The Ring

Italy Cathedral

The Rocker

Escape from Traffic

Philip Ma offers the following artist’s statement:

Ever since I was a kid, I was fascinated by Disney’s cartoon characters and dynamic stories. I could spend hours drawing and painting human and animal characters in the imaginary world and had so much fun in it. I started more formal artistic training in a private art studio where varieties of art medium and subjects were introduced and learned. I began to realize that art can be presented in many forms and aspects.
My vision has been continuously expanded as I explore more artistic venues in Academy of Art University, San Francisco since 2007. Surrounded in the busy lives in this exciting city, I am more and more inspired by the exploding energy of people around me. Each gesture and movement can represent diverse emotion among us human beings and animals and intrigued me completely. With the injection of colors and different techniques, these subject matters can bring out their unique expressions and feelings toward life.
In addition to the mundane daily life of human and animals, I also love storytelling through animation in both 2D and 3D. The beauty built by fine arts can add more stimuli to our lives with animated stories and visual effects. I believe both traditional arts mediums such as paper, brush, and paints and technology tools such as Adobe Photoshop and Creative Suite can work hand-in-hand together to push our art expression to a different level. My artwork in blending fine arts and film arts has demonstrated such belief.

Thanksgiving is an awkward holiday. Being a reasonably well-educated, inquisitive American, I’ve been more than aware for some time now of the true story of Europe’s bloody occupation of the New World, from the initial “colonization” efforts by the Spanish in Central America to the near-extinction of Indigenous Peoples through the hostile actions of an imperialist American agenda. If there’s anything we should be thankful for, it’s the fact that there’s not enough of them left to stage a bloody uprising and take back what is rightfully theirs.

Now before you start foaming at the mouth and plunking out some ridiculous diatribe about what a hateful, racist bastard I am, hear me out. Imagine if you lived in a time and place where a race of people your budding nation felt they had the God-given right to force out of their land, rape, murder, pillage, lie, cheat and steal from decided they had had enough of your bullshit and rose up in the tens if not hundreds of thousands and return the bloody favor? In the reality that is our present world, bloodthirsty savages aren’t likely to bust down my front door at any moment, drag myself and my loved ones out into the street, and chop off their scalps while leaving the bodies in the street as a warning to potential future residents of my apartment that they better check their skin tone before signing the lease, and yes I am thankful for that, thank you very much. Most of us have it pretty good in this country, compared to the millions of Native Americans that were slaughtered to forge this nation, and the tiny population that remains in the squalid, horrifying conditions we have afforded them.

Needless to say, this isn’t exactly the best Thanksgiving dinner conversation, or the greatest context under which to talk about an opera. But as my deadline looms and yet another Thanksgiving Day draws to a close, I can’t help but wonder which traditions are worth the time of honoring: the entire sum of those of a nearly extinct race of people slaughtered at the hands of my ancestors, or those of a comparatively tiny, yet culturally significant subset of Western classical music?

San Jose Opera’s rendition of “Die Fledermaus” was wonderful, of course. They’re not ones to screw around with a production. The hair, makeup and costumes were top notch, and the set involved a simple backdrop that was easy to transform with a few props and set pieces into the various locations in the plot. And of course, the performances were marvelous. Elisabeth Ross positively stole the show as Adele, and Rebecca Krauner’s rendition of Prince Orlofsky was both sublime and ridiculous. Alexander Boyer gave a commanding performance as Eisenstein, bringing a Ralph Kramden-esque demeanor to the role, with Cecelia Violetta Lopez’s portrayal Rosalinde every bit the Alice, with a touch of Lucille Ball thrown in for good measure. Round out the lineup with devilish performances from Michael Bailey (Alfred), Jo Vincent Parks (Dr. Falke), Isaiah Musik-Ayala (Frank), and Michael Mendelsohn (Dr. Blind), and you’ve got yourself one hell of a show on your hands: it’s campy, absurd, and elegant, old-world sentiment mixed with classic screwball Broadway antics. My first operatic experience, I’m glad I got to witness something so fun and light, rather than inaugurated via tragedies such as “La Traviata” or “Carmen”. Not that I’m not one for heavy subject matter – my most recent read, “The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter” by Carson McCullers, left me both breathless and achingly unfulfilled – but comedy often brings more to the table than just laughs: it brings happy endings, which have enormous potential to hold the attention of a wide body of philistines like myself, who are thankful to have the opportunity to not only do so at the behest of their cohorts, but to then have the opportunity to spit out a few hundred words upon the subject for publications such as this one. Let us not also forget that at the heart of this story lies a crooked and immoral investment banker who is allowed to skip a portion of his incredibly lenient prison sentence just to be the victim of a ridiculously overpriced prank(likely at the expense of an underprivileged populace), one perpetrated by the highest annals of both Swiss and Russian governments, all to satisfy the petty vengeance of the clearly defunct shrink (physician, heal thyself!) with which this banker had an incredibly unprofessional and obviously destructive relationship. Let us all be thankful that we don’t live in such an imperialist society dominated by such petty squabbles, shall we?

Hold on a second…

Ours is a nation where a report is ‘rubbished’ for admitting its limitations. And it leaves one to ask: was the commissioner expecting the reporter to portray his report as the proverbial cure for all ills? For, as every learned person knows, every method has its limitations, as does every recommendation; and as every wise man knows, the cure for all ills is death. One can only hope that the commissioner does not administer the latter to the report he has now claimed is ailing.

