Why I don't like Women

I know we're all used to the fact that most women don't like each other, but usually it's because they’re either jealous, territorial, competitive or simply bitchy, which is often the case.
As many of you know, my dislike of womankind goes much deeper than that. I should say this now before the mobs come with the pitchforks; this is Sienna, not Andy. I am indeed a woman, and so have more authority on the subject of what's wrong with womenfolk. Firstly, just to get it out of the way, men have their slew of problems as well, and people as a whole are a good deal fucked in the head, but I have specific problems with woman, and me being one, I feel I have the right to bitch about it for a while.
I'm not proud of women. I'm sure I'll get burnt at the stake for saying that, but it's true. I respect the women who took great pains to exact change in government and sociology on woman subjects, but that doesn't mean I feel any different about women as a whole. Besides, woman's achievements have been selfish so far; all centered on woman rights, which, I'm grateful for, but what have we done since then? Women have as much responsibility for humankind as men do, and they seriously haven't done an equal amount of work.

Women will fight any man who argues that a woman can't do a mans job, stating that a woman can do anything a man can, and I agree, if you train (we're not pre-built for a lot of the manual and fighting stuff, but we can if we work at it), if we study and if we work hard, there's no reason why we can't do what men do. So why don’t' we? I can't fathom the fact that these women get so up in arms when men say these things because these women have no follow through. Okay, now you have the right to do anything you want; what have you done with that right? Squat.

Look in any industry and you'll see a severe gender imbalance and it's not because women aren’t' allowed to get involved, it's because they simply don't. There are more male astronauts, pilots, scientists, surgeons, policemen, firemen, politicians, philosophers, When it comes to the arenas of great change, I see so few women and I wonder why, why aren't women playing their part?
There are a few problems from the start.
One; women have been accustomed to things being done for them, and are not used to being independent creatures. And don't give me that shit about not needing someone to hold open a door for you or pull out a chair; that is simply a guy being a gentleman and has nothing to do with your competency as a woman. I realize there are women out there who are independent and strong willed and working their ass off, and I don't mean to piss them off with that comment, but regardless of recent work to pull ourselves out of our passive lifestyles, we're talking about thousands of years of habit we're changing here. At this point we have engrained genetic, social and political memory that says we are taken care of, and that we shouldn't have to manage our own lives. This is a problem that we have to work past, but it is doable.

The second problem is a little more difficult to get past.

This is going to piss you off, so I give you fair warning.

Women do not think the same way men do. I'm not saying we're any less intelligent. We're simply less logical. On the average, women are far more ruled by instinct and emotion and rely very little on logic to get them through. (You can even track this difference in the brain with nifty visuals, but I don't have those visuals on me right now, so if you don't believe me; research it).
This being true, women are not familiar enough with logic processes in the mind and are often left behind in many fields because of this deficiency. Being well versed in logic isn't just a problem-oriented function that you only use and develop in the workplace; it's something you cultivate over time on a daily basis. The daily lives of women are ruled by emotion, drama and assumption, leaving very little room for a logical mind to grow. To change this, you have to work on it every day, watch your emotional reactions, calm down the deductive leaps and try to see life as clearly and plainly as possible. This sounds very simple, but it's something many women lack.

The third problem is the MOM factor. Unfortunately, this is not something that can be cleanly cut because it's obviously a necessity, but it doesn't need to be such a life definer as it is to women today. I can't tell you how many women I have known in their late 20s who feel their lives are coming to an end because they're almost 30 and haven't married and popped one out yet.
Childbearing is NOT the most defining part of your life. Yes, it's great to reproduce, this is why I have the ability to bitch so plainly now, but it's not magical: it's the simplest facet of our lives. Every living thing must procreate, and so as living beings, we do so, but it should not be the pinnacle of our achievements, and is certainly not something we should use as a crutch, telling ourselves that while we didn't participate in the great achievements of man, at least we raised a good kid. That's bullshit, and you know it.

I have a friend that constantly tells me that having children is the most important thing one can possibly do. I see the merit in conceiving and I respect a person who can do a good job in rearing honest courageous curious people and do their best despite adversity, but I do not believe it's the best thing you can do as a woman or a man. There is so much out there to achieve. You can cure a disease, navigate the stars or build a machine capable of at least more accurately seeing the stars and their orbital planets, you could be an influential writer that sways the masses into political movement, you can theorize past current scientific pitfalls, you can invent, question, build; the list is genuinely infinite. So why should we allow ourselves to settle for the minimum our bodies allow us to achieve?

The majority of man loves their children and are proud of their efforts as parents, but most of them do not feel that they have reached their true potential by raising a kid, and are not satisfied with their life's accomplishments because of it. Man doesn’t reproduce and then stop moving forward, so why should women? Whether or not it's a conscious or stated thing; women seem to center their worlds around the family and their biological clock. While I'm in no way bashing procreation (though I want no part in it), I do not see why in this day and age any woman could use childrearing as an alternative to success elsewhere. It's time to find more meaning in the life of woman than just mothering.

Clearly, there are many hard working women out there who also have children, and so it's not as though being a mother necessarily stops you from succeeding at other things, but at the same time, so many women stop there and take their MOM status as an equivalent to any other achievements they might have made beyond mothering.

