This time wearing Red Valentino.

Whenever I draw, even when it’s just for fun, I often think of who this character is beyond this drawing. This girl’s name is Aiko, and she’s half-Japanese, half-French living in Paris. She’s always really grumpy and pretty nihilistic and basically hates everything, even though she lives a posh life, goes to a fancy school, eats at fancy restaurants, etc. She just doesn’t feel like she belongs in this sort of life, but doesn’t have any idea as to an alternative. I feel like I might possibly make a comic about her at some point. HA, who am I kidding, I’m way too lazy to do something like that.

(p.s. she’s wearing this jacket and this skirt, both from Orla Kiely.)

Helena Bonham Carter in the 1980s might be my new fashion idol.

All photos from here

A word I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is “greatness.” Greatness, to me, means achieving something larger than yourself. It’s not about success, necessarily, but the feeling that you’re contributing something of importance to mankind. I don’t have pretensions of my ~changing the world for the better~ or anything like that; I mean it more in the way you approach things, not in how others perceive you. I’ve been thinking about greatness because I want to start approaching my art again like it’s art, rather than a means to an end.

I know that I’m a naturally competitive person, and I know that I care a lot about how others see me. Blame it on a childhood spent as a misfit, and wanting someday to prove to the people who once underestimated me that I can be successful, famous, adored. I’ve often been driven by the idea that one day, I’ll receive my accolades, and that is what will make all of this worth it.

This is such a sad, empty way to approach life. I struggle with remembering why I wanted to make art (be it drawing, making movies, writing, whatever) in the first place. I’ve been trying to slowly reconnect with the passion that I know resides in me, which in many ways is so much more fulfilling than a drive to succeed. Because if you’re going to make truly moving art, you have to make it with a pure heart.

This sounds like flowery drivel, I know, but I want to be romantic again. I hate constantly comparing myself to more successful people and coming up short. I hate feeling like I have a chip on my shoulder, that I have something to prove. Fear of failure is a good motivator, sure, but maybe the love of creation is a better one. Creation is such a strong word–it calls to mind the divine. Creation is about making something bigger than yourself, something with its own power. To use creation to achieve material means is not creation at all; it’s unworthy of the word.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m trying to introduce the divine into my life again. Not divinity in the religious sense, but I suppose in a spiritual one. To make something great, you have to tap into the place inside of yourself that’s purely human, that which is purely human in all of us. It may sound like I have delusions of grandeur, but I think that everyone is able to reach for greatness, and should. We should all want to create the best lives that we can, to look back and see that we gave it our all, not for money or titles or awards, but because our time is short and the essence of humanity is so elusive. Why not try to touch the divine?

10.) Perks of Being a Wallflower

Okay, so Perks was a pretty slight film, and I can’t remember too much about it, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. The twist ending is really dumb, and unnecessarily changes the tone of the whole movie. Despite this, it’s a very charming film that captures coming of age and listening to the Smiths and yelling out of the tops of cars and falling in love for the first time and whatever else young, carefree teenagers do to celebrate their youth and challenge mortality.

9.) Seven Psychopaths

First off: Seven Psychopaths is a very flawed movie. This does not stop the movie from being totally awesome. The film follows Colin Farrell’s attempts to write a screenplay called “Seven Psychopaths,” and Sam Rockwell and Christopher Walken’s insane attempts to help him. There are some muddled themes about the use of violence in film, but the best parts of the movie are when the meta narrative plays off the viewer’s expectations of action and violence. My favorite scene is Sam Rockwell enacting his ideal ending for Farrell’s movie; both Rockwell and Walken give amazing, off-kilter performances.

8.) Cabin in the Woods

Cabin in the Woods is not your average horror flick, which is why I liked it so much. The film is a funny and very clever send up of every horror cliche in the book, from why people make dumbass decisions (why does anyone think it’s a good idea to split up, ever??), to the weird trope of pre-marital sex leading to being horrible evisceration. I think the parts I enjoy most are actually the framing scenes in the mysterious offices orchestrating the terrible events that befall a group of co-eds in the eponymous cabin in the woods; the juxtaposition of what appears to be a pretty standard office party and the horror going on at the cabin is hilarious and, again, very clever. The film also pokes at the audience’s complicity in the events happening onscreen, and intelligently dissects the weird pleasure we get from watching terrible things happen to other people. For me, the film begins to fall apart in a third act that, admittedly, takes the story to its logical end. I think the ending’s inevitability is why it’s disappointing–for a film that often zigged when I thought it would zag, the ending feels trite and weirdly easy. But overall, the film elevates its meta-commentary on horror films to something entertaining and insightful.

