I have to say, Leonid Afremov‘s paintings are festivals of colors.  They are as overwhelming as fireworks exploding against a clear night sky—as the hot and almost overpowering sweetness of chocolate and caramel melting inside the mouth—as the intense fragrance of fresh jasmine assaulting the nostrils—as a heart-rending vibrato that lingers long after the singer has closed her mouth.  I can say a lot, and I can say very little about the paintings, but my words can never truly do justice to them.

I discovered the artist’s work at 9gag.com of all places, and found a nice compilation of the paintings in this really great blog, which I reblogged, but I’m crediting again anyway.

Make Something Mondays

So, there’s this artist… Leonid Afremov. He is AMAZING. He paints only with oil and a palette knife and creates something new every day of his life. His work is original and phenomenal at the same time. The colors are brilliant and uplifting and I can’t get enough.

 

Leonid according to Deviant Art:

“I’m a professional artist. i paint with palette knife with oil on canvas. Art is my life and I paint every single day. it makes me happy to see people enjoying my art. God gave me a gift of being able to paint good and I thank him for that everyday buy painting and having my art affordable to buy. I was born in city of Vitebsk in 1955. Amazingly enough I was born in the same town as Marc Chagall, the famous artist who also founded the Vitebsk Art School along with Malevich &…

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Now this is what you call a counterattack

Sankage Steno

In response to the Varsitarian article.

I can’t believe it talaga. The nerve of other schools to make paratang to our beloved profs, calling them names like “coward” and “papansin.” It’s so nakaka-irritate! Like super!

How can you make tawag them “coward” when they make tayo nga for what they believe in? Isn’t that so tapang to make sabi your stand on RH bill kahit pa there’s like a huge potential that your employers will make sipa you out of the school? And you call them duwag? Are you kidding me?

And how dare you call our beloved profs “faculty cheering squad?” I mean, look at your cheering squad! They did not even make sabit to the top three. Hello? Before you criticize others, you make tingin first in the mirror.

You also sabi that these profs “do not have the courage of their intellectual conviction.” Do you like…

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Lea’s Official Blog

Look at the goodie I found courtesy of Dee.

Lea’s Official Blog.

I love this woman.

 

People who lunch together, eat together… Thanks Captain Obvious..

Toned-down & vintage

We who love the warmth, open air, and second-hand smoke (I keed, I keed) of GT at noon: L-R me, E, RJ, Apple, and JB. (Taken with my Instax)

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The Legend of Xu Xian

If there is one thing about Perfect World online that I like even until now, it’s the abundance of fan fictions you can come up with it as a source material.  For a time, especially back when I had Toffee (my laptop) with me, I especially enjoyed coming up with different tales related to the diverse world of Pangu.  I’d twist a character here, tweak the lore there, add a dose of imagination, and voila, I have a piece of fan fiction.  Sometimes I joined contests and bagged prizes (weee).

Anyway, I am going to share a fan fiction I created as an entry to a story-making contest sponsored by Perfect World PH.  We were supposed to choose one particular NPC in the game and come up with a background story for him or her.  I did not want to be too mainstream so I opted for an NPC that wasn’t very popular (I myself did not like him that much).  After reading his dialogue, I came up with the basic premise.  I added a few details and came up with this.  Enjoy.

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“Where, from islands in the river,
Ospreys clang, there dwells apart,
Sweet and fair, a modest maiden,
Meet to win our Prince’s heart”

Thus starts the song I found pressed in the book “Tales of Foreign Lands” I got from Xu Xian of Peachblossom Castle. I hurried back to the bridge nearby, where Xu Xian still stood, leafing through the pages of “Feng Potian Biography” in the light of the setting sun.“Keep it,” he said with a smile. “’Tis a memory of times long gone.”

