The Beasts online and in the pantry

Three holistic sleeping pills, two hours,  a movie later, and no sleep. I pretty much can’t rest and decided to write about an odd experience today (as if they don’t happen at least once a day). Wide awake from my non-adventurous day, I decided to check my email ten minutes ago (11:30 p.m.). While signing on to my gmail, I also signed on to aim. After indulging in two conversations, another chat box opens. It’s a random person that I don’t know. He extends a terse “hey” and asks if I was looking for some guy named “Sean.” To my surprise, I declined and went about my business. He then asks if  he knew me. LOL I’m sorry…shouldn’t you ask yourself that question before you IM someone? In any case, he asked if I knew him. In my mind a slew of “OHHH NO WHAT WAS HIS NAME AGAIN?” and “THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING TO ME!” flashed across my mind as I wracked my brain, trying to figure out who this person was. This was probably the most random conversation I’ve had all year. To my disfortune, I never figured out who he was nor did he figure out who I was. Was this a scheme? Was this some random Joe out there toying with me? Probably so. Eh…it’s not that important. (who am I kidding? if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have made the blog) Ok, so it was plain weird but hilarious.

I was thinking about joining this organization that raises awareness on “going green.” Something to the effect of recycling, bettering the environment, etc. I love this earth, then I remembered my vehement display of anger when killing that wad of ants in the pantry this morning…maybe I won’t be joining this group. I seriously can’t stand ants. Where did they come from, and how did they get in the pantry? There wasn’t even a trail leading to the windows or doors! Sneaky little beasts!

This concludes my madness for tonight.

Goodnight

Alter Ego Performance Art

As promised, here are a few performances of my fellow artist friends. The idea is to perform from the perspectives of our Alter Egos. (my alter ego is a snobbish social authority…no I will not post my performance)

The guy in the green dress playing the guitar is supposed to be a girl from another planet playing in a rock band. The movie is dark on purpose. Yes, it also has a blurred/watercolor filter on it. No you’re not seeing things.

The portly gentleman is dressed in a flowery 90’s get up AND pink tights. No pants. Just pink tights. His name is Jack…he’s the best. He did an odd robot performance…yes he danced to some music too…in his tights.

Eerie Dream

This strange nightmare occurred this morning after my second attempt to wake up. I dreamt that I was staying at an enormous mansion with my aunts and cousins. I went to take a shower in my aunt’s suite and found that her restroom was occupied. Luckily I found an individual shower by the front door. In the middle of my “cleansing” I realized that she was out of shampoo, so I tip-toed through the hall to find my cousin Ludy. I ran into this suspicious man who turned out to be my aunt’s house guest. After a few days, I realized that this man was wanted for several international crimes. He was a serial killer and had just murdered a lady in the neighboring town. As I read the online article, the middle-aged, balding, Italian man was standing behind me. Realizing that his cover had been blown, the portly man proceeded to strangle me in the corner of a coat closet. I felt the air leaving my body and struggled to push him away.  I pulled out my knife and stabbed the guy repeatedly, which was successful for a few seconds before he pulled out his cleaver. Luckily, I pried my way free from his grasp and ran off, but my cousin went after him and was badly sliced in several areas. I couldn’t even watch because it was so gruesome and gory. There was blood splatters everywhere. The guy threw his knife and yelled, “I’m going to cut you where it hurts the most.” Right then, I saw the blade hit the wall and split into four pieces. I’m assuming that the blades hit members of my family or loved ones because at the end of the dream there was a funeral. All I remember seeing was rain coming down like in the monsoon season and pictures of people’s ankles.  I remember seeing children’s shoes alongside the feet of adults. I had the feeling like it was a large funeral for more than one person. It was so morbid and horrid that I woke up. Eerie isn’t it?

