something to look out for!

oooh!!

a love letter

...your latest photos...I don't know. I don't know you. Of course not. But the world you inhabit, the spaces you move through. You breathe. Looking at your latest pictures makes me fall desperately in love with you, this person I don't know, and never will. What a crazy, stupid thing to say. Don't worry. It's nothing. Perhaps I've had too much wine. Nevertheless. Nevermind.

perhaps the sweetest, and only, love letter (of sorts) that i've ever gotten. i've been a romantic, a cynic, and then a romantic-in-denial. the evolution. the degeneration. but i guess i do believe in Love. especially in that of a stranger's. possibly because the distance makes it so surreal. and thus, easier to believe. the irony of it all. nevertheless. nevermind.

catalog | updated

the disembodied genius

my lovely friend, chand, recently linked me to this TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of

Eat, Pray, Love. brilliant discussion.

the disembodied genius. the idea that our creative processes involve an other-ly intervention or contribution. that it is not fully our own. that we do not own it. that it comes from nowhere and everywhere. and would leave when the work is done. to be passed on to another. for another creation to be manifested. across time and space.

i've always believed in the idea of the cosmos and how inspirations, ideas, dreams, aspirations, and messages of the many exist within it. released. let loose. or sometimes lost. and i believe in the presence of the divine who artfully crafts opportune chances for the meeting between these floating specters and their medium, the artist. a collaboration, as Gilbert beautifully puts it. collaborations that can happen anytime. anywhere.

interestingly, i find my meetings with such specters mostly contained within the four walls of the toilet. restroom. bathroom. pee-pee place. whatever it is called. i never linger long in the loo. for good reason. but i would be in the midst of sorting out laundry for the week when, POOF! in the middle of a shower. POOF! in the middle of the blessed* act of shitting. POOF!

*i consider shitting a blessing as i believe the human body would not be able to contain itself had it not been given an outlet for release. as the saying goes, what goes in, must come out. so that more can come in. again. and out. again.*

hence, i consider myself lucky for being chosen for collaborations without having to wait it out for centuries in that one space. waiting to be hit by the apple in the head. or having to travel to the end and back. but then again, i have been told that some of my ideas are crappy. shitty. but i suppose, it's better to be crafted as a vessel than a plastic plateau that simply allows for everything or anything that wants to latch on, be wiped away. the important thing is, to become. to become a vessel for something. anything. and then to act with it. accordingly. poetically.

of fate, freckled pages, & an uncracked spine

i just finished reading Veronika decides to die by Coelho. i've been meaning to read it for a while now but didn't for i believe that my relationship with books, like love, exists and is run by fate. i read a book when i am fated to read it, even if the book is within my possession and i find my hours in the day sauntering away. each time i finally read a particular title is when, at that point in time i find myself searching for an answer, to something. answers that most amazingly grow in the pages of the book. as we are all permitted our idiosyncratic ways of reasoning, pray, leave me with mine as i sway a little into another story about fate.

i believe that i am fated to do 'art'. i took art classes when i was a youngling. an eager girl who spent her afternoons after school tracing pictures of flowers and animals from huge encyclopedias. words didn't interest me. i derived immense pleasure from holding a crayon in my hand. second skin. its somewhat hard clay-like texture felt normal against my rough skin. i also loved it when crayon got under my nails. as i was a nail-biter, i found myself on several occasions swallowing small deposits of crayon buried under my nails. i've since however, stopped.

art class. i won second prize for the school's art competition drawing dinosaurs (long necks). using crayons, i drew three long necks, a mom, a dad, and their child. the typical family unit. mother insisted that i not draw the 'm' birds -those that children would usually draw- as those were 'modern' birds which did not exist in the time of dinosaurs. in her eyes, my drawing would lose its authenticity. she specifically said that if i wanted to draw 'birds', they would have to be those 'dinosaur birds'. the pterodactyl. winged lizards. not birds after all. but i didn't know how to draw those 'dinosaur birds' and my sky in the drawing was looking too empty. and so i drew in the 'm' birds. the fake birds. a lot of them. i won the second prize. there was however a girl in my class who knew how to draw a real bird. she drew a parrot so perfectly shaped and colored for the competition. it was green and had a sharp beak. she won the first prize.

i'm sure it wasn't because i didn't win the first prize, but my parents soon reprimanded me whenever i decided to draw and trace. i should have been studying instead. and so i studied.

i took art for my 'O' levels and did very well in it. i got an A and with encouragement from my art teacher, was determined to head to the local art college. this didn't sit well with my parents, especially my mom. no future in being an artist. and so i headed to college to do my 'A' levels. and then university. and then had thoughts of doing a PhD, until finally, i reach this point in my life where i'm revisited by art yet again. through photography, tea bags, and ink, i've become addicted to art and it is something that i plan to start and finish, even if it means i'll have to learn to draw a 'real bird'. i've since recently purchased, after 14 years, a new box of crayons. pastels!

