Spotlight: Vagabond (Takehiko Inoue)

Vagabond is a Japanese historical fiction comic about the life and travels of Miyamoto Musashi. I know Japanese comics have a weird connotation of either being super girly (magical girls and talking animals) or for man-children (ninjas vs. pirates), and yeah, I read those too, but Vagabond is really a special work of its own.

The story is superb. It's primarily about Miyamoto Musashi and his journey to become "Invincible under the Sun." Why? Well, that's also part of the journey. As he matures, he realizes what it really means to be such a man. The sword fighting is brutally realistic but balanced with the characters' thoughts on how their lives revolve around it. This isn't a "save the world from evil" kind of plot. It's just people living how they can in a very rough time in history. Every character is genuine with their own history.



The art is wonderful, no exaggeration. It's the sort that makes me both sad with envy and jealously motivated. It's starts off mainly using pen but later moves into more and more brushwork and washes. Words can't do it justice, so you'll have to settle for these pictures or looking up more for yourself.


It's very philosophical for a comic. The funny thing is, I felt like a lot of what was being said about swordsmanship and life also reflected art. Although that may not be a coincidence since Musashi demonstrated great artistry in his later years.

One of my favorite parts like this was Musashi trying to cut through a snowman with a twig. After some reflection, he trusts in the tool rather than his own conceptions. "There... I feel it in my fingertips. The weight of the twig." His movements start to change and at that moment he remarks, "I can't help but smile" as he cuts through the snowman.

I've had that feeling before, probably discovering a new way to hold a brush or such, so seeing it reflected in such a way was a surprise and a joy. I also had to smile.

Ai deshou?

As someone who has spent much of their time changing faces to suit the situation, I forget who I am sometimes. When that happens, I just go back and remember what makes me smile. Because those memories are constant and at the root of my being.

My love, my passion.

So here is one facet of my love: old books.

Old books are a combination that I absolutely adore: history and the printed word. Before internet, before computers, before even movies, this was our way of spreading information and entertainment. This was our advancement.


I bought this book some years ago, with very little information on it. The online seller put the bare minimum up about it, probably due to English not being their first language, but the pictures sold me on it. When I first opened the package, it was love at first sight. The book was so fragile, I was almost afraid to touch it. Every page is thinner and more delicate than newspaper, almost fabric, like a dollar bill that has gone through the wash too many times. The whole book itself sags under its own weight if not supported properly.


I decided to get more information about it. The problem was I only knew a moderate amount of Japanese, and even then the cursive script of this era was unreadable to me. So I decided to use what sources I had: my professors. Luckily for me, I was taking World History at the time with Dr. Lutz. She agreed to look over the book for me with her coworkers. Interestingly, even though I told her what to expect, she still seemed delightfully surprised when I brought it in.

She brought it back a couple of days later, resealed in its original mailing package inside an archival box, along with small packet of information. Dr. Lutz told me that her coworkers were amazed by my book and pointed out certain highlights in the information packet. Apparently it is an issue of Kinmo zui Taisei by Tekisai Nakamura and Shusui Shimokobe from 1789. A sort-of encyclopedia with short descriptions and an accompanying illustration.


These are the only pages scanned because I like to handle this book as little as possible. Just peeling apart the pages is nerve-wracking because every crease has been there longer than I have been alive. It has a few holes from where small bugs have eaten through as well, but those in itself are amusing because you can trace where an insect burrowed through five pages decades ago.

How did I get this book?

Ebay. For only $100.

The internet is a magical place.

Twenty-Four

My birthday was last week, the day before Thanksgiving. Since it always falls on the same week as Thanksgiving, my friends are usually out of town or with their families so I spend it with my sister. Dinner and drinks.

No parties, no presents. And lately, since I've started working in a bakery, no cake because I've gotten sick of it.

But something different did happen this year. I happened to be working and word got around about my birthday. Or rather, one very loud friend of my mother decided to run down the entire bakery and deli to announce it.

Later, one of the managers brought me this cactus.

And then the bistro area broke out into song.

