Keep the fire burning
Flan was bubbling with excitement, like a child. She hurried towards the City Hall building, eager to meet the rest of the volunteers. She waved at the familiar faces that greeted her and smiled politely to the rest.
Shortly after, the small entourage headed to the rear where they could take a lift up to the exhibits. Flan held her breath.
"Meeting the artists can be a double-edged sword...You want to meet them but it takes up all your time. So, we don't want too many - let's see...this way, everyone." Lucho explained to the
agents.
Everything was still very much work-in-progress. And everyone was busy painting and fixing something. Flan felt something flutter (literally) in her stomach and she knew it wasn't the sandwich she had gobbled hastily down this morning. It was
fire spelt with a 'p'.
Five minutes later, she met Jonathan Allen from Britain. Her second encounter with a real international artist (whatever that means). She hasn't known what to expect. He spoke fluently, a little shyly, in response to all 15 pairs of eyes boring at him. First impression: he looked VERY different from his persona - the "Tommy Angel"; the character portrayed in the life-size photographs appears tall and menancing and larger-than-life. Very mystical and alluring.
Flan realised that she is meeting the artist, forming the impression of the artist before she was able to
study them. As a result, she didn't have questions to asked him. Unlike say if she were to meet Matthew Barney, she would probably be firing questions at him. Or not. For years, since she watched the Cremaster series, she was burning to ask - What the hell were you thinking about when you made those videos?!
They had to move on.
Despite the fact that she hadn't known what to expect from artists whom she had never met or studied before, she was mildly surprised to meet the next artist, as if she had expected someone else. It was as if someone so ordinary, so sweet, so 'like-herself' (they have the same shoes!) could not possibly
be an artist. Flan met Donna Ong, a Singaporean artist. She listened intently at her explanations of her work and felt slightly awed - not at her work, but because she had
made it. Like everyone else, Flan was impressed by the intricate and meticulous result of Donna's installation. She had roped in her mom and her sisters to help. They understood her work; they saw her vision.
As they left the chamber to leave her to continue her masterpiece, Flan felt the flutter in her stomach glow ever so strongly. She cast a solemn look of envy at Donna's rendition and made a mental note to make this piece part of her tour. That was the least she could do - acknowledging the camaraderie
.
Seeing things differently
"Teacher... why is there food on the street?" Alice asked, her teeth protruding slightly from her upper lip, waiting ever so patiently to be enlightened.
"Oh! That! Thought I told you. It's the Hungry Ghost Festival, the food is an offering to all the ghosts out there..." Flan explained, flipping the page to glimpse at the number of questions they have yet to complete.
"It's funny..." Alice giggled, clasping both palms over her mouth. Her eyes formed two curved slits, as she shook her head in laughter. "There is food everywhere!"
"Yup, that's right. And remember - you are not to touch 'em, cos they are not meant for you..."
"No, I didn't! But 'Sarah' did. He used his foot to kick the food. He is bad." Alice told on her cousin, her voice oozing with disapproval.
"Yeah, he shouldn't. That's terrible..." Flan pointed her finger on the page in front of them, impatient to continue with the lesson. Clock's ticking.
Tapping lightly on the question, Flan was about to read it aloud when Alice interrupted
again. She exclaimed, "I think the ants must be so happy! There is so very many food for them!"
To experience is to know
"...actually, Singapore is not very different from the country that I come from. We had two seasons too - indoors and outdoors!" Soft laughter filled the empty room, an apt response to the artist's light jibe at the country's proximity to the Equator.
Lucho carried on, "To be honest, I am very impressed with Singaporeans. They are so well
informed."
Ok, he is either kidding or being very sarcastic, Flan thought to herself. Her pen stopped in mid-air and she arched her eyebrows, waiting for the famous artist to justify his claim.
"Why, that day when I took a cab from the hotel to the city, think it was Suntec city, and there was this massive traffic jam. The driver and I were talking...you know like chatting, and he talked about the Kosovo war and the history...and I was mighty impressed. It was like whoa, Singaporeans are a really well informed bunch!"
Two things crossed Flan's mind at the same time. Flan's pretty sure she has taken enough cabs during her brief 25 year stay on this island, and there wasn't ONCE that the cab driver shared ANY sort of history to her (in English or otherwise). Secondly, she was immediately reminded of the driver who sent her to the seminar just this morning:
"Huh?! Mi Si Mer?"
"Ministry of Information, Communication and the Arts...MICA. Hill Street. Clarke Quay." Twice, Flan had said it, and she had made very sure she did not sound haughty or slang it too much. It was flat, and very SINGLISH-sounding, and well-paced, no tongue-rolling, very safe.
But she figured something must be severely wrong when the driver frowned even harder and queried her location for the third time....
