TWO CENTS FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES

Sup, errbuddy?

There is a fine line between the simply personal and the confessional. As an artist, I constantly ride the fence. Blogs are an interesting medium as they represent the digitization of the journal or daily diary, albeit in a public sphere (even if it's not published, Googly Googs knows what you're thinking... they know...). Blogs represent the temptation to type a constant outpouring of neurosis and insecurity writ large all over the internet. Even established journalists have to park the personal in favour of a broader, more objective journalism, but again, the ease of confession on such a wide scale remains Damoclean for the individual and his thoughts and opinions.

So what does a fence-rider like myself do about such a glaring spotlight? I perform well under pressure and literally in the spotlight, but any performer adopts a stage persona, even if it is only loosely fictional. The internet provides a pseudo anonymity that allows the inner devil to the forefront of argument, and boy, does that devil like to argue. Everyone gets their 15 minutes; their two cents. Unfortunately for some, that's a constant stream of back-to-back, 15 minute fame sessions and many should have gone broke by now for pitching in their two cents. Hell, if I had a quarter for every time I put in my two cents, I'd have recouped at least ten years of shoddy emotional investment at an alarmingly favourable interest rate!

I suffer from the anonymous devil inside. I think of myself as reasonable, logical if often passionate; but not blind nor deaf. Anyone with a Burner account knows this dichotomy: Burner accounts allow total anonymity as they are not linked to Gmail or Facebook or Twitter, etc. but the blind passion with which one can rant in forums can lead to an obviousness of character, solidifying the ranter as an actual, human entity on the internet. The beauty of a Burner account is when one is burnt out, so to speak, the account can be deleted forever. Not the "be right back" forever of Twitter and Facebook, but actually gone forever. As long as the browser cookies are set to remember the Burner password, the account will exist. Clearing the cache and refreshing the browser can act as a sort of cleanse for toxic, trolling activity.

Exhibit A: we've all been on one end or the other

Many have inadvertently left their indelible mark on the cave walls of the internet. Perhaps a data-mining anthropologist of the future will find my Facebook wall deep in the strata of the digital past and interpret it as an important message left for the citizens of the future. Perhaps other strata will reveal a self-important, cat and sloth worshiping culture glued to their glowing, corporate, deified altars. The galaxy of would-be stars that are every individual on the internet further proves our insignificance in the universe. After all, if everybody is a star, then we are all destined to burn out and fade away anyways. If everyone is special in their own way, then nobody is special at all.

Here's to expressing our individuality... just like everybody else.

LITTLE RED ENVELOPES AND ALL THAT JIAOZE

2014: Year of the Horse. More like 4712!

I look the part, but I am about as Chinese as the Mandarin (Ben Kingsley in Iron Man III or the plastic restaurant chain). My family has no formal meal the night of; no vegetarian cleanse the day after. This year, my mother had a culturally existential crisis on the matter when a family friend told her nothing short of "you are not Chinese enough; you need to learn your heritage". My mother is almost seventy and her friend is in her forties. 

Tough break, eh? I digress.

I am throwing a last minute Year of the Horse party at my mother's house for a few friends. It will be as sloppy and informal as it is last-minute. I write this before I've even come up with a menu. All I can think of is that this is a perfect excuse for a party. "Happy New Year" is the rough English equivalent of the only thing I can say in both Cantonese and Mandarin and even then, the Cantonese is my late Grandmother's dialect.

Relevance? There are a million other things I could be doing today, many of which are far more productive than my feeble attempts at maintaining some kind of sub-culture or family tradition.  I may look the part as I have mentioned, but then again I look the part for anything but black; though I have been mistaken for such through the sheer ignorance of my accuser and my choice of attire. Chinese New Year has always been that strange, exotic thing that I embraced as a part of my bloodline. In kindergarten, the teacher asked me to tell the class about it. I just described the glorious spread that used to push the family to the margins of the dining room on Lord Robert's Drive in Scarborough. I've never known the significance, if any.

Chow Kien & Chow York-Ying

Chinese New Year for me has always been about food, friends and family. China is no longer exotic, with Mandarin paving the way for a new lingua franca. I've been told I was "not Chinese enough" in my own time, albeit by a triad gangster addled by MDMA at a rave. If I choose to throw a party and give away jiaoze (dumplings) and booze instead of cash money in little red envelopes, is it "not Chinese enough"?

