Author: [email protected]

Blush

[email protected] June 30, 2013

Blush

2013.6.22

All through the rainy night, kindred spirits, upstarts, playfellows, and intimates arrived to shake things up. Old friends returned with something garden-fresh to say. Legendary individuals and loyal customers gave the exhibit their warmest gift of presence yet – but not even the priests that asked for wet weather could explain the rapture of celebrating a career arc that’s compressed in 30 art pieces.

Self-entitlement? Trickster? Put-on? Invented! Whatever the reason is for the exhibit, bad guys certainly deserve no better. So, what’s good in the world aside from rain dropped blessings? Art, as always. Music, as always. Friendship, love, and beyond. All those molasses that perk us up and let us feel the sweet ecstasy that we are.

There must be hordes of irate art enthusiasts out there. I’m more ready and legal than ever to work for you. When I was younger, I had weapons-grade allure. Now, I’m just delicate. The Garden’s philosophical musings demand some kind of cultural watershed for the disgruntled and the impaired. If in anyway you’re affected, welcome to the beautiful congested world of woe and wretchedness.

This garden blooms for therapeutic benefits.

We walk the fertile and furtive grounds so we won’t be satisfied. There’s always something to fuss about, someone to care about. We’re unrelaxed but it’s not bad. It’s just another way of creating a headspace where you believe you have a purpose. We are always riddled with ominous news and views but the current of life sways over these painted images, lines and shadows. It is the dream of art to bind us in a world full of realization, and once we’re convinced that life is what we paint in ourselves, then art succeeds in making this world at least as weightless as an artist’s brush stroke. I’m kidding of course.

My wholehearted and bona fide gratitude to all my family and friends who’ve supported THE GARDEN with fondness, appreciation and great music.

Nothing it seems can upset the balance of good and evil.

World without end.

Visit ‘The Garden’ digital art exhibit at  Sweet Ecstasy, Cubao Expo.

Operating Hours:

Tuesday to Thursday 4:00pm – 11:00pm
Friday to Saturday 4:00 pm – 2:00am
Sunday 4:00pm – 9:00pm

 

-C

The Garden: Mobile Wallpapers

[email protected] June 3, 2013

 

It’s a sickness.  Like all forms of vanity, I can’t help myself from disappearing up my own ass. How does one please one’s self? With idle hands of course. I was in the mood, and so, I did. So here’s a treat for your corrupt, wicked ways. Wallpapers. Yes. Vertical strips of decorative deceit.  These dirty bits and slices from the upcoming exhibit will tease and dance, for free. It’s all about letting the laundry dry up in the open. Yes, it has that garden-fresh smell. No, there will be no picking of flowers. Pluck.

Blossoms decide to be seen a certain way. They’re like cheese sliding off a cracker just before the bite. They’re slowly becoming an invented commodity if they aren’t already. These fragments will grow and become characters for our mind-numbing situations.

They start as fictional, which is, perforce beyond faults except within the restrictions of contemporary living: medicated indifference, chronic profanities and dreadful maintenance. These are sticky, self-inducing situations. It’s time to take an ill turn. Whys and wherefores be damned. I’ve always enjoyed coming up with misguided characters and make-believe landscapes anyway, and this bud won’t be nipped anytime soon. I hope they find their ways into your neat places. They’re good company. They’re quite touching and as per request, they can also be, as touchy. Be guided accordingly. Clothing is always optional.

When creating, even the worst idea becomes perfect. There’s no right or wrong way of coming up with crooked visions. Most of them are hazy, hasty, unnoticed, and unfocused anyway. And despite my mind’s protestations, it’s decided to reveal the self-mocking artfulness of this flowery libido. Both in method and outcome, it’s become a necessity after developing the death of social graces.

It’s nice to survive one context after another. These works are little obstacles made with a child’s delight. It’s a gift to all who seek salvation from getting their asses kicked by life’s heaviness and uncertainty. I’ll be selling half-broken dreams. Please complete it with your pristine half. Go ahead, always try the unsweetened. It’s ok to be a scared romantic. We’re all Capricorns and they’re all Cancers.

These were made from the doubts of the cynics. With their lukewarm blood as fuel, it’ll exist outside the rubbish of everyday life and will act as an amplifier for your very own surface noise. Could that be your heart beating? Kick-start.

