My Love&Hate Relationship With Art - A Memoir of A "Professional" Artist

Recently I spent some serious money to frame several paintings I did long time ago (some of them over 20 years ago). As a person who claimed "disliking 'art' intensely" , I found myself enjoying seeing those paintings with frames - they seemed more complete, and even more "expensive". While I looked at them with appreciation, I could not help pondering my life as an "artist" - my "love and hate" relationship with "art".

Two of my old paintings in frames
(painted over 10 years ago).

For years, I had been feeling uncomfortable to be called as an "artist", especially when it meant "professional artist". The reasons were complicated and manifold, yet tangled with deep emotional traumas. But to simply put, I would say first of all, as a person who has extremely wide range of interests, doing art full time means nothing else but "torture"; secondly, art as career was not my own choice, but my parents; finally, probably most importantly, I do not believe art as a creativity should be a profession.

When I was a child, I liked to draw just like any other kids did. My parents both were teachers (or "professors", as we call it in this country) in a well known art college in China. I started to draw quite "formally" when I was in about 6 or 7 grade, but still mostly just for fun. Then suddenly, at age of 12, my parents made a big decision to me, that instead of going to normal high school, I should go to art high school (the one that was attached to the art college they worked). I obeyed them without any thinking, just like I had been hitherto doing due to their absolute authority. In school I was a bright kid and excelled in almost every course, if I could've waited later, until I graduated from normal high school, I could have much more choices, but at the age of 12, I had no ideas about the seriousness of career choice. It was until years later that I realized that was such a fatal mistake of my life path, and if I could have a chance to go back to redo it myself, I would be willing to sacrifice anything just for that chance. I still remember one of teachers in middle school said to me during class, personally, with a low but clear voice: "we all think it's a mistake that if you go to art high school." (How I wished he was my father!) Nonetheless, after finishing middle school, I passed exams and enrolled in that special art high school. Thus my art career began.

Two oil paintings I made over 20 years
ago.

Later, I found that in this special high school, not only 60% of time I had to draw or paint all those boring things like a robot, but also I lost opportunity to study many other subjects that I once enjoyed in middle school. Since I was a naturally curious person, I found studying in this school was a completely waste of time. So 4 years later, after graduating from this high school, I fought against my parents, trying not to continue my art education. But my parents "violently" suppressed my "revolt", and consequently, I involuntarily went to art college. Upon this time, I still yet to know how difficult my life would be in future due to this choice of "art".

In art college. I was the only girl in the 

photo. (Of ocourse, if you can figure

out which one is a girl. :-))

It would be a lie if I said that I did not have fun in art college. On the first day of my college "education", I decided that I should enjoy it. And I did, though not necessarily in classes. My parents worked at the same school, but I was not majored in their fields, and I lived in dormitory, so they did not have much control over me. I enjoyed lots of free time due to the super easy school curriculum. The college that I considered as "trashy" did not give me knowledge my curiosity craved, but nurtured my free spirit to its full scale - reading books by my own choices, making friends, falling in love, drinking, smoking (yes, I was definitely one of - possibly the first - pioneer girls who smoke cigaretts "openly" in "modern" China!) and wandering, even worse - escaping dozens dozens of classes, I was a true "hippie" at the time.

I did not "hate" art back then. As matter of fact, I had my fun time with art. Also because I was young, I was totally confident about my future, believed that I was fully capable of correcting the mistake my parents made to me. It was not until 20 years later that I realized I totally overestimated my ability to fight against fate.

Career change is not a super difficult thing to do, but it could be somehow different if you were majored in special field such as art at an early age. And if later your life had to start from scratch as a immigrant without any supports, things can be a little "tough". Even though I made my primary goal to change my career when I came to USA, after fighting battles after battles, years later, I found I still had to make living by doing art professionally, either computer artist, or portrait artist. And another giant obstacle which I never foresaw was, after I entered middle age, at the time I finally settled in new country, ready to prepare for some "real" changes, my health slid straight down to a never-ending chronic condition, which made a simple daily routine tasks like a mammoth achievement. Little by little, I found my "dream" vanished away beyond my reach, I fell into despair and tasted a complete failure of life.

It was during this period of time, both my "hatred" toward art and my resentment to my parents were intensified. Though I probably smile to show gratitude, but inside my heart, I almost took every compliment given to me for my art as a justification of my parents' "wrong doing", and a denial of my other talents, intelligence, or the "true" value of my life.

However, as many people usually did at the "dead end", the turning point also came to me during my most desperate moment. One day in the mall, standing in front of my portrait business location, after receiving one of endless compliments to my works, I suddenly realized, that the compliments meant to give to me, not my parents. I realized, the reason I did so well in art had almost nothing to do with my parents' choice, but everything to do with my own talent. Since then, I learned to give credit to myself, and by doing so, I felt easier to face the reality. Even though later I still had lots of homework to do, but it was specifically since that moment, I made peace with art.

Dear Frida, oil on canvas, 22x28

painted over 10 years ago.

