Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Dying to Tell You

"Dying to Tell You," acrylic on canvas paper, 12" x 18", 2016.

Dear Me,

I just want to assure you that dry periods in painting or any kind of creative work are the old normal so you shouldn't fret too much when the Muse or the Holy Spirit seems to be absent in your life.

You're back to painting your signature still lifes after a brief foray in including the handiwork of your grandchild in your paintings--her doodles, her cutouts, her you-name-it, she's the fearless art-maker in the family. She'll have her moment to shine again. Right now, she's too focused on raising and disciplining a puppy named after a Christmas spice, nutmeg.

Kai with Nutmeg the moxie (a mix of the breeds Maltese and dachshund)Photo by Kimi Fernandez

Some of your acrylic paints in tubes have hardened. Teacher Norman Chow advised that these should be massaged when they're not being constantly used. Who knows? In the course of massaging the paint tubes, inspiration will come.

That's why you should always give yourself a second and third chance before feeling that you've thoroughly lost It already, It to include the compulsion to write and blog about life's seemingly little events. For you do lead an event-ful life. The uninspired moments are just telling you to take a break, to mourn for what was lost, then to get over the sniffling and take up the brush, computer keyboard or pen.

"Foursome," acrylic on canvas paper, 12" x 18", 2016.

Always with you,
Babeth


Monday, November 14, 2016

‘Dictatorships are literature’s natural enemy’ –Vargas Llosa

Mario Vargas Llosa, 2010 Nobel laureate for literature, flanked by officials of De La Salle University at last Tuesday's conferment of doctor of literature, honoris causa. Vargas Llosa was educated at the De La Salle Academy in Bolivia and Colegio La Salle in Peru.

At age 80, Mario Vargas Llosa, 2010 Nobel laureate for literature, described his relationship with the brothers of La Salle as “quite ancient.” His memories of these brothers, who taught him how to read and write, are “rich, vivid and moving.” There is one particular brother, a Spaniard named Justiano, to whom he owes a debt of gratitude for “the most important event in my life” –learning how to read.

At the recent conferment of the honorary degree of doctor of literature at De La Salle University in Manila, he spoke extemporaneously and called this skill “a magical operation” that transformed the letters of a book into “images and a living experience.” He felt his world enriched and transformed. Each time he discovered a book, reading remained magical after all these years.

He respects the invented life created by writers. His role as story teller was born in those early years “as a result of the extraordinary pleasure I had in reading.” But Peru then had a limited literary life so his “vocation wasn’t integrated with life. I felt eccentric and marginalized.” He was consecrating days, months, years to his writing with great difficulty in finding a publisher, “but I persevered.”

At one point, he supported his studies and writing by taking on seven jobs, among which was as a radio man and a journalist for the Agence France Presse.

He said writing has fulfilled his life “in an extraordinary way” and at the same time added that “it is difficult to demonstrate how books change the lives of readers for the better. Sensibilities, desires are stimulated. This shows the importance of books in daily life.”

He continued, “Good books are the best defense against prejudices, distorted views of people in different languages.”

Vargas Llosa signs a copy of his novel for short story writer-journalist Amadis Ma. Guerrero. The latter approached the Nobel laureate and introduced himself thus, "Yo soy Amadis Ma. Guerrero. Buenas tardes" and showed his copy of The Green House, a 1982 pocketbook edition well-preserved by a thick plastic cover. Pleasantly surprised, Vargas Llosa grabbed the book, scrawled his signature and said, "Mucho gusto!" After which others followed with assorted books and publications for autographing.

Despite these differences, the common denominator that is of utmost importance, he said, “is we are all humans challenged by the same obstacles” in order to continue to live.

By reading good stories, he said, “we make more accessible to us certain values” like the “freedom needed for societies to become modern and prosperous. Good books develop in us a kind of dissatisfaction with the world as it is. We hope that life will change, that we create societies that are more fair and nearer the worlds we create with our imagination.”

Vargas Llosa is convinced that reading good literature “is not only a great pleasure but also fundamental for the training of citizens in free and democratic societies.”

He warned that “all regimes that try to control human life have suspicions about literature. They try to control this activity and eliminate spontaneity. Dictatorships are literature’s natural enemy.”

He praised reading and writing of good books for helping “develop natural criticism of the world as it is.”

And he returned to Brother Justiano for having started all this with the young Vargas Llosa as he learned how to read and write.

He bemoaned how for some sectors of society, litearature is considered as “just entertainment.” Society pressures the youth to go into what he called “practical skills”

Yes, he said, literature is “the best entertainment but at the same time, it is a kind of knowledge of the world. Literature is able to make us feel we are having living experiences.” Through literature, he continued, “we enter into an intimacy with a culture, know the most secret personality of persons.”

Reading, he concluded, is not just for pleasure but also for the shaping of “better citizens to face the challenges in our existence.”

