I am certainly no Somerset Maugham and despite all solemn aspirations to write regularly, attempts have been feeble at most. Time is no friend of mine. From the premature crows feet to the open all hours purgatory that shares my employer's name, its my karmic retribution for listless days squandered in idleness.
We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to.
Nevertheless the need to write overtakes me with such passion at times that I ought to get checked out for whiplash. And despite or rather in spite of turning over many a leaf, it's the familiar motivations that draw me back to the keyboard - the same desire to take stock of the world, seeking that elusive clarity and redemption.
Still, writing is an indulgence. Like a truffle, heady, arduous and mostly because some pigs have been involved in getting one to this point.
Despite trying to straight jacket my right brain so that I can crunch figures all day without wanting to throw myself against a wall, I deeply envy those whose daily jobs involve mind bending creativity. (financial creativity does not fall under this category. Mostly it's called fraud. Not good.)
Speaking of art, after my tour of museums and their respective catalogues, my observation is that yes, glory can be harnassed and nailed on the wall. Yet today, everyday creativity - pure and unadulterated, lives on the streets. No longer the vestal virgin in hallowed halls but the wise cracking, weed smoking, sex mongering, public space occupying Eco warrior. Its in your face with its subtle nuances and makes you wonder, what the hell is this all about and how do you come along for the ride.
My current infatuation is with Herakut. Hera and Akut are two German graphic designers who do awesome-est street art. Something that can and will get you arrested in Malaysia if it's slogans are too rebellious for political zealots ever ready to go the punative route to demonstrate their righteousness. My favourite piece featured here.
Okay enough with the insults. Time for bed.