer to it, although at the first sight, it seems rather distance, and yet this experiences is like reading private daily of my friend. The poor doggy and the splinted milk at the foreground remind me of the forbidden memories where miracle begins.

***

If the picture explains an experience of our growth up, to some extent, we all share a similar story: The moment in which life is so fragile and woundable that we afraid to get hurt; closed our body so tightly with our eyes and ears shouted, and even unseen or ignore a generous offer or welcome by others.

However, if we can look beyond, focus on other moments or events of our life, or even forgetting the idea of “ourselves”, we would perhaps feeling more fulfill, and knowing how to appreciate oursurrounding in which the birds are singing beautifully at the top of the branches. What a lovely and touching picture. If life is a Journey. Oh yes, what is my journey then?
I am getting extremely tired over two year's period, live likes a robot, lost of focus. To leave a comfort zone is not easy; however, to live without soul is torture. Last summer, I saw a poster at Vienna that recalls a sweet dream of mine.

How soft and yet moldable opportunities for a children, dare to be different, and dare to be free.

Having seen “Snow Show” in December, I retrieve my sense of difference. Perhaps, that night, most of the audiences were eager to touch the spider web, to throw the enormous balloons and to feel the chills of the paper tornado. I, motionless, thought about my life, in contrast to the performance of the crown and the loneliness baggers.

What is a crown for? To please others, even he is no willing. To tryout many and creative methods to fulfill the person who give him a penny? Or just to catch a second of our attentions? What does my profession provided me? Am I willing the wear the makeup and pertaining I am something else?

One of the most reflective scenes from the drama was very simple. One bagger were following the other bagger, holding a stick, chasing the balloon in the mist of moon light. I wonder, were there 7 baggers or just one bagger on the stage? Why they are wearing the same clothing, same makeup, and same body movement? All of a sudden, I realizes I am just one of the bagger/ crown (vs. crowned), repeating and following the so-call path, value and direction of the closed framed society. Is it a tragedy? I will say: no! At least, I know I am drowning, and need help.