Ours is a nation where the President forever salutes his intelligence agents, yet the Boko Haram menace that was not nipped in the bud has not been chopped off its roots, let alone grubbed out of its origins. One then wonders: who is deceiving whom? Is the President deceiving us or is he himself being deceived by those who would not admit their flaws and limitations, who would sing All is Well atop the burning house that our North has become? Or is he deceiving them, publicly promising them his support while secretly limiting their independence and hindering their progress? If not, what exactly is the problem; who will explain?

Ours is a nation where people live for the sake of today, and only today. Where people forget that today’s action (or inaction) inevitably becomes tomorrow’s history. Where the masses at the base cannot trust the apex, the government, it is surpassingly heavier than. Where everyone puts himself first. And where the poorer you are, the more children you have: the gateman has six children while his boss has three. Yet all these things brought us here, and here we are.

The Boko Haram would that we, the rest of Nigeria, worshipped them; that to speak against them was sacrilege. The Boko Haram would not apologise to all the innocents they killed but would that we, the rest of Nigeria, paid them compensation, an apology. The Boko Haram would not desist from bombing us but they would that we, the rest of Nigeria, desisted from hunting them. The Boko Haram would that we, the rest of Nigeria, recognised their religious peculiarities but would not recognise that God created life and diversity, that diversity birthed religions, that variety is the spice of life.

The Boko Haram would that they were the first of all and forget that we, the rest of Nigeria, could not be the least of all. The Boko Haram would that they lived in peace and surplus, yet they put us, the rest of Nigeria, in shambles and scarcity, in pains and panic, the aftermath of their (reckless) bomb blasts. The Boko Haram would that they had plenty children, perhaps unaware of the Yoruba saying, Omo beere, òsì beere; plenty children, plenteous poverty. The Boko Haram would that they eradicated Western education, yet backwardness cannot be enviable in this modern age of ours, and freedom is for all.

But…
The Boko Haram would that they could trust our government and not seek safety in Saudi Arabia for dialogues. The Boko Haram would that the government listened to the voice of the masses rather than the blast of its bombs. The Boko Haram would that government did not hush us or shush our labour leaders, or let out our military on us. The Boko Haram would that they saw the dividends of democracy:
accountability, where’s our subsidy?
bread, where’s our food?
construction, where are our good roads?
debate, when will we ever confront you?
equity, we are just as important as you.
finance, what’s happening to our Naira?
governance, cut your spendings and save our economy!
honesty, who is who in Nigeria?
integrity, if you cannot perform, commit for there!
justice, who will pay for all these crimes?
knowledge, do you really know what you’re doing?
liberty, can I really express myself?
…undoubtedly, things we, the rest of Nigeria, also long to see and have and own; and issues our government yet fails to address properly, if at all.

Seeing as we, the masses of Nigeria, are in agreement on these few, and perhaps some more, to the Boko Haram, I therefore say: As a part cannot truly hate that which makes it whole, we love you, we
feel your pains; we do not live in a different Nigeria, after all…
Put down your arms;
Harm us no longer.
This is the voice of reason,
To maintain your poise is treason.
…for Ours is a Nation where Nigeria must come before all–the leader as much as the led–and together we, the masses of Nigeria, will prevail together,
In love and honesty to GROW
And living JUST and true
Great lofty heights ATTAIN
To build [ONE] nation where PEACE and justice shall REIGN.

I remain yours,
Ayk Midas Afowolokoyasire,
OOUTH Sagamu, Ogun State
A Nigerian youth.

Review of Ardor: Poems of Life by Janine Canan

by Kat Merriweather

This collection features earlier submitted works of poetry from other books and journals. I found Ardor very spirited. Ardor contains free verse, koans, commentary on modern life, verses on women as goddesses, a few translations, prayers to deities, and, quirkily, some poems that the author is self-aware about writing poetry. Some poems were very simple (only a few lines at best). It appears as if the poems are meant to be read, not spoken, as it would sound quite awkward listening to its uneven meter.

Interestingly enough, the poems about poetry made me laugh. One in particular, “Imposters,” slams other “poets” who are nothing but mechanics and vampires. At least Canan isn’t “strangling language” to get her message across and does have something to say or praise. Canan has been writing poetry for a very long time, evident by her writing credits.

Readers who are into Eastern mysticism, Goddess worship, and female empowerment will enjoy this book.

Answers are imminent

What happened to loyalty what happened to truth?

What happened to just being you?

Why does beauty strive so far, why does love now own the ability to mar?

Are we changing our course for a negative outcome, is this the end to man?

Will we ever again become fearsome or have we emptied out our jar of sand?

Do you believe or do you only understand when I tell you,

This is not the way our destiny was planned.

Depression with a rhyme-scheme

I long to live out my dreams,
but reality is as reality seems,
it’s hard work and occasional breakdowns
usually it just feels like acting silly in front of clowns..
I guess the true story is;
It will probably always be like this.

This view

I’ve never realized how glorious a view can be

It grabs and takes holds of us

It’s a thing you can’t compare

To anything, anywhere

White dots in the frizzled silver

And though humanity made its mark

A reason to wonder it can always deliver

Creamy beads of spring

Dancing not to care, if they would they could sing

A restless never-ending sea

Always searching

And I come to believe it was all made

Just for me