hard to be soft, tough to be tender

All my life I've wanted to be a redhead. I wanted that hair so badly, to be fair-skinned and almost translucent so my blood would stain my lips and my eyes and my ears and cheeks, so I always looked warm or flushed. I wanted to be a flame.
Anyways, I think I wanted more to just be somebody else, and perhaps this girl I painted last night. I like to think that she's strong, and bruised- a fighter. She had the courage to leave, or at least the ability to take control of her life. I like to believe there's a hero inside every character I create.


the old dreams were good dreams.

2008. Watercolour,

And I'll Sing Once More
2009. Mixed Media

What We Can Fathom

2008. Charcoal, graphite, mylar, ink


Mixed Media Painting, 2009

"Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie."

-Jean Cocteau

Remember the times when little girls’ hairs would knot up, and when left untreated, would worsen and create a mesh of fibres that pulled on delicate heads. Remember when mothers were too unwilling to comb through that thickness, and instead pulled out the shears and chopped off jaggedly the strands that had once shone in morning light. Remember how little girls cried for the sake of their naked heads, and tears dripped onto the clumps left on the floor-- clumps that had once been flowing and free, an extension of their movements of poetry, a symbol of liberty.
In turn, what melancholia that bubbles inside can become the same strands of hair that grow on one’s head. A single weaving may swell into a nest of ugliness, eventually taking a form of its own. These emotions, these mental braids, left unattended will turn savage and greedy and will swamp a person. They will overwhelm one’s body, and take away her identity. If not cautious, a person can disappear in that furry darkness. A person can become entangled in that hirsuteness, and never come back.
Auspiciously, not everyone has the chance to disappear in that wreath of hair. There is a door within us all that leads to this shadowy place, and some are born with it open, some closed. Those born with it open are, sadly, more susceptible to leave through that door, to walk into a space where something so familiar can become a threat to their existence. This is a place where things silently crash, where people drown without struggle.
In this painting, hair is still hair. The girl is almost completely gone, underneath the nearly fluid chunkiness of her hair, her hair that she let grow out of control. Airplanes, from texts (because information is powerful) swoop from above this mess and collide with her. Out of all this chaos, the viewer can see a door, from which the girl came. Sinking, eyes closed, the girl green with an innocence that comes with most childhoods, is embrangled in something too thick and horrendous to try to untie.
Learn from this girl. She was able to survive and knows that how imperative it is to comb through what is knotted, to pay attention to things that may overwhelm her. She knows now, that if she ever has an urge to leave that door to the choking metaphorical tresses, to come back. There is so much more worth fighting for on this side of the door.

There's Only Us.

Book City Sculpture. January 2009. Discarded book, medium, acrylic.

*you have to excuse me for these horrible photos. The reason it looks like I took them at the crack of dawn was because I did take these photos at the crack of dawn.

PS. I am too lazy to fix the colours on PS.


How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd...

this scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin

live through this, and you won't look back
I've one thing to say, so I'll be brave
you were what I wanted; I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you, I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save


(advertisement for angst smoothies. try one today!)

(this was in reference to a BSS song..)


thank god it's fatal, thank god it's fatal.

Hi. I gave up on scanning my stuff. But did find my camera battery charger, after the eons of its absence. I give you my m o l e s k i n e. I know, it's an expensive, hipster and trendy sketchbook. But I love it. It's well designed, and might I say, classy. I think I need a little more class in my life, the trucker-mouth that I am. Apparently it's pronounced (mol-a-skeen’-a) . Wikipedia confirms that.

*click to enlarge


when we started, both broken-hearted..

Haven't posted lately as I didn't have any work to post. It's not that I haven't been creating anything, I just can't show it, 'cause I don't have a scanner or a webcam or a digicam in my house.

Anyways, did do something very interesting this past weekend; went to the 48th Annual Toronto Outdoor Art Exhibition @ Nathan Philip Square. Had a wonderful time. I love free art shows.

There was plenty of talent present, but I had a few favourites, such as
Hayden Menzies, (I really love this guy's characters in his paintings, and the sketchy, gritty and almost child-like execution of his work.)
Tania Boterman Wonderful watercolour work, and really fantastic and detailed realism.
Sophia Choi This girl paints on glass, and the work comes out with a whimsical, illustrative depth. Really creative use of material.
Tony Taylor Gripping political oil paintings on (my favourite material!!) Mylar.

All the links have galleries, but you should've seen the work up close. I didn't speak with any of the artists, but they all seem friendly and passionate about their work.

Anyways, I lied, I do have something of my own to show

I drew it on the odopod sketch website. Really great, specially if you have a tablet.
If you want to see the sketch in action, just clicky here

P.S. Did you guys go to the BSS concert on the Harbourfront Saturday night? Was it not the most fantastic thing ever? I love seeing all the hipsters together.