Still, making peace with art only mean I did not resent it anymore, but it didn't mean I would feel good to live with it everyday. 2 years later, I finally found my "refugee" in art teaching, a job that I don't have to actually do or sell any art works, but only interacting with my students. This is by far the easiest job I ever had, and the large amount of free time makes me felt that I finally found what I really fought for: freedom.

As I mentioned earlier, I believe that art should not be a profession. So fundamentally, no matter my parents did or not, I would never choose to be a professional artist. I think that from the first day when art was born in human history, it did not meat to be a "profession". For me, art is nothing more than a natural expression of personal feeling. It is inspirational, refreshing and unrepeatable. Unfortunately in human society, "professional art" became something else, something technically reproducible, something can be valued by money, something in demand in market business. Art market has been commercialized beyond reasonable (especially in current China). It is a place not only dealing with art and money, but hypocrisy, vanity and greed. It is a place where.passion can be, or has to be pretentious and priced. Art, the most intimate and friendly activity of life, was alienated, "sanctified" as something far above life. Certainly, from the beginning of my "art career", I found I was a total stranger to this "professional art" world.

Looking back, I am proud that I had fought so hard to free myself from the "manacle" of "art profession". I have no slight regret of what I did. Also by choosing art education (I had not other choices anyway), I learned to accept fate, my fate, so I no longer feel miserable for "what I could do if..". But I would still say this, if I had freedom to choose my own path, if my profession was not "art", my life would be 10 times, or 100 times easier. It is true that I learned a lot through the difficulty journey of my life, but this doesn't mean that I could not learn the same thing in a different path. As I don't believe misery is necessary for compassion, I also don't believe adversity is necessary for wisdom. And this difficulty, this ordeal I went through was unnecessarily "man-made", due to my parents' sheer ignorance to human nature.

Early Fall, acrylic, 12x16. Newly painted

At the end of my lifelong "battle", I made peace not only with art, but with my parents, and my fate. Now, looking at all those paintings framed, hanging on my wall, I feel an intimacy between them and myself, as if they were my tangible children. Yes, the "art" I "hated" was not this kind. I am glad and proud that I have my fare share of art, the art by my own definition. Maybe after all, my life path was not that bad. I don't even feel resented to be called as an "artist" now. However, deep inside I know I am not qualified to be any type of "professionists", because I am simply a person who enjoys things randomly, and never really know what I would be passionate or not passionate about when I wake up tomorrow morning.

Busy With Love, No Time for Math

You Send Me (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Last night while watching TV, I "accidentally" heard a song by Sam Cooke: A Wonderful World. I heard this song long time ago but never really got chance to know it better. Last night I felt a little different, not only I wanted listen the whole song, but also I wanted to know the lyrics. I don't usually care about lyrics because I believe music is the "soul" of a song, but this time I felt an urge to know what he was sing about. So I got this from google:

Don't know much about history 

Don't know much biology 

Don't know much about a science book 

Don't know much about the French I took 

But I do know that I love you 

And I know that if you love me, too 

What a wonderful world this would be ...

I was literally "electrified' by these words, especially when they were sung by Cooke's - God helps me find a right adjective- voice. After some moment of emotional stir, I like to write down why this song means so much to me:

First of all, it relates me personally. As a self-claimed intelligent person who was forced into art profession by tyrannical parents, it was my "life time" pain that I did not get chance to develop my intelligence "academically". I fought my fate, fought so hard that I almost "died". At the end of battle, with plenty chronic health problems together with plenty of freedom in hands, I found LOVE, thus I realized that knowledge, or intelligence no longer matter that much to me. Of course, this doesn't say that I gave up pursuing what I once longed for, but only means that I no longer feel "anxiety" about all those that I have not yet known, or those that I will never be able to know.

Secondly, as a person come from a culture that lacks love, I especially appreciate this song. In Chinese mainstream culture, intelligence, or more accurately, "smartness", is something so "worshiped" that one's most fear would be being told that he/she was not smart. Though I am a person who respects human intelligence, how this culture practices "intelligence" is something I precisely despise (yes, I mean it!). It seems to me, for a significant amount of people in this culture, intelligence, or smartness, has only one single use: to compete with each other, or to climb to the highest (or as high as possible) position in social hierarchy. Compassion, love, have little rooms in this culture.

Finally, from humanity view. I adore ancient Greek culture, adore knowledge, but more and more I realized, that the best knowledge we could ever have, is just one simplest thing: Love. For a person that know how to love, he/she doesn't need any thing more. This is exactly what this song expresses in such a simple yet beautiful "fashion".

Yes, love alone is enough. For this reason, I found I do not mind that much about knowledge, about math any more; for this reason, couple of days before, I opened my door to two lovely ladies from Baha'i church. I am going to have friends. As long as they believe in love, I don't care to what church they belong. 