As a race, women need to evolve at this point. We don't live in feudal times, so being mom doesn't cut it anymore. There's a lot to be done for humanity. We're behind where we should be at this point as a people, so we need as much help as possible, and there's simply no reason why women should be sitting it out. It's easy to do just what's expected, but that doesn't mean we should. The path of least resistance has been carved deep and is laid out clear and plain for every woman. If you like, people will help validate that your minimalistic life was good enough because you are a mom, but it's not really true, and I think we all know at this point that there is so much more to life than making another life possible. It's time we own up and move it up a notch. I'd really love to be proud of women, and the only way that is going ot happen is if we all change a bit and stop doing it the easy way, stop using the easy excuses and hiding behind the old insecurities.
You can give me no good reason not to.

Change

Tonight I have made a decision. There have been few times in my life when I have made decisions of this kind, and they have always been powerful and have always brought about great change in my life. I've felt it creeping in these past weeks, the decision slowly crawling into my mind. I just hadn't realized I wanted to do it.
It's time again for a change. My changes are like tidal waves for me, hurricanes, typhoons, tornados, smashing against the old and bringing about the new. I love these changes. I relish in them. It is my most defining feature; the ability to change.

It will be something worth writing about, I assure you.

Zero

We don't know her name yet, so for now we call her Zero. I forget why it's clever, but it's become her. That name fits her now not because of what it means but because as we got to know her, that is what we called her and now no other name will do.

I don't enjoy the company of children. Usually if presented with a child, you can see me going the opposite direction. Ryana, my niece, has been the one exception. I love that little girl. I'm sure it's because she's connected to me, but I like to think it's also because she' s going to turn out to be a stellar chick, and that it's showing already. Most children are an annoyance, but she's not just a child; she's my Ryana, my niece, and because she is, she can never just be a child to me.

This new found love of Ryana (who happens to be a child who happens to be wearing a superman shirt- so cool) has not colored my view of the rest of the small people the world over. I still find children to be annoying and opt to stay as far from them as possible. I suppose if Mariah continued to have more children, there might possibly be more children I like, but I like to think Ryana is special.

Zero rarely speaks, and when she does, it's in Chinese, so it's not as though we've had many palavers. That's not it at all. Zero comes from "Mecca" which is the name we've given to the Muslim restaurant down the street from us. There's another Mecca restaurant over by the ZhuYuan market that we used to go to all the time when we still lived near the stadium. We fell in love with that place. They serve great lamb, awesome lamb noodle soup and chopped fried bread called Chong Yo Bing. All over the walls are pictures of Mecca, hence the name. The family that owns it and works it are all Muslim Chinese, and yes, they are all family. It was a great experience going there and just watching them make the noodles. They make the noodles fresh and by hand, first throwing down a huge mound of the stuff and then punching it rolling it and punching and rolling it until it's workable enough to start taking it in portions and making noodles out of it by holding it at both ends and spinning it to thin the ropes of noodles, bending it in half, spinning it again and so on until they have one long thin noodle. These guys have serious muscle on them and it's clearly hard work. They're not bulky; they’re just strong.

When you order your food, you usually have to wait for them to actually make the noodles before they make the lamb noodle soup, but it was never something I wanted to rush. I loved watching them make the noodles. At the first Mecca two brothers would work at the noodles together, kneading it, punching it, rolling it, both working together in perfect balance with each other. They were never in each other's way...none of them were. They were a working machine.

When we moved over to HongjixiLu, we were happy to find that just down the block there was another Mecca run by another smaller Muslim Chinese family. I've come to respect this family. We live right down the street, so we're either eating there or walking past them to go somewhere else, so I generally see them every day, and they're always there, night and day. You can even be sure to see Zero despite the hour. Yesterday she was out running with her older brothers picking fresh mangoes from the street mango trees at 3 in the morning.

I'm not sure why I admire this family, but I do. Maybe it's because they always seem to be happy. Even when they don't notice me walking by, I can see the father laughing as he plays Chinese chess with some of the other vendors on the street. I see the little girl running about trying on all her new faces; first stern, walking with a serious gait, her hand on her hip, shooting you the evil eye over her shoulder, then the curious smile, then she sticks her tongue out at you and then it's all cartoonishly large smiles and strange faces from there on out. The mother is usually smiling, though sometimes I see her give a watchful almost cautious eye at her children, and the son (who is probably in his early 20s) is usually simply beaming. He's the noodle maker at this shop and he has the same strong arms.
It's a simple life they have, and I know it's nothing I would want, but I admire it. They live above the restaurant, though there's never a time when you see them all up there; only one or two at a time with the rest still tending to the shop. They're wonderful people, extremely kind, very patient with Andy's and Doc's poor Chinese and very supportive and patient with my developing Chinese.

Last week they asked if they could take these pictures with me, which was a really nice moment for me. (they're camera date seems to be a little off, but I assure you it was just last week). I've had lots of people ask to take pictures with me here but it's usually when they first met me, making it a very "Look at me with the GuiMei"picture. This was different. It felt like they wanted to remember me, and I was happy to help.