He thanked DLSU for the honorary degree conferred on him, quipping, “I will try my best not to deceive you.” -- Text and photos by Elizabeth Lolarga

This article and the photos accompanying it were originally published in www.verafiles.org, Nov. 14, 2016.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Girlfriends' night

I've traveled miles to attend First Draft meetings, and even arrived once from an overseas trip, woozy from jet lag but still able to listen to my wise elders with some mindfulness.

Karina Bolasco and I are the "babies" in this group of women who write and like to share their works by reading them aloud for critique. I write "babies" because after me, the next lady is in her mid-60s. The eldest is forever 84.

We used to meet six times a year, but that petered out when each got involved in this or that. But the raison d'ĂȘtre for a group like this has been met--we're all engaged in and committed to writing. And we write not for livelihood reasons alone. To use another friend's term, writing has become a "lovelihood".

Rita Ledesma had been our gracious Christmas host for many years. December is when she brings out her best china, the best cuisine and desserts that she has tasted and now wants to share this delight with us. We exchange gifts (an option) and have a non-negotiable bunutan or mini raffle. This year we missed the company of Mariel Francisco, Melinda de Jesus and Lorna Kalaw Tirol, all fulfilling family duties. I know there's a next time with them.

If my pictures are fuzzy, maybe it's because I look at these women through the eyes of love.

Karina Bolasco and Gilda Cordero Fernando

Chit Roces Santos, Edna Manlapaz and Fe Arriola

Fe and Rita Ledesma

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

A pledge to show up here

Lately I've been asking the man of the house, my main and loyal reader, if I'm beginning to sound like I'm running out of things to blog about, that my universe has contracted to include his work-in-progress (the garden), our granddaughter and the less-than-extraordinary things that Mary Poppins (a.k.a. Suzy Lolarga) has uncovered from the house's corners and furniture undersides. Have I turned into a chronicler of home-bound goings-on and found trivia with photos for accompaniment?

I'm aware that I have been more than remiss from a bounden duty to write for a living. I seem to have fallen into the gentle trap of writing for its own pleasure. I promised myself and an editor that I would get back to livelihood writing (a.k.a. the composition of articles that will pay for themselves) in a few weeks.

Last night I discovered Lorianne DiSabato's blog and found comfort, strength in her words. She's an enabler and motivator, indeed, the show-by-example type. She reminds me to just show up.

Detail of a painting showing two women, one at a writing desk, by artist Isoda Koryusai

"Showing up at the page is like keeping watch at the bedside of a comatose relative: you watch, wait, and hold out hope because your patient might be present and alive in there, despite an unresponsive body. Just because your patient doesn’t seem to respond doesn’t mean they aren’t there: as Jesus said of a child he raised from the dead, “She’s not dead; she’s only sleeping.” On days when your own creativity seems dead, you show up and sit by the tomb, expectant. If today should be the miraculous day when your lifeless creativity should stir and then sit up in its shroud, you will be there to see it. There might not be anything you can do to help either the sun or the dead rise, but it is of the last importance that you be present just in case.

"Keeping a blog is a great exercise in showing up at the page. When you start a blog, you make an unspoken contract with your readers that you will show up and say something regularly enough to make their checking in worthwhile: a blog grown cold is like a closed and darkened house where a weary traveler had hoped for hospitality. Many days when you show up to 'feed the blog,' you feel like Old Mother Hubbard reaching into a cupboard that’s sadly bare. When you’re forced to concoct a blog-worthy meal out of meager scraps, you often end up with a stone soup simmered with bits of this and that: nothing fancy, just something simple and savory. Out of the leftovers of your days, what kind of sustenance can you cobble together if you simply continue to show up for your own life?" - Lorianne DiSabato, http://hoardedordinaries.wordpress.com/

Monday, April 21, 2014

In the garden

"When I'm writing, I think about the garden, and when I'm in the garden I think about writing. I do a lot of writing by putting something in the ground." -Jamaica Kincaid

Ms. Kincaid is among the authors scholar Del Tolentino introduced me to along with Carolyn Heilbrun (a.k.a. Amanda Cross) and Anne Fadiman whose familiar essays in At Large and At Small I return to every so often for a quick pick me up.

The garden is in my mind every day. It's where I go for a bit of sun and to watch my husband Rolly putter around and make improvements. It's where he sips his second cup of coffee after we have eaten breakfast indoors. It's where Kai and I have our conversations about butterflies, the color of the sky and of the new flowers coming out of their tight buds. It's where I just breathe and try to empty my mind. It's where I think sometimes if I should return to writing for a living or extend my vacation from deadlines - the pull of the latter is stronger when you have the three earlier seasons of Game of Thrones locked somewhere in the TV.

We used to call this open space Kai's secret garden, but since Rolly spends and expends more time and effort on it, it has become his.

Top views of the garden Photo by Babeth Lolarga