I asked him to tell me about it, and he closed his eyes and the book he held, and after a sigh, began his tale. He was the heir of a merchant family, he said, taught by the scholars of Dragon City in the art of trade and governance. Upon finishing his studies, he went to Arcadia Town for a brief respite. He was however, set to find something else—or rather, someone.

It was a quiet night. He could not sleep, and not even his books could invite slumber, so he went out and sat on one of the chairs by the town’s south entrance. It wasn’t long before his eyes started to droop, but then he heard a faint note, like the sound of water dripping inside an earthen jar. Then came another note, and another, until his soul was filled with melody that sent him seeking the source of such a beautiful sound. His search took him outside Arcadia Town. And there, sitting under a cherry tree in full bloom near the bridge, and seemingly glowing in the moonlight, was Beauty herself.

“Where the water lilies waver
In the stream—from dark to dawn,
To the dear maid, to win her favor,
Sweet and fair, his thoughts are drawn:”

He invited me to read the next lines, and with eyes cast into the distance, continued his story.She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he said. Her skin was fair, her hair was white as the snow of faraway mountains, her eyes violet like fresh lavenders, and all of her seemed to shine with a radiance that rivaled the moon itself. She was holding a lute like in an embrace, and strummed its strings with unearthly grace. She moved her head to the melody of her instrument, her hair carried to a dance by the breeze. Xu Xian found himself catching his breath from watching her.

The music suddenly stopped. He looked at her, and he saw her staring at him with wary eyes. She hurriedly grabbed her lute, and hastily stood up.

“Wait,” Xu Xian had called to her, but she left.

The next two nights, the same thing happened. He asked the townspeople about the girl, but nobody knew her, except for her song. The feeling inside Xu Xian began to burn, from a small flame to an almost raging fire. He had to get her name and talk to her. Before night came, he hid himself behind the bridge, and waited. Just when sleep was beginning to get the better of him, she arrived, shining as ever, this time on brilliant white wings. She began to play, and Xu Xian felt himself aching for her. Before he knew it, he had come out of his hiding place.

“Please don’t be afraid,” Xu Xian said. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to know your name, and why you play that beautiful song every night.”

The girl finally spoke, “I play for my brother, who died under this same tree to protect this town.” She stood up and turned to leave.

“May I ask for your name? I’m Xu Xian.”

“I’m Yu Xue,” she said before she left on her brilliant wings.

“For he sought her, sought her vainly;
But day and night his fancies go
To find her, the night is sleepless,
Full of tossings to and fro”

Thus were the last lines, for the paper was torn, and I looked at Xu Xian with questioning eyes. He nodded sorrowfully.

“Yes, she disappeared.”

He stayed on the bridge every night, while she played under the tree. Sometimes he brought her flowers and some sweet buns, which she received with a smile. She began to talk to him a little more, about Nanke Village where she came from, and about her brother who died. But she refused to tell him where she lived. One day, Xu Xian decided he could not endure any longer. He bought a beautiful scarf for her and waited for night. At last she came and after playing her song he approached her, and gave her the scarf he bought. She smiled, but suddenly her eyes filled with sorrow. She accepted the gift and took off the bracelet she wore on her right hand.

“This was given to me by my brother. I am sorry I cannot stay any longer. Please don’t look for me. And thank you,” she said. She opened her wings, and coughed once. And Xu Xian saw blood trickling down from her lips. Then, she hurriedly left, into the darkness, into the star-laden sky. That was the last time he saw her.

“The page is torn, sir,” I said.

“Yes. I lost the other half, you see.”

“So you never heard anything more about her?”

“No. But I’ll wait here for her. My family stripped me of my heirloom, said I was a fool not fit for my family’s name. But I will wait for her,” and his eyes turned back to the distance.

Sensing the end of the conversation, I left. But I hadn’t gone far from the bridge when I heard Xu Xian’s voice, uttering a song. And I smiled.

“Pluck the water lilies gladly!
Sweet and fair, she comes at last!
Lute and harp lend all your music!
Sweet and fair, let lilies castSacrificial to her welcome
Usher in the bride to be!
Join, ye people, all your voices,
With the merry minstrelsie!”

