Sigorta’s Blog

Remember when you had your first bike? The experience is a little different for all of us, but typically when you first get your bike, you want to go out and give it a try. You have seen others ride so smoothly down the street- it looks easy! but then you go out and wobble about two feet- and then- “smack!” – you hit the ground, skin your knee and hands, and run home crying- unless your parents put training wheels on your bike. Then you sail around like a pro right away. Once you get used to that, they raise them a little. At first, that is a little wobbly- you even bounce on the wheels a time or two before you get your balance, but you don’t fall. So they raise them a little more. Eventually you glide along with the training wheels hardly even touching the ground. Then they take them off and you are finally a real bike rider!

Well, rules are like training wheels. However, life can give you injuries that are a lot worse than skinned knees. Parents give you rules to see if you can follow them. Once you do, and you have shown that you can handle them,  they will give you a few more freedoms to see  how you handle those. If you master that, eventually they lift them all and you are finally riding on your own. You have shown that they can trust you and you have the sense to make the right decisions for yourself. Of course, if you don’t follow the rules, more come because you have shown that you can’t be trusted. So the ball is in your court! How are you going to handle all those rules?

Emerging from behind a sliding glass door in simple white blouse and pants, the energy in the room immediately changes. Though I appear as a non-fuss-and-no-frills lady, my powerful presence immediately asserts itself over all my creations. I do not dominate; but the massive blocks of stone cannot dwarf me either. And just like a proud mother to my children, I light up at the sight of others admiring my many art works.

I do not remember the time when I was not an artist. My parents would recollect how, at two years old, I would make human figures by tearing pieces of paper by hand. My yaya taught me how to cut up paper while my dad would supply me with origami books. Growing up with my grandparents, I recall our house to be the most conducive of spaces to foster a budding artist. There was a large living room where I was allowed to make a mess.

I just naturally created from different materials without being conscious of becoming a professional artist. I knew I would be an artist one way or another but it was not in my mind to be a professional artist. But taking towards becoming a professional artist was a hard-fought battle. While my father was very supportive, my mom had reservations about my chosen career. Well, that was because I think my mom had a very different paradigm in the sense that she worried. It was with the best intentions that she discouraged me. She worried seeing that I am a very independent person, that in the event that I failed I would probably go hungry.

Nevertheless, it is not easy to say that I was not conscious of the fact that the purpose of art is really to serve. I feel very, very responsible for the gift that has given to me. And I know that it is a gift. I cannot be doing all those pieces by myself. There has to be an interaction with the benevolent power. for that reason alone, I know that when I create art and show it to the public, I have the responsibility to give out that higher essence of life, and to touch people in such a way they will have good feelings. Art is all about beauty and touching your finer senses.