Hello. I intend to start this autobiography, from the days of March 2020 when Carl started to soulfully reflect and think about: "what has my life been about up until this point?" I mention this because prior to the said month, he has already been drawing throughout his life. Nevertheless, it is during this time that he believes, his views on art and life in general, notably started to change. By the way, it is still me, Carl, who is typing everything. I believe I would utilize first-person pronouns and also use my name, "Carl", from a third-person perspective, interchangeably. With the reason being that their context differs. And has value. I hope that the words which I am about to use are the right ones. That I do not forget the ones in between the events I would choose to mention. That Carl would not be in the way, as much as possible. For him to tell a little about his life, as truthful as he can. For the values he wishes to explain, be shared in simplest form; with no bias. To be honest, at this point in time, I am not fond of using "I" whenever I mention about something with value. And a value, in this context, being something like how: silence is golden, time is precious, and many more. As much as there might be times where I have to say, "I realized that...", simply due to grammatical reasons, I do not intend to convey that it is I who "created" the mentioned piece of value. I hope that for the people who would choose to continue reading the rest, they take the phrases or words that talk about a life value, as merely phrases or words that talk about a life value. Not a value that Carl "made". Nor a value that x and y words represent.. For I believe that life's values need no words. They are best observed and experienced as they are. For as much as words tell and communicate, they are also decided strings of letters; limited and limiting. And life is not. For it is simply limitless.. It's picture far bigger and more prolific than any work man can write/create.
"What has my life been about up until this point?" I sure thought of that, and felt its impact at most, back in March 2020, when the pandemic Covid-19 was in its earliest stages. I reflected upon the things I have been doing, where was I spending my time on, up until that point. I was about to graduate Senior High in a few months, was spending my free time playing online games, recently broke off from an unhealthy 4-years relationship. No job experience in any field. No solid, bulleted "plans for the future".. No direction.. No interest.. No purpose.. It was all just about passing the time while being happy. Just about following along the "finish my studies (doesn't matter what the course in college is as long as it gets me a job), and then get a job which i don't need to have any particular interest in, and then live out a mediocre feeling life.. and then die a mediocre death..". It's not bad, for someone to dream and work towards a mediocre life; but it's also not bad to try and live for a more eventful and interesting one either. One that is more meaningful.
As I recalled the ways on how I was wasting my time, I started to see a little just how directionless I was. I sure felt it under my skin all the time; I simply averted my eyes away from it until it was too late. Then, I believe I thought to myself, "just what do I do now then?". "Given how my life has been up until now; what now then?". The sense of self-criticality I exhibited during those "reflection times", were kept at bay for the time being; from there I believe, I just started to pre-occupy myself with learning Human Anatomy. After spending time thinking about how unproductive my life was, although it follows, its not necessarily the reason why I started my drawing studies; I decided to learn more about anatomy since I felt a surge of interest in improving my idea of the human form. Or maybe simply an interest in learning more about things which concerns the art I engage with, in general.
Left: Drawings of the pet cats of a friend. Right: Some of my very first "gestural" and "mass" drawings.
With nothing better to do, I started drawing again. Whenever I think about it, I wonder why is it that prior to the first lockdown, when things were still "normal", I got fond of drawing again. I do remember, and I am aware that I started drawing again during the -ber months of 2019; I just cant pinpoint why I found it so interesting. I say it this way because, back then, something as time-intensive as drawing is like an impossible thing for my lifestyle. My time was either spent: playing all night long during the weekends, in-school during the weekdays, or wasted in transportation traffic.. And actually, a lot on just watching the time pass by, amidst dull silence, with a former other half.. Those are the reasons why, from my perspective, I was reasonably out-of-touch with the practice of art. 4 years of nothing but those.. .. But I do know that, all the while, I simply found it fulfilling and enjoyable; why I started to occasionally draw again. Last but not the least, the major element I believe, which enticed me to get back in scratching my pencil, was because I was reading a work of art, magnum opus, entitled "Berserk". A manga illustrated and authored by the late Kentaro Miura. I did not anticipate how bottomless of a source of inspiration the manga that my friend recommended, would be for my life, moving forward.
After managing to catch up with the latest chapters, I proceeded to read Vagabond by Takehiko Inoue. Considering how much I experienced and learned by reading the two of the best literary and visual works of man, I am most probably living with lesser wisdom today, had I not read them. Deciding to read the two mangas might've been the wingman of my life.. Had I not encountered them at exactly that point in time - when i was at the vantage point of thinking about my job career - , maybe I would have continued living on the predetermined course set forth by the society I was and still am living in.. Maybe I would have, for a considerable part, continued viewing art as a tool for merely impressing people. And that beautiful art is something I could only achieve in another life..