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The song is not mine. it’s The Song of the Ospreys, a beautiful piece of Chinese literature, translated by an anonymous translator.

 

Hackers and the Fading Magic

Hey, it’s been a long time since I last updated this blog.  It’s really a mixture of technicalities and erratic dispositions that prevented me from authoring new entries, but I suddenly found a newly revived drive to actually pen another post just a few hours ago.  So here it is.

I found myself in an Internet café late at night last Sunday.  The idea that I was in front of a PC not to do anything related to my paycheck reminded me of how long it was since I last visited Krouss, my priest in Dragon Nest SEA.  I did a few clicks until I came to the “Internet Games” panel.  Of course Dragon Nest was there, and so was Perfect World.

I decided to visit Pangu just for the heck of it, and after a few minutes (the game patched) I was inside Perfect World as phoebus, my Fa Shi.  He was still wearing his pale green sleeveless top, shorts, and slippers, and still gripped his Nine Shadows Mystic Staff, its soft golden glow illuminating his tanned face, silver hair, and purple eyes.  He was pretty much the same way I left him—except he was missing his flying sword.

Anyway, as I looked at phoebus, and the world that was Pangu, I was reminded of how eager I was to log in and play back when I was beginning my life as an online gamer.  I missed a lot of things, and I remembered how it was to cast spells as I gripped the mouse—how I travelled to new places on foot (I did not know the Teleporter existed) and how every journey almost cost me my life—and a lot of other things, enumerating which would exhaust a hundred pages.  But somehow, the magic was gone, and I did not find the urge to play again anymore.

Part of the reason for my apathy was really the alterations in the game’s back story.  New races were added that did not totally meld with the original lore I came to associate with the game, and that dampened some of my attachment for the whole thing.  I understand that it is stupid to be sentimental over a game’s back story but I did say in a previous post that the lore is very important to me.  It did not help that I felt that the new races were overpowered, and were occupying the niches that were once reserved for mages and archers, classes that were not very popular in parties from the get-go.

Then there’s the economy which, with every new update, seemed to gravitate towards becoming a system based on real cash.  Sure, you can still play without spending a lot of dough, but if you want to get the best items, you had to work your ass off like hell, something that did not sit well with somebody who had plenty of other things to do, and more necessary stuff to spend on.  It simply wasn’t for me anymore.

And it did not help that I lost my flying sword.  I spent 300 million effin’ yuans for it.  It was an investment, as it was one of the fastest flying mounts in the PH servers.  And it was a Cosmos, arguably one of the best-looking flying swords there was.  I always believed that hackers had nothing to get from hacking my account, and that I was relatively safe (I loaded my account with every possible security option) but it simply wasn’t enough.  In the end, I could only shake my head as I clicked the log out buttons, knowing that returning to Perfect World wasn’t that much of an option anymore.

 

The post inspired by halo halo

From 365greatpinoystuff.files.wordpress.com

Today I just had halo-halo.  It’s one of those you can get at the sidewalk, barely ten pesos, so yeah, it’s kinda cheap.  But when it comes to halo-halo, I have this idea that the cheaper ones are oftentimes the ones that taste better as well.  Or it could be my wallet talking.

Anyway, it’s summer, hence the halo-halo.  Despite nearly dehydrating from all my sweating—believe me, I’m not a fan of sweat—the reality that it’s summer has sunk in only now.  And it was all because of my sudden craving for halo-halo.

Keeping track of summer was easier way back—oh, about a year ago.  It’s my first summer without the end of an academic year to tell me that it’s already the season of beaches and cold drinks.  I have been going in and out of the office since the beginning of the year, and the routine has pretty much prevented me from seeing any difference—except for the searing heat.