In return, I gave Zero the puppy purse in the first picture, which she still hasn't given a name to despite my insistence to (but I'm happy to say is already well loved with dirty little paws and a wrinkled strap). I put a box of crayons inside the purse for her, and tonight she promised me that she'd draw me a picture and give it to me tomorrow. (I can speak enough Chinese to get Children to draw for me)

Zero comes from this family, from this wonderfully happy, hard working respectable family, and she's the center of it because she's the newest member, and they're all working to make sure she continues the trend of a happy hardworking respectable family. I think this is why Zero has hit my number two. It's very stange for me, and worth writing down. I'm picky about the people I have around me and have very few friends because of how I value and weigh a good friendship. That this family with their little crazy daughter, Zero, has entered my circle, is a rare and interesting turn of events.

I promise tomorrow I'll get all their names. I'm learning but it's hard to remember Chinese names. It's surprising that I even remember KaoJunHai's, but I'll talk about him later.

No, mom, I haven't changed; I still have a strict "no procreating" policy for myself. Sorry, I'm sure this blog gave you hope, but just because I've found a couple of children I like, doesn't mean I want to start making my own.

Mecca dad, son and Zero outside of Mecca. You can't tell how strong the sons arms are in this picture, but I swear to it, they're lean and strong.

Mecca dad, me and Zero with one of her crazy
smiles.

Beauty's not always Pretty

Beauty is a funny thing. Being that it is in the "eye of the beholder" its definition is a bit ever changing and up for suggestion. I like the kind of beauty that makes you stumble back a bit; the kind of beauty that for some reason is also a bit frightening.

Fire is a horrible way to die (I've never tried it, but if the opportunity arises; I'll pass), but when you step back and look at it, it strikes you. You cannot deny the beauty of fire. You can in fact fear fire and still admire how oddly beautiful it is. Look at it. Beauty like that is why people made religion. It's beauty is huge, so huge in fact that when seeing it, people revere it so much as to give it a god so they might worship it and thank the idol for this great gift that's too beautiful to believe that a great artist did not have their hand in creating it.
Horrific things can be beautiful. I've been looking online for a picture of what I mean, but I can't find it. I'll have to describe it instead. In one movie (I can't remember which) when the woman died, one single dark red streak of blood rolled down her starkly white face. I remember I actually commented on it then, saying how beautiful it was. Most of the people in the room looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but they also ended up conceding the fact that yes there was some beauty in it. That dark streak of blood on her perfect white face was in fact beautiful regardless of the fact that the poor girl was dead.
I have no fascination with death. I have no desire to wield it on others or experience it myself....ever. That scene wasn't beautiful BECAUSE she was dying; it was beautiful because she was beautiful in spite of dying...sortove. The fact is beauty isn’t' always pretty. That might sound contradictory, but if you think about it, it's true. Those terribly sad moments in a movie where he loses his lover at dusk and there's just enough light to see him crying her away, you are in awe. That same light on a vase of flowers would not hold the same beauty. There would be pretty light and pretty flowers but no striking beauty to be found. There is a real power in this kind of beauty. It gets under your skin and makes you shiver and sigh and somehow you never forget it, and maybe for the rest of your life when the day is at dusk and the light is just right, you will feel like you've suddenly lost something important to you, though you can't remember what.

I've been given the task of avoiding this kind of beauty and all other ambiguously unpretty beauty. This poses a problem for me.

I'm not an accomplished artist. I am a young artist, who’s learning quite a bit quite quickly and works her ass off to see where it can bring her, but I'm not there yet and I'm more than willing to concede to that fact. As some of you know, I have an art show coming up and there are a few problems with my art in Chinese art shows. The biggest problem so far is that my art isn't always pretty and being that I'm not a famous artist who can sell anything I paint no matter how awful, I have to make art that fits the bill. They want pretty. I knew they would, and I knew this was coming, but I didn't want to admit it. Part of the enjoyment for me when painting is making something that people will keep thinking about, things that will get under your skin and fester for a while (wow, I think I could've chosen a better word then fester....). I'm not sure if my paintings have actually succeeded in doing that, but that's what I'm going for.

Tonight I was actually asked to paint for walls. Yes, I am painting for walls now, well in a sense at least. To have the show, I need to paint with home design in mind, thinking what someone would want to hang on their dining room wall or entrance hallway. I've never thought like this, though I've always known I needed to. I don't like it because I'm afraid of how little it can do.

It will be wall art. ....Somewhere inside I just felt a chill.

I understand the usefulness of playing to my audience. I understand that before I can speak to "my audience" I have to actually have one, and that I need to show them that they can rely on me as their artist to produce things they can be proud or happy to have. Happy if it beautifies their home with pretty, proud if it carries a name with it that bolsters the home by having it in it. This is why you can have morbid abstracts in a home because although it's not pretty it has it's depth by having a name. God this is such horrible shit, but I understand it, and I concede to the fact that it is necessary for me to begin to build a...how do you say....persona. First you must prove to the community that you are good, then you can simply do and they will continue to back you by continuing to buy your work.

