Taming This Tyke's Voice Since 2007

brush strokes

Biennial

2nd Year of Taming This Tyke’s Voice

August 16, 2009

Jeques Web Nook, Year 2

"prologue" oil on canvas 48x48 by Jeques B. Jamora

"Prologue" oil on canvas 48x48 the finale to Jeques's recent painting collection and the prologue to the next.

Today marks the second year of taming my voice as a writer and as an artist in general, in public. My web nook serves as my creative venue where I synthesize life’s inspirations, my journey, random thoughts, dreams, desperations, my share of pains in living, simple joys, bliss, life’s mirths, ponderings ~

My every day celebration for knowing that I breath and my existense is in tune with the universe’s rhymes.

It’s been two years and this nook gifted me with rich produce that I never realized I have inside me, had I not listen closely to the fragile voice that told me stories, recited me poetry, painted my life with colors.

In commemoration with Jeques web nook biennial celebration, I am proud to formally launch my bountiful harvest as an artist in My Art Portfolio. This is the produce from my continuous reconnaissance of my gift.

Follow the tracks of the waif’s journey. And may you whisper a prayer in every turn and  trail, for the waif to find his home.

Through my works, I would like to represent the displaced artists in different fields for some reasons, becoming like waifs, that I am, searching for home. I share the sentiments of artists unable to do their arts, caged in the jobs that are far from what their hearts purely desire to do. I aim as an artist to speak to that audience, to inspire them through my works and to make a statement that it is possible. Every art piece I finish is a struggle, but each is a step closer to home.  (an excerpt from “Self Portrait Of The Artist In Words” by Jeques. Complete story is found in the last page of the of the portfolio). 

PLEASE CLICK IMAGE TO FOLLOW THE TRAILS OF THE WAIF >>>

 

"waif" oil on canvas 30x30(close up view) by Jeques B. Jamora

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Morning Panes(tanka/painting series)

  “Morning Panes”(Tanka and painting) series #1 of 3
   
Dreams sojourn ~
 Whimsy reflections
 On morning panes ~
 
Coquetting the mind
Crooning dormant soul.
 
"morning panes" #1 oil on canvas 30x40, by Jeques B. Jamora “morning panes” #1 oil on canvas 30×40, by Jeques B. Jamora

 

"morning panes" series #1 to 3 “morning panes” series #1 to 3
“Morning Panes” (Tanka and Painting) series #2 of 3 
  
Dormant soul
Hatching, awaiting
Dawn’s misty kiss ~
 
Artist awakens
Broods nestle on trees.
 
"morning panes" #2 oil on canvas 30x40, by Jeques B. Jamora, 2009 “morning panes” #2 oil on canvas 30×40, by Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

 

 
morning panes
 
“Morning Panes” (Tanka and Painting) series #3 of 3
 
  
Courage ingrained
Inside broken soul’s
Callus chest ~
  
Anticipating sunrise
Awaiting to exhale.
"morning panes" #3 oil on canvas 38x48, by Jeques B. Jamora “morning panes” #3 oil on canvas 38×48, by Jeques B. Jamora
.
I have paintings conceived from poems.
 
The images of these paintings initially presented themselves to me in words. Morning Panes, a painting series of 3(at least for now, there is more to it) is one of them. It first came to me in a poem I composed in 2003. The poem visited me in a peculiar dream of a dream within a dream. I believe many of us had experienced that, dreaming in our dream, waking up still asleep. Or is it only me?
 
That dream is a tiny drop of inspiration that created ripples of poetry series. I used to write a lot, I had the freedom of time back home and I can afford to really sit down and study my thougths and dreams in my morning pages. In 2003 I wrote the poem, Images Of You. . . 

 
In my dream
I watch you in your sleep.
My heart feels glad,
My heart leaps.
  
Images of you haunt me ~
  
From the time I wake,
‘Til my sleep.

