Yet another one of my hobbies – watching the swell and the daredevils that are out here at Ocean beach, known for its powerful beach break surfing, especially during the winter season. This is not a location for the faint of heart. Even seasoned swimmers and surfers are wary and careful due to the harsh conditions. I’ve long been a fan of coming out here and seeing people in their element. It never feels like a trip back home to San Francisco without coming out to Ocean beach, even if I’m not actually in the water.
No, I’m not referring to the tv show. I can’t remember if my brother brought me here first, or it was my uncle who was living here at the time in the 90’s… Either way, it’s been over two decades since I first breathed in the fairly fresh mountain air (or as mountain as one can get in the city.) This is just one of the things about San Francisco I love. Important things like this don’t (seem to) change, and nothing paves the way for a shiny and new viewing point with a fancy gondola and a twenty dollar price tag, because the natural landscape is preserved. Okay, if it sounds like I’m being bitter about the other place I live, I will neither confirm nor deny that. However, one has to concede that while change is inevitable and necessary, there is a big portion of unnecessary construction in order to improve a country’s GDP, or attract more, more, more of everything. Either way, this little detour off a shopping trip to Trader Joe’s is always worth it. My friend and I raced (carefully) up both the Noe and Eureka peaks huffing and puffing, enjoyed the views and caught a breather, fully intending to make the walk up and down (and up and down) both peaks again to get back to the car, but decided to test out walking around the little mounds instead, which took less than ten minutes. We were howling at our idiocy for thinking it was potentially faster to ‘cut through’ the peaks (including an intense dialogue on graph theory (shortest path problem), but y’know the views were worth it.
What was crazy was catching the glare off the pacific ocean, or to possibly be more specific, catching the glare off the gulf of the Farallones (ugh, don’t get me started on the preservation and study of the Farallon Islands aka The Devil’s Teeth because I am enamoured on so many fronts – story for another time), but there is no way to know this since our eyes aren’t capable of seeing that far. It’s a pretty incredible idea to look, yet see nothing but the vast ocean. Now I’m really not a lens flare sort of person (says every slightly more seasoned amateur photographer, haha), but I just wanted to remember the awe I felt as my friend and I were blinded by both the sun and its reflection in the horizon.
Somehow, I lucked out on the last viewing of the cold moon when I walking around, trying out this new disposable camera lens (fitted over my fuji xe-4) I purchased over Black Friday. The photos were fun to take, but I’m uncertain about the aesthetic. It was amusing to watch the moon rise over the horizon with a bunch of eager strangers though, and enjoying the brisk and gusty San Francisco weather remains as one of my top ten favourite things to do in the world.
I made my way to a tiny museum almost forgotten by the public in a small localised neighbourhood in Seoul at the beginning of Fall. Celebrating the museum’s 30th anniversary, they had a showcase on it’s rich history of housing contemporary art from around the world alongside a special exhibit such as this. Though it’s been decades since the museums heyday, it’s so lovely to be able to enjoy art that has almost been forgotten because it’s not widely showcased on social media or aggresive in it’s marketing tactics.
Since Rousse’s work is so site specific and time-bound, it makes it all the more special. An anamorphosis technique like this reminds me of Trompe-l’œil illusions originally fashioned by the Greeks back who knows when. Even attempting to capture it in a picture fails me (as seen in the top left photo, haha!) Ugh, it’s so good!
November is shaping up beautifully, after a series of situations rendering me untethered and uncertain. When I mean by beautiful, I mean that things have not been good, but quiet, and quiet is such a dream right now. As expected, knowing is very different from living things out. With each struggle, we can only take things one day at a time.
Being away from life’s distractions has allowed me to take stock and acknowledge things that I’ve been intentionally ignoring – for the sake of some form of survivorship, I suppose. And you know, sitting outside in the sun, enjoying the winter’s ocean breeze really puts things in perspective. We are all such tiny, small humans in this universe of God’s creation. Tomorrow is not even guaranteed.