7.) The Avengers

It’s no coincidence that there are two Joss Whedon films on my list (though he solely wrote on Cabin); his presence on a film ensures that what could be schlocky, empty entertainment is elevated through his smart writing and direction. The Avengers obviously isn’t a deep film by any means, but it’s fun in a way that doesn’t insult the audience’s intelligence, and it doesn’t take itself too seriously (like Nolan’s Batman trilogy does). Although all of the characters are fun and sharply drawn, the standout is obviously Mark Ruffalo as Bruce Banner/the Hulk, who does an awesome job as someone who seems laid back, but has more simmering under the surface.

6.) Holy Motors

This is my highbrow cred. I saw this movie on the strong recommendation of the A.V. Club, and while I don’t think it’s necessarily brilliant, I think it’s a very interesting and moving reflection on, well, I’m not totally sure. It’s a difficult film to explain, but it’s basically about a man whose job is to take on several different personas in several different scenarios. The film never reveals who he is, or why he does it, or what the ultimate goal is; the central conceit is merely presented on its own terms. The A.V. Club seems to think it’s about the death of analog film, but to me it’s actually more about the power of film to transform its audience. In some ways, Holy Motors is comparable to Cloud Atlas in that the whole is greater than its parts, and not every persona or scenario is interesting on its own. Despite this, the great parts are really, really great–from an impromptu accordion jam, to a deceptively normal exchange between a father and a daughter, to Kylie Minogue singing about lost love in an abandoned department store, the film is ultimately a life-affirming experience.

5.) Skyfall

This is a film I initially resisted seeing and ended up loving. While I have little-to-no prior experience with Bond movies, and haven’t seen the previous Craig installments, I thought that this film did a good job of mixing the old and the new. Skyfall incorporates elements of the modern, gritty, antihero blockbuster while staying fun and moving quickly. It doesn’t hurt that the film was shot by Roger Deakins, which instantly upgrades the action sequences to something approaching art (the scene set in a Shanghai skyscraper is spectacular). I’m tired of the new school of action films where everything is shot handheld and cut manically, like it’s supposed to be more “urgent” or “realistic” that way. Skyfall has an elegance to it: it’s beautiful, but not too beautiful to blunt the edge of Daniel Craig’s performance and the film’s themes about the inevitability of time. In the action sequences you can see the physical effort in every movement, the protestations of Craig’s aging body. Too often action movies are all glossy and slick and “fuck yeah!” Skyfall’s power lies in showing the human toll that an excess of action eventually takes.

4.) Cloud Atlas

Cloud Atlas is a film I had absolutely no interest in seeing–the trailer looked absurd, and most people I know hated the movie. I went in with very low expectations, and was actually pleasantly surprised. I don’t think it’s a brilliant film, or even a great film, but it’s a film that enveloped me entirely. A friend of mine wondered whether Cloud Atlas is a lesser film because the threads by themselves are trite and cliche and are given more, possibly artificial meaning through their juxtaposition. To me, the holes in the film allow it to be more emotionally affecting, a cipher upon which I can imprint my own thoughts and feelings. While this might be a bad quality in other films, I personally think it works in Cloud Atlas because it’s a film about how our lives are inextricably intertwined, and how we are all ultimately connected. While I don’t think that Cloud Atlas is particularly successful in pulling this off (the theme is often expressed in hokey, obvious ways, and the interracial make-up is terribly done), I think that the emptiness gives us space to fill the film with ourselves. We see ourselves in the stories going on onscreen, no matter how disparate or far removed these stories seem, and that’s what the whole movie is about, really.

3.) Silver Linings Playbook

It’s refreshing to see a film that doesn’t treat mental illness as a figurative death sentence. I think critics of the “easy” third act are misinterpreting the film–it’s not a dramatic film about mental illness with comedic elements; it’s a romantic comedy involving two people who deal with mental illness. Both Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence give real, immensely charming performances as two people who, against all odds, find some kind of solace in entering a dance competition together. Like many, I never thought that Cooper could give a performance like he does in this movie. His character is brash and inappropriate, but also utterly vulnerable and guileless. His struggles with being bipolar feel human and relatable; this isn’t a martyr put onscreen for us to gawk at, or feel sorry for. Whether or not the people in the audience have dealt with mental illness, they will find something to relate to in Cooper’s character (and Lawrence’s as well). I think Silver Linings Playbook is also adept in showing how everyone has issues, even if they seem “normal” on the surface. The film goes down easy, which almost makes me want to hate it, but the uplifting themes of loving one another warts and all, and the unassuming triumph in getting by, makes Silver Linings Playbook completely irresistible.