they're still delicious!

so yes. i believe that i am fated to do art. even though it took me many, many years to actualize and chart its path in my life. i believe it as much as i believe that i was fated to finally read Veronika decides to die, for, having refused to spend $26 on it at BORDERS, i finally got to it at a second-hand bookstore at Bras Basah complex two days ago. it was priced at $5.90. and even though the cover and pages have been freckled by time and the sun, its spine was still uncracked. i fell in love. instantly. and i got some answers.

condoms

it's fun coming up with titles

especially when it's funny

and slightly disturbing to some

some

2010

was out and about yesterday, running errands. went to get some paper and envelops at a local bookstore and saw a table filled with 2010 planners. next year is looming ahead. already. i have always been a firm believer of planners. daily planners. this doesn't necessarily make me a 'planner'. at least i think not. doesn't matter anyway. so i bought my 2010 planner. black. as usual.

feels like 2009 is already running out of time.

Fabio Scacchioli | dead SEEquences

dead SEEquences - Fabio Scacchioli from Fabio Scacchioli on Vimeo.

extract any part of the human body
flanked against a setting
and it is seen differently
recognized differently

rulers

there is so much to learn from the young.

last night, as my 9-year-old brother, ammar, was preparing and packing his bag for his exam today, he took out three rulers and showed them to me. i simply went 'wow' and said nothing else. this was part of my 'i-don't-want-to-ignore-you-but-i-can't-give-you-all-the-attention-coz-i'm-doing-something' routine. evil me.

later this morning, my mother told me that as she was checking his pencil box to make sure he had everything he needed for his exams, she found the three rulers and asked him why he needed so many.

he replied saying that last year, during the final-year exam, one of his friends forgot to bring his eraser. in the middle of the paper, out of desperation, he started begging to borrow an eraser from the other kids, but nobody helped. everyone was engrossed in their exams. and some, for fear of being caught by the teacher. ammar however, did.

so this year, he told my mom that the reason why he wanted to bring an extra of everything is so that should any of his friends forget something, he could lend it to them. my heart melted.

there is so much to learn from the young. even as we're teaching them.

i am guilty

i am guilty. for having it all. beyond the basics. surpassing my needs. abusing my wants. demanding. craving. more. more. without thought of time. time it takes to create. time taken to destroy. i am guilty. for being born in a privileged position and yet, idly pressed onto seats, giving nothing back. and despite knowing and having, am doing, nothing at all.

chand | an engagement

chand from nuruL H. on Vimeo.

crutches

there once was a man who, unwilling to allow himself, even for a moment, to forget about the poor, the desperate, the tortured, the dying, the hungry, the crying, the raped, or the saddened bombarded himself with an unbroken chain of images, sounds, and records that sustained him in a state of constant sorrow about happenings around the world. his body, mind, and heart etched to the desk. his laptop. his TV. his radio. googling. shuffling between channels. tuning in and out. listening for grave voices that report disasters. searching for sombre faces amidst footage of war. scanning for words like victims, flood, Taliban, destruction, die, violence spike, Rwanda. it took him that much effort to wallow in that state of catastrophic depression about the world. he died young. his face embedded with deep frown lines like that of an old man, and his heart, still crying.

a goddess of moments

in a sea of blue she sits.

fingering the thoughts of centuries.

away she sails. away she sails.

unlimited prints edition

Unlimited Printed Edition | http://nurulh.carbonmade.com/

dear friends,

in light of all that is happening now, 50 cents from the purchase of each print will be put towards the donation to Mercy Relief

prints can be mailed or personally collection from me

email to order or for further details | newrule@gmail.com

tell your friends.

thank you!

xx

n.

a dream entwined

a friend dreams of another

from a far away land

16 hours apart by air

2 seconds apart by IM

words that sculpt truths

met you face to face

woke up

what is my mind processing here?

distance

thoughts

love

a friend dreams of another

it is night here

but day over there

mimic & murmur

looking, all i see are mimics. listening, all i hear are murmurs. similar forms of different things. each called by its own name. chartered out by its own boundaries. carved out within its own means.

i often get asked, why do you have so many non-Muslim friends? where are your Muslim friends? don't you have any? sometimes, i pretend to not understand such a question. just so i can make them explain. sometimes, they can't.

as to the question, well, i just do. because, despite our religious differences, we're the same. mimics. murmurs. of the same tune. the same beat. cliched. yes. but, only because, it is what it is.

do not undermine the value of the cliched. there is power in mimics and murmurs.

a birth

artist | Rage