Living in a tropical country has its perks, then its letdowns.  I used to teach English to Japanese students when I was in college, and one of my students’ favorite questions involved the difference in climate between Japan and RP, and the beaches.  Many of them expressed their interest in living in a warmer place, and I told them from the bottom of my heart that we were of parallel thoughts—except I wanted to live somewhere colder, with snow included.

I have never been a fan of heat—especially not of summer heat made in the Philippines.  It would have been easier if I had easy access to the glorious beaches of the country, but unfortunately, this is not the case.  On a lighter note, I enjoy the different ways by which I can keep myself cool.  I can do island-hopping, beach parties, eat fresh watermelon, drink fruit shakes—oh, the list goes on and on.  How about you?  What is your idea of the perfect way to spend the summer?  Mine starts with a nice cold glass of halo-halo.

 

Starting my MMORPG journey

If I were to post an entry during a weekend—like today—chances are that I penned my post on a break from a dungeon raid.  So yeah, weekends are my online gaming days, in the absence of any other more significant appointment.  Most of my week is allotted to the office, so the weekends go to unwinding either through hanging out with real-life friends, or playing my online self.

It all began one day—the details are quite clear, for reasons I personally don’t know—a hot day.  I was seventeen, I believe, in my second year in university, and I was lying in bed in the absence of anything to do.  It was one of those days when I actually hated having nothing to do, all because it reminded me of how boring the day was.  I decided that I wanted to give my life a little bit of “spice,” as I called it back then.

Now I was supposed to be a model student—this, of course, is not true, and never was—and extracurricular activities not remotely related to what I did at school were highly taboo.  This included online gaming.  To actually start playing online was the most rebellious thing I could manage at the time—I liked booze but I had no drinking buddies and drinking alone never appealed to me, and smoking made me cough a lot—and for me, it actually supplied the kick I meant to complement my boring life with.  And just like that, images of MMORPG posters paraded in my mind, and I tried to take my pick.  I decided I’d pay the nearest Internet shop—Toffee, my laptop, wasn’t mine yet at the time—a visit the next day.

Unfortunately, no game struck my fancy at the time.  The search went on until I came across Perfect World Online’s section in K-Zone.  I did further research, and I found the screenies and the concept attractive, and the back story simply fantastic—yes, the back story is one hell of a criterion for me.  I decided I wanted to be a Fa Shi—simply because I love being a mage and the name sounded cool.

One day, a friend told me she was playing PW, so I told her I wanted her to help me enter the game.  We set up to meet after class, went to an internet shop, and created my very first character, a male Fa Shi I named phoebus.  PW offers a very detailed customization feature, something I took full advantage of when I made my character—it took me an hour just making his face.  He is still my main and favorite character until now.

I entered the game’s world with a very quickly beating heart.  Everything seemed so nice and wonderful.  I actually felt like I was transported to some fantastical Chinese universe where people flew and threw brands of fire.  The feeling persisted even after I logged off.  For days and nights, I dreamt of nothing but PW.  I played when I could, leveled up, met people, and bought phoebus a lot of items.

Anyway, I have been playing MMORPGs for more than five years now, and I have tried playing almost every free-to-play online RPG that became available in the country.  I called it quits with PW months ago—for reasons I might discuss in another post—and am into Dragon Nest SEA.  This reminds me that Krouss, my priest, is waiting for me to go back and play.  So ciao for now, and thanks for reading.

 

Photo 1 is taken from Cubizone.com, while photo 3 is taken from Pinoypc.net, uploaded through Photobucket

 

On open-mindedness and digital art

I consider myself an artist, and I don’t think I’m being conceited by saying so.  Artistry is, for me, a flexible concept, and being an artist does not necessarily mean being a genius.  I prefer to think of artistry as having the eye—and the heart—to see the inherent beauty of this world and of the cosmoses that exist in realms unseen.  Hence, I believe that artistry entails an open-minded attitude to the different ways by which beauty may be expressed and brought to perceivable actuality.