Part of the problem is that I see beauty differently. When looking at the work I have so far, when picking out the pretty stuff, myself and our associates disagree. I'm flabbergasted. I just don't get it. Some of the things they said weren't beautiful just made my head spin. I'm onboard now. I get it (I don't like it, but I get it), I see its usefulness and I will get everything I can out of the pretty paintings they want me to make for them. Now if I just knew what would be beauty for them. They can't want the same old thing...or can they? What would be the point in painting or selling the same old thing? Yeah, lots of people agree its pretty, but why do it again? Arg!!! My easel for the man who can draw a map of their mind and lay it out for me!
I can learn from this. I know I can, and I don't have to make the paintings shitty or worthless just because there's such a low ceiling. I can practice my technique, improve my textures and learn new styles. I can get something from this. I know I can. But all the little parts of Sienna are screaming out not to go too far; don't get lost in it, don't settle for easy pretty paintings that sell sell sell. It's just for now god dammit. It's just what they want and then we can move on and when I do, I'll be taking all this stuff I've learned with me so that the stunning beauties waiting to be painted are produced better, stronger more brilliantly. I need this. I don't want this, but I need this...........I Hate that.
I don’t' even know where to start. Impressionism? Nudes? (or is that too much for them?) Landscapes? Still life? No, fuck that. I'm not doing still life. I'm just not doing it. AAAAAARRRRGGGG!! An easel I say! An easel for the man with the map of their minds!
I'd just hate to paint a lot of pretty things and then find out it was wasted and wasn't what they were looking for. Can my views be so different in beauty? My perception of beauty I think is not uncommon. That we have disagreed so much on beauty already makes me nervous though. We haven't seen eye to eye yet, so really, I'm throwing darts blind, hoping they'll hit the right target. I guess we'll find out. If nothing else, this is a learning expereince doing something I haven't done with art and they're footing the bill. There's nothing wrong with that. Tomorrow I think I'll buy more canvas and just paint the shit out of it and see what happens.

Get With the Program

I used to get off on painting. I don't mean I'd have some sort of sexual satisfaction with a paintbrush; I mean getting off psychologically; feeling good about yourself and personally satisfied. It did it for me; challenging myself with a style or subject, painting it, finishing the painting, putting it up, having other people look at it talk amongst themselves about it.

I have this kick ass art box now (it looks like one of those industrial style things you transport music equipment in) and inside are all my recent paintings for this art show that is supposedly happening sometime soon. I look at that thin pile of paintings (34 in the box, but 34 makes for a small paper pile really), and it all looks disjointed. They float alone in there. There's nothing connecting them; no story, no theme, no style...they're just there, floating and looking respectively pretty, scary or interesting, but floating nonetheless.
That bothers me now. Today I am bothered by this big sense of why. I've pretty much always been an "artist", but today that word keeps nagging at me. What the fuck does that mean in the long run? What do I do? I'm not having an existential crisis or anything, I'm just looking at what I have now, what I've been doing and caring about so much for so long and wondering....what does it add up to? What can I do with it?

I'm working on this piece right now and I really like it. I think it's beautiful...and for some reason, today that pissed me off. Okay, it's beautiful, and if someone else thinks so too, it might find itself in an art gallery and then maybe on someone else's wall, but if not, then what? Then where does it go, what does it do? Or does it just sit there and look pretty under piles of dust and aging feelings of artistic validation? "It's good. You’re good. Pat yourself on the head and put that finished painting in the corner with the rest."

I think I'm kinda mean to myself sometimes. I've learned through looking at recent modeling pictures that I'm certainly mean to myself when it comes to how I look.

This photo shocked the shit out of me. Trust me; my personal version of myself is a lot bigger and a lot less attractive. I'm also mean to myself on other fronts. I'm very critical of not only what I produce, but why I produce it, how I produce it and what I produce can do now. I also question the hell out of myself. Like that whole right way wrong way thing; this keeps bothering me. I'm looking at what I value and pretty much poking it with the "Why" and "How come" stick.
I value art. I like to make it; I like to look at it. I value writing. I like to make it, I like to read it. I value movies...and so on. But this art thing has been pervasive throughout my whole life. It's been part of my identity. I am Sienna. I am an artist. Everyone who knows me knows this about me, but I never once stopped and asked myself why I want to be an artist. Sure, I had the easy answers of wanting to leave my mark and express myself and reflect what I see in this crazy world and see if maybe it's what other people see too. But what about the rest of it?
I look at that pretty painting and I wonder just how useful it is in my life, and that goes for the rest of them too. I'm finally getting to a point where I'm learning enough about my painting and drawing to be a semi strong artist, but now I'm wondering what I should do with it. Painting for painting's sake isn't going to cut it. Sure, if I had a bed of money I'm sure I could keep that up, but we're doing life our way and that means that whatever I'm spending my time on better add up to some kind of success in our future. I can't rely on someone else putting the pieces together for me. I'm not going through a university, I'm not in an aprenticeship or internship, and I'm not looking for someone else to finally recognize my value and punch me into their plan. We're making ours up. That means that with everything I spend my time on, I must weigh it's value. It has to play into our plan; it has to do something. I can't be a passive pretty painter in this scenario.
So I'm looking at the options for me as "painter chick", and I see a few ways for this to go; You've got illustrations for my own work and others, set design, concept art, animation, sets for animations, textures for special effects, comic books, and of course pretty gallery paintings. (I have nothing against gallery paintings as long as when they go up they don't just sit there. They must move out of the gallery and into a new home somewhere else).
I don't think that I can go after being an accomplished artist simply in the gallery world. For an artist, being famous for just painting pictures is a pipe dream. There are a lot of us out there and only a few well-marketed hard working fellows will make it big. The rest of us have to find a way to incorporate our art into the other media out there; film, video games, comic books, books, music, etc. (it helps that I have a lot of respect for all of these media)