Given that I was not as invested in drawing as I am now, I really did not cash in much for art materials. That, and simply because I do not have money to begin with. Nevertheless, it was not enough reason to keep me back from learning. That's why, my very first anatomy studies were drawn on pad papers. Thin, waxy, and laced with lines; mere volume is their only redeeming quality. And only with the scarce sunlight through the windows at the living room of our family's house as my lighting. The people did not bother changing the broken lightbulb in the living space.. If anything, during this point of time, the people around me saw drawing as a trivial and pointless thing. Also, with only pillows as my desk.. Also, with only a spine-deforming cushionless wood sofa to sit on.. During the first months spending my time drawing and sleeping at the living room, it felt compelling to a degree, since it was "such a humbling setup".. "oh, poor me!"... Those times were memorable, sure, but pleasant?.. Haha. The only place where I found refuge was in the books I was reading the shows I was watching, and the figures I was drawing.. I had no idea about the hell I was about to start living in.
I guess if I'm talking about me and my art journey, I can't leave my familial matters without dialogue. Whether I don't like it or not, I inevitably have to mention some of them since, at the end of the day, they're a part of my life. A bitter part that I have to deal with alongside my struggles as a pursuer of arts. For most of the earliest troubles that affected my practice were mainly because of how our household is built. Not the actual house itself; it's about the dynamics and politics of our family. How toxic it actually was, in hindsight. And how those overlooked and naturalized factors' roots run deep in our lives. And how the house climate affected my well-being in general. And how being able and choosing to recognize the whole picture of which we are part, alienated me from every party involved.. As much as nobody would like to have the troubles of other avenues in life get in the way of their work, I never preferred to have the drawing practice be hindered because of unrelated matters. Sadly, I currently do not have the capacity to live far enough from such matters. I simply lack the money to afford my own space.. Why would I ever choose to be born in a place so mental, that have my will to strive for my goals not be as abnormally powerful as it is, I could effortlessly just bend down and shoot out between my legs and up my back again, and then bend down some more, to the twisted concepts, mindsets, and ideals the people in my immediate circle, chose to let rule over their lives.
For those reasons, I beg your pardon. I beg myself pardon as well. I beg pardon for the things unrelated to "art" that might be mentioned; nonetheless, are life events notable enough to interfere with the practice. The realities Carl had to live in, even though they were not of his choice. How he had no choice but to give time about things besides the practice, so as to understand and have a sense of relief from the tensions he endured on a daily basis. He had no choice but to let himself be open to every possibility, for if he wants to break free from the presets he was born into, he has to know what they are, and why they are... I apologize to the people who came here expecting an entry that talks only about art. I am sorry, Carl, that you had to deal with all the frivolous events mentioned hereafter. I am sorry, self, for you might have to recall some of the trauma you don't even want to spend time thinking about, but now have to, so as to let your identity be a little more readable to the world. So that they know how you ended up the way you do.. And why you still put your love for art above all else.
All that said, I would first explain: how did Carl ended up drawing with only sunlight through the curtains as his lighting, only pillows for his desk, and only a spine-deforming cushionless wood sofa to sit on? Well, the thing is, it's because he chose to draw and sleep at the living room. Ever since he experienced the comfort in solitude, he preferred it over sleeping in the shared bedroom of their house. I wonder when, but he realized that he is actually the type of person who likes to be alone. Hence, the reason why he chose to sleep at the living room.
With the lockdown in effect, we had to return back house since we won't be attending school for the moment. I was staying with my elder siblings in the city, prior to the event. There were enough reasons as to why distance was more beneficial for everybody in the family. Dreadfully though, we had no choice but to live under the same roof once again because of the pandemic. And with it, the complex between our parents and between parent-child inevitably resurfaced. In relation to Carl, I believe he did not actually had qualms with anybody.. He was actually just minding his own business... Maybe he was just simply caught up in a family with a lot of hot air with each other. He was in fairly good terms with everybody, not until the time he chose to sleep at the living room. Not until he chose to start pursuing and learning about art.. But no, his choice to pursue art was not the mistake nor was his choice to prefer being as alone as possible. It lied at the fact that people around him found his actions as different.. Found his way of thinking to be mistaken.. Found his drawing practice to be a sign that he might actually be suffering from a mental sickness or whatever.. The gaslighting was horrible..
