Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Life of Mediocrity

It was a long weekend because of Memorial Day and I should have been refreshed. But I came to several self realizations about myself and the verdict --- I am a mediocre person, living a mediocre life.

My mediocrity overwhelmed me with much self abandonment over its melancholic veracity.

How did I come up with this?

Over the weekend, I was somewhere where I had commitments to continue some work for the one person whose opinion of me and my work is most valued. In fact, it was the only opinion that mattered to me since I usually hold an "I don't care" attitude against what everybody thinks of my work. I don't believe I have produced a painting where this person said "great work", it's always "it's missing something" or "shouldn't it look like this or that" or "is that finish?" and I could go on and on with all the derogatory remarks I most often hear from her. But I love her dearly and I know she loves me dearly as well. Although, we have had several huge fights because certain times, I just wanted an "A" for effort, nevermind that she didn't really like it.

See, I treat painting as a release. A release from all the toxins this society inject us with. I don't have a method or a technique and I never studied painting for it will influence the reckless abandon I so humbly give it. In effect, my work is down and dirty but true to its roots and emotionally striking. They are not pretty or finished or within the line. Whenever I am asked to give an art lesson or lecture. I always tell my listeners to simply "close their eyes" and let their hearts lead their hands and let the paint flow freely from that and when they open their eyes, they will see what's within and not what society teach them to be right and beautiful. This whole subject warrants it's own discussion in my head, so let me go back to mediocrity as my subject...

I wasn't sure if I should journal what occurred for I was afraid that someone I so dearly referred to would read it and get absolutely acrimonious to how I discuss her but as I mentioned earlier, I have abandoned all logic and is faithfully waiting for a milestone journey of sorts...

In fatiguely performing the duties I had to because of prior commitments. My worked was mocked and criticized over and over and I took upon it heavily and responded with severe aggression. I begged for some compliments, for some appreciation, for some understanding... It amounted to an argument that would have ended up uglier if it wasn't for her mellowing down and walking away from it. Tears flowed and I wanted so much to leave my work undone and disappear forever but I know I shouldn't and I just kept with it. At a stopping point, I called the one person I emotionally depend to in times like this and I remembered that I shouldn't have after my initial teary hello. I vehemently got the disappointment as I suspected and realized that I am ALONE in this. I went back to work, at least to what my aching body could handle and at each stroke of the plaster palette, I stare at mediocrity at its finest. And I looked back to my work in both art and architecture, areas in my life I looked at with such revering glory. Was I kidding myself? How can I possibly think I was any good at it? I have no proof of how good I was, or do I? And tears flowed more rapidly like river of salt.

This is where I am because I wasn't really as good as I made myself believe all this years. This is where I was because I was as ordinary as the person I avoided. This is where I was because I lied even to myself and the lie was so good I believed it. She was right! This is where I was because of all the wrong choices that was born out of ideals that was stupid and childish. This is where I was and there might be no other place but here...

It was painful and it was real... All the poetry I wrote and all the canvas I painted and all the structures I drew were nothing but mediocre substance of an undying person who would not vanish from shear exhaustion. I was doomed! Even this stupid effort of a blog was mediocre as I was told... Who cares? I need an outlet and all those mediocre things I do are nothing but outlets of a fragmenting mental, emotional, spiritual and even physical state. I wanted a record of my agony in all shapes and forms.


---And I sat down in the car with the visiting in-laws yesterday...
I stared out of the window, my hair flying in all directions and the mother of the other commanded with much virtuosity "stop thinking SAD thoughts" and I gave her a faint smile. A smile that said it all, the lost glimmer in my eyes that once were, she knew why it was gone. She knew that the one driving the filthy car where we all sat heading into the movie theater, has a lot to do with how it slowly vanished...

---After the movie, we saw an old acquaintance who I thought would be one of my greatest friends. I painted with her on the beach while staring dreamily on the Pacific Ocean sharing grandeur thoughts, using ocean water to dilute my colors and give it texture... I said hi and made small talk without hesitation even if I can see their own kind of reservation and gazing on the other's direction. I was reprimanded by the other with this and rubbed it on that she was never a friend to me, that they just used me and took what they could... And this was true, sad but true... In anger and despair, another reality hit me. This is why I wasn't able to build new friendships...

My agony will always be misunderstood. No one relates to my stupid notions of what love is and how far you should go and the insatiable thirst of recognition from mother and all my malady of sorts with these subjects. My neverending desire to be an artist, my dying desire in architecture and my obscure notions of perfection.

My saga... My drama... My life of mediocrity...