Annotations by Alexander McCall Smith

These are annotations made by Alexander McCall Smith in his book "The No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency". I really like them so I like to make a copy of them here:
--------------------

'The opening line is a homage to Karen Blixen's "Out of Africa" which begins: "I had a farm in Africa..."'

p.1 'This tiny white van was to become very important in the Mma Ramotswe saga.'

 p.7 'Mma Ramotswe is fond of men, but she understands their weaknesses.'

 p.72 'This story was originally not in the book. It is a dark tale, and I introduced it at the suggestion of the publisher who was first going to publish this but then changed his mind. He thought the book too tame - too positive! However, this particular story does add to the book in an important way.'

 p.83 [of the clock flashing 3:04]'People have often asked me of the significance of this. The answer is none. Often things that happen in our lives have no significance!'

 p.123 'Mma Ramotswe's hero, Seretse Khama - a great man who set his moral stamp on Botswana. I never met him but I came to know his son Ian Khama, who became the fourth president of Botswana.' 

p.209 'This scene was beautifully realised by Anthony Minghella in his film of this book. He showed me the relevant section shortly after it had been shot and I ended up in tears.'

p.213 [on the last line] 'And I thought I had finished the story and was saying goodbye to Mma Ramotswe. I was wrong.'

Two Different Kinds of Humans

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It seems, in regard to knowing the ultimate truth (of universe, of life), humans can fall only in these two different categories: those who don't know, and those who pretend to know.  

(Did I hear someone saying this or it came out of my own mind? Anyhow, it is what I believe now)

Spring in Giant's Garden

I was deep moved by a drawing, made by one of my students Rachel Liu (7 year-old). It was a illustration of "The Selfish Giant", a fairy tale written by Oscar Wilde.

She created this drawing yesterday in my class. During the class I let kids reading story and watching a video first, then they seemed to be very pleased, and immediately had many ideas about what to draw, no need to be bothered by their teacher at all.

"The Selfish Giant" tells a story about a giant, who always chased children away when they came to play in his garden. So his garden was always cold like winter. Once, Giant left for a long time, children came and played freely in the garden. "Magically", garden finally entered in Spring - each tree blossomed when a child climbed on it.

I don't remember all details about this story, but it remains as one of my favorite fairy tale ever. I created a picture sequence about this story when I just learned to use computer in school, unfortunately the project was lost in "cyber space" due to my ignorance on saving digital files (That was when I first came to this country and I was not able to understand what professor said in class). But here comes my compensation, what Rachel did yesterday absolutely brought me pleasure. She pick up the moment when giant left and garden. If you look closely at trees (in the second image), you would see some children here and there, playing joyfully.

Details of trees

My Dreams

Full Moon 2 (Photo credit: ecotist)

I was officially 48 year-old by last month. Somehow I felt an urge to write an auto-bio, but my instinct told me to wait a little longer, in case I get really famous so my bio could make me lots of money. Plus, my English isn't quite "there" yet. Nonetheless, I decided to satisfy my vanity vicariously: instead of writing a bio - an experience that mostly related to what I did during daytime, I would write my dreams - an experience about what I did during my sleep. I believe dreams are more or less reflections of our daytime life experience.

Below were some quite interesting dreams during the first half of my life (if I could live until 96) , in chronological order:

Escape dream: these type of dreams occurred in my earlier life, from my childhood to my early teen years. In these dreams, I always carried my (older) sister on my back, running away from some dangers. The typical scenario was during WWII China (obviously adapted from some movies I watched), I was running away from Japanese soldiers who were chasing us. The dream was extremely intense, like some suspense thrillers, and always ended up with my waking up with despair in the last moment before I got really captured.
My interpretation of these dreams is very simple, in early years of my life I was burdened by my family, there were times that this burden was too heavy for me to endure. Poor me!

Flying dream: my happiest dream ever! Inside I would literally fly, high or low, I had that wonderful view of earth. Sometime I seemed to descend unwillingly, but with a little effort I ascended again, soaring through mountains, cities, forests, and oceans!
This dream is the dream of freedom - while flying high, I had a tasted that ultimate freedom I yearned for. I don't know when I started having these dreams but I know I started when I was very young, and during my early middle age they seemed to vanished. Maybe that means I felt trapped during my years of middle age hazard. But now I do feel free again, and I hope they come back soon!

Supernatural dream: these dreams are quite unexplainable. Here is the latest example which I would call "phone dream", it was about my phone. In reality, I have this normal telephone set, if someone call me, the light in screen of my phone would turned on first, also the red light signals on answering machine would flash a couple of seconds before the phone rings. One day (about one year ago) I was taking a nap, I dreamt my telephone handset started flashing some signals, then it rang. I know this is no miracle at all, but what really happened was, my phone in reality rang at the same time as in my dream, EXACTLY the same moment! This means, somehow, even if I was sleeping, I foresaw the upcoming event in perfect precision.
Here is another example which took place much earlier in my life, about 20 years ago: in a dream I was sitting inside a room. The room had a window that was on the same side of the door, which means, if someone come to my door, I usually would see him/her passing through the window first. Then in my dream I saw a person walking pass the window, as if she (I believe it was a girl) was walking toward my door, then I heard the sound of knocking door. And just like my "phone dream", the sound of knocking occurred at the exactly same time in my dream and in reality - someone was outside my door. Of course I woke up, startled, opened the door, and there stood my friend!
This type of dreams happened several times in my life, for what I can remember, at least 4, or 5 times. I found they are quite unexplainable.