As Carl was just starting his first "academic" approach of the art practice, with anatomy being his first subject of choice, the matters with his family started (or continued?) its long-running feud as well. As he was minding his own business, learning about how the forearm actually has two bones, how their is a difference between the size of the pelvis between genders, how there are "short heads" and "long heads" in muscle pairings, how there are actually only 12 ribs and not an absurd number like 18 nor 20, occasionally, he would be looked at with contempt eyes. Every now and then, he would be asked, "okay ka lang ba?" ("are you fine?"). To which he answered, "oo, okay lang naman ako. Wala namang problema." ("Yeah, I'm fine. No problem here."). The good intent is mixed in those words, yes; but, they themselves made it sure it was not their only intention. For they asked Carl the same question, got replied with the same answer, but thought about the situation as something entailing a "sickness". Have I had my own room though, where I could've been situated at while spending hours drawing alone, I won't be as "concerning" of a sight, would I? Carl believes he tried his best to tell them that he literally just wants to be alone, and that he literally just wants to simply draw for hours; yet, it was easier for them to see him as "depressed". I was not. I simply am a lone-type of person. I was simply trying to engage something that naturally takes a lot of time. I was simply being an artist..? It feels kind of silly wording it out like that. But I guess it's understandable that me and them couldn't meet eye-to-eye, with regards to art, considering upbringing, culture, and all. More importantly, they don't even engage in the practice... But the thing is, we don't have to be. It's not a necessity for us to have the same appreciation for art. Nonetheless, they were forcing it; they were forcing me to look at art and drawing, at what i was doing, as a waste of time. That I am just drawing because I am coping with depression.. I have more than my fair share of issues. But they are mine, alone. And if I need help, I would ask for it... But it just seems impossible for them to not be invasive of my personal life.. To be clear with something, almost all of the nitpicking about my life, is done by my mother.. She is an issue of her own, and I do not want to elaborate more about her, here... .. Anyways, on top of belittling what I was just starting out and carefully trying to engage with, she proceeds to label me as sick, and that I am not aware of it, and that I need her help; all those reasons validating her invasion of my privacy.. I know very well when someone is genuinely concerned.. I also know very well when somebody just wants to engage in "something entertaining"...
For a quick breather, to put things into perspective and on what point of time I believe I am recalling at this point: Carl belongs in a family of 7. Amongst the 5 children, he is the youngest. The eldest is a daughter, and the rest are sons. Carl and his third brother went back to their house, since they were still studying, and that schooling has been halted for the moment. Their three elder siblings were still staying at the city because of work. That being said, it's only him, his third brother, and their parents, who are currently staying at their house. It's already around the June of 2020, Carl still sleeps at the sofa of their living room, he still draws, and he still occasionally gets asked if he's "alright".
I guess a little bit of floor plan is necessary. The living room. The only vacant place in the house where there was "space"; where i can have as much personal space as possible. Our living room wasn't really a lounging space at the time. Since climate change is all the more noticeable in tropical countries, it was generally hot in that area of the house. That's why I, in good conscience, decided to settle at the place consider it my temporary workspace and bed. It is, however, a passing point between the outside of the house, and the dining area. Its like: Outside>terrace>living room>dining area>kitchen/bedroom. The living room, dining area, and the kitchen were all places in the house that was within one line of sight. I was an eyesore, without a doubt.. But hell, I can't do anything about it. I literally have nowhere else to be, where I can be isolated as much as possible. To be fair, our house wasn't intended to have "private spots". Our family doesn't really entertain having "our own rooms" because based on their reasoning, the "walls" would keep us "separated" from each other... It's ironic how the inverse of it is the reality we were living.. That since we can't, I can't, have my privacy, I am naturally uncomfortable and disturbed. The thought counts, but it falls short. Very short. Like, short short. We, or for all intents and purposes, I; I, being the type of human I was, wasn't getting enough distance between myself and others. That's why even though it is generally hot at the living room, was being an eyesore, starting to worsen my scoliosis because of the slanted, cushionless wood sofa; I was simply enduring it all for the sake of having a private space to draw and breath in.. The arrangement of our house and its furnitures accommodate the regular Filipino lifestyle (by the way, I am Filipino). In short, we never had a "study area" or "work area" in our house.
As time went on, my knowledge was humbly accumulating, and the familial matters continued snowballing. As I was struggling with understanding what the terms "hallucis" "lateral/medial" "distal/proximal" meant, I was also compromising my physical health. Besides the things/media I viewed/consumed on my pastimes, the other external factors I was exposed to were generally harmful. The study and experience of art were my existence found solace.
I'd like to mention just a little bit of my insight as to why my why family business was always bound to become a mess. In the simplest sense, the bases of the troubles are simple. How the multitude of issues simply lie upon the hazardous kind of values, beliefs, mindsets, and philosophies. A considerable portion of my upcoming conflicts with my family, especially my biological mother, is because of religion. My family is on the religious side, what's more, we're Filipinos. Religion is part of the culture. And the conflict exists on the parts where they do not see how much religion has twisted and cuffed their way of thinking; their way of living. And that of which I, in the beginning, was actively rejecting, after taking a good look at it and seeing its true and morbid effects on the people who "inflict" themselves with it. I now proceed with art-related dialogues again, hoping that the readers have the image of how I isolated I was (and still am right now, since I'm still not independent), not only in the thing I chose to do - which is art, that of which is a lowkey taboo in my immediate society - , but also in terms of "way of life".
next 1/6
Left and Right: Both drawings are copies I did of pages from Berserk. Roughly 3 years have already passed since then; but, I can still recall the vitality beneath each line that I copied..
Center: A very rough floor plan of our house. From the living room, to the right is the terrace, and towards up is the dining area and the kitchen, consecutively. The little space rendered at the upper right corner is the space where in later time, I would relocate to. But for now, it's still a storage room.