Fluxus Scores

In preparation for my sculpting “Alter Ego” project, my class joined in on a bit of social experimentation.  We patterned our exercises after Joseph Beuy’s Fluxus manifesto and walked around UH campus doing “artistic” things as the drab engineers called it. My group of four came up with the idea for the entire class to collectively go to the restroom, which entailed all of us to stand in a long line, five paces apart, trailing to the bathroom; whistle while walking backwards; give the person behind you a high-five once reached, and the last person sprinting to the restroom door must stomp five times. The experiment was a success that drew much attention from curious eyes wandering through the halls of the School of Art. The next experiment was concocted by Jack, an ecclectic friend who always keeps me laughing. We trotted down the street to the engineering building, entered the computer lab full of stressed engineering students, and began to fall asleep on the floor. This also drew attention as the students in the lab looked mortified and distraught. Camera flashes disturbed our slumber, and after about ten to fifteen minutes, all thirty of us arose, shook the dust off, and exited the stale atmosphere. Comically, some thought our experiment to be a protest. I loved the part where a few students asked us, “Are you guys from that Liberal School?” I think they meant “Liberal Arts School.” YES, WE ARE. We all laughed as we ran to the green, shaded lawn in front of the Arcitechture building to discuss the success of our Fluxus Scores. Oh yes, our TA (Teacher’s Assistant) was in on the situation as well. Somehow, this social experiment has caused our Sculpting group to share a closer bond. There is a warm comeraderie that wasn’t there prior to these projects. I finally decided to take home my three-foot, metal, banana sculpture that I made for the last project. Still no pictures. I’ll post them in the near future. My nostalgic film project was a success as was my “Charlie Chaplin Meets Hitchcock” piece for my Photo class. Things seem to be looking up. Honestly, I never thought that I’d end up doing documentary work, installation art, and photography for a living. I never thought myself gifted enough to make it as an artist. Ironically, I’ve slowly found that  all artists feel this way at some point in their lives. As a video artist, I’ve always found my work ecclectic. As a photographer, I always felt that I was living in the shadow of my father’s paved pathway. People knew me through the perspective of my father’s work.  I’m glad to be breaking out into a different direction, a different perspective. I’m thankful for a father who opened the door for me but glad to have a style to call my very own. In my installation work, I’ve found many scars and bruises but much satisfaction. Sometimes, I wonder which of the three I truly favor more than the other. I love them all, especially when my ideas call for large scale projects. Who knows, maybe I’ll start on that seven foot metal sculpture that I said that I’d always do.

Here’s to a great week, Cheers!

Love,

Ari

Coping

Every now and then, I sift through my Calvin and Hobbes books just for laughs. I opened the book and stumbled upon this particular piece. “How appropriate,” I thought. The funeral was yesterday.  I showed up at around nine thirty in the morning and waited for all the guests to arrive. I was ambushed by embraces and kisses…Hispanics. As the service commenced, I calmly sat as a guy led us in a few songs. I honestly never felt more numb in my entire life. I just sat there, frozen in disbelief. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. All I could do was stare off into space as tears streamed down my face. The sermon wasn’t so bad.  I escaped the scene around two, hugged and kissed my cousins, aunts, and uncles goodbye  and scurried on home to change. I was evading them. I wasn’t in the mood for interacting with the people that reminded me of her.   Most of my family came in from out of town and I feel horrible that I’m not up to par to entertain them.  On the way to hang out with some friends, I told myself that I would deal with it later, so I brushed my issue aside in attempts to convince myself that everything was fine. You would’ve never known that I had just come from my grandmother’s funeral by evidence of my calm and cheerful demeanor, but I knew what I was facing on the inside as things slowly kept eating away at  me. This morning I woke up early and went to church. It was during service, that everything came flooding through my mind and, for a few minutes, I felt incapacitated. I have good days and bad days, but what I cling to the most is the word given by God, in Isaiah 41:10,  to “be not dismayed, for I will strengthen you, help you, and uphold you.” There have been days, since her passing, where I wake up rejoicing that she’s in a better place; however, there are those instances where I think about her and find myself weeping because I miss her so much. No, I haven’t completely dealt with her death, but I’m taking it one day at a time, getting stronger as each day passes. Still, I find myself thinking, “Lord, I don’t feel like being strong anymore…be strong for me.” It has been difficult to write for the past few weeks because it’s in my quiet times that I’m forced to face reality all over again. Today wasn’t the best days, but I’m certain that there will be better days, brighter days.