First-lady dream: another unexplainable dream! In this dream I was a first lady of the country (China) during Nationalist regime (before Communist). This is a big deal, because it means, as a lesbian, somehow I managed to be the wife of Jiang Kai Shek! The "scenario" was simple, I was standing beside my President husband, posed idly for press conference photo taking after some important meeting regarding some important international matters.
I have absolutely no slightest idea about how I had this dream, but one thing I do understand is the choice of scenario - after the "important meeting", because even in my dream I deliberately avoided the situation that would expose my completely ignorance about those "important international matters". However, I have to admit, the choice of Jiang Kai Shek was extremely unsound, consider I had total freedom to choose any president I wanted.

1986, I walked through a plank road on Hua

mountain in China, the most precipitous

mountain in China. Underneath about

one foot wide wooden plank which I

stepped on was thousand feet high cliff

 (over 80 degree steep).

P.S. this photo was not taken in my 

dream:-) and I indeed reached the top

of cliff - see next picture.

Climbing Dream: I had this dream a few times in different phases of my life: I was climbing a very steep cliff, either by hands or by driving (a car). The cliff was so steep that it almost passed the 90 degree and I was at the edge of falling off. A few times I woke up in panic condition, a few other times, I don't remember how I ended the "story", but I do remember couple of times I did reach the top of cliff.
I had these dreams usually when I had some "goals" to achieve. Indeed, sometime my goals were just too high. I am glad I do not have any "goals" anymore.

Blind Dream: these dreams were devastating. Inside them I either drove a car with a broken break, or saw the heavy snow or rain covered my windshield, in whatever way, I could not see things in front of me. The worse thing was, the car was always moving, which made me felt complete loss of control.
These dreams happened during first half of my middle age (I suppose I am still in middle age::-)), when I was totally lost, totally don't know where to go. Good thing is, after sky fell, I saw another wider sky. So I don't have this kind of dream any more. Thank God!

Journey Dream: I started having this dream during recently years. In it I usually rode bike, needed to go somewhere that seemed to be too far away to reach. It usually happened in the night, where I could not get any helps - no bus, no train, but only a bike,... During the dreams I was not terribly dreadful, but I did feel tired, and inadequate.
These dreams reflect my chronic physical problem. It lasts so long that sometime I did have doubt that I could ever get recovered completely. I occasionally still have this dream, but hopefully, as my physical condition improve, they would go away.

Above are some dreams I think worth to write down so far in my life. I think they somehow interpreted my life experience. There must be tone of other interesting dreams but unfortunately, I can only remember them on the day when I die. Most of these dreams I remembered happened multiple times during different phases of my life, except "first lady dream", which was a "one time privilege", I suppose.

Success

Image by Thomas Leuthard via Flickr

Success: physical health and mental satisfaction.

My Journey With Elephant Man

English: Joseph Merrick (1862–1890), photographed c. 1889. The photograph was circulated to members of the public c. 1889 as a carte de visite. This photograph was first published in The Elephant Man: A Study in Human Dignity by Ashley Montagu (first published in London and the United States in 1971; OCLC: 732266137) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I finally finished the longest essay I ever wrote (in Chinese) about Elephant Man. It would be impossible for me to translate it in English because of the energy it requres, so I like to just have a summary here. It was a brief bio of Joseph Merrick's (Elephant man) life, and my view of this tragedy. It consists of two parts - part 1: God's outcast, which is about his early life: his childhood, his life in workhouse and life as a "star" in "freak show"; the second part "Awaking Humanism", is about his being rescued by a young surgeon Fredrick Treves, his life in London hospital and all helps he received from the society.

I didn't find many books about this person, the only source materials I used were The True History of The Elephant Man, by Michael Howell and Peter Ford, and wikipedia. However they seemed to be enough to trigger my emotion and thoughts.

My essay starts with a short chapter regarding 19 century of Europe, an era that consisted of both the darkest and brightest aspects of human nature: stunning achievements, greed, misery and suffering, kindness and humanism. I quoted the beginning paragraph (just part of it) of The Tale of Two City, even though Dickens meant for a little earlier time period, I thought it appropriate in the context. To demonstrate this contrast, I started with the misery of Joseph Merrick, a tragedy for which (I believe) "fate" was more responsible than human society, and then went through his early life experience. In the second part, I wrote about the charity and the kindness Joseph received from society during his last 4 years life in London hospital, which shows bright side of this tragedy.

The True History of the Elephant Man (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Because of Joseph's hideous incorrigible deformity caused by incurable diseases, his fate was destined to be miserable, by my understanding. So at the ending chapter I had to question "God": what's the purpose of making such misery? By Christians' view, "One of the Creator’s objects in permitting men to be born to a life of hopeless and miserable disability was that the works of God should be manifested in evoking the sympathy and kindly aid of those on whom such a heavy cross is not laid." (from the open letter in Times, 1886, by Carr Gomm, Chairman of London hospital). I have no doubt of the goodwill of this interpretation, and the positive result of this thinking, but logically, this makes no sense to me. Here is my reason: if there is no adversity, there would be no need of compassion. i.e., if there is no pain, there is no need of using painkiller. "God"'s creating misery just for human's compassion, in my eye, is like an adult hurt a child deliberately just for the use of painkiller. Of course, I had no answer for this ultimate question, neither I refuted the existence of "God", but I did "conclude" that the "omnipotent all loving" God which we humans wish does NOT exist.