2.) Moonrise Kingdom

Moonrise Kingdom is a triumphant return to form for Wes Anderson. This may be a somewhat controversial opinion, but I don’t think he’s made a truly great movie since Rushmore (although I do enjoy The Fantastic Mr. Fox quite a bit). Because Anderson has such a rigid personal aesthetic, both in the visuals and the writing, it’s easy for him to fall into self-parody. Luckily, Moonrise Kingdom has the perfect combination of stunning visuals, a truly moving story, and great performances. Jared Gilman and Kara Hayward give completely natural performances as two troubled, lonely children who find comfort in one another. When they run away together, they are pursued by flawed adults struggling to understand their own relationships and places in the world. Every character is sympathetic, and a pervasive sense of melancholy undercuts a film that could otherwise threaten to be precious. I think my favorite scene is a montage depicting the letters that Gilman and Hayward send to each other; it explains perfectly why they connect in a world where they usually feel so alone. Moonrise Kingdom shows how, when you’re young, everything can be so simple and complicated at the same time–yet getting older is no guarantee of getting wiser.

1.) Zero Dark Thirty

I’ve already given Zero Dark Thirty its very own post, so there’s not much more for me to add. It’s awesome. Everyone should check it out.

And bonus categories:

Movies I haven’t seen this year, but plan to watch in the future: The Loneliest Planet, Safety Not Guaranteed, Prometheus, Lola Versus, Beasts of the Southern Wild, Magic Mike, The Queen of Versailles, Ruby Sparks, Paranorman, Cosmopolis, Premium RUsh, Save the Date, Anna Karenina, The Sessions, Flight, Wreck It Ralph, Lincoln, Promised Land, Rust and Bone, Amour

My least favorite film of the year: This Is 40

Something I keep coming back around to, over and over again: things only have the meaning that you assign them. It’s always very easy for me to dismiss things, because I’ve taken a very nihilistic viewpoint where everything must be meaningless if the only meaning something has is what I give it. If no one else cares, then I shouldn’t, either.

Which I suppose is kind of the stance I’ve taken on New Year’s resolutions–I’m going to give up on them anyway, no one is making me do them except me, so why bother? But I am trying to imbue my life with more meaning, and I am trying to convince myself that if I think something is important then maybe it is, even if no one else gives a shit. I’ve started to give up on things so easily, and I don’t want to do that anymore.

So here they are: my New Year’s resolutions. I know no one else cares, but I do, and I guess that’s all that matters?

1.) Draw and write every day. Make sacrifices to do this, whether it be waking up early, or taking lunch by myself, or whatever. They don’t have to be masterpieces; they just have to be something. It’ll be worth it in the end.

2.) Make at least one comic per week, whether it be Whatever or a diary comic (which I’m thinking about starting to do.)

3.) Post on my blog at least once a week.

4.) Stop buying unnecessary things and stop spending so much time online shopping. It’s a waste of my energy that I could be using on substantially more awesome things. I can only have one opportunity per month to buy something I don’t need, and that’s only if I have accomplished my above goals satisfactorily.

5.) Seriously, go to yoga at least once a week.

6.) See more music. Maybe play more music.

7.) Bring my lunch to work at least 4/5 days a week.

8.) Try to connect to more people who do what I do, not in a networking kind of way, but basically just for my own sanity. I have no idea how to go about this, but I will come up with some kind of plan! Woo!

I don’t think these things are too ambitious but I’m just really hoping I won’t psych myself out and give up on everything. I know that when I look at things too long term, I tend to freak out and feel like I can never accomplish anything and totally shut down, so I made everything deliberately small-scale (on a day-to-week-to-month basis).

I’m starting off my year with an ambitious project I may not entirely pull off, but I think it’s worth trying more things, even if they end up in failure. If I’m not ambitious enough to fail a few times, then I’m not ambitious enough to succeed. I think that might be my manifesto for the coming year. Here’s to failing! Happy New Year, everyone.