After I got over the initial shock, I smiled and decided it was a good year.

Music Blend - Jero

Didn't have time to work on the experiment (napping and adventuring was had) so instead I thought that maybe once in awhile I'd showcase my odd taste in music.

Today, you get African-American enka (1940's traditional Japanese ballads) singer, Jero.



Inheriting his love for the melodramatic genre from his Japanese grandmother, he's the first black enka singer in history and has won over not only the older enka audience but brought in a younger generation of fans.



He didn't understand the actual words of the songs growing up, but said that he could still feel the "heart" behind them and thus fell in love with it. I think that for both music and art, breaking language barriers and having the feeling behind the work move the audience is the greatest achievement.

Exhaustion

A little nonsense now and then

is relished by the wisest men

Spotlight - Magnetic Movie

Magnetic Movie from Semiconductor on Vimeo.

"In Magnetic Movie, Semiconductor have taken the magnificent scientific visualisations of the sun and solar winds conducted at the Space Sciences Laboratory and Semiconducted them. Ruth Jarman and Joe Gerhardt of Semiconductor were artists-in-residence at SSL. Combining their in-house lab culture experience with formidable artistic instincts in sound, animation and programming, they have created a magnetic magnum opus in nuce, a tour de force of a massive invisible force brought down to human scale, and a "very most beautiful thing.""

Beautiful, indeed.

More info on the creators here.

Nautilus

On Wednesday, someone asked me what my "drawing animal" was, and I automatically replied, the nautilus. It's a funny animal that I think I resemble the most: elusive, awkwardly cute, and runs into things because it can't see where it's going.

It is in my nature to look behind me as a nautilus does. As both an artist and art historian, I look behind me at what others have done. Even if they lived a thousand years before me, doesn't that mean that I should have the same (if not better) tools and materials as they did? What's stopping me from painting like Rembrandt or carving a piece on the same level as Angkor Wat?

...a lot of things, really, but lack of effort and inspiration won't be among them.

The "drawing animal" question was asked on the day I attended a drawing event at school, despite no longer being a student. Wholeheartedly, I enjoyed it. Bouncing off the energy that everyone was putting in. Action and reaction. Punchlines and laughter. Dancing and embarrassment. No one "owned" that drawing, just as no one "owned" that moment. It was ours. And it was shared.

But when the time came to leave, I hesitated and pressed the elevator button with my back turned to it; facing the work and people I wasn't sure if I would see again. The walk to the station felt particularly quiet and lonely that night.

Always the nautilus, I look back and watch it all. Learning. Changing. But could I, should I turn my eyes forward and look ahead for what may be? Certainly I would go faster and spare myself some pain, yet the cost may be forgetting not only those who pass out of sight, but myself as well.

I don't know the answer. I hope I find it one day.

Yin and Yang, Pen and Paper

Contrasts are some of my favorite things. Gears within a clock. Songs without lyrics. Milk in coffee.

That was one of the reasons I started to use ink.

It was only recently that I would even think to pick up a pen instead of pencil. Pencil was safe. Not only did it have an eraser, but could also be used lightly if you were scared. But then I noticed that a lot of my work looked quite the same. Very soft, very unsure. I wanted to make a decision. To be bolder, more confident. I needed to go black and white.

So from then on, the pen slowly crept into my toolbox. My first love was the gummy, but stable ink of an old ball point. Then, I later became acquainted with a very fine, quick-to-the-point detail pen. And I eventually came to know the free flow stylings of an unpredictable nib pen.

With ink, I only have two choices: Is it there, or is it not? The illusion of depth can come later, depending on how close you want to force "there" and "not there" together.

But the balance of contrasts has leaked into my entire work ethic. When I work on something that needs intense concentration, I prefer the work area to be a war zone. It is in the mess that I feel the need to make sense of things. But if I am working on something that needs free movement and spontaneity, everything needs to be pristine and out of my way. Like leaping into fresh fallen snow.

So at the moment, this is how I live my life. Balancing what I should and should not. Can and cannot. And just for fun, maybe, I'll run in the opposite direction to see what happens.