I also stated: If I were God, I would never ever put such suffering in any human beings, or any life beings, because millions of people's compassion, could not compensate one single life being's suffering. I also wrote, if "God" had some incomprehensible reasons to create "Elephant man", the only comfort I could think of is that he made him in the 19th century of Europe, where the idea of humanism was getting mature and turned out almost like a "fashion" among the middle and upper classes (I am also fully aware of that there have been many more human beings like Elephant man existed through history and did not have his luck).

As matter of fact, the kindness that Joseph received was tremendous. Joseph was not only intelligent, but also had "romantic imagination" (as Treves put it). Since previously in his life all women flew away from sight of him with terror, it became to ladies' "responsibility" to pay him a visit. When the first time a young beautiful lady (Leila Maturin) "entered his room with an easy grace, smiling as she approached him, reaching out and taking his hand as Treves presented him to her. ... It was all too much. Joseph could not speak. Slowly he released her hand and slowly he bent his great head forward to his knees as he broke into heart-reading sobs and wept uncontrollable" (Elephant man, Fredrick Treves). Joseph mentioned later to Treves, that was the first time ever a woman looked at him in the eye and smiled to him. Later, Joseph's room was frequently visited by almost all well known people, especially ladies, from all England, even Princess Wales (Alexandra) came to meet him. Based on Fredrick Treves: "The Queen made many people happy, but I think no gracious act of hers ever caused such happiness as she brought into Merrick’s room when she sat by his chair and talked to him as to a person she was glad to see."(Elephant Man, Fredrick Treves).

With these actions of kindness, Joseph was able to achieve some of his wildest dreams, such as watching Christmas pantomine in Royal Theatre, spending a "glorious vacation" in the countryside when residing in a gamekeeper's house in a rich lady's property. Joseph was grateful for every single help he received, and satisfied by his restricted even "boring" (in many people's eyes) life in that small simple room of London hospital (he actually had two rooms, one bedroom and one bathroom, carefully built without mirror). He was happy "everyday and every hour", as he told Dr. Fredrick Treves. Joseph could not smile because of distortion of his face, but Treves knew he was happy because several times, he saw Joseph beat up pillows like child, when he thought no body was around.

Card church built by Merrick (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the last chapter of my essay I wrote:
"The human world is a place for both beauty and beast, "good" and "evil", dark and light, and I believe that the weight of "dark" is heavier, or more significant, than that of light. I believe, as long as misery exists, the happiness of life could never compensate the suffering. So the last 4 years of happiness of Joseph Merrick could not compensate his previous over 20 years suffering (he died at 29). If this sounds unbelievable to you, just imagine, who would choose to live if they knew before they were born that they would be given Joseph's fate, even if they would be treated as "celebrities" of whole society at the end? However, after finishing writing his life, I have to focus my memory on Joseph's last 4 years of happiness, the reason is simple: life continues regardless we choose it or not, and only if we keep hope, see the light, will it be easier for us to take.

Joseph Morrick quoted (very appropriately) hymnwriter Issac Watts in the pamphlet of "Freak Show" as the end of his brief autobiograph:

'Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew
I would not fail in pleasing you.
 If I could reach from pole to pole
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul;
The mind's the standard of the man.

Yes, Elephant Man had a form of beast, but a heart of gold. I don't believe in God, but after the journey with the him, I hold such a faith firmly: in another world, Joseph is normal, healthy, more importantly, handsome."

My Dichotomous Life Philosophy

White&black (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Just because one thing is good*, doesn't mean it is true; just because one thing is true, doesn't mean it is good.


*The word "good" here means "moral", "virtuous", or any positive value regarding human survival.

"In The Company of Cheerful Ladies" - A Cup of Green Tea

Just finished book 6 of The No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency - In The Company of Cheerful Ladies. I would first appreciate McCall Smith's plain use of English language, which made my reading smooth; secondly, I would say that the title of the series is highly misleading, because these books are not at all traditional detective novels: instead of focusing on case solving, drawing readers' curiosity in "who done it", these books tell stories of "plain" daily life in which we could draw significance of humanity. This book series amazes me! Reading them, is like drinking my favorite Chinese green tea (I would to try "bush tea" - Mma Ramotswe's favorite - one day), light, but its taste lasts forever.

Kindness and Wisdom

A while ago, I started a discussion about Kindness and Wisdom. My question was: "Does kindness need wisdom?" Today a message from an old friend triggered an unpleasant memory of mine, which I thought was relevant to this topic: 3 years ago, I broke up with an old friend to whom I had friendship for almost 30 years. The reason seemed to be very simple, I did not satisfy her invitation to dinner.