 

That dream was so vivid I immediately wrote a poem when I awake. The imagery from the dream and the words in the poem lingered in my thoughts which I first expressed visually in a drawing, My Morning Pane, Februay, 2005. It is a self-sketch of myself on bed in my room back home in the Philippines which is the original setting of the dream, the poem, the painting.
"my morning panes" pencil on paper by Jeques, 2005 
“my morning panes” pencil on paper by Jeques, 2005
 
In 2006, I wrote another poem from the same inspiration, Evanescent Romance, this poem fits well in series #2 of the painting. Note the change of the window from the previous, it represents the many rooms we sleep and the multitude of window panes we wake up with in our lifetime yet dreaming the same dreams. Here’s the poem: 
 

We are joined by our hearts’ seeking radars.
 Our souls converge at midnight’s deep blue skies.
 We talk, our words are the infinite stars.
 We feel so intimate with our closed eyes.
 Our unions are chronicled by my pen.
 The winds’ soft whistles signal your presence.
 Your image flickers through my window pane ~
 Silhouette of my dream-lover’s essence.
 In my mind I touch the face of heaven,
 When you croon to me lovesongs of silence.
   Bliss is what my thoughts of you has given.
 You illumined my lonely existence. 
Romance confined in shadows of the night. 
 ‘Tis evanescent with the morning light.

 

These are some of the few poems I wrote that ended up on canvas, in visual form, in paintings.
 
But there are also inspirations that presented themselves to me first in visual arts. They become drawings, or sketches, or paintings instantly. In these instances, my brushstrokes are my words to create imageries that frequent my thoughts.
  
To complete the circle of poems becoming paintings and paintings becoming poems, I used the painting series, “Morning Panes” as subject and inspiration to my poems for this week’s workshop on the ancient poetry form: the Tanka. It dates back to the 7th century. A poem of five lines of 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count respectively. I strictly followed this rules in the previous Tanka’s I composed but in the workshop I attend, I learned the freedom from the Tanka minimalists, and the modern american tanka which is less restricting as to the syllable count and rather focusing on the importance of expressing an emotion or deep thought in a concise manner in the five lines which is the true beauty of writing a Tanka. Shorter syllable count in each line when achieved in 19-24 or even shorter in 15 counts at the very least instead of 31 is preferred in the modern tanka.
  
Using the Tanka structure, I took out pictures of my paintings and from the deepest recesses of my core extract words that would best express the brushstrokes. Series #3 of the painting fully express my sentiments as a dormant artist awaiting to exhale, an egg hatching, a seed awaiting for springtime, a child awaiting to be born.
And when I come to think of it, this circle of paintings becoming poems, and the poems’ metamorphosis becoming paintings, I come to realize that there’s really no single strand or line that separates them. When I paint, the brushstrokes are my words. When I write, the words are my brushstrokes to create imageries. Sketches and drawings are my scribbles, my drafts.
  
It is my commitment to my craft to achieve such seamless fusion of my paintings and poetry for both are conceived and born from my heart.
 
  
 *For more of my paintings, please click image to navigate to my art portfolio >>> 
 
 waif

  


Le coeur attend

If I strip off this mind and show you my thoughts, would you like what you will see?
If I open my heart to your view, would you like the pictures that you will see inside?
If I bare my soul naked to your eyes, would you ever learn to love me?
I clad myself with things that I thought you would like me wearing, but went home not recognizing my own reflection in the mirror, so I stripped myself off from the things that the world wanted me to be and view myself as I am.
I befriend my thoughts and got familiar with the terrains of my uncharted mind building my own empire in solitude.
I listen to the songs of my heart and memorized its lyrics as I study paeans of love that this heart dreams to sing for you.
I come to terms with myself, got to know the naked me, caressed the skin of my soul, accepted my flaws and learned to care for the lovely soul inside this body.
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"Le coeur attend" oil on canvas, 24x30 by Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

 ‘Tis when I fully understood the colors and the shapes and molds, and the forms, and the feel, and everything about my soul that I trully begun to learn to dress up. ‘Tis when I learned to listen to my heart’s songs that I was able to write his poetry. ‘Tis when I completely viewed my soul with all my senses that I was able to limn the images of the empire I inhabit in my mind reflected in the canvas like vignettes from the corners of my imagination.

 

Notice me.

For once,

Just be with me.

See my heart and soul

And let time

Stand still ~

 

Look at me.

Show me the spark

behind those eyes

That you would not

Reveal.

 

Talk to me.

Translate your silence

To words

So I would fathom

The tenderness

In your glances.

 

Write to me.

Send me letters

Of your heart

So you would fill

My empty page,

This void

In my chamber

That patiently

Awaits.

 

Visit me.

Anytime of day

While I’m awake

Or even in my dreams

In my hours

Of sleep.

 

Touch me.

Run your finger tips

On my longing cheeks;

Reach out

For my hands

Awaiting

For your reassuring

Grip.

 

Show me.