Arts and Crafts and Fire

A house burned down in my neighborhood yesterday, sometime after 3am. A few months ago, the building next to my sister's apartment also went up in flames. In both cases, no one was hurt. In both cases, I've had to take my usual walk right next door. Since I didn't have to dwell too much on my own bittersweet mortality, my mind wandered to where it usually does: art.

Fire, violent and impetuous, is part of our artist hive mind of symbolism. Both destroyer and creator, it's the glue that holds together the mobius strip of life itself. Western culture's example of this is seen best with the phoenix, reborn from it's own ashes. Southeast Asia has its own distinctive motif to represent the concept:

This curling, almost feather-like design is central to most traditional Buddhist Thai art and used on houses, temples, and decorative work. It can symbolize two things depending on form and context: Kranok - the cleansing flame of Buddhism, or Kanok - humanity's flame of impulsiveness and passion, which can be quelled by Buddhist teachings to reach enlightenment.

Like what happens to many religious motifs, its mythological intent slips further away as it usage becomes more decorative. Here is the same motif, but highly stylized:


This is the top of a small craft box I bought from a tourist shop in Chiang Mai. The motif is simplified to the point of lines and dots, made to sell to silly travelers like me. Furthermore, it was a cheaper, hand-painted alternative to the gold leaf lacquer boxes of nagas and elephants. Whether or not the painter knew the history of the iconography wasn't what he was hired for. He was hired to paint as many as he could as fast as he could.

And yet I love it dearly.

The thin, precise lines of acrylic paint bring me great joy, combined with the S-curves I use so much in my own work. Lovely stops, starts, and flourishes. I'd like to think that the painter could make lovely original work with lines like these. For what it is and its possibilities, it's terribly charming, this art-inspired handicraft.

Am I contributing to the dilution of art into craft? Maybe. But maybe art and academia need to be set alight once in awhile so it can be reborn as well. And then later on, when the position has come full circle, we can have this discussion again from the other side.

Artist Spotlight - Felice Varini

If you ever needed an artist to mess with your sense of perspective, it's Felice Varini. He's a Swiss artist who works in painting large-scale environments to be seen from a single point. The above photo is in no way digitally manipulated. Here's the same work from a different angle:

As usual, the whole "But is it art?" debate crops up among critics and scholars. I'll keep my thoughts on that long-running issue to another post, but in Varini's particular case, I'd say the he's putting a twist or even reversal of the traditional trompe-l'œil. Instead of 3D illusion on a 2D plane, it's a 2D illusion on a 3D environment. Especially in this time of computers and digital art, when his work is viewed on the internet, the initial reaction is usually a disbelieving "Why is that photoshopped on there?"

For more his website is here (in French.) After you select a work, click on "hors point de vue" for other points of view.

A room with a view - part II

This is Wat Arun in Bangkok, Thailand. There are better and more photogenic views of it, but this picture stayed in my memory because of where it was taken: a squatters' home.

One of the professors, being in very good standing with the local community for his historic conservation work of the area, had a friend who took all of us on an unofficial tour through the back alleyways and shops. We passed a butcher's, a fish market, an ice maker, an impromptu garden, and a few other non-tourist places, eventually coming to the squatters.

Their home was a makeshift of aluminum sheets, boxes, and old advertisement banners, divided to give each their own privacy. The common area opened up to a small dock into the humble view of Wat Arun above. It was funny because we didn't actually see many of the squatters. They didn't care that we, a bunch of westerners, had just barged in and looked around. But they were there, definitely. I could hear them just casually chatting, occasionally a chicken would also pipe up. There were even a couple of beautifully cut beer can windchimes spinning happily in the breeze.

I thought it would be rude to take a picture of the inside of their actual home, so instead I directed the camera to the view to keep the memory. These people were not "sad" or "poor" in the very least. They had their home, their health, and the view. That was enough.

Conductor

I was once told that I draw like a conductor.

