To Open Sea

Dearest ______,

It’s been (literally) years since I last wrote you. I guess when the swell of life tugs you in- even at its most regularised chaos- it’s still just that, chaotic. Beautiful, ugly, quiet, loud, fast, slow: life has been an onslaught of various waves.  Rest assured, it’s been mostly great, my friend. But amidst all that whirl, I might have forgotten how it is to sit down and just write to you.  I hope you’re still there, buoyed to whatever we have between me here and you there. Wherever that is.dsc_0151

But I’m still here.  And now, I’m writing.

Before I get into the minutiae of the past couple of years though (or not, let’s see how this goes), I guess the most pertinent thing would be that we’ve just turned a new year today.

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A lot has been going on around the world these past few years, and it might just be easiest to assume that the coming tide is something that resembles what it’s like going out unto open sea.

I know people who work and stay on boats for long stretches of time. And I hear it gets really lonely sometimes. Even then, despite already knowing the destination, it’s hard enough to get one’s mind to stay on course. Obviously the future in general- 2017– might be harder to navigate.

But we always get there, don’t we?dsc_0127

I myself have launched my own “expedition unto open seas”. Unchartered personal territories (a voyage in as much inwards as out) that might very well test the inner Captain Ahab in me.

But let’s talk about that another time. dsc_0122

For now, I hope we all find what we’re looking for out there. Or in here.

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I remain your faithful friend always,

Love,

Karlita

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Photography and text by Author unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved.

N x W

Dearest ______,

If you remember that one letter where I wrote about my friend Wetworks (a.k.a. Wwwetworks), you’d know that he’s a toy- maker who has been sending his works all over the world for sale and exhibitions. His latest piece is a tandem made up of a robo- hipster named Norton and his galactic navigator Watson.

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The latter, of course, is based on our very own curious pug at home.
Hence the name Watson!
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For his next collaborative exhibition at Pop Con Asia 2014 (Jakarta, Indonesia), he generously gave me one of the slots to interpret his N x W series!

As with all things creative, first came the idea:

Continue reading “N x W”

friday flora

Dearest ______,

Last Friday (after work), I felt like visiting one of my favorite spots in Singapore.
That is, the stretch of flower markets along Thomson Road.

As of late, I find that the most perfect way to cap days off would be to be surrounded by the simplest things at home- clean beddings, a bunch of beautiful flowers, some nice crockery…

20140614-004907-2947304.jpg I started last Friday’s table bouquet with a stunning bunch of flowers that looked like vegetables. Cabbages, to be exact.

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time in space

Dearest ______,

Call it occupational hazard, but I’ve actually learned how to measure time using an acute sense of space.

Space, as in the physical dimensions of height, width, depth; Space, as in pillows and beds and things strewn about particular stretches of days, months, years in one’s life.

1 Space 1.0
A bunch of white orchids in an empty bottle of rum. By way of a little more than these two things, learning to make one’s head (board) constantly occupied.
May 2007-August 2007

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too many figs

Dearest ______,

Fickle women like us, we are but distant echoes of Slyvia’s words before she succumbed to a permanent state of dream-less sleep.
Too many figs.
Too many figs.

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“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, …
… I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

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Do we cut down this tree of perennial longing, stop it from bearing fruits of unattainable dreamjuice?
Our fertile minds, they sometimes imagine futures too full of self- expectation.
Too many figs.
Too many figs.

The more we grow them, the more we hunger.

Love,

Karlita

*If you would like to receive and read more letters, please feel free to subscribe. Thank you.

Photography and text by Author unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved.

urban

Dearest ______,

There is a particular Urban myth that’s proven to be more convincing than most folklore:

it’s this belief that one can get more from life in the city.

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As with most tales, this thought tickles some people’s imaginations.

Is this why we flock into cities to lead lives fuelled by caffeine  and our relentless pursuit of personal causes?

Continue reading “urban”