Love,

Ari

Watching Someone Die

In my previous entry, I mentioned that my dying Guelita, grandmother, evacuated to my place to escape the floods of Hurricane Ike. I also stated that her cirrhosis of the liver has progressively gotten worse. She has maybe a few days left of life, which is amazing since she was supposed to have passed a couple years back when first diagnosed. Cirrhosis of the liver is a disease marked by degeneration of cells, inflammation, and fibrous thickening of tissue. People who drink usually get this, but others with Hepatitis also contract this disease. She never drank a drop of alcohol in her life but did contract Hepatitis.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this. Maybe, I feel like getting this off my chest. Ashamedly, I’m afraid to watch my grandma die. It’s like watching a gruesome act of violence. I never had to sit and watch someone die, especially someone related. When my beloved Lito, grandpa, died I was here in the states studying for final exams. I never got to see his dead body or attend the funeral because it was in Mexico where he passed. He was away at his house in Mexico and was only supposed to be gone for a few months. He was supposed to come back and never did. I waited. I waited for him to come back and he never did. He never came back to kiss my forehead and tell me about his stay. Sometimes, I feel like he’s still away on vacation. Sometimes I wake up and find myself missing him. I miss his hugs and how he was so sentimental. I miss his bad habits, his pranks, his love. I miss our adventures. After the scare of almost losing my mom, he stayed with me in the waiting room. He’s gone now and there are no waiting rooms, no hugs, no kisses, no silly dances, no pranks.

I feel it happening all over again. My grandma is dying right before my eyes. The worst part is that I’m forced to sit and watch. I have to watch her in the peak of her dimensia. I have to watch her mumble in her sleep, talking to my dead relatives. I have to watch like a helpless little child. Her bright blue eyes have faded into grey pools of weariness. She has forgotten my brothers but still manages to remember me. She asks for me by name and it tears me to shreds because I feel so pathetically paralyzed, especially in her time of need. I want to run and help her. I wish I could do something but can’t budge a muscle. I can’t do anything to save her. I can’t take away her pain. I can’t buy her more time when God is calling her to come home. It scares me when I hear her gasping at night because I soon realize that each breath might be her last. I know that it’s her time to go, but I can’t sit and watch her life leave her body. It’s torture. It pricks me like millions of glass shards. It’s hard when someone you love is suffering. I know she’ll soon be in a better place. I was never as close to her as I was with my grandpa, but out of all her grandchildren, I was the closest. She raised me while my parents were at work and used to yell at me in Spanish to frighten the mischief out of me. As a child, I remember walking with my hand in hers, the umbrella in the other, as we took my older brother to school. We would pick strawberries in the garden at home. We always had strawberries and oatmeal for breakfast. She made me soup when I was sick and would tell me all about the family history before I went to sleep.

I feel like doing what I did as a child when I was scared or in an awkward situation: I’d run as fast as I could to my hideout under my bed with hands covering my ears and eyes so tightly shut that I saw dots. “Such a strong and courageous woman who isn’t afraid to live,” is what friends used to comment about me. At this moment, I feel that statement the farthest from the truth. Sure, I’m not afraid to live my life or risk it. Sure, I have little fears. No, I’m not afraid to stare death in the eyes, knowing that it will never make me succumb to fear it. What of all this talk of bravery now, Ari? What a slap in the face! When the life of one of my family members is at stake, I want so desperately to switch places to end their suffering. I’m not so brave when it comes to losing the people I love. As Christians, we know that when one of us dies, our spirit immediately enters the presence of God. One of our own graduates to the next life. “It’s her time,” I hear God saying. It melts me everytime I hear it and wish that I could sleep and not watch her in the midst of anguish but sleep does not come. The other day, I was finishing up a sculpture that cracked. I had to start all over. For a moment there, I wanted to cry because I too felt as if I had cracked. I cracked inside but did not allow it to be seen. I feel like my heart is cracking and breaking into millions of pieces. I know that this too shall pass but pray that it passes quickly. I pray that the peace of God fills me to where I no longer feel sorrow but joy that one of my own will be in a better place. Still, I find myself asking God the same question I’ve been asking Him my entire life,”why do I love so deeply?” Why do You allow me to love people so deeply, knowing that it’ll break me in the end?

