Light, colors, air, and water create a mesmerizingly stunning seascape. All is beauty. All is love. Staring out into the deep abyss, I am reminded of the last time I was at this place. It isn't the same, ever the same. Everything changes. Everything changes, I die a living death. I am renewed, I like to think, but the void remains.

are you near or far
between sunrise and twilight
police sirens blasting
sobbing mourners nearby

did i hear right
is it true
that you are not here
how quickly you passed by

how could you leave her behind
how could you leave without a good-bye
i cry for her
i cry for me

what's it like to live
what's it like to be left behind
how did i die
and survive

Recently, my digital camera broke. I've carried it on me ever since I received it as a gift many years ago. It has served as an extension of my vision and memory. Sometimes I see through my photographs, the view finder, more than I see in real life. That's the problem. I use to say I am doing it for art. But all of that is just BS. My camera prevented me from truly living each and every moment. I relied on my photographs to help me remember. My camera was my crutch. Not until it broke did I realize the ways it kept me from experiencing life to its fullest.

Initially, I felt terribly lost without my camera ... just pure anguish. How will I remember? What if I don't remember? So what? Since then I've realized that it is all about what I can capture and retain in my own mind. I rely more on my memory now. Each moment is made more precious without my glass eye. There's no other physical or digital record of it.

I spend a little longer with each person. I listen more closely. I hear the emotion in someone's voice and not just the words. I observe and notice minute details, the way someone smiles, the wrinkles forming around the person's eyes. I paint my own mental portrait of the person during the encounter. I live and reflect more deeply. Life is calmer. By not imposing the responsibility to document life on myself, I indulge in it more fully. It is about the here and now. Being present. Being. Living.

Life is ephemeral. Beauty is ephemeral. Why hold on? Letting go is beautiful. Living, loving, aging, dying - the whole process is beautiful.

Out late one night or early morning, the traffic was still heavy on the 10E. I rode in a car, heading fast to nowhere. The vibration and motion of the vehicles were captured in this series of photographs.

The streaks of head lights and tail lights zipping by created intriguing designs against the dark canvas of the night. They looked like they would collide, only barely missing as they rounded the curb. In the darkness of the night, the cars provided the guiding lights. They hinted at the life inside while there existed life outside. According to Newton's Second Law which states that energy is neither created or destroyed, at that moment, I realized the futility of my drive.

Was I running away from anguish, as discussed by Sarte, that is inherent in human existence? Was I trying too hard to create meaning out of nothingness? As I looked around me, I wondered where all the cars were going in this late hour. I wondered why I was out. Why could I not sleep? Was I running, running from me?

As I walk out onto the pier, I notice a seagull perched on the rail. It makes me wonder what it feels like for a bird as it gazes into the immense depth, covered by an endless wavering blue-green and silver sheath, forever changing and conquering. The sea's beauty taps into my deep unconscious. I think it holds special meaning for the bird too.

As the wind sweeps over the expanse which mirrors the heavens, it gathers in momentum, picking up the salty vapor and spreading it across the bird's body. The damp saltiness brushes against its feathers, grooming it, cleansing it. Likewise, I feel humbled as I look into the void, mysterious and consuming. I breathe in deeply. I am alive.

The gray pavement of the sidewalk was transformed into a graveyard covered by the listless bodies of the flowers. They served as a reminder of the inevitable cycle of life, everything must come to an end. I stopped during my walk to take in the moment and be with my feelings.

Life and death play out every second of the day which makes every moment so precious. The ticking clock does not stop for anything. I find that it's up to me to make the most of my time here, to live out my life in the most meaningful way. What is a meaningful existence? What does it mean to live, think, and feel? For me to approach an answer to these metaphysical questions, I need to appreciate that one day, there will be nothing. With experience and age, a meaningful life changes for me. For now, it involves creating art.

Today, I was in quite a pensive mood, perhaps because of the anniversary of September 11. I watched the controversial special, "The Path to 9/11," and I was once again saddened by the thought of all the people during the attacks and those who have died since then. The death of people I loved dearly have altered the course and quality of my life. Living necessarily involves holding on and letting go, letting go of everything and everyone. At the end, there is nothing.