For years I had problem of shortness of breathe. When this symptom occurred, which used to be very often, I simple had to reject (politely) for all the invitations of any social gatherings. This friend of mine was from my high school. After all these years we ended up to the same place in America, it was a "miracle" which we both appreciated very much. And going to dinner in her home with all her family members was extremely pleasant for me (needless to mention foods were all homemade by her parents and delicious). However, there were time that I could not go. First a few times seemed to be OK, but soon after she did not appear to be happy about this, and often complained about my mental state, implied that it was psychological issue that prevent me from living a normal life, also suggested that I did not like to be with her family. I tired my best to let her understand my situation. Instead of gaining her understanding, I faced judgement, include some from other friends, such as: "You seem to ask too much understanding from friends", "How could others people always understand YOUR special condition?" "What's wrong with inviting you to dinner?" "Is it a bad thing to invite you to dinner?" So at the end I just got too much, and decided to end our friendship by not responding her last invitation (it happened to occur when I was suffering symptom, and later I just did not bother to explain same thing again).

By Chinese tradition, it is utmost important to appreciate others "good will". I also had this "faith" in my life and sacrificed as much as I could to "appreciate" my friends' good will to me. i.e., once this same friend helped me by offering teaching in her After-school. I repeatedly told her that the maximum classes I could have in a row is 2 classes. But she insisted to offer me 3. Somehow for "appreciating" her "kindness", I agreed to try, and immediately got sick after. Even situation like this, did not change my friend's mind, that I was mentally problematic.

Sometime I had to wonder, is it my chronic health problem too extreme for many people to get it? Or it is just I got some friends that lacked basic ability of understanding? What made words like such: "I cannot come", being taken as "I do not want to come"? It is true that this friend of mine is physically very strong, so it would be a little hard for her to imagine how a person who is chronically ill feels like. It's possible that she used her own condition/experience judge mine. I once imagined, if situation reversed, if I had a friend told me she/he were too sick to come to dinner with me, do I have problem to take their words just as they were? I don't think so. Not only that, further more, if my friend got chronic ill like this, I could easily make some foods bringing over, and left without much talking. Of course, I would not ask anyone do such thing to me, but simply to say that this is something not so hard for me to do. Do I really possess virtue of a Saint? I don't think so.

I would not condemn this friend of mine. It is true that she tried to help me. However, what she did only create opposite consequence. And the reason is obvious: her helps were not based on what I needed, but what she believed I needed. I just cannot grant her actions as "true kindness", though she is nice, and the reason for that I think is that she lacks some basic ability of understanding, which by my current understanding is a combination of intelligence and imagination, or simply put: wisdom.

A Colorful Contribution To My Bookshelf

I purchased 8 volumes of "The No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" from Amazon.com, they arrived today and now are comfortably sitting on my bookshelf!

I am currently reading the volume 6 (by far there are total 13 volumes). These books are something I could pick up and put down anytime, very relaxing and joyful, instantly bring me to Africa, to my wise and kind friend Mma Ramotswe.

I am glad that I own this many of them (I will get all of them), because they are truly beautiful things: from inside to out - the content, cover design, the size, the light-weight feeling. In brief, I love everything about this book series.

Slice Masterpiece Into Pieces - Destructive or Constructive?

The concrete evidence for one of my observations, which is that American (Western) people are overall physically stronger than Asian, is the difference of bookbinding. Back in China, we don't often see books that are over 3 inch thick (except dictionary or other reference books). When I was young I read some of my first long fictions all in multiple volumes: John Christopher (by Roman Roland) in 4 volumes, Notre Dame of Paris (by Hugo) in 2 volumes, The Count of Monte Christo in 3 volume. But here in USA, most of long fictions were printed in one single volume.

I still remember in my art history class during my graduate school, a professor held a 3 inch thick text book in almost magazine size with undisturbed poise, encouraged us to buy that "handy" version. I was wondered and had to re-think the definition of the word "handy".

I like to read, but when holding a book that is over 1000 pages, I just don't feel much of convenience. Recently I purchased an unabridged version of "Les Miserable". It is in small size, but very thick, over 3 inches. Out of spontaneous thought I decided to re-produce this book by my "Chinese" tradition. Since Hugo wrote this book in different "volumes" - "Fontine"; "Cosette", "Marrius", etc., I split the book by following this division. I sliced the book carefully, and copied the first page of each volume in card-stock paper, and used them as cover pages. The result was not 100% perfect but very pleasant, because I can now read this masterpiece with convenience, and feel the truly justified meaning of "handy".

My Pessimistic View On Life

Woodcut for "Long-Suffering of God" (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No matter how much I could personally enjoy being alive, as long as I know there have been people being burnt alive, by natural cause or by man made, as long as I know there are unlimited kinds of similar sufferings, I would not think human life is worth living. The reason is that I truly believe, millions even billions happy lives, cannot compensate a single person's suffer like this.

Naturally, my next question has to be: why does it have to be this way? Why did our almighty and loving creator produce so many possibilities - mostly our physical fragility - for innocents suffering like this?

Helen Keller's Quote on Eugenics

"It is the possibility of happiness, intelligence and power that give life its sanctity, and they are absent in the case of a poor, misshapen, paralyzed, unthinking creature."

http://www.uffl.org/vol16/gerdtz06.pdf

Croak Sonata

wood frogs croaks (Photo credit: prefers salt marsh)

Yesterday I went to Tobacco Trail for a walk. Though more and more I dislike driving, I still purposely drove a little farther to a location that was more secluded. I was glad I did, because when I got there, I found the place extremely pleasant.