In order to cinch a dramatic deal, these pieces will be exhibited soon enough for far-reaching consequences and imploding reasons. It’s got a lightness of touch and a wink to it.

You can almost certainly pick fights with it, but don’t expect to get all black and blue. They can only tickle and fiddle.

I only hope it’s also a sweet tune for you.

-C

Spider Baby The Musical

[email protected] May 7, 2013
Womb Mates
Womb Mates

In most caffeinated days, I’ve maintained a vain consistency of over sharing to say the least. We openly type our big, hairy dreams side by side  our absent dislikes and enthusiastically wait for the unfamiliar, the creeping, and the anonymous to wipe our attention deficit disorders away, leaving all but the little maladies as sour desserts. To say that people now are fixated with virtual life is an understatement. Social media has sucked out all the riddles and secrets we’ve kept to our exaggerated swollen selves. We take the world for a spin not realizing it’s the other way around. Too many egos. Where’s the new plague? Social filters are non-existent and there’s no easy way to shut up and stay in a corner anymore. Everyone wants more than their allotted 15 minutes. Go ahead and pet the delete button. It gets lonely, too.

In the interwebs, most people are compelled to sound off and pontificate all things awful and unimaginative. Everyone sort of participates in a language for cosmic intercourse but most often than not, the exchanges are unreadable and just plain daft. This blog of course, is honorably included.

At a time when the world seems incarcerated from quality and ethical responses, an astonishing development seemed to brew beyond my powers of prophecy. Offenders have become the standards and the talentless is the new talented. Addiction is the typical, and regrettably, ignorance becomes our new religion, and senselessness, our spirit animal. Welcome to the wonderful world of digital dependence. I can’t talk to you now cause I’m typing on my phone.

Lunacy is more relevant now than it ever was. Through its cycles of obsessions, cures, and relapses, we’ve all grown unsentimental and unapologetic to our own little insanities. Now, it has grown to define us. It is the badge we slap around people’s faces just to make sure there’s still blood pumping through their erected erections.

Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to conclude on this note, just as it would be a mistake to take any of these writings seriously, to read about these netizen’s life and declare a moral low ground and critique their lives as tales of misfits and half-bakes. My soiled clinical observation is that we’re all of the deadly sins ourselves; wrapped in a web of newfangled digital urge and unchecked pornocopia.

We’ve all become spectral vampires, preying on those who fancy our user-friendly profile pics. Your device for catching prey is now tingling. It is as entwined to flattery as we all are.

Web 2.0,

You’ll always be my virus and I, your parasite.

Hold my hand, minibeast.

                                                                                                             -C

 

Curiosity Killed The Cat And Satisfaction Brought It Back.

[email protected] April 28, 2013
Moon Religion
Moon Religion

 

Cats haven’t forgotten that they were once revered as gods. They’ve totally trained me to treat them as hallowed hollow fur balls with insatiable demands for treatsy treats. I shower them with constant attention and admiration but still in return, they look down upon me and my earthly needs: semi-unrequited love and its life lessons. Pet and stroke away. To err is human, to purr is feline.

When cats are around, they manage to get in the way of everything. Typing on the computer, running hastily downstairs, closing windows, in the middle of toilet duties, plastic plant watering, book pretend-reading and axe murdering. They’re ALWAYS in the way. No apologies for the inconvenienced. ‘How do you like meow?’ You’ve cat to be kitten me right meow.” Have you even listened to their grammar?

I don’t compromise with them though. They’re stubborn and they beat me with 9 lives worth of experience. One look at those soul-destroying eyes and you’ll somehow feel chilly within two wags of their snaky tails. If they’re not plotting to kill you, they’re just thinking of ways to get even.

If you try and pet them without their consent, you’d have nagging scratches and stab wounds on the spot. Killer switchblades! Surprise! If they were any faster or bigger, I’m sure owning one (or the opposite) would be probably made illegal. They have that exact poker face look whether you’re giving them food or if they see you stark nude. I don’t think they’ll ever be impressed. (Regardless of strapping body parts or countless cattoos) You shelter, feed and protect them but still, they go away. Pretty racket I guess. (Out for mating, drug runs, pageants, or other pending plots, we’ll never know) They are so unaffected by threats that their ninja/assassin ranks couldn’t go any higher. Call them for attention and they’d rather take a message and do naps instead. Why should they follow orders? Their secret lives are already sufficient interruptions between coughing hairballs and licking. I’m sure they have wonderful flavors.