Thinking back on my own gesture drawings, the comment was pretty on-mark. A baton has a lot of power in it, even though it isn't the actual producer of the music. It's direction and discipline. Held with a practiced, but flowing gesture.

I recall instinctive straight lines with small flourishes on the ends. Curls instead of points. Attempting accuracy without coldness.

I'm actually very jealous of those with musical talent. Notes and sounds can be universally understood and move people without the benefit of common language. So art became my instrument. I haven't quite fine tuned it yet, but I keep practicing and learning. Listening to those who came before me. The goal isn't a bigger audience, but to create a sound that resonates.

Artist Spotlight - Jung Kwang

"I never hurt anyone by my actions. I am a Buddhist mop. A mop is something that gets dirty itself but makes everything it touches clean."

Jung Kwang is a Korean Buddhist monk who practices what he calls "unlimited action." Unlike the traditional monk, he gambles, has sex, swears, goes where he pleases, etc. and does so without any sense of remorse or guilt. Literally having "no limits." Jung Kwang in no way encourages others to do the same, but says that in doing so he serves true Buddhism to remind others of their own habits and patterns.

He applies "unlimited action" to art as well, being described as in a sort of drunken trance, before suddenly descending upon the paper in a whirlwind of focus.

"Look at that line. It is the line of enlightenment. There is only one line like that in the universe, and it will never be made again. You cannot think to make such a line and succeed; it must come from having no limits to your action of painting the line."

I only happened to find out about Jung Kwang when I picked up a small, grey unmarked book "The Mad Monk" in the library (ND 2073.6 .Z8 J862). I'm very fond of his word puzzles. His intention to create a dialogue of actions was something I understood very well. It wasn't "good" versus "bad," just action and reaction. And if he stumps you, then you have something more to think about. If you answer back, then he smiles and starts again. He lives as he paints as he practices. If only we could all be so lucky.

"But Jung-Kwang, I'm only half-done."

"Which half? Quick, show me."

Artist Spotlight - Zdzisław Beksiński

Beksinski was a polish painter whose work was often seen as grotesque but morbidly fascinating. He's been compared to H.R. Giger before, but I believe Giger's work to have a more metallic, machine feel to them compared to Beksinski's hyper-organic figures and landscapes.

Personally, I like that even though they have a haunting feeling about them, some (like the above) have a sense of humor or sometimes even a bit of hope. They're interesting themes to put together. I'm currently working on a series of mythological creatures, so maybe I'll draw on this style with the more horrifying ones.

When Beksinski was found murdered in his home, some of us joked that his creations had finally come to life and done him in. We laughed, but nervously.

...just don't visit his website before you go to sleep.

The Artist's Dilemma

I've been put in the awkward position I'm sure most artists have gone through. A relative has asked me to paint a piece to put in their home. The usual questions are asked: What would you like? Certain colors important? What sort of style? Size? Placement?

The initial answers to all of the above were a resounding "I dunno. Surprise me."

Sigh.

We did eventually narrow it down to an Asian subject in a European style, inspired by the client flipping through an art history book of mine and seeing Delacroix's Algerian Women in their Apartments (detail below)


I've already gathered research materials, various pose sketches, etc. but still have the nagging thought in the back of my head: "I don't really want to do this." Making something specifically to put up on a wall has always been dreadful for me. The need for it to become a "pretty," finished piece.

To illustrate, just recently my sister came into my room and noticed one of my larger canvas. She promptly yelled, "Oh my god, what is that?!" It was a non-traditional self-portrait in which I was exploring a non-traditional muse of mine, the embodiment of Envy. Needless to say, he's not something you'd want to show guests. I like him very much.

That sort of expectation puts me off of being any sort of professional artist. I'd much rather be left to my own devices, having a chat with my canvas or questioning the validity of my pen's remarks. But unfortunately, I'm aware the world doesn't work that way. I will paint my client's wishes for a tiny profit and she will tell her friends. They, in turn, might ask me to do the same. And so on and so forth.

And hopefully, if I'm lucky, I'll have enough to get by so I can continue doing what I love. Such is life.