Eileen; sahkae@gmail.com

I line my eyes like a raccoon and my nail polish is always cracked.

As much as I grouse about it, I'm really getting into the whole spirit of my coursework. Or rather, being extremely distracted by it.

On one hand, it's pretty exhilarating, seeing the word 'memory' I scrawled on my Art notebook morph itself into a bridal gown / child's table set / toys / photography / old houses / mosquito bites. And having wonderful classmates who feed that excitement by enquiring about it. On the other, it's really distracting. The slightest word triggers the whole thought process, and LDJ tutorial yesterday was utterly lost when JTan mentioned 'wedding gown', and Swinburne's

'Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.'

I picture the two final photographs in my series; a closeup of my character [okay, let's give her a name - Sophie] sprawled on the table sleeping amongst her tea, with a chocolate-stained mouth and an angelic look. [I wonder if Celeste will be willing to do that.] And then a departing shot with her still asleep in the background and my bunny starring at the camera.

So, yes. I remember hearing someone mention 'soft toys' at the other end of the table during lunch yesterday, and sticking my head in to find out if I could borrow any old tattered baby. And I suddenly notice items like a rusty toy car or an old-school wooden toy woodpecker at Dippy's place.

I have disturbing dreams of old houses. I vividly remember walking pass a low red brick wall which contained a Mexican-like barn with red brick walls and bales of hay, and an old lady was sitting in her rocking-chair starring out at her corn crop. I know she was surrounded by something, like her bodyguards, but I think it could be cacti. I loved her house, and went 'Hello aunty, I love your house!'. And she turned to look at me. I was horrified by her features and ran off, but she gave chase. I came up by the little walkway just outside my old house at Serangoon Lane, and she appeared behind me. Facial features were present, but her face was covered by a layer of thick brown paper, the type that's recycled, torn and stuck onto her face. Her pupils were large, brown and expressive, and her mouth didn't exist [this reminds me of Hello Kitty]. Instead, a Greek sun [you know, those that appear in horoscopes, the ones with curvy rays and a face] was stuck onto the lower left chin, and the mouth on it moved in tandem to whatever this woman said. Little African children appeared suddenly in a row infront of me, and they had huge pieces of butcher paper in place of their bodies. It was as if they had bodies, but were simply holding these pieces of paper with pastel sketches of their organs and skeletal structure to block out their bodies. And the old lady talked about hunger and poverty, and as she spoke, their organs came to life on paper; pastel sketches tensing up and relaxing, a pastel stomach, intestines squeezing food down.

I don't know what it means, but I think it's scary.

Yesterday, Alvan, Desmond, Ben, Tessa, Michelle and I squeezed ourselves into Celeste's car and hunted for my photoshoot location. We made wrong turns and tried to duck from policemen and rejoiced over yellow boxes and fretted over seemingly endless highways. But anyway, we found my house! Move over OCH, I swear this is the prettiest place ever! I'm just really worried they'd mend the fence before my shoot takes place. I'd shoot myself if that happens, no pun intended.

Thank you so much guys!

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