What’s behind

Those elusive eyes

So afraid

To stay still

Always looking away

From my direction.

 

Whisper to me.

I want to listen

To your heart

And hear

The language

Of your soul.

Let it speak.

 

Just for a brief moment,

Please look into my eyes,

Let time stand still ~

And be

With me.

(“Notice Me,” from the poetry collection of Jeques B. Jamora, 2008)

How do you like me wearing the fabrics of my soul and not the clothes that the world imposed on me to wear when I was younger?

If I tell you what’s inside this mind, would you like what you will hear?

If I tell you you’re part of the dots and lines I create, that you’re in my every brushstroke, each word, each line, in every piece of me would you even care to notice and listen?

If I tell you I weave my story around you, would you be interested to hear that story or buy the volumes of book I write in my mind about us?

 

Don’t be excited with what you now see,

Don’t love me for what I have so far shown.

Be excited with what else I could do ~

Love me for what more I can show you.

 

If I tell you that my thoughts of you reside with me in an empire, would you decide to live there ~

 

And if I tell you I build us home in my heart,

 

 

Would you come home with me?

 

 

 

~Jeques

.

.


L ‘homme qui J ‘aime

What If

By: Jeques B. Jamora

 

What if the poet in me dies,

What if my heart’s verses lose their rhymes?

What if my passion is gone,

And there’s nothing left undone?

.

What if my brush strokes cease to form my thoughts?

What if my paintings fail

Their colors fade

To worthless images?

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“L ‘homme qui J ‘aime” oil on canvas, 24×30 by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

 

“What if’s,” too many to hold on

Perhaps, I should just carry on.

.

What if you’ve got enough of me,

And get bored of me?

What if you shut me up, and oh God,

You would stop, just like that!

.

What if everything’s done,

You and me forever gone?

.

Let it be written then among the stars in heavens,

Painted in the infinite skies,

And here on earth engrave them on the marble 

Of my tombstone:

 

Once, there was love here ~

‘Tis pure~

Though ’tis human for a man.

~

I may sound narcissistic, but learning to love myself helped me define the amount of love I am capable of giving, and helped me define the kind of love I am capable of taking.

Our greatest fears in loving, and giving and taking come from our human mistake of fearing to love one’s self. We go out of our self, we go places, find and wanting things, obsessing people, chasing love, forgetting the true source of what we are looking to be just  here all along,

Inside our hearts.

It is everyone’s wish to find that one person that would complete our story. Mine, too.

I wish you well.

~ Jeques


Gone Painting

 

For

 

Those

 

Wondering

 

Why

 

I

 

Have

 

Not

 

Been

 

Writing . . .

 

 

“The tyke’s gone painting”

Please click image to view my art portfolio in progress >>>

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"mystic" oil on canvas 20x20, by Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

 “Mystic” oil on canvas, 20×20 by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009


A Prelude To A Million Dreams

My creative muse prompts me to begin writing on a fresh page as I start a new process of knowing. This is the time of my life when I do things because I feel like doing them. Like, I write because I would like to read my thoughts tangible in words taking form written on pages, so I would get a better grasp of them.

to-the-deeps-0151

Like the damselflies of my childhood, I don’t chase my thoughts anymore now that I’m grown up. My mind, like my palms to the damdelflies, I will open so dreams and thoughts could freely alight to show me their beauty. I will befriend this elusive guests instead of running after them like I did during my reckless youth. Perhaps this way, I could encourage their frequent visits.

"to the deeps" #1, oil on canvas by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

To The Deeps

At midnight

When half the world is asleep,

The prying eyes of the nocturnal owl

Stay alert for mice dozing undergrownds.

."to the deeps" #2, oil on canvas by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

A turtle slowly prowls in a swamp

Disturbing the resting fishes

On the shallow waters.

."to the deeps" #3, oil on canvas, 20x20 by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

Somewhere, you are confined

Asleep in your room dreaming.

While I stay awake questioning.

.#to the deeps" #4, oil on canvas, 20x20, by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

Am I part of your dreams tonight?

Would I take part in your life

When you awake in the morning?

.to-the-deeps-010

The night ends

With the owl catching no mice.

The fishes has gone to The deeps,

But the turtle hasn’t reach where ’tis going.

Just like me with my doubts never fading.

."to-the-deeps" #2 and 3

But nevertheless always wishing

That one day I’d stop questioning

And to The deeps I’d just let the fishes

Swim.