This year has been one full of growth and coming to terms with some realities. It’s been okay-ish. It tends to feel like I don’t move forward fast enough, or don’t do quite enough, yet the years are not to be measured solely on the successes determined by the world, nor the number of personal accomplishments I have ticked off the imaginary list. It’s hard to just, be, more often than not.
For me, the purposeful exploration of self and identity has been an ongoing project for decades, and the intention of travelling less, for shorter periods of time to work on various projects has been challenging. Feeling cooped up is almost second nature to me, especially when weighed down by responsibilities (ugh.) Knowing theory, like knowing the theology behind my belief, doesn’t mean that my heart understands these things.
Lately, I’ve been working on a fun project, where I spend time in the studio being lost. Introspection is not as easy when faced with a blank canvas, asking yourself “what do I want to say without words?” I think this is the general rule of thumb, if I knew exactly what I was going to create and how I was going to go about it, it would probably be rather dull. The lack of control is probably both a vice and a virtue.
It’s kind of crazy to say that I am finally (finally!), going to launch my first collective body of work, titled Time, in two months. There’s still much to be done, but I am taking it one day at time as things have gone into production (and is now beyond my control.) I had been toying around with this idea when living in London back in 2021, and it felt so far away, improbable, or… impossible? But now that it is in motion, it actually feels like, nothing. I don’t feel anything. As an ideas person, I wonder if the idea is better than the actual, tangible product or execution of said idea? I am weak at execution, often losing steam and talking myself out of ideas. Thankfully, I talked myself out of talking myself out of the idea? How meta.
Now that things have moved into the slightly more tedious stage, I’ve found myself wandering about the next collection – my latest interests and things I’d love to explore more of. It feels like a puzzle for now – one to treasure.
I’d like to say ‘Happy New Year!’ , though it’s already February. It’s hard to believe time passes so quickly (yet it keeps happening at the same pace it has always moved.) Ah, the mystery of time, or perhaps, it’s just my regular idiocy at hand here.
Spent quite a bit of time mountain watching, eating well, and falling a lot on the slopes this past snowboarding season. It’s been an extremely long time since I got back to it, so I’m rusty in every way you can possibly imagine. It was a difficult first couple of days, but it turned out much better once I spent time reflecting on the objective of this exercise and what my intentions were in the first place. Spending precious time with God on a daily basis is also one that is so necessary for me, even when rushing to the slopes before the powder disappears and you’re left with all the deathly scary icy mounds.
I was thinking that I’d like to spend more times in the mountains this year. My love for cities tend to wax and wane quite naturally, so I smell some change happening. Maybe I’d take that back soon enough, we shall see.
I’m not certain how much I travelled this year, but I’d say it might have been too much. There seems to be a strange pattern in my life with excessive spring, fall and winter travels, with summer being the only downtime I experience a year. Long before work took me overseas, I’ve always remembered travelling with my parents. My father was constantly on the road. He was always exposed to new cultures and ways of life, and he would bring his children along for the ride to learn a thing or two. No doubt that I inherited my love for travel from him.
Off the top of my head, there are some highlights that I remember quite fondly this year. Watching the beautiful Norwegian sunset at the end of summer with my friends whilst eating olives, leftover cheese and untoasted white bread on a picnic mat by the sea, visiting my first comprehensive Francis Bacon retrospective at the National Portrait Gallery, enjoying Sun & Sea – a modern travelling opera on global warming with my mom, sitting by Canal st Matin with my buddy buddy PBJ smoothie observing all these young people.. being young.., watching Yuichiro-san make endless pour overs in a foreign city towards the start of fall, playing mini-golf with friends and family at our usual spot in the dogpatch, eating chips and caviar alongside grilled avocados in the morning as part of a ‘healthy’ breakfast, hitting up the local craft fair and meeting fellow creative folks and melding into the couch with my brother as we worked through seasons of tv shows during the thanksgiving break.