The trail lied low, at the bottom of the tree roots, so the trees looked immensely tall, made me felt like curling up inside womb of Mother nature, embraced by the mighty security. Occasionally I saw some fancy houses sitting inside woods, wondered how it felt living inside. It must be hauntingly interesting. I thought of some Gothic literature I read, wondered which one fit these houses the most. Woods were deep. Most of them are deciduous so their naked trunks and branches tangled in all the directions, made very rich layers of gray. There were also some evergreens broke the gray tone, but their color saturation was low, seemed to me that they intended to blend themselves into this humble subtleness of winter.

There were some people walking, jogging and biking, but it was quiet overall, very quiet, except some croaking voice from woods. Interestingly, I did not notice croak when I first walked into trail, it was when I walked back, at pinnacle moment of absorbing myself in quietness, I heard it. It was loud, but in an undulate rhythm, from different direction, here and there, revolved me in 360 degree like stereo music.

My discovering croak was both surprising and ecstatic. I am familiar with croak, yes, totally, but it was decades ago when I was a child, living in countryside of China, and at night, when I heard it. So for me it was the characteristics of the NIGHT. But yesterday afternoon, at the time when the Sun - even though it was hidden behind cloud - was far from retiring, I was surrounded by its voice. It was an unusual excitement to me.

Being chronically ill, I have been overly sensitive with noise, or sound, even music sometime brought me headache. However the Nature always surprises me, such as yesterday, this croaking voice, some was loud, but gentle, yet playful, not only it did not give me headache, but massaged my brain with an even deeper serenity.

It was such a good time. I drove back with a full load of joy.

Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan - My Fascination Goes On

English: Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan in 1898. On the left Helen Keller and on the right Anne Sullivan. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mark Twaine said "The two greatest characters of the nineteenth century are Helen Keller and Napoleon Bonaparte". I would modify this quote as such: "The two greatest characters of the nineteenth & twentyth century are Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan".

I have been fascinated by these two women since ever I heard their names. However, my own "fascinating" life experience seemed to keep me busy for more than a decade and I had not been able to get into many subjects of my interest until very recent years. These days I had leisure to be totally drowned into the story of Helen Keller and Sullivan, especially the latter. After I read a short autobiography of Helen Keller, I went on read a biography of her teacher - "Beyond Miracle Worker: the Remarkable Life of Anne Sullivan Macy and Her Extraordinary relationship with Helen Keller". It was a joy read, though the content is quite "heavy".

Contrary to what I learned superficially before, both Helen and her teacher lived very difficult lives. First by reading Helen's autobiography I learned about Helen's controversial trial of her story "Frost King", when she was only 11 year-old, which tormented her heart and shadowed all her life (How could those "educated" people from Perkins Institute treated a 11 year-old blind-deaf girl so harshly with alleged plagiarism was beyond my understanding). Then I read about her going on Vaudeville circuit during her middle age for almost 10 years, together with her teacher of course. She had to do that simply for making living. However, based on books I read she seemed enjoyed it, which made me relieved a little.

Anne Sullivan, who later became Anne Sullivan Macy, was an even more complicated character than Helen Keller. Her life process was extreme undulate and her personality was contradictory. Born in an Irish immigrant family, Sullivan's childhood was spent in the darkness of poverty, death, ignorance and violence. She lost her mother when she was only eight, and when she was ten, she was abandoned by her father and was sent to almshouse together with her brother by her relatives. After 4 years living in almshouse, during which her brother died, Annie somehow got a chance to go to Perkins Institute. Her life turned! In Perkins, she appeared to be an extremely intelligent but also belligerent student. Six years later, she graduated  as a valedictorian. Soon after she graduated, when she seemed to face an unknown future, she got a job to be governess of Keller's family. Hence the legend started.

"Beyond Miracle Worker" is an excellent biography with some tediously chronicled details, but these boring details was tolerable to me, simple because of the extremely interesting characters. The book focuses on Sullivan's complicated psychological state, creates an impression about her that cannot be summarized in a few words. Sullivan came from the bottom of society, strove to a place "beyond her dream", yet to a cultural circle that did not suit her past. She seemed to have extremely ambivalent emotion toward her past - she tried so hard to forget, but the ghost of darkness in the past never left her alone, it tangled all her life through every bit of depression and perplexed  her profound view about the value of her own existence.

Another "fact" this book reveals to me, is that Sullivan Macy started from Helen's teacher, assistant, a role that Helen depended on by all means, gradually transformed into a person who had to depended on Helen. She refused several chances to work for others, and relied on Helen's fame to make continuing success, though it was herself initially turned on Helen's intelligence. Sullivan also had eye disease since her childhood, carried this disease all the way to the end of her live, when she became completely blind. The constant pain of her eyes, tortured her since beginning, also tormented her mental state. When her eye condition worsened, she became more irritated, capricious and depressed, and relied on totally on Helen, who seemed to forever embraced her as her own savior.