I draw, maybe not as much as I did years ago when I had valuable time, and when I considered the trails left by my pencil as the sole magical bridge that joined the world and my imagination, but I draw, and that’s it.  And just a few years ago, I taught myself to color my drawings digitally, and you can see my progress in my deviantART page.  The thing is, I came to love digital art, and actually considered using pixels as my permanent medium.  So you can pretty much imagine how I felt when a friend of mine rebuked me for not being a “real” artist.

An artist, she said, should have his hands get dirty—with paint, with coal, with whatever.  Digital art is so easy, she said, what with the artist’s capacity to erase his mistakes and the presence of all the tools that rendered a certain effect at a single click.  For her, it’s not real art, and will always be inferior to her canvas and cans of acrylic.

I will not get into details about the argument that followed because I’m telling you, it got pretty intense.  As an artist, I felt insulted.  I felt the same way when I submitted an entry to a fanart contest organized by Perfect World PH and people complained about entries like mine—which were colored digitally—for not being real art (but I won the contest anyway *evil laugh here*).

Art, I think, is one of the most rapidly evolving aspects of humanity.  It is always changing, altering with time and with the currents of human sentimentality and intention.  It would be against the nature of art to reject the concept of pixels and stop embracing new mediums.  Art is one of the last bastions of true human freedom, and to constrain it within a certain established set of techniques would strangle it and the human souls that depend on it for their sanity.

Moreover, just to be fair—and I will not sugarcoat my words here—digital art is no friggin’ piece of cake—heck, even cake is a piece of art and it’s darn hard to make one that you can call a masterpiece.  Sure, digital art’s definitely easier than blending colors and applying several layers of paint, but it doesn’t make it a walk in the park.  The differences pretty much end in the tools and the method, but anywhere else, a digital artist and my friend’s concept of a “real” artist are on even ground.

Most importantly, any piece of art takes time to make.  It requires that the artist invest a part of his or her soul to bring life to the masterpiece, and insulting somebody’s work by calling it fake just because it doesn’t smell like paint (don’t get me wrong, I also paint) is an insult to the person’s soul itself.  Art is not dictated by medium, it never was.

Artworks here too good to be mine.  They’re done by a friend, and you can find more of his works here.  Uploaded through Imageshack.

 

Books and the race to becoming smarter

Read.

This, according to my professor is the best way to become smarter.  Well, of course I want to become smarter.  So I challenged myself to read at least 50 books in a year.

Hmm, there are 365 days in an annum, so reading at least 50 books does not seem like a big thing.  At least that was what I thought.  I realize now, with a facepalm, that I was wrong.

It’s mid-April and so far, I have finished only 15 books—give or take, not including manga and all that—since the start of 2012.  Laboring through a bit of arithmetic (yes, I am that poor in Math) convinced me that at the rate I’m going, achieving my target may be an all too dreary prospect.  But right now, the decision to hit my goal is still burning too hot for me to give up.

Even as I write this entry, I am thinking of the unfinished books somewhere in my room.  There’s Milan Kundera’s The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, a book I borrowed from a friend—who for now we’ll call Sid (he actually convinced me that the book is not the type you’d want to read very fast so I don’t feel that guilty about not finishing it until now).  Then there are a slew of other pieces: Penguin books, a James Conrad, a Stephen King, several Redwall books, one on the American Civil War, and one on Irish folk tales.

I love my books, and I treat them with a certain level of reverence.  Most of them I got from Booksale (your friendly affordable bookstore) in one of my book shopping sprees.  Some of the books in my collection are my sister’s—who loves books just as much, if not more than I do.  The others are borrowed from friends, mostly from Sid, who has interesting taste when it comes to books—or at least that’s what I think.

Anyway, as I said, it’s just mid-April.  I guess I still have a lot of time to do what I have to do.  So come on guys, give me your support.  Or if you can lend me books…

Photo was taken from here and uploaded with ImageShack.us.