Who cares? Well, I obviously do a mote, or I wouldn't feel the need to write this. It would have been easier to go grab dim sum and then get drunk. It would have been of no significance if I did nothing, or simply joined the guys at the pub like any other Friday.

Little dumplings and tall cans of beer. That's what the year of the Horse is getting kicked off (har har) with.

To the glorious diversity of my ridiculous generation.

J

Xin Nian Kuai Le! Goong Hey fat Choy!

PS: I'm allergic to horses...

PANNING FOR PIXELS

Anyone who knows me knows my love of video games. I'm such a completionist gamer that I will obsessively finish games that are technically awful and frustrating to play. Maybe I'm just miserly and want to get my $60 worth. Maybe I like the pretty images. I'd prefer to think that I truly appreciate the artistry and hard work that goes into making these things and from personal experience as a graphic designer, I know that thousands of hours of work doesn't always translate well from the original vision. I have always wanted to have a hand at game design, whether under the strictest terms of that title, or simply providing concepts and artwork to develop the final product.

My father always said that you never meet your last love first and likewise while looking for a career; it's never your first job. Not to undermine the values of love and companionship, but building a career around your passions really isn't that different from forging a strong bond with someone. I've been told that you should always take what you do seriously but never so yourself. My expectations of myself wax and wane in a perpetual cycle of artistic lethargy. There is nothing more stifling than having a creative impulse and being unable to implement it. It is the visual artist's equivalent of writer's block. When it comes to professional work, such a moment can well up an incredible amount of stress within the artist because others rely on the work, and if the work is not being done, everyone suffers. All should be entitled to fulfillment at their job, but the problem with being a creative person is that integrity coupled with undying ego makes seeking that fulfillment ever difficult. I recently updated my resume and streamlined my freelance client list as it was nearing three pages with the descriptions attached. I felt enormously proud of amassing such a long list of work, but I felt equally as disappointed in myself that almost none of it reflected the work I actually wanted to do. Feelings of entitlement are cropped concisely by notions of guilt and this self-centered duality stresses my ability to pursue what I truly want to do with my supposed talents.

Enter the video game. To vaguely describe what I want to do in life, I would say that to be paid to produce images and create fantasy worlds would be a dream come true. There are of course many different avenues to that goal, but I feel that video games have proven time and again (to me at least) that they are the ultimate storytelling vehicle. The level of interaction that comes with the intellectual property of video games in my opinion far surpasses that of film and literature. The latter media on the other hand, deliver tried and tested methods of storytelling steeped in tradition. The video game industry, while growing rapidly, is far from mature, but the potential for high art is incredible.

When I first left Toronto for Montreal almost seven years ago, I had just graduated from Sheridan College's Illustration program with the notion that I was taking my first steps into an elite world of creativity. To fund my journey I flipped pizza all night and taught children at summer camp all day. The camp program happened to be video game design. Our head counselor had written a simple game engine that could be manipulated to create scrolling shooters or basic platform games a la Super Mario Bros. My job was to help the kids tap their imaginations and create the artwork that would bring the games to life. High art this was not, but to see just how creative anyone could be given the right tools, it further solidified my love for the medium and gave me even more hope for myself as a professional in the games industry. Montreal was a few months away and becoming a video game Mecca in its own right.

As I write this, I contemplate my second application to the Masjid al-Haram of Mecca Montreal: UbiSoft. This was just a couple of days ago. If I get lucky, or just play my hand properly, I may get what I came here for, almost a decade later. Who knows? If things truly go my way, I may end up back home in Toronto at the fledgling studio that is getting so much press lately.

I feel that I have been panning for creative gold in a stream muddy with corporate sediment for too long now. Approaching thirty years of age is not as daunting as turning twenty-five felt, but in my relative maturity I clamor at something more fulfilling than plain sustenance. It certainly is lovely not to chase clients for cheques nor sign contracts demanding half-loot down, but if I could marry the idea of security and a good dental plan with fulfilling work, I know I would shine like the gold I've been panning.

Art will always be my first love, and to her I will return. Video games have taught me that she is everywhere, even in a previously childish medium. Games have grown with me it seems, and my first love can be found thriving within that coveted industry. If my last job is not to be my first as my last love is likewise not supposed to be, I may just be able to break my father's rule and meet both halfway.

Wish me luck.

J