"...so yes! I am very excited to have the opportunity to meet the local people of Singapore..." Lucho continued enthusiastically to his audience. Flan blinked. She felt that it was only fair to warn him not to expect too much...I mean, seriously, he may not be so lucky as to meet another cab-driver like that one again. Pretty rare case, that.
"I mean, honestly, what are you guys like?!"
So desperate to get on with the actual topic of the day, Flan thought of ending his obsession there and then; she thought of shouting out "Lost!"...and "Indifferent!" But she held her tongue, as she is 99 percent sure, he would ask why, and the last thing she wants is to have everyone's attention.
Fortunately, Lucho finally decided to carry on with the serious matter of teaching everyone how to make connections between the art and the context behind the process of its making (if that could be taught in the first place).
At the end of the two hour session, Flan was pretty sure the audience felt as exhausted as the speaker himself. In fact, she could almost understand his pain and frustration - it's like teaching Modals where she had tried to explain when to use "would" and "could" and "have not" and "must" and "ought to". Yeah, she
tried. So, she understands Lucho. She also understands why he ended the session with, "You know, it would be a lot easier if we actually see the works itself."
That's next week. Flan can't wait.
Taking Three Steps back
Gasp! Plunge! Gasp! Plunge!
Flan felt as though her lungs were about to explode. Through her foggy goggles, she saw with relief that the end was near.
It turned out to be much further than it looked. She reached the end of the lap eventually. Taking her usual 5-minute breather before she continue this
leisurely exercise, an old man plunged into the water just beside her.
He cried out a friendly greeting at another old man who was immersing a pint-sized baby boy chin-down into the pool.
It was a beautiful sight. The baby gurgling in joy. The man, clearly the grandfather who was entrusted (and very happily so) with the task of looking after this adorable creature, cooing in joy. Ahhh...the joys of life!
Flan was glad she has decided to come down for a swim. She wouldn't want to miss this if she could.
A Sweltering Day
Flan stretched herself and yawned lazily. "...today is..AHHH..Tuesday!" She stole a peek at her floorboards and groaned inwardly in dismay, mentally adding "Vacuum" and "Mop" to her list of
To-Dos. Sliding her small feet into her fluffy bedroom slippers, she heaved herself up and headed to the kitchen. A snow white paw suddenly shot out from under the table cloth, taking a first shot at the furry feet...
"Ha ha...Missed!"
Mr Brown then scrampered heavily from his hiding place and leapt onto his tiger striped cat tree in grand gesture. More purring. More staring. Flan knows it means only ONE thing - Mr Brown wants food.
"Too fat. Time for a diet." Flan thought to herself. "And look at the mess. I am going to confisticate his toys." Laughing smirkly at that thought, she dished out two spoonfuls of fancy feast (assorted flavours) and watched in pride at the chubby tabby devouring the plate-full hungrily.
Absolutely adorable. If Flan had a pencil and a book right there and nothing waiting for her to do, she would sketch it out. But today is not the day.
Later in the day, seated next to "Sarah", Flan pointed a discerning finger at the empty lines, "Write the answer here...neatly please." "Sarah" clasped his chubby fingers around a 2.5-inch-in-diameter pencil and scrawled out the answer...very slowly. The tip of the pencil was so thick each printed word looked the size of a font size 26.
" 'Sarah'...you are taking
forever." Flan chimed in a strained voice, hiding her urge (very unsuccessfully) not to throttle the boy she once thought was very adorable, and a "pleasure to teach". "Here...use my
pen. The special pen..." Flan hoped that this trick would work, as it did with the others. She called it the "taming pen". Boys his age love writing in pens because it makes them feel oh-so-important.
He refused to take the bait. And continued to brandish the equipment proudly. A child's pride. Defiance.
Fine! Flan thought. She looked over. Might as well join him.
"Here, let me try....ooah. Pretty cool. Where did you get this from?" Passing the magnificient pencil back to "Sarah".
"I bought it."
Right.
"And it comes with an eraser!" Nearing poking her eye out as he pushed the other end into her face.
"Wow!" Inwardly groaning...Flan wondered if they would ever complete this exercise.
But of course they did. Eventually.
Flan's very first
"Ok. Today, I've got to start a blog. It's imperative that I start a blog today. I need to start writing..." Flan scribbled the words "look for good blog site" on the second page of her organizer.
The bus started to move. A familiar wave of "bus-sickness" surged up and she hastily shoved her pen and book into her bag.
She positioned herself carefully... , careful not to touch the sides of the window, the back of the front seat, the backrest behind her...; she could see that this bus hasn't been cleaned since the time it was in operation. But she is not going to complain this time.
With a happy sigh, she thought to herself: " Freedom is priceless."
The bus rumbled on. Flan is grateful.