Sullivan's achievement was underrated by society and she had always been furious about it. She hated to be thought as a teacher who enlightened Helen simply by adopting the teaching technique that was "invented" by the founder of Perkins, but she was always viewed by public as so. The fact was that she was very creative when she started to teach Helen. However, in her late years, when she was recognized for her individual achievement as a renovated educator, she rejected some honors that were bestowed on her. She was too sick, too weak, too confused and depressed for herself, that she simply did not care what society did to her anymore.

The two women's lives were not easy. Both of them were disabled (though Sullivan was pictured in public as "normal"), but they did not have any stable financial support, except intermittent helps from philanthropists. I thought Helen's family was rich, but the fact was her parents' (mostly her father's) financial situation soon declined after Sullivan came to them. As matter of fact, Helen's family started to depend (partially, I suppose) on Helen soon after she became famous. In her middle age Sullivan married to John Macy, but she made herself financial connection lawfully only to Helen Keller. Also, though 3 of them lived together, Sullivan's husband was never be able to be a source of their family financial provider. It was always Helen, who seemed most unable, was willingly to be the "breadwinner" of the "family".

Another "bewitching" factor is their relationship. Sullivan married to John Macy, but they soon separated (though their legal marriage stayed until John Macy died), it is Helen with whom Sullivan lived most of her life. Helen Keller was proposed by a man named Peter Fagan, but she concerned about her teacher's reaction, eventually yield to her mother's objection and gave up marriage. Why did Helen give up her own happiness? Was she completely happy with her teacher? Did she stay with her teacher by her own willingness or by obligation? Was their relationship more than "teacher and student"?

Nonetheless, I found the lives of these two extremely intelligent women intriguing. I personally believe their staying together was destined and their attraction to each other was both mental and physical. In whatever way, it is beautiful in my eyes. Their lives, their struggle, their success and conquest of darkness, disability and adversity of life, truly embodied the greatest strength of human intelligence, passion, love and willpower. Simply put, I just cannot imagine anything more extraordinary than the real "story" of these two women. Comparing with them, Napoleon fell into mediocrity.

Love Ourselves vs Love Others

No Tolerance (134/365) (Photo credit: Icky Pic)

During my art teaching, I found that those who treat themselves harshly, also treat others in the same way.

For example, sometime during classes I like to hold up someone's work to let everybody give comments. There are always some students could not help to point out the shortcomings first. They seem to suppose that when we give comments, we should always find out what is NOT good first (I have no doubt that's how their parents treat them). Or, sometime, some other students made mistakes, these type of students could not help to make fun of them. Another day I was in major upset by the reaction of one of my students, who is 12 year-old girl - after she saw my neighbor, who is obese coming out from his apartment, she could not help to make an expression of big surprise with half hidden scorn.

Ironically, it is precisely this type of students who are always extremely unforgivable toward themselves. They usually could not face their failure, some of them cried when they could not understand instructions, or feeling extreme depressed when they could not finish their projects in a desirable way. A few of them would just wait for my instruction for every step, which made my teaching quite difficult.

This fact tells me, that we humans essentially use the same attitude treat ourselves and others. The reason that these students, or this type of people look down on others' faults is exactly because they would look down on themselves in the same situation. Or the causality can be reversed. And the reason some people can treat others with ease, only because that's how they treat themselves. This is enough to prove one of life philosophy I learned before: those who don't know how to love themselves, do not know how to love others.

Equalitarianism

Equalitarianism, for me, is not an idea (or ideology) that eliminates differences among people, such as races, sexes, physical or mental quality, or each individual differences, but an idea (or idealism) that respects (or even protect, from some perspectives) such differences.

The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency - My African Dream

Cover of The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency

The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency series (by Alexander McCall Smith) have everything I care: ladies, detective, exotic lifestyle, and after all, Africa!

It is a story about an "unusual" life experience of a young lady Mma Precious Ramotswe. When Mma Ramotswe's father dies, he leaves his daughter a large number of cattle. Mma Ramotswe sells cattle and uses money as the capital investment of her individual business "No.1 Ladies' Detective Agence" - the only detective business in Botswana, Africa (without license! I wish I could do that here in America). Through her business' up and down, McCal Smith displays a grand Africa "landscape", with all vivid characters, and "usual" yet usual events.

Different from most mystery fictions, McCall Smith's books do not focus only on case solving, but also life itself. The books tell you the life of the protagonist - a brave and kind African woman who stands up for herself and helps others, life of her family, her friends, even her beloved country - Botswana. I could not strictly share the patriotism of Mma Ramotswe, but I understand her view, and her compassion toward human nature through her passion of her country.

McCall Smith's writing style is plain, however the story itself is colorful - it's fun, witty and full of humanity. The story goes so naturally that I could almost smell African air, or touch the bright African Sun. It makes me want to live in Botswana!

I read the first 3 books about a year ago, now I just finished book #4. I also discovered that there is a HBO TV series based on the book series. I got a sneak peek from youtube, it fascinates me just as the books, except it has one more thing that books could not offer: my favorite African music!

Thanks the author for such a unique creation of literature. I love everything about this book series, beside what I mentioned in the beginning, I also love the length of the books (short!), and the design of book cover - so exotic and elegend! I cannot find anything more suitable for my adventurous spirit!