STAGE I : The first 3 pictures without a consistent storyline.
To represent self in objects is a complicated task. What did I wish to explore about my inner self? What truly shaped my identity in the past 19 years? And why would these objects hold the significance they do? And would they even be intriguing to the target audience, which are my classmates?
Having these questions in mind, I set upon my task of pillaging through my old things, and found a handful of memorabilia with provocative stories to tell.
1) A Letter from a Stalker, In a Fridge
2) Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Meek One, With my framed portfolio in the Background
3) The Styrofoam Model of a Hand, With a Black Background
The letter was written to me in March, 2014 by a previous desk-mate in high school. We were never on good terms, having built our relations on competitive grounds; trying to outdo each other in every subject possible. At least, that was what I perceived our relations to be.
It turned out that he had an obsession with me, and wrote this letter describing how he knew the number of shoes that were on my shoe rack back home, and even how the way I walked and the way I did my hair. It was queer to be the object of someone’s obsession, but I respected the sass. As such, I told him to focus on taking care of his parents. I couldn’t possibly ruin the life of a person with stability, I mused.
Upon closer reflection and commentary from my peers, my actions under these circumstances revealed something I never knew about myself. Why was I not terrified? Why was my response interestingly considerate although I did not believe myself to be so? How on earth did I not feel anything remotely drastic from this entire event?
Answer (1 year later): Asexuality, Self-Obsession and High tolerance for anomalies. I must be utterly concentrated on living my own life and being self-absorbed to not realize that it was different for someone else to know the details in your life. Being ostracized for having different conceptions about reality in the earlier part of my life greatly magnified my tolerance for behavioral anomalies. And it is better to be aware of these features of mine than it is to be ignorant.
The Meek One is a tale written by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, best known for his work, Crime and Punishment. This short tale adopts the style of the stream of consciousness of the narrator, which makes the story feel a lot more personal, intimate and unpredictable. The narrator begins his tale by presenting himself as the dominant older male, a proud owner of a pawn shop, who found interest in a poor, meek 19-year old girl (with the looks of a 14-year old) from a background of poverty. He derived amusement from mocking this less fortunate girl, which understandably (from the reader’s perspective) foreshadows his romantic interest in her. As expected, she marries him for his money and they begin their married life together. The story goes on to show the gradual depletion of the narrator’s dominance and increasing submission to his increasingly shrewd wife. The tale ends with her entirely dominating his existence.
So what does this tale mean to me? And what’s with the background portfolio?
My portfolio that stands in the background was done partly as a homage to Vincent Van Gogh (the only crush I ever had) [technique wise], a metaphor for 19 years of my life trapped in the education system [plot] and was greatly inspired by my muse that is my fiance [emotion]. You might be mystified on how these 3 seemingly singular elements connect into 1 project. Let me explain (briefly) . . .
It’s really that simple.
Now assimilate this picture of Madness that stands behind a tale of Dominance turned Submission . . . Voilà! You see how I came to be the Meek One I am today because of the madness that had touched me (though now subsided).
The Styrofoam Hand was the first ever object I purchased at Art Friend. Mind-boggling as it is, there isn’t a deep explanation for why I bought this thing. I was born with hands whose look I didn’t like, although I did like the work they produced. So I decided to give myself a hand (that I actually like) to look at and draw, whenever I feel like it.
CONCLUSION OF STAGE I
You might have noticed that there ain’t any pictures for one to appreciate in this post. I deleted them all in a fit of unhappiness over my work. However, there will be pictures in the next post that is STAGE II, so . . . let’s focus on that instead.
Thanks for reading this dreadfully long process log. I appreciate it.
EDITED ON 1ST SEPTEMBER 2015
I managed to find the photographs after all, so enjoy them. Woot!