The orange stripe represents freedom from the confines of home. Now that I sit in the confines of my car with the AC blasting in my face, the metro breaks my rhythm, makes me think, and gives me a break in traffic. Though not for long - not a minute has passed before the impatient driver in back of me started honking, jolting me out of my nostalgia and back into reality.

The sandals belonged to someone with smaller feet than mine. They sits on the pavement in a haphazard manner, as though a woman just flung them off her feet. Now they wait and wait - to be admired, to be loved, to be picked up again.

As I approached the chopped trunks and branches of a palm tree, the two men and a boy stopped working. I looked on with great sadness at the job they were carrying out. The once great palm tree, now rested on the pavement, sliced and fragmented.

Under the bright glare of multiple construction lights, the 405 freeway looks different from the vantage point of a nearby parking lot. I watched a construction worker hard at work, fixing structure that supports it.

Los Angeles is known for its freeways, that stretch long and wide to connect the city with the rest of the country. It has some of the most amazing freeways I've seen. They represent the blood line of the city. They contribute to making this one of the most attractive places to live. With transportation, comes a lively commerce. To accommodate the large population that live and work here, I often see the freeways being repaired and expanded to allow for heavy flow. I appreciate the job of the construction worker, because he enables the smoother flow of traffic.

It intrigues me to watch people from different professions work. Tonight I observed the construction worker and the conditions that he works under, up close. Each person plays an important role in the operation of the city, no matter what they do for a living.

I stopped to admire its beauty and interacted with it from below. If only it could be free to roam the streets, chase after other animals, climb up trees, and experience life outdoors, it might not look so sad. I love the grace and stealth of its movements. I wanted to play with it.

Because of his focus on portraits of his family and friends, often in his studio, the room exuded a deep sense of humanity. His polaroid compositions appealed to me. I saw the influence of photography in most of his work. They captured an intimacy between the subjects and also revealed his relationship to them. His heart came through in his work and that made each piece great.

At the end of the show, I saw a clear, plastic glass, with lipstick-smeared rim, stuffed with cigarette buds and napkins. It was the most striking object to me. It reminded me of a life lived. Hockney's work put me into that frame of mind and the glass symbolized everyday existence, as life is lived one day at a time, each moment the most unique and special.

The Wooster Collective is very much interested in this form of subversive public art.

At what point does a life turn into absolute rubbish? What is the cycle that governs all living and man-made things? Looking at the Christmas trees discarded along the streets and alleyways, I wonder about the process of objects of desire that turn from preciousness into worthlessness. At one time, for a short period of time, the abandoned trees, were decorated and given prominent position in many homes.

We all exist in the interim, between life and death, adoration and abandonment, usefulness and uselessness. I come along and find beauty in the rejected and instill them with new identity and life. Their lives start all over again, but never in the same way. Their rebirths aren't necessarily pretty or hopeful. Often, we don't choose what we become.

While I was out on a walk with my dog and boyfriend, I noticed that the carnival has finally come to my town. The sight of the fun house, slide, and swinger filled me with childhood joy. When I was a child I waited for the carnival to come to my school like I anticipated the arrival of Christmas every year. I would ask my mom for some money to spend of the rides and pink cotton candy.

Seeing the children walking excitedly towards the rides was like seeing myself as a child. I felt excitement seeing the red and white striped ticket booth where I used to buy tickets for all the wild rides, at least they were pretty wild when I was in elementary school. I don't have kids so instead I took my dog to the carnival tonight. She was enjoying the crowd and festivities. I was too. The carnival should come to town more often. The child is still alive within me. Thank god. I long to return to a time when life was simpler and the day seemed to go on forever.

I've finally posted a Flash version of kathychin.com about my love for art, photography, and life. You can find the link to it on the left side navigation on this site. I created this site using Macromedia Flash (Version: MX 2004) during this past summer. In it you'll see some photos that I've taken and art projects that I've created. Due to the huge bandwidth that Flash requires, make sure you have broadband before you click on it. Bandwidth consideration also limited the amount of information I included on the site. I love the arts but I also love to write. I've tried to convey how different people, animals, and things influence my creative process.