There’s so much to be thankful for again this year, but beyond materialistic providence, I also wanted to remember the central reason of all that we have, being God’s grace (and mercy) above all else.
Happy Holidays to anyone who stumbles onto this journal, though I hope no one even bothers to read this part of the internet. Cheers.
For the first time in a long while, I felt the yearning to pen something quickly before I forgot the importance of this moment. I had been putting off watching Ryuichi Sakamoto’s Opus for a while, just like how I have locked sad creative fantasies away after too much interaction of that in real life, for a season of rest, relaxation and potential healing.
Nearing the anniversary of his death, an opportunity came up to watch the performance in a cinema, which felt somewhat necessary, almost. Quieting the noise of the world, I unstrapped my watch, turned off my phone and placed both feet on the ground (laugh all you want, but it felt respectful for the mastery of his work) for an hour and forty plus minutes. Funnily enough, it was just six strangers; all loners, sitting in a neat vertical row. I wondered if anyone else noticed.
His performance brought me back to moments in my small, tiny life when I had loved and lost, and each time my mind wandered, it found its way back through his music. Unexpectedly, I teared at the beginning, and found myself weeping near the end. For decades now, I’ve been deeply in love with his delicate music, constantly encapsulating emotions where words seem to fail.
Upon reflection, I have to say that ageing has given emotions a much more pronounced presence in my life. My days of black and white appear less and less, realising that we tend to live in the greys. Things are tinged with multiple sensibilities, which also seem to create more beautiful, holistic imagery of our fleeting lives. Well, besides ageing (or experience, if you want to be kind about it), I’d have to say that experiencing grief in its fullness will also unlock a certain kind of emotive capability in you, if you let it. The last phrase truly being the kicker.
Recently someone asked me a poignant question, and perhaps it was not intended to be so, but it evoked a sense of melancholy somehow. It’s not particularly sad, per se, but either way, it reminded me of these photos from winter last year that I completely forgot about. The question was simple, “Do you feel like you leave a part of yourself behind, or are you complete wherever you are?” I’m paraphrasing, I think. It’s hard to tell on hindsight since we often forget.
As I was dwelling on this topic, I remembered I had felt so alone back then (whenever this ‘back then’ was) because some memories are etched to different parts of you that grew up in a myraid of environments. When I had left the states the first time, I was full of fear that I would no longer be that same self (a foolish thought) and I would suddenly be recognised as that person “who used to live in the states” (utter rubbish, since we can define ourselves however we want.) Another point I had failed to consider in my younger years was that people simply do not care about you much, as they tend to be more focussed on their own issues and insecurities. For example, when I return to the states, uk, or japan, my personal self changes (even if ever so slightly) where I adapt to the culture I am familar with. This is not to say I am no longer myself, but I am the me, that lived in that country (probably evolved as we are constantly changing, if this even makes sense…) Okay, I bet Freud would have something to say about this.
Anyway, I am often very glad to be back in the states, regardless of whether it is for work or pleasure, as I find myself to be very free. While each city/country has its pros and cons, I am merely expounding on the personal self assessment when back in different places I grew up or spent time in. I used to feel like I was leaving a big chunk of myself behind whenever I left the Bay area. However, with age, it started to feel as though I could walk through an imaginary door in my mind and stand right in front of my home there. In all honesty though, I’ve found that the repetitive action of booking the plane ticket, boarding that flight and taking that same route over and over again help me realise just how accessible it could be. However, the reality that we are changing every single day, and the memories we hold near and dear to our hearts can never be anything more than that reminds me that we are all here for a brief time. It would only be wise to consider why we are here and what we are here for. (Wow stop nagging, Denise.)
Last bit. It felt really special to see that Gerhard Richter painting that I fell in love with when I was 18. It has been 16 years after all! Also, it’s been years but I am still enamoured by Twombly’s work. Ugh.
Denise Taw 