Hurricane Ike

What an eventful past couple of days. I honestly did not expect for this hurricane to worsen to this extent. I didn’t expect long lines wrapping around the freeway for gas, looting, high water, no power for two days, and powerful winds.

I was at work when the day before the storm hit and half my friends were called to evacuate. I knew that I was nowhere near the coast so I’d be safe. I also completely forgot about the heavy winds that usually come with hurricane weather. The day the storm hit, I was at a friend’s house watching movies. It wasn’t until that night that I realized how serious the storm had hit. I heard the branches outside snapping in the wind and brushed it aside. I figured that my branches needed some pruning but did not anticipate that the over-sized pine tree branch would hit the light pole causing it to lean and tilt towards the neighbors’ house.
My dying grandmother had evacuated to my house in order to escape the flood waters. It didn’t help that her illness had progressed as she slowly became delusional, mumbling nonsensical things in her slumber that sent chills up my spine. Over her stay, her condition worsened as she lost motor skills, which intensified the situation even more especially when dementia kicked in. Her heavy gasps of air frightens me as I’m reminded of my grandfather’s death. I’m almost afraid to come home in the incident that I might find her passed away. Yes, she’s being cared for by my mom, but I’m not sure if I can handle losing her this way. I don’t want her dying in my house to be the last memory I have of her, especially when I know she’s in pain and has forgotten where she’s at. I also had eerie dreams that night, which deprived me of some much needed sleep. I first had a dream about a guy who I was supposed to marry. He was the perfect guy; charming, Christian, and witty. He even picked out the perfect ring which was a 20’s style ring. His mother even cried when he proposed, but the scene changed and I remember being tragically forced to marry a different guy who ran off with another girl at our wedding reception, leaving me the responsibility of having to annul the marriage. It was definitely not a pleasant dream at all. When I awoke the next morning, the power was still out. It was humid and raining.
I walked out to two different scenes:

the shingles had been ripped from the roof

It wasn’t so bad as the next picture

Apparently, the pine tree in my front yard decided to break apart during the heavy winds and crash into the light pole. This morning when we tried to cut it down, we realized that it was the only thing keeping the light pole from crashing down in our neighbors’ yard.

It has been one loooong weekend. School is closed, work is closed, a few exhibitions were canceled, and projects delayed due to this storm.
Taking into account all that has occurred, I haven’t let these things get me down. I am excited for the Andy Warhol exhibit at the Blaffer Gallery, The Secret Handshake concert, and finishing my sculptures. I have until tomorrow to finish my sculptures…it’s going to be a long day but am glad to have electricity back. It was starting to feel like a sauna in this house.

Hope all is well!

Love,
Ari

So One Sided

The problem with secret love is that it feels so one-sided. I’m smitten and don’t know what to do. I think that I might just go a little nuts. Oh how I hide it well. You’d never know, but I know. I know that it eats away at me slowly. I’m tempted to just say it aloud so the whole world can hear me. Maybe then it just might fade away. No. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t. I’ve been trying to make it fade for some time now. I figure that if I busy myself, I won’t think about it so much. It doesn’t work. I figure if I date other people, it’ll drift away like a forgotten dream. It never happens. If for but one second, I could forget…I can’t. Lord, help me. I think I’m crazy. Please give me back my sanity.

Love,
Ari

P.S. Green tea ice cream is the BEST!!!!

