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simple fields
medium: watercolour
size: A5
actually i wanted to practice painting clouds
well it didn't turn out how i wanted it.
well it didn't turn out how i wanted it.
22 April 2009
my sleepy little one
my sleepy little one
medium: charcoal & watercolour
size: A3
a very quick sketch of her while she's rarely still.
she's usually chasing butterfiles,
mopping the floor or skinning lizards.
she's usually chasing butterfiles,
mopping the floor or skinning lizards.
31 August 2008
ewan 2008
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he's a jack russell but we call him captain jack sparrow sometimes as he is blind in one eye. he loves looking out of the window and watching the world go by.
medium: watercolour
size: A3
25 January 2008
vespaboy
25 August 2007
17 April 2007
26 March 2007
the cypress trees
the cypress trees
medium: acryclic on canvas
size: 20 x 10 inches
this is my first attempt on canvas;
a painting after a 6-month hiatus;
my current state of mind
25 March 2007
30 January 2007
This would be the moment to say yes. Say yes to your destiny. You are a little frustrated because things have not been moving forward as you want. But now that opportunities are coming your way, you find yourself holding things up. Come, come. You are just afraid, that's all. But rather than let your fear overtake you, transform its energy to work to your advantage.
(horoscope reading 30 jan 2007)
(horoscope reading 30 jan 2007)
14 October 2006
yellow
yellow, wasted tree
medium: acrylic
size: A5
medium: acrylic
size: A5
Look at the stars
look how they shine for you
and everything you do
Yeah, they were all yellow
I came along, I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called "Yellow"
So then I took my turn
Oh what a thing to have done
And it was all "Yellow"
And Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
You know
You know I love you so
I swam across, I jumped across for you
Oh what a thing to do
'Cuz you were all yellow
I drew a line; I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all "Yellow"
And your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
And you know
For you I'd bleed myself dry
- coldplay
look how they shine for you
and everything you do
Yeah, they were all yellow
I came along, I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called "Yellow"
So then I took my turn
Oh what a thing to have done
And it was all "Yellow"
And Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
You know
You know I love you so
I swam across, I jumped across for you
Oh what a thing to do
'Cuz you were all yellow
I drew a line; I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all "Yellow"
And your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
And you know
For you I'd bleed myself dry
- coldplay
09 October 2006
a postcard from amsterdam
a postcard from amsterdam
medium: watercolour
size: A3
A secret kept even from ourselves:
how bridges are falling
between the imagined word
and the spoken one,
between what I say
and what you actually hear.
If you could slow
time down, perhaps you might even
hear them falling.
Bridges of years our hearts
have signed away to crumble,
collapse down the middle,
leaving behind a gasp of air
between two banks, wide
with unspoken truths,
a thousand pleas for empathy.
New bridges are rising into form,
incompletion, then falling away.
Maybe it is this moment of our lives,
when the bridges left standing
are the ones we miss,
when the ones we did not mean to build
we built from betrayal,
regret, guilt and loss.
- by Cyril Wong
winding road, scotland
winding road, gullane, scotland
medium: acrylic
size: A3
Careless strokes draped the canvas
like thoughtless words rained over parched heart.
Do you see a silver lining where angels sing
or just solemn tears waiting to fall?
like thoughtless words rained over parched heart.
Do you see a silver lining where angels sing
or just solemn tears waiting to fall?
purple tree
purple tree, australia
medium: watercolour
size: A3
The walk down the road
with you
i wish it never ends
nature reserve
bukit timah hill, singapore
medium: watercolour
size: A3
Dance me to your beauty
with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic
Dance me through the panic
'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch
Lift me like an olive branch
and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty
when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving
Let me feel you moving
like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly
Show me slowly
what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now,
dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly
and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love,
we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children
who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains
that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now,
though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love
- Leonard Cohen, from the movie "Lost and Found"
- Leonard Cohen, from the movie "Lost and Found"
boats
boats, changi village
medium: watercolour
size: A3
you and your photographs of departure
that repeated metaphor of departure
or simply the possibility of a voyage?
what you cannot tell me you tell me
with a vessel and its single passenger,
eyes fixed on some skylit conclusions.
set apart and starkly upon a canvas
of tractable waves, brought to still
by the trigger-click of your camera,
like the sound a key makes
when it releases the lock.
your heart became that lock; these images how you have
always articulated distance, a withdrawal.
darling, there are just as many ways
of saying goodbye as there are ways
of letting you go.
the boat is narrow
like the width of my heart after
impossible loss, cruel resignation;
this heart you ride in.
love, if this is how you choose to leave me
let me let you.
- cyril wong, below:absence
that repeated metaphor of departure
or simply the possibility of a voyage?
what you cannot tell me you tell me
with a vessel and its single passenger,
eyes fixed on some skylit conclusions.
set apart and starkly upon a canvas
of tractable waves, brought to still
by the trigger-click of your camera,
like the sound a key makes
when it releases the lock.
your heart became that lock; these images how you have
always articulated distance, a withdrawal.
darling, there are just as many ways
of saying goodbye as there are ways
of letting you go.
the boat is narrow
like the width of my heart after
impossible loss, cruel resignation;
this heart you ride in.
love, if this is how you choose to leave me
let me let you.
- cyril wong, below:absence
emerald hill
emerald hill
medium: watercolour
size: A3
step a little closer
i could almost feel your breath
lean a little nearer
let the sacred words be just a whisper away
stay a little longer
let me immense myself in this moment
love a little bit more
and this could go on forever
big ben
big ben, london
medium: watercolour
Size: A3
They have been sitting too long in their little space
eagerly waiting for lights off and music starts
Paints of different shades swim with each other
to become pools of romantic hues
Lemon yellow shyly invites hooker's green
to dance against that forestry summer green
I love the way cobalt blue romances alizarin crimson
to present a purple one can only see when weaving dreams
I wish the sky is always a blend of ultramarines
with a feathery touch of cerulean blue
at the spot a young cloud is waiting for her love
Oh the brush mistook poor vermillion for burnt sienna!
Who is constantly forgotten as others always outshine her
and now badly covered in a coat of brown algae
I see why cobalt violet prefers her solitude
since her dates always turn out bad
Some say the results are childlike
while others say they spell loneliness
I say they are simply me
and the products of my nonchalance
eagerly waiting for lights off and music starts
Paints of different shades swim with each other
to become pools of romantic hues
Lemon yellow shyly invites hooker's green
to dance against that forestry summer green
I love the way cobalt blue romances alizarin crimson
to present a purple one can only see when weaving dreams
I wish the sky is always a blend of ultramarines
with a feathery touch of cerulean blue
at the spot a young cloud is waiting for her love
Oh the brush mistook poor vermillion for burnt sienna!
Who is constantly forgotten as others always outshine her
and now badly covered in a coat of brown algae
I see why cobalt violet prefers her solitude
since her dates always turn out bad
Some say the results are childlike
while others say they spell loneliness
I say they are simply me
and the products of my nonchalance
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