I've always believed that to be a great artist you have to have a good foundation in something completely different from art. It keeps you honest so that you don't get completely wrapped up in the fictitious world where painters are infallible idols because they bleed art and see with their immensely misunderstood "depth". Having a foundation in something completely different also helps in doing two other things; it gives you perspective that is wholly un-arty and it gives you a fallback plan when pipedreams go awry. I do not, however believe that this should be something you don't enjoy or have no interest in, meaning that working at the local department store is not a worthy alternative to your pipe dream. If your dream sinks or swims; either way, you still shouldn’t' pack it all in for a cubicle coffin at 25. There's never an excuse for that.

I do believe you need the balance of something else in your life. Seeing as I'm still young, I've balanced this out with a whole lot of open ended learning until something starts to solidify. Things like language, history, and technology are good balancers. My problem is that I've spent a whole lot more time on the art side of things and I'm not satisfied yet with either my ability as a painter or with my effectiveness as a story teller or conceptual artist. Therefore I should at this point have a little more on the side of the "fall back plan" and alternate focuses.

Okay, I'm secure with my painting ability (as in I’m NOT insecure about it, though I'm still learning), now what I could really go for are some ways to make my art do something. Animations, movies, comic books, books, whatever, but if I don't see my art losing it's passivity, there might be some changes going on, because if my motivations aren't honest and strong, then just being an artist won't hold up in my plan. Art has to sink or swim for me now. Start showing me what you can do for me. Start showing me your muscles. I want to see you work. You've got your notice; put up or shut up.

The Earthquake I forgot to mention, and the blog I'll be censored for

Here's another post I never posted

I should break for a minute here to talk about current events. I’m sure when I go over this later, I’ll find a much smoother transition, but for now, lets just hack it off at the knee and throw in a foot. (this was part of a bigger thing)

On December 26^th, 2006 at 12:26:21 (UTC) and about 9 pm here in China, a 7.1 magnitude earthquake shook Taiwan. (Oh yeah, we felt it)

Before coming to China, I lived for many years in the Earthquake home of southern California, and am quite used to the occasional platonic shimmies of that zone. But this was different.

In my apartment on the 7^th floor I suddenly felt like I was on a boat, rocking slowly back and forth like the ground decided to turn to rolling water rather than solidconcrete. It lasted a remarkable amount of time, followed by a shorter but just as noticeable after shock a few minutes later. It felt like the waves of movement that came off the San Diego earthquake in 2004 when I was in LA; slow and almost relaxing if it wasn’t for the motion sickness.

Although, this being China, we couldn’t be sure it was an earthquake both during and after when the communication problems came down. It was just as likely that the maintenance men were in the basement pulling and banging at pipes trying to fix the sewage problem, and in effect shaking the whole building. These buildings aren’t exactly pillars of stability and structure. But no, it was an earthquake. The effects of the earthquake didn’t happen until the next day. Aside from the two reported deaths(I haven't checked since I wrote this on the death tole, so if I'm wrong, it's because this is out of date) the only real casualty was communication. The (fiber optic) wires that connect China, Japan and Taiwan were damaged in the quake and all internet and international phones went down. E

But I’m in China, so we all suspected a mass censorship from the Chinese government was the cause and not the earthquake (that we still weren't sure was an earthquake anyway, given the calming swaying that we felt). This was worse than ever before; everything was down, accept for Google of course, and that didn't make us feel any better. Why would Google be there but no other Western Site? Of course Chinese sites were doing just fine.

Everyone knows China censors. Every now and then, China decides a certain website or a list of key words are damaging to the Chinese people or threaten the security of the Chinese government, and those sites and links just go down, brining up an increasingly annoying “this page failed to load” message.(This post probably ensures that I'll never see my blog from China again) You get used to the censorship. People here joke about watching the news, absorbed in a news story just to see it get unceremoniously cut off in mid report with a commercial for breast enlargement or magical height enriching supplements. There’s no niceties about it; it’s just cut off and when the story’s over, the commercials end and you’re back to watching the news fit for China. Anything that insinuates China’s weaknesses, arguments within, human rights problems and even the weather is usually simply not shown. It’s not edited and sent out with a party line twist, it’s just not there. When there’s something to argue with China’s stance of nonexistence on an issue, China simply changes the facts and assures the people that yes, it’s always snowed here, there’s no meteorological changes going on, no, no one is sick, and China is as great as it’s always been.

The funny thing is that half of what they censor is harmless or at least wholly beyond their control. The only result would be that a few people would think about the global effects of emissions or taking better care of their bodies or possibly rethinking the sewage system (which could only be a good thing at this point....ehghghc). Things completely out of China’s control are censored if it happens within China, as though the government could actually be so powerful as to control the weather or star patterns. It’s as though the dirt itself of China needs to remain infallible in the eyes of its people, which is impossible as it’s a large mass of land with many ecological zones and everything on earth goes through changes. China is the only country that can see a natural disaster as speaking ill for the competence of the government. (how you react to a natural disaster; sure). I’m sure if the earthquake happened here, it would have been recorded as something like a 4.0 with little to no architectural damage and if there was any communication troubles, they’d spend the first week explaining how it couldn’t be their fault, the wires were fine before it happened and in reality, there’s no problem here at all.