Masterful acting coated in vanilla.

They’re needy, self-ruling, wild and domestic, all at the same time. They’re insanity personified, but a masterpiece, nevertheless. It’s just a matter of hours before they possess you entirely.

Cats in heat deserve an epic novel altogether.

Love without penalties. Safe secrets. Purrfect.

Pause. Sit down. Stay put. Choose your vantage point.

Inertia is an art form.

-C

The Garden

[email protected] April 25, 2013

the-garden-poster-june22

Digital Art Exhibit By Coy Placido

THE GARDEN is a metaphor for our own minds. It reveals our thinking in terms of opposites. It seeks to deliver the senses into a plane of consciousness that transcends duality. These works are inspired by the inescapable condition of our nature within humanity and beyond the bounds of society to think in contrast or in twofold. Man & woman, good & evil, true & false, you & I, and so forth.

By not seeing the world of solid things but a world of radiance, the exhibit yearns to reflect a romantic value. As a collective, it can be interpreted as a clash of goals, striving to convey reverie and concentration. With conflict as its characters, there is purposeful action in pursuit of classic values.

THE GARDEN is inspired by the account of Creation, where Adam and Eve were expelled for disobediently eating from the fruit of the tree of knowledge. It is a dramatized abstraction of the basic pattern of: option, intention, friction, insecurity, struggle, and victory. THE GARDEN is a response to values. It is with a person’s sense of living that one falls in love. This is the artist’s take on loving the profound, the conscious and the subconscious.

Recollect the harmony in duality.

 

Musical performances:

 

About The Artist:

Coy Placido was born on the twentieth of October in Baguio City in 1977, making him a Libra and a pacifist.  He has been making graphic materials tied to his musical attempts for more than a decade, although he first doodled a lost masterpiece at the age of 3. His works range from photo manipulations, illustrations to digital artworks and design branding. He first started doing art as a supplement to his prose and poems posted online, learning techniques and eventually assembling enough material for a first major exhibit.

His favorite things include wondering and wandering, eating meatless dishes and editing photos beyond recognition.

He currently lives in Fairview, Quezon City with his wife and son, and almost a dozen cats that need adoption.

He plays music with the bands sessiOnroad and Top Junk.

He’s very grateful when dreams visit him at night.

Drink Pretty Creature, Drink

[email protected] April 23, 2013
Drink Pretty Creature, Drink
Drink Pretty Creature, Drink

April swelters.

My shirt kept saying, “Take me off!” and all I could say is,  “Do you have protection?” Of course, not all the negotiations that go inside these circuits are as fried as our forecasts of late. I want sun protection factors that could insulate and moisturize my tinted, tipsy, beddable mind. Lights flash, confetti explodes and thousands of unironic green balloons tumble from the cool heavens. Fine. These sorts of fantasies are not that intriguing. But I do anticipate high levels of exposure and indecency any hot minute. Is there a drink that cross-fades this heat to something refreshingly reasonable?

Cold blood beverage.

Art isn’t always pretty. But she drinks and she’s getting there. I wish I had a direct line to my well of craziness. Routinely, I just waddle through the sludge. If you’re looking for allusions about drink addiction, the supply has never been better. There are drinker’s psychology, pharmacology, infomercials, and treatment records, trash novels and vain personal memoirs. If I’ve to look at pop entertainment and the daily news I’d have to take another swig. Yes, everyone I believe, needs a drink. Whenever I’m under the impression that I got my muse pinned down, that’s when she just slips my fingers. Perhaps it’s the dynamics of luck. Or it could very well be the lack of meditations on betrayal and loyalty. Whatever it is, we all do what we can to ease the biting loneliness. For reasons unknown to me, I don’t have a lot of confidence in my fingers anymore. They tremble. Should I raise another glass? What side of the intoxicated fence are you really on? Where do we draw the line? Is sobriety straight through and through? Shaking hands. Losing grip. Tortured drunk typing. Read with caution.