"to-the-deeps" #3 and 4

Unhurried thoughts and dreams come pellucid like the reflection of the summer skies on a placid river. I aim to write my thoughts that way: to achieve such clarity. These thoughts, my dreams reflected on pages as I allow the readers to grasp them like viewing the river and the skies on a clear summer day.

But sometimes, words are just ain’t enough. There are thoughts and dreams conceived that come in defined shapes, definite forms and rich colors. So I capture them in sketches. Such thoughts and dreams come alive on pads as my pen and pencil give them skin and the ink give them blood and the images from my mind come throbbing alive in sketches.

But then again, oftentimes, I am haunted by vivid dreams and thoughts that not my pen and the pencil nor the ink are enough to breath them life, to bring them the colors like the coquettish fishes flirting my mind with their exotic dance moves in the river where my mind often hovers. They demand to be born and inhabit the canvas, and only my brush strokes could give them soul, only the pallette could bring to life their hued reflections flickering in my imagination ~

Conspicuous in light and shadows.

This is the time of my life when I am fully in touched with my creative muse and the river of my mind is on its calmest state, where any minute movements are reflected that could stir ripples of dreams, and rapture of colors like the blossoms in springtime. The pages and the pads and the canvas are like the verdant fields where my dreams bloom. They are like the river in my mind where the fishes swim to the deeps in their coquettish dance moves that preludes to a million dreams.

The damselfly is within reach – I am taking time to appreciate his beauty as he hovers and I, motionless wishing the damselfly would soon alight in my palms.

Who says that dreams are black and white?

oil on canvas 20X20 by : Jeques B. Jamora


Ingrained

memories-from-home-022

"Childhood" oil on canvas, 24x30 by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

“Childhood” oil on canvas, 24×30 by :  Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

 

Art museums and galleries are the places I often visit, and the Art Institute of Chicago is my favorite. It is like the secluded dusty paths I used to trod when I was a child pulling my carts to endless directions in circles that my young mind then imagined.

I am naturally solitary.

There are things that I grew up doing alone, and they are what I really love to do. Against all odds, I silently fought for these things and from where I stand now, I look back to claim my rewards from my little triumphs.

In one of my quiet strolls in the museum communing with the spirits of the artists gone and living, I observed young students in a group sketch session. I was deeply moved, I felt envious and sad. Some thoughts dawned in me: I always do my arts alone, closed doors, dettached from the world. My father was highly critical of my early works, he is the first battle I fought to shield my natural gift from the many forces that discouraged me and my early pursuits in finding my voice as an artist and my soul in my works. 

Watching this young students brought me back to my sketching sessions as a kid. Any empty paper and writing tools are my art materials then – give me anything I could sketch on and I could survive long hours alone away from people. I envy these kids doing there arts in the company of their classmates, enjoying art moments with their friends. When they are my age years from now, and they would stroll through this quiet room, these paintings in the wall would remind them of this moment, but more than that, the walls would echo their whispered giggles that would bring back happy memories. 

As they weave their memories unaware, I went back to my own. I visited my solitary self struggling to find meaning in what seemed to be senseless dots and lines I put together to create images that was so insignificant then. Little did I know that those dots and lines would bring me to this point, to look back and find the trails I left to guide me back to how and where my journey started.

I started sketching when I was about 3 years old before I learned how to write, when my grip was strong enough to control a pencil or a pen. The moment I first held a pencil, I knew it in my heart that this is something that I would love to do for a lifetime. And that is how my romance with the arts started, like a-love-at-first-grip kind of thing. I remember my mother was my first teacher and our first subject were flowers. She stopped teaching me when my flower sketches look nicer than the ones she taught me. I outgrew the art lessons my mother gave me quick. And then she became my first admirer, my first fan, my first follower and collector of my works. My first art exhibit was in her store as she show my drawings in the pages of her record notebook to friends. That was my version of an art institute.

flowers #1 -0182

“flowers” #1 pen and pencil on paper by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

But there was a negative energy, too, my first critic: my father. He thought my works were insignificant and told me to do other things. I think the hardest thing he did was when he forced me to use my right hand ~ I was born left handed ~ and at 16, when I was so sure of my decission to take up fine arts, he put me to a nursing school.

I was caught in the middle trying to keep my balance early on: between my encouraging, nourishing, consenting mother and my highly critical, discouraging, tormenting father.