Also I feel like my style is way better when I’m in LA which is clearly the most important thing here. I think that when I’m in NY I feel like I’m trying to be all ~designery~ or something when really I just want to be funky? Or something? I think that I should just stop trying to be a fancy lady, basically, and dress how I look, which I guess is like 16 years old. (I’m 24, by the way. Sob.) Anyway, here are some new acquisitions.

Some things I laid down cold hard $$$ for:

This is my old Japanese school sweatshirt. No, I don’t speak Japanese.

And my mom and dad’s old clothes respectively:

I hope you enjoyed this little rendez-vous with some items in my closet. Riveting stuff. TTYL!

Warning: Some mild spoilers ahead (but nothing specific)

I saw the brilliant Zero Dark Thirty two weeks ago, and I still think it about it daily. Sure, this might be a reflection of my own obsessive tendencies, but I think it’s the sheer power of this film that makes it so enduring.

The film follows Maya, an obsessive CIA agent who is eventually successful in tracking down Osama bin Laden. Her success, however, is not absolute or unsullied; as we see in the film, this kind of success almost entirely lives in a moral grey area. There has already been controversy about the depiction of torture in the film, how the film is irresponsible for depicting “enhanced interrogation techniques” as productive. I usually hate when people say this, but I think it applies here: if you watch the film and think it’s endorsing torture, then you’re watching it wrong. Maybe Kathryn Bigelow and Mark Boal do think that torture is or was effective, but that’s completely irrelevant to the movie’s depiction of it. We see the terrible toll that torture takes both on the interrogator and the interrogated; and it’s ambiguous as to whether it was torture or kindness that eventually led to a detainee, Ammar, revealing the name of a courier to bin Laden who eventually leads Maya to his compound. Regardless of whether or not torture “worked,” the film does not depict it as anything but grueling and cruel, and that’s what’s most important.

Now that the elephant in the room has been addressed: I actually think that this film’s closest analogue is David Fincher’s criminally underrated Zodiac, which was able to mine terrific suspense and terror from a story that largely featured characters in rooms talking a lot. Aside from a couple of memorable scenes of shocking violence, Zodiac was really about the day-to-day groundwork professionals have to slog through to get to their eventual goal. This is where Zero Dark Thirty excels, as well. The film isn’t compelling despite sticking to the tedious daily work inherent in trying to track down a needle in a haystack; it’s compelling because of it. We are able to see professionals truly being professionals. These people are amazing at their jobs, and both admirable and sympathetic in how single-mindedly dedicated they are to their work. Zero Dark Thirty doesn’t delve into their personal lives, but that wouldn’t have been necessary. We see the human toll this soul-sucking journey takes in the eyes of the actors. They make some serious missteps and have to deal with the consequences. Jessica Chastain in particular gives a beautifully reserved performance. You never get the sense that she’s “acting,” she seems completely in the moment and natural at all times. She is the film’s grimly determined anchor amidst chaos.

When the film finally makes it to bin Laden’s compound after a decade of groundwork, the sequence is gripping and chilling despite our knowledge of the outcome. It’s here that Bigelow shows her hand as an assured and brilliant director. She strips the entire sequence back to its bare minimum. To me, the most powerful element was the lack of music, the absence of the film holding our hands and leading us through the emotions we should be feeling. It shows true confidence as a director to know that you can bring the audience into the scene without trying to make a grab for it. Instead, we slowly make our way into the situation just as the characters do, following the low hum of military helicopters through dark eerie mountains. Again, without going into characters’ back stories, we feel the human tension of the Navy SEALs in the helicopter, leading themselves into a life-or-death situation, cracking jokes in an attempt to distract themselves. And when they finally make it to the compound, the tension is derived not from artificial, Hollywood-ized stakes, but from the sheer craft that the Navy SEALs display, and from the stark silence of the compound broken only by gunshots. Going into the scene, I expected it to be triumphant and cathartic, but I felt queasy watching SEALs gunning down unarmed people in front of screaming, terrified children.