On my visit to downtown L.A. today, I encountered a pay phone. It caught my attention because I don't remember using it since I was in junior high, calling my boyfriend at the time from outside the local grocery store. I have fond memories of the pay phone, especially the one I have photographed.

I used to see them on practically every street corner. Now they are far and few in between. The pay phone has been around for as long as I can remember, but I haven't touched it in years. Neither has anyone else I know. Coin-operated is so yesterday.

The old has become the new again. I took notice of an object that might not be around much longer, or at least it will be hard to find. When I can't find one, I will miss it. I will feel guilty when it goes away. I, along with everyone else I know, would have caused its demise. I felt sadness and a sense of urgency at the thought that the pay phone might not be here one day. That's a fact of life, progress, and evolution. Nothing lasts forever.

As I was driving, I noticed dark, brooding clouds headed my way. Seldom do I see ominous, dark clouds in Los Angeles. It was a change. I wasn't feeling too happy. I was remembering 9/11 three years ago and thinking about the people who were in my life then...how special they were and how they are not all here with me. The clouds symbolize death that hovers over us, the darkness and unknown, that inevitably come to claim our lives, whether we are ready for it or not.

The bird soaring high in the vast sky represents the joy of life. Its free flight reminds me of our freedom to think, create, worship, and live as we want. It is life itself.

Some songs on my playlist include:

Hey Jupiter (Tori Amos)
What it feels like for a girl (Madonna)
Life in Mono (Mono)
Love Affair (Trickle)
Creep (Radiohead)
A Question of Lust (Depeche Mode)
Playgirl (Ladytron)
Seventeen (Ladytron)
Single (Everything but the Girl)

I saw the movie "Chinatown" starring Faye Dunaway and Jack Nicholson for the first time tonight. I was surprised by the content and subject matter of the film. Filmed in 1974, it's ahead of its time for dealing with issues of incest, rape, and domestic violence. It shows the immense courage and strength of women such Faye Dunaway's character in how they cope with their plight.

I was wondering why the movie was titled "Chinatown" and it didn't make sense to me until the end. The final scenes filmed in Los Angeles Chinatown were shocking and tragic, not because of any deaths, but because of the ones left alive. I was saddened that mother and child didn't both die. I was saddened at the fate of the child, at how she's going to live. It hurts me to see that she could repeat the life of her mother.

The movie points out that there's no protecting our loved ones from being hurt, ultimately. Its ending illustrates the futility of our efforts in protecting those we love and cherish against harm. It's a pessimistic view of the world and its evil, corruption, and ugliness that destroys the best of us, the best in us.

I've heard others talk about the racist portrayal of Chinese in "Chinatown." Racist attitudes and comments were in the movie. The Chinese played the role of servants but that was probably the social status of the Chinese during that period in the history of Los Angeles. We have come a long way, but I am sure racism will always be a factor. It was just more overt back then. Though I am aware of the issues of racism in the movie, I still see "Chinatown" as one of the most important film I've seen. Roman Polanski had the courage to tackle difficult issues of violence against women and children and I appreciate his efforts and creative work. Though I am also aware that he is a controversial figure, that he himself is a pertrator of violence against women and children. That's the irony and tragedy of it all.

It's not a leap for Roman Polanski to delve into issues of incest and rape in "Chinatown." The same year that "Chinatown" was filmed, Polanski was charged with rape against a 13-year-old girl, Samantha Geimer. Samantha was the daughter of an actress. The initial charges were rape, suspicion of sodomy, child molestation and furnishing dangerous drugs to a minor. Geimer's mother had hoped that he would help her daughter get into show business. Polanski fled the United States and returned in 1978 to plead guilty to charges. He skipped bail and fled to France.