I never had formal education in the arts. The gift is ingrained, I was born with the passion, not even my father was able to control from florishing. So in my room, close doors, alone, I had my sketching session as a kid. It was lonely. There was only one person I would seek every time I finish a piece: my mother. Her sincere appreciation of my works nourished me to keep going. But I have to admit all these years, I seek for the approval of my father which he never gave. After my father died in 2008, I thought I’m free now. I always was!

“The mind and the heart and the soul, like the birds, are meant to soar, set it free. Allow your spirit to fly!”

I walk fast many more group of young kids in drawing sessions while I brouse through the paintings on the walls that flood me with mulititude of thoughts from the past, present and future. Nothing has changed in me much, I still am the kid and art is still a solitary life for me and perhaps I would spend it that way for the rest of my life. I have come to terms with myself and solitude has become a bliss.

I, too, am still that kid who would seek my mother’s appreciation everytime I finish an art piece to get her nod and nourishing words of encouragement for me to go on. Only now I seek that appreciation from people who would chance upon my works, like my mother’s friend in the store she would show my drawings of flowers as a kid.

I still am that kid who fear the criticism of my father that made me rip many pages of my sketches, and toss away many works unfinished. Deep in my heart, I have to admit I still seek for his approval that he was so selfish to give.

I see my father’s image in people who thought my works are insignificant, I find courage in people who tell me otherwise. I still am struggling to find that balance from this opposing forces.

Deep inside this heart, ingrained, is a gift that I’m entrusted to nurture alone, close doors, away from people. I remain that waif inside my room as a child connecting senseless dots and lines to create images hoping that people would find them significant, so I could finally find my grown up version of an art institute, my home, your heart.

and like a desolate soul a lonely waif

I await for you to find me.

May your travels not take you long,

Come fast and love me ~

memories-from-home-001

“Waif” oil on canvas 18×18 by : Jeques B. Jamora


Works Of My Hands From My Heart

~

Let my scribbling,

And my brush strokes

Speak ~

“Una” 2004, A Self Portrait. (but I think I embellished myself too much)

“Seed” series #1, 1998. Pen and Ink on paper 

“Seed” series# 2, 1998. Pen and Ink on paper

“Seed” series# 3, 1998. Pen and Ink on paper

“Seed” series# 4, 1998. Pen and Ink on paper

“Fish Of Mind” (Oil on canvas 30×38, By: Jeques B. Jamora, Oct. 2007)

“We depart to arrive, we leave to come home. 2005. Oil on canvas.

“Pedia”, 1998. Pencil on paper

“Fish of mind” study, 2005. 2-piece oil on canvas.

“Tamed” (the original), 2004. Oil on canvas

My apartment walls are becoming an exhibit space to hang my artworks

“Tamed”(enlarged replica) July, 2007 – This is the first painting(oil on canvas, 30×30) I completed here in Chicago.

“Nostalgia” (Oil on Canvas, 30×38, By: Jeques B. Jamora, Nov. 2007)

My living room serves as show room for my paintings

“A cut of life , 1 ~ there is some story in everything we see” 2007. Oil on canvas

“A cut of life , 2 ~ there is a cut of life in every piece of me. ” 2007. Oil on canvas

“Solitude”, 2007 – finding my solitude in Chicago. Oil on canvas, 24×30.

“Reflections” 2007 (Oil on canvas, 24×30, By: Jeques B. Jamora)

“Solitude” – anchored, 2005. Oil on canvas

“Nangita Ko Nemo”, 2007 (Oil on canvas, 20×24, By: Jeques B. Jamora)

My witty take on the animated film, Finding Nemo. “nemo” in Visayan/Ilonggo dialect means “You.

“Nangita Ko Nemo – Finding You”,

“Ginpangita Man Ko Nemo?”, 2007 (Oil on canvas, 20×24, By: Jeques B. Jamora)

My witty take on the animated film, Finding Nemo. “nemo” in Visayan/Ilonggo dialect means “You.

“Ginpangita man ko nemo? – Did you seach for me, too?”

“Love, ‘Fish,’ Hope” 2004, oil on canvas

“Childhood,” 1998, pencil on paper

“to the deeps(unfinished)” oil on canvas, 40×48(pending, nov, ‘07 to date) By: Jeques B. Jamora

“The secret garden” 2005, oil on canvas

“To the deeps(unfinished)” Oil on canvas, 40×48(pending, nov, ‘07 to date) By: Jeques B. Jamora