This ambiguity characterizes Maya’s reaction, as well. At the end of the film, now that she’s achieved the goal she’s been after for a decade, she’s unsure of what to do or how to move forward. This, too, characterizes our nation. Bin Laden is dead — what now? His death didn’t “solve” terrorism forever. This isn’t a movie where the good guys kill the bad guys and save the day. The good guys make many, many moral sacrifices to exact revenge, and now that the revenge done, there’s nothing but a void. Over the past few years I haven’t kept myself abreast of current affairs, so maybe this means nothing coming from me, but I truly feel that Zero Dark Thirty is a defining film of our time. The last ten years in America have been marked by a pervading feeling of uncertainty and doubt. No one feels safe. Happy endings are nowhere in sight. In Zero Dark Thirty, Maya killed Osama bin Laden, and now she’s left with nothing.

I’m tired of saying this, but I feel that it can’t go unacknowledged: DAMN, it has been way too long since I’ve posted here! My entire website is in need of a revamp, actually. I haven’t added any art that I’ve made since I first created my website, which was probably a year and a half ago now? Jeez.

I’ve been conflicted about this blog for a while, for a couple of reasons.

1) Sometimes I feel like blogging encourages talking, but not doing. I keep being afraid that steadily maintaining a blog will unintentionally condition my mind into thinking appearance, not substance. With blogs, it’s so easy to get caught up in making everything look amazing, in making my life look awesome, when my real life is just that – real life. I don’t want to get wrapped up in how my life appears on this blog. I don’t want to be too aspirational or inspirational. I just want to be real, I guess?

2) Despite this, I don’t want to get overly personal. Yes, I want to share a bit of myself with the world, but I don’t want to get ugly-confessional all over everyone, and I don’t want to get too negative, even though that’s sometimes that’s how I feel! Everyone gets ugly and negative sometimes. However, although I value full human expression, I don’t want this blog to become emotion-vomit.

3) WHAT IS MY BRAND? I feel like I should be more savvy in using technology to help me move forward professionally, or whatever, but my natural antisocial, blending-into-the-background instincts kick in stronger than my young-and-relevant instincts, unfortunately. I’m like, why can’t I just be myself, man? Why do I have to live my life according to a brand? Are we not human beings! Do we not live, breathe, and feel! We’re more than a set of logos and buzzwords! Except the people out there who have developed brands for themselves are definitely more successful than I am, so…

These points might be categorized as “over-thinking” it, which is actually my unofficial, unpaid full time job, so I’m trying to get past all of it and just DO IT. Do it as in blog. More often. Perhaps on a regular basis. And update my website, too. And basically just get my life in order. We’ll see how it goes.

I’ve always been really into self-improvement. When I was in elementary/middle school, American Girl published a ton of “how-to” books that I bought and read vociferously. There were books on how to throw the perfect sleepover party, and how to have good manners, and how to make friends; they were like bibles to me. The thirst for self-improvement has only grown stronger the older I get. As a perpetually socially-awkward, self-doubting human being, I always feel like there’s some kind of piece of information that I’m missing, the key to finally understanding the world and people around me. I spend so much time feeling like I’m doing something wrong. Why can’t I dress perfectly everyday? Why can’t my drawings be more creative? Why aren’t I as good at writing comedy as I want to be? Why aren’t I more social and artsy and cool?

However, what I’m realizing more and more is that I’m perfectly fine as I am. I’m not missing any kind of essential piece of life; I have everything I need within me. I waste so much time wishing I could be someone else rather than living in the moment and appreciating what I have. Why expend so much effort to be something that doesn’t come naturally to me? Why not just accept myself as who I am?

(I love Disneyland and IDGAF.)

For example, last night I went to see the movie Perks of Being a Wallflower, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but is usually the kind of thing that would make me feel really insecure. I’d think, why wasn’t my high school experience like that? Am I weird for not going to any parties when I was a teenager, or not trying drugs and alcohol? Why weren’t my friends free-spirited types who used vintage typewriters and listened to The Smiths? But then I realize–it’s so dumb to think about things that way. Everything that that movie explores, all of those feelings of excitement and completion when you discover something new, something that feels you; these are all things that I felt in high school, just in different packaging. I had amazing friends, and went on amazing adventures, and experienced incredible things. So what if it’s different from what “most” teenagers did? I had a great time. I don’t regret anything.

And I feel like I’ve been putting off blogging, or drawing, or whatever because I feel like I’m not good enough. I wish I could be more like fashion bloggers who post impeccable outfit photos everyday, but the reality is that many days I just wear a t-shirt and jeans because I work full-time and I just want to be comfortable. I wish I could draw things that were more crazy and psychedelic and creative, but what I enjoy most is drawing cute girls wearing cute outfits. I wish I could