Insufficiency, Projects, and Random Scruples

    “How did I plan this moment―with much pleasure. (The Count of Monte Cristo the movie) When I ponder over this short week and all the events that have occurred, one word instantly comes to mind―constructive. My schedule has been overbooked with projects, events, work, church, and everything else you can imagine. I’m currently piecing together two designs: one for a monument, the other for an eclectic artwork. Aside from my large scale pieces, I have a drawing assignment that’ll keep me company this weekend along with an exciting photo project on dreams and fantasies. I’ll still manage to make it out to a few events but am certain that a heavy cloud called ”sleep” will be a little non-existent this weekend.

    I noticed an ongoing trend with a large number of people nowadays. People have grown lazy and insufficient. People always want instant service all the time. I blame McDonalds for this (not entirely). I don’t understand what sets people off, what makes them so impatient. A perfect example would be your typical “houstonian road-rage driver.” You can see them tailgating others, dodging in and out of traffic, and honking at every little stop. What causes them to be so impatient? (it’s the McDonald’s mentality) Sometimes, I wonder if fastfood has ruined our society by creating the ideology that “you can have it your way, or when you order it.” Reality check, people. YOU CAN’T HAVE EVERYTHING YOUR WAY OR WHEN YOU DEMAND IT. Yelling at the top of your lungs isn’t going to make people want to serve you in a quicker fashion. A simple, genteel, “PLEASE” still works wonders in most, if not all, societies. Where did we go wrong? When did people stop reading signs? When did people stop being self-sufficient in some areas?  Some things baffle my mind.

 

Love,

Ari

I asked God who I’m supposed to be

After a few weeks of registering students, transcripts, and answering redundant questions, I’ve finally settled down for an update. I’m suddenly starting to regret passing on that vacation that I had planned mid-summer. Next year will definitely be different.

What can I say? Classes are great! I’m almost done and am starting to think about grad school in the near future. I’ve made some careful consideration as to location and living arrangements. One thing’s for sure, Liana, we will be taking that trip to Scotland once this is over! It’s the first week, and I’m already swamped with five projects due in two weeks. I have two large scale sculpture works of art to design and produce. There’s a photo project due by the time I get back from this holiday weekend and another video art piece that I’m supposed to be coming up with. In other words, it’s design work around the clock. I’m simply enjoying my artistic projects but somehow managed to forget that my birthday is on Sunday, especially seeing how I was planning to go with a friend to Austin this weekend. It’s being postponed til next weekend.
I knew that things would be abnormally busy once classes started up again but did not anticipate all this. It was one early morning around four in the morning that I began to write. I asked God who I was supposed to be. “What do you want me to be? Where do you want me to go?” Sometimes, we get so caught up with ourselves, that we tell God what we want to be instead of asking what HE wants us to be. I find it comical because all this searching and “trying to find your place in life” will cease once you finally find what you’re called to do, once you ask Him and wait for His answer. I know it’s certainly easier said than done. Thankfully, some are called to do more than one thing in life. It’s also nice to be reminded of the things that we hold close to our hearts. In all my toiling, I haven’t forgotten who I am. It’s easy to slip away when everything is pulling you in every direction. It’s alone at night, in the stillness of the night, that I can hear my thoughts perfectly clear. It’s then that I feel things supernaturally laying themselves out. It’s almost as if during my slumber, a path is created and prepared for me to walk in the very next morning that I awake. I can hear the voice of reason inside beckoning to me. Things are different this year. It’s funny how much we can grow in just one year. One year of preparation, working, watching, and being cast out on the waters will force you to face life. Life slapped me around a few times these past few years. I don’t regret a single moment.

Some Interesting Tid-bits:

-Andy Warhol’s works are being exhibited in the Blaffer Gallery at UH on Sept. 13 I’ll be there
-I cracked the face of my cellphone
-A new short video is in the making
-I’ve started making the wallets for each of you who inquired about them
-Nancy I haven’t started on making your purse…maybe this weekend
-I can’t wait for the Austin road trip!!!!!