the artern

I told them "give me one year" and we will figure this out together.

so, here I am, putting a full stop to all the what-ifs and buts.

i mean, if not now, then when?

every week, you will be reading about the behind the scenes of artistic pursuits, and the paramours of life. feel free to make yourself something, make yourself comfortable. you are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, or time travel to move forward.

welcome to artern.

where it is our turn to make the art that coaxes our stories forward.

amigos, amigas and mes amies, I hope we enjoy our stay.

until then, allow me to enlighten, dazzle and charm you.

stay well, stay safe, and of course. stay hydrated.

wholeheartedly,

welcome to the twilight of this arc,

where our stay embraces their descent.

and yet, a new dawn is on the way.

new art that coaxes new stories forward.

amigos, amigas and mes amies. these were the behind the scenes of artistic pursuits, and the paramours of life. also, anecdotes that don’t subscribe to either.

this was ‘artern.’

as always, you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, or time travel.

wholeheartedly,

we could have built something together.

and yet, i found myself strolling through creativity that we became two magnets on opposing pathways.

although, i hope when we meet again, we’ll build something greater. as a team.

this one’s for the art pieces I couldn’t get to yet, the narratives i’ve had to sideline because of the tales that wanted to be explored deeply. change scope, and ambition, embrace without rose tinted glasses.

each week i go on a divine adventure.

windows rolled down, my head peering out the window with a soft smile on my face. acoustic tunes unraveling a soothing rhythm. skirts twirling in circles, wilting away like petals, only to bloom again.

i see the golden light five times on the same skies. absent when my eyes are closed, but i feel it when i breathe deeply. reaching out to my light like a parent would place their child on their shoulders.

and once i open my eyes, life goes on regardless.

some call it yoga class.

dear arcane (S2),

you may be the final chapter, but i’ll still flip through the pages, looking for hidden gems I might’ve missed out on.

i linger at the end of the pathway, then i turn back just to see you’re still there. tugging onto belonging, then boxing the punching bag to release it all. jumping into the waters with liberation and bittersweetness.

you’re the sequel of self-discovery, that even when all is lost, trust is a muscle. all for the price of hope.

thank you for keeping the flame high.

with love,

she told me you either get a relationship, or a lesson out of it.

somewhere, i got entangled in making art for an audience. their interactions with the body of work, the loveliness when an art piece touches someone’s soul, or lingers.

i re-discover that even when my art pieces have their narratives to share, some of them act as a reminder to come back home to myself.

some of them remind me that the audience is solely me, and it’s like the aroma of comfort food.

this body of work is as expansive as they are.

damn, there’s a certain wonder to that.

a little foreshadowing:

hugely inspired by ‘the starless sea’ - erin morgenstern, particularly the story of fate and time being lovers.

i think about the stagnancy of life and the ebbs and flows. i think about the time someone said to their best friend: i’ve read loads of stories, but i’m curious to find out what ours will be like.

i think about a re-imagining, the blend of fairytales, myths and legends. i think about the way the gentleness of the mundane can seep into the rush of the present, ever so fleeting.

i think about the way you smiled at me as i walked down the sidewalk. it felt like a bookmark tucked on a page, calling it an interval.

i think about the way you waved at me, just in time as i looked up.

i think about the way i left that room after saying goodbye to you, thinking “i could get used to this.”

maybe i can. maybe i will.

dear ‘the pairing’,

you’re the story i’d thread my fingers through, as you’re sitting comfortably on my lap. the story i’d grin from ear to ear, lay my head on your shoulder. feel the thrum of passion for life, for taking up space and art in my whole being.

you’re the divine intervention in this recharging season.

you’re the story that has enveloped a new galaxy in my vast cosmos.

it feels like a reflex to sit back and be a backstory.

to feel so close yet so faraway.

to wander around the mysteries of the unknown only to stop and look around.

sometimes looking around can feel like trouble.

to go back to old patterns. to feel like a backstory.

to feel like the gap wouldn’t ever be bridged, but we’re working on it.

and honestly, sometimes we gotta take a few steps back to propel forward. to take the leap of faith.

so if this is my leap, i know there are open arms to catch me. to pull me up and pull me close. if this is my leap, i know we’ve got each other.

an energy reset.

where i cleanse the things that no longer serve me so i make space for the new era i’m beginning to embark on.

where’s there’s nervousness but also excitement in the inquisitiveness of the human experience. where the zest of life is more than just squeezing a lemon, but actually savoring the sour just like i’d savor the experience.

dear heartstopper,

you’re the story i come back to for three seasons. the story that holds my inner child close to home. the story that feels like a soft spot, the book i’d want to re-read even as the leaves change color, even when the branches have no leaves, and when new fruits blossom in the flowers.

together, we stroll on a journey of healing, recharging and an expansiveness of our individual cosmos.

till next time,

love,

dear anne with an ‘e’,

you’re the story i’m so grateful i crashed my heart and soul into. the story that cradles my aura, reassuring me that it’s okay to have so much love to offer. so much curiosity to be around with. and also a temper that sizzles just as it burns.

you’re the story i tuck under my pillow, an honest and sincere tale of a chosen family, friendship with fulfilled promises, and a love that transcends over letters, hopes and ambitions.

you’re the story. I have paused and sauntered around the weeks as if the seasons were changing, finding beauty in the people that I love and in myself.

thank you for holding my heart, as each season unfolded with hope, joy, sorrows and prayers. with glorious words, and anecdotes. with gilbert, diana, and cole. with aunt jo, marilla and matthew. with bash and mary.

it’s safe to say when i looked at the metal pieces i made last year, now. it felt like there’s always something to look forward to.

the light dancing, shadows creasing like folds, the shine glistening under the ceiling light.

in the mundane routine, this would feel like washing your face after a wholesome nap. the sun-kiss when it streams through your window. listening to a song you’ve loved at one point but then coming back to it after a couple of seasons.

combining all of this, it’s as if i never got over the pieces i left behind.

I have a soft spot for them.

a sketch, or an animation. you decide which medium you see this on (ft. your imagination).

the warmth of amma’s hug; the familial kiss on the cheek; the positive loudness when we’re having coffee together; our mother tongue feels more homely when we’re far away; an emergency dance party; the to-do list sparkling ideas only to bounce off them.

these are the things I think about when I’m in tears.

the touch of a cycle, only for it to collapse so it can rebuild. no wonder it’s a surprise when things we have loved before, are gradually transforming into either depth or distance.

a new beginning of sorts. or maybe a level-up.

even if it means to sort out our secrets and treasures before sailing them down the sea.

even if it means to close the back door and have the front door open because our plans are in the horizon.

even if it means to embrace the closet in our minds and rearrange them, or declutter them.

the thing about re-watching or re-reading mediums is that i feel like an auntie. a curious one and enthused one, who might be sewing or baking whilst indulging you on a tale. the marveling experiences i’d travel back in time for, solely to feel things twice.

not to change anything.

this is the story i keep in my bodice. or rather stories of mediums i’d re-watch or re-read as the seasons move with the cycle of life. characters i’d visit once in a blue moon.