He's not able to return to the US because he faces sentencing of up to 50 years in jail. Like the police said in the movie, "This is Chinatown." Daddy walks off with the girl, and the police does nothing about it. This is perhaps the same liberty and license that Polanski wants in his life - to do as he wants with girls. Polanski is not in jail, because he is Polanski. Hollywood tolerates him. The business is harbouring a criminal, though I am sure he's not the only one.

Perhaps the movie was autobiographical in ways. We are all drawn to certain work because of their appeal to us, of how the work speaks to us. People's creative genius comes from somewhere, sometimes a darker place than we can ever imagine. "Chinatown" makes more sense to me now that I take into consideration Polanski's personal life, his own illness, crime, and torments. The man proves to be as controversial and intriguing as the movie he directed.

Apple Pan is quaint and charming restaurant in West LA. It serves greasy, yummy hamburgers, fries, and apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream (my favorite). Eating there takes me to another era, where life might be simpler. I love the older men who work there. They look like they might have taken their dates to a hang out like this back in the day. They add to the character and atmosphere of the place. I go there to see them as much as I go there for the food.

I just read about Marlo Brando's death and it made sad. He was 80. Brando is one of my favorite actors. I love him as Stanley Kowalski in Tennessee Williams' "A Streetcar Named Desire" and as the godfather in "The Godfather." Reading about his death reminds me of how life is ephemeral. Each of our time here on earth is limited.

My femspace weblog is a pretty popular site. The top 20 search strings are as follows for the month of June. They are always amusing. They reveal to me topics that people around the world search for and are interested in. I see what has brought visitors to my site. Somehow sex is still very popular. When is it not? I am glad to see Enrique Iglesias made the list. He's one of my favorite boys. :)

1. genevieve gallen
2. heidi fleis
3. yulia volkova
4. enrique iglesias and anna kournikova
5. women on death row
6. carnie wilson nude
7. anastasiya myskina
8. junk in the trunk
9. tennis sex
10. female ejaculations
11. finger nails
12. sexsomnia
13. anna kournikova married
14. how to cheat without getting caught
15. ann pachett
16. lena tatu 2004
17. gloria steinum
18. how to get a bigger butt
19. maria sharapova
20. women of home depot

Through my studies, I've encountered Artemisia Gentileschi and she has instantly become my one of favorite female artists. She inspires me. Her art focuses on a heroic female. Artemisia was a survivor of rape. Instead of letting it destroy her, she derived strength from it. In Judith Slaying Holofernes, she narrates a story from the Old Testament, the Book of Judith.

The story goes somewhat like this. Judith helped free Israel from its enemy, the Assyrians. One night Holofernes general invited Judith to his tent. While he was asleep, she with the help of her servant, cut off his head.

I identify with the rage she depicts and her courage in showing a female in a position of power. Through her work, Artemisia Gentileschi deals with themes of female empowerment and strength. She enchances the drama of the moment by her use of dark and light. She is a follower of another 17th century artist, Caravaggio whose known for his naturalism and chiaroscuro style.

Through her treatment of Judith, Artemisia humanizes her. I see Judith's strength, determination, and courage in contributing to the freedom her country. She gives me strength. Artemisia does through her art what I want to do through mine - to inspire, to give hope and strength to women.

Reference:
"Garner's Art Through the Ages: The Western Perspective, Eleventh Edition" Judith Slaying Holofernes ca. 1614 - 1620. Oil on canvas. 6' 6 1/3" x 5'4". Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy.

Seeing the game from Mattel of the Olsen Twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley, I am reminded of the essay I posted this weekend to my Femspace blog. In my essay, "Star-Slaves, Our Littlest Indentured Servants," I explored issues of greed, fame, and fortune as contributing factors in the enslavement of America's youth.

This is the latest manifestation of the Olsen twins' exploitation that I see at the toy store. I am not an Olsen twins fan. I am only interested in them as a case study of the tragedy that's America's child labor that few are decrying as inhumane. It is inhumane to put babies to work at 9 months of age, as in the Olsen twins case. I found this fact appalling.

When will they can a break from the media blitz? I find it ironic that their game should be placed next to Monopoly Junior.