Life gulps down that one fix then looks forward to the next; all I can say is, too much a bittersweet thing is always barely enough.

I Love You To The Moon And Back

[email protected] April 17, 2013

i-love-you-to-the-moon-and-back

I

Tales about lost youth, and its necessary lessons of disillusion. Almost. Except that I’d have to convey them for now in graphic works and petty blogging. I need an owl. A tattoo. Yes. Soon. I’ve been your regular poultry in motion for some time, true. What accounts for bravery these days? If I listen to my body well enough, it’ll only say the loudest thing: A daring call to roll in the hay. Let’s make love to the moon then, shall we? We all feel a bit expired from time to time. We need an orbiting intention. Intensively and intensely. I feel like I achieve more during the night. It’s not an exaggeration since I purposely  let her rule me at nightfall. She shines just to pick on the condition of this sloppy, pounding soul. Yes, she shines bright like a vagina.

Here’s for the inhabitants of the dark. The brewing witches, in their friendless and profane places. For those in need of a cure for drunkenness. Whatever the intoxicant might be. Alcohol, curses, despair, light, egos, strange bedfellows, falsehood and dead losses, anything in-between the proverbial sandwich.

II

The moon. Such an enigma, wrapped in a riddle surrounded by drunks. Drunks like you and me. Perhaps there is a latchkey somewhere. She is my ultimate spaceship. She watches me and never turns her back for anything. Not even your battle dress. She pries at the right distance. Enough to obscure the almighty sun perfectly. Consequently feeding the shadow of this bitter, bitter heart. What love. Fly me to the moon. I’m tired of waiting. This is not the commonwealth. Hoot.

– C

Enchanted

[email protected] April 14, 2013

I’ve recollected, and I can say that I’ve slept most nights deeply and profoundly. And when I sleep,  I dream wondrous and beautiful dreams in which, for instance, I find myself in possession of treasure chests. Or a woman’s chest for that matter. I sit here, head lilting, playing playful playlists, waiting for inspiration to kiss me in the nape. I wonder where my hands would lead me. Oftentimes through a lover’s eyes, and, less specifically but more cosmically toward another image. It could be inspired, it could be tired. For those who choose to use the internet merely as a tool of chaste productivity, this is not for you. I really hope I can post nudes here. Any kind of nude. What lies ahead? Carnality. I wish.

So, here are a couple of raw, unadulterated  images to be used for posters this coming week:

for Top Junk‘s junky fix, I worked on a matryoshka doll. I plan to make a more elaborate version of this if only I can commence a raunchy tussle with her full anatomy, or lack thereof. She’ll always have a lovely, hunky trunk.

Matryoshka

 

 

Don’t we all like to hoot? It’s basically a sound for both scorn and merriment.

sessiOnroad will be having their 15th anniversary next month. Where did the years go? WHY did the years go?

Hoot

Hoot. Let’s get off  to a haunting start.

But speaking of getting off, I wish we all are. As now I am. For good purpose. There’s a stripper I don’t want to keep waiting. Maybe we’ll share something explicit. Picture something illicit. Maybe get some good restorative sleep. For chances are, I’ll just keep dreaming.

– C

 

 

The Radiance Of All Things

[email protected] April 11, 2013

tgf8_effected

Welcome to my pleasure craft. Do you read introductions? Mostly, I skip them since I have the patience of a hungry kitten. Why would this site need any preludes after all? I guess we all need to establish a form of initiation in one way or another. It’s where a tale, a gossip, or a whisper is sparked. Most of the images you see here are forms of lead-ins. They may or may not affect you. But it hopes to catch a sentiment at least. It is the continued romance of Beauty and the Beast. A fable, an affair, it exists to affirm and deny all things that are subconscious. It stretches to recognize all that is invisible. It’s also here to amuse and be hideous.

I’m tempted to say that these works are all, in their various ways, about the thought of opposites. Since we are meant to think that way, in this lifetime at least. You may find that they convey spectacular stories on their own, and at times may just promote nonsense. It would be a splendid and even plausible nonsense, but nonsense nevertheless.

This is for people  who’ve long heard the music.

This is for you.

 – C