I was actually relieved to hear it was the earthquake that did it. I know that sounds horrible, but if China really had decided that this time, no western site was fit for China other than Google, that would mean something serious was going on. They’ve shut down a few sites at a time before, but nothing as wide spread as what I saw a few days ago. I was worried the US had pissed off China while I was sleeping and wondered whether or not China was itching for a fight. And with the recent talks with Japan, perhaps it wasn’t just a fight they were after, but revenge. Whatever it was, if shutting down the internet was China’s doing, that meant China wanted to stop everyone in the country from getting any news from anywhere other than China proper. The internet lets the Chinese people be informed, and more importantly, offers clear and abundant arguments against current Chinese censorship. If the Chinese people read it, they might question the word of their country, and the government sees that as a one way trip to civil revolt. Either way, if it had been China’s doing, I had no idea how long it would last, and I had little I could do to get out of the line of fire while our passports were still being held hostage by my boss.

An earthquake, on the other hand, has no political motives and with Hong Kong rather China Proper coming to the rescue of the wires, I could rest assured that the fix would be sooner rather than later.

It wasn’t until yesterday that our internet came back up (this being January 2^nd), and our international phones are still on the fritz half of the time, but progress is fast and I’m no longer fearing a war where I’m cut off from any safety lines.

Natural disasters have nothing on insecure communist countries.

Let's see if my blog just disapears now. I'm sure I'll never be able to see it from China now. Oh well. China has it's problems, but you learn to deal.

The Giant We....a bit from the recent past

I pulled this out of the dust. It used to be part of the blog on FrogFaith which has since been destroyed, and seeing as I talk about China being a "we" country, I thought I'd put it up too. And so it goes...

China is a “we” country. A center country; a place where they are all one, and the rest of the world is “others”, outsiders. What is good for the country is good for the individual.

You can see this in the young and old. If you ask an America child what they did today at school, they might say something akin to:

“I learned how to make a paper airplane. I took a nap, and then I played ball with my friends”

In China, though, they are more likely to say:

“We learned how to make a paper airplane. We took a nap, and then we played ball.”

Notice the use of “we”. The self is not valued here. In fact, if you act like you are better than others, you are looked down upon, and are meant to feel ashamed. This goes for both looking more competent and less competent: Either one separates you from the pack. Either one puts you above the rest because you are noticed; you are individual and no longer part of the “we”.

At the primary school I teach, Cui Jin, when a child is bad, you make them stand up where everyone can see them. The rest of the class laughs at the child for being so noticeable, for being set apart from the rest. The worst place to put the child is the front of the class. So the punishments are in a tier (the last few have been created with a little of my help, though they chose the placing); If they are bad one time, they stand up in their seat; still part of the group, but standing up among them. If they are bad again, they are moved to the back of the room to face the wall (standing in the corner was my influence), and each consecutive time they are bad, they are moved to another corner, the whole class noticing them being paid attention to, moved around the class, and not within it. The final punishment is to stand in front of the class, their back to the class. This is the punishment that gets the most laughter from the others, and the rest of the class usually finds it too distracting for it to last too long. That has little dampening on the punishment, however, as with the many times I have done this to my students, most of the children did not last long themselves before they started crying. I think they were ashamed. Everyone was looking at them; looking out from the group and pointing him out as individual. Even the bullies cry.

When I first started teaching at the primary school I was overwhelmed. They did not like to discipline the students, so at first they were wild, loud and impossible to teach. You see, Cui Jin is a private school, and they believe if they do not bend to the students and let them act out, the child will complain to their parents and they will take them to another school, so Cui Jin will loose money. I don’t have this problem. I’m there to teach, and if I’m going to teach them, they’re going to have to listen. Foreigners are valued here, though we are still ridiculed for being outsiders while they value us. They want to perpetuate the western influence. They believe it is their way to greatness, and so they need to have as much genuine western influence as possible. Therefore, my request was taken into consideration. I’m being too nice. I was frustrated, and I had little patience. I told them something needed to be done and what they were doing wasn’t working, and I wasn’t very nice about it. I told them the students were brats and that they wouldn’t learn anything.

In my first week, while I was teaching a third grade class, a fight broke out between two boys. Before I could get to the boys, the Chinese teacher (my translator) had rushed to them both and had them standing. After a few minutes, they were told to sit back down, and the teacher was actually surprised to see them fighting again a few minutes later. She made them stand again. A few minutes later, they were punching each other while standing, facing the front of the class but still not looking at each other. “What do you expect? There’s nothing to stop them. They get no punishment if they do it again.” She didn’t understand. It was then that I suggested putting them in the corner. In my first two weeks, I was still timid enough to ask before doing so. The teacher’s mouth dropped, and she stood there gapping at me shocked. I decided she must not have understood me. She looked like I had asked if I could beat them. I asked again another way, and then another. She slowly shook her head, her mouth still open, and her eyes wide. “No. You can’t do that!” The boys fought one more time before the 35 minute class was over before I finally got her to comply with having them sit away from each other.

The next time this happened in another of my classes, with another teacher present, I didn’t ask. I simply grabbed their wrists and walked them to opposite corners in the back of the class. It took a while for them to understand that they were to stare at the corner and not talk. They shook their heads, tried to pull away and one of the two began crying in under 30 seconds. The teacher just watched. She said nothing and pretended not to understand English when I asked her to translate for me. I’ve been their long enough to know she speaks English just fine. A few teachers tried to stop me as I was doing this in other classes, saying they’d handle it, but I went ahead. “No, they need to learn, they need to listen. They need discipline.” I’m very tall and can be very intimidating, so they didn’t argue: they just gapped. After one of these classes, the teacher actually coddled the student, petting him and took him to the nurse’s office as thought he had been beaten.

They stopped screaming, they stopped fighting with each other, and they started listening. Many of the students simply rejoiced at their fellow students ‘un-we-ness’, but many others looked horror struck and would turn abruptly to the front, their arms crossed on their desks, and their mouths tightly shut.

There was an exception to the teacher’s reaction. Ms. Mo, a rather thick Chinese woman, was sitting in the back of a particularly unruly class. We had both tried numerous times to get the children to be quite, yelling in English and Chinese for them to be quiet. “An jing!” Ms. Mo wagged her finger, called out “1, 2, 3!”, and stalked around the room to no effect. Finally, I grabbed one of the worst students, who was acting like the class’s mascot and put him in a corner in the front of the room. Ms. Mo’s eyes went wide, but not in fear, it was awe and interest. The class burst into a sigh and a mass of “oohs”. Then there was the bit of laughter. I turned to them, called out “An Jing!” and pointed at them. “The next person to talk gets the same treatment.” Ms. Mo translated. The class fell silent, with only a few scared whispers.

Ms. Mo soon became what I call my little general. I usually don’t have to do the disciplining as long as she’s not busy correcting papers in the back of the class. The moment a child acts out, she starts the motions; stand up, back of class, other corner, and finally the front of the class. If there are students who lead on the class, I simply pick up their desk, them included and move them to front and center. They never utter a word after this, and Ms. Mo always smiles, often quietly nodding at me in approval. In the beginnings of my unruly classes she has the students put their heads down on the tables until they settle (another of my influences), or goes around from loud student to loud student, lightly slapping some hands and making others stand, immediately making examples of the bad students.

My general spread the word, and soon I had half of my translators doing the same, though I knew she was still at the lead, spear heading them on to cooperate. Never before had the students had consequences, and none of them had run to their parents. It was a classroom again, and their taboo was an acceptable casualty. A few of the translators still squirm and wince at the treatment, but they no longer try to stop it, but are also otherwise unhelpful with translating anything else to the class. I guess their unhelpfulness is their own protest. I’ve checked, and none of these women have children. Ms. Mo does have a child. Perhaps when they have their own, they won’t be so timid.

As a side note, this was lunch at Cui Jin . The Lotus root was always good, but I think they recylced the rice...it was always a bit crunchy.I should also note that I haven't edited these posts since I wrote them and I don't think exactly like I did before, but I think I should leave them as they were. You can see how I think now and what has changed by reading my newer blogs. Oh, and I haven't worked at Cui Jin since about January I think.

You bend. You are a Gymnast

Sometimes I envy those people who have their "thing".
I don't have a TV, but I can see my neighbors TV through the window in our front yard (I'm not a peeping tom, it's just right there. There are bars over it, but pretty much my front yard goes right into their living room). It's all in Chinese, but I'm more of a TV skimmer anyway. I don't like to get really wrapped into it because then I feel its claws sink into my skull and pull me in forcing me to watch commercial after commercial about the latest and greatest dental hygiene or fashion craze, and then I feel dirty all day. TV does that; it grabs you, holds you down and force feeds you sugar coated shit. Anyway, in China it's easier to skim watch seeing as its all being "broadcast in Putonghua", and I understand just enough to be thoroughly confused.
So I'm standing outside in our 'courtyard' smoking a cigarette when I catch the neighbor watching a volleyball competition between what looks like China versus the US, but maybe it's Italy; I don't know, I just saw a lot of blonds. Anyway, I'm watching it and I find myself admiring the Chinese girl who’s serving. She's not brilliant, I mean, it's not like I was amazed at her stunning volleyball technique (seeing as I have no knowledge of what defines good or bad volleyball technique), but rather I was admiring her focus. Look at that. I thought. There she is with her eyes and mind focused on nothing else but that damn ball with the only thing going through her mind being the various ways to hit the ball, how best to counteract the opposing teams reactions to the way she hits the ball, how best to jump and move her feet across the court while still keeping her eye on the ball. Maybe part of her is thinking about the crowd, maybe part of her is remembering what the coach said or how her boyfriend kissed her before the game or how much she wishes her father was watching, but mostly; she's looking at that ball.
Wow. How simple that sounds, how focused and clear and precise. I can do that. Jesus, that would be easy! I'm not saying I'm a great volleyballer (as I'm sure my name for her proves), but if all I cared about revolved around that ball, I'm sure I could make it work, and everything would be so simple.
I watched her and I felt relieved, I felt like sighing, like a big weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but then it cut to commercial in the middle of her serve (Chinese TV likes to keep you on your feet) and I remembered I have no ball to focus on. I admire those kids who grew up gymnasts, dancers, equestrians and musicians, living their lives in their respective boarding schools until they had effectively soaked in all there was to know about their skill. I respect them, I envy them and I even feel jealousy. That's it for them. They grew up with that being their life; it was all laid out for them.
You are a gymnast. You bend and contort, and spin and jump backwards and swing on bars and bend some more. You are a gymnast. Being a gymnast is rewarding and competitive. You make your family proud. You make yourself proud. You are a gymnast. When you grow up, you will do gymnast things and feel accomplished when you reach each and every marker in the gymnast life. You are a gymnast.

Living in Gymnastland means that there's not a lot of doubt going on, after all; you are a gymnast. That's all you do, that's what you are, who you are and will be. It's all so simple, and because it is your life and you do it every day, you excel and succeed and receive admiration and feel pride. Honestly you are not special. I'm not a dick, but anyone who spends their entire childhood and on studying a craft (ANY CRAFT) will become good at it, and if not, you really really should be doing something else. Anyone really can do anything if they put that much time into it...unless of course you're missing limbs, but I can still see that working for a gymnast. The point is; I don't envy these people because they have something I don't. I guess I envy them because I have something that they don't: Doubt.
I want to do many things, and currently I DO do many things. I keep trying to break it down and make it simple but anytime something new comes up, I think: Why not? I can do that. And my pile gets bigger. The trouble is, there is only so much time in any person’s life, and I fear that all my time spent on learning so many different things will mean that I'll never truly become great at any one of them. Maybe I won't even succeed. That sucks. I'd like to succeed. I've seen people do that, and it looks like good fun. Hell, I'd really like to succeed at the stuff I care about. Yeah, that'd be great.
But I doubt. Am I doing it the right way? Fuck. Who the hell can answer that? I'd like the god damned career planner to go knock on Albert Einstein’s door (not now of course) or Edison’s or Archimedes and give them a good talking to about the sound and solid road to success. Those are some big names. Here, try Curt Cobain, Bill Clinton, Marilyn Monroe, Edward R. Murrow, Jon Stewart. Try going back and tell any one of them the "right" way to do things and you may well fuck up the nice little present we've got going on right now .
I know there's no right way, but I can’t' help but wonder if there's a wrong way, and if my way looks anything like the wrong way.
It'd be easier if I had just one thing, and I'm sure I could do that if I decided, but I can't...I can't bring myself to do that. Okay...I want to illustrate, I want to make annimations, I want write bad ass books that have my readers drooling and fiending for more, movies that play with the audiences emotions, fears and reactions like 100 watts of electricity on exposed nerves, acting that does the same but can walk and talk her way into your dreams, nightmares and random conversations, comic books that are protected in some kids closet so his brat sister doesn't get her pink nail polish all over the best parts (and this one's limited so she better not so much as breathe on it), blues songs that make you cry with a bottle of wine, rock songs that inspire you to go on a three day fuck-a-thon, and paintings that haunt you, and keep you wondering if maybe that's what I meant, and if not it's beautiful enough to sit their on your wall until you figure it out. There's more....there's so much more, but I might get banned from blogging if I keep this up. I want to make animations, movies, books, paintings, songs, speak languages for the sake of understanding what they're saying at me. I want all this and more, but what about in the end....what about when it's all wrapped up and the curtains closed and I have that pile of balls stacked up in my home, and I see that so many are still there, unfinished and maybe even left behind?
Maybe I should break it all down so that I can be sure to succeed in just one thing, to make it easier on myself. One thing to devote my life to and succeed brilliantly at....but I know I'm not going to. I know I'm not going to stop wanting to do it all and want to learn it all and maybe fuck up all over the place before I have anything whole and finished under my feet, but if I drop even one or say no to a good idea that might go somewhere someday with just a little more effort and a few more all nighters and red bull, then instead of a pile of maybes (maybe it'll work, maybe it'll stick, keep trying and learning and maybe it'll succeed), I'd instead have a pile of regret and might've beens.

That definitely sounds like the wrong way.

Sienna of Tao-SA

Too Late

Life lately has been very very busy. I'm used to Andy working round the clock, and I've done my fair share of work, but lately, I've entered the same crazy schedule he lives by. The people we work with had me put together a music video in three days using my art to tell the story. First I'll say that before this I hadn't so much as touched After Effects or Premiere, and had only dabbled in 3D software. So this was all a learning process and I had to jump through the learning curve in time to meet the three day deadline. I had next to no sleep and most of the stuff I did at the end I don't' even remember doing. We're talking autopilot. I think I did alright considering, though if you ask me, both the song and the video are a little lacking. I'm not sure anymore, because I've seen it far too many times to see it clearly anymore, so feedback is welcome. They told me it's done, but it's not. When I have time, I'm going to add more images and fill out the story some more to get rid of some of the receptiveness.
The song is called Tai Wan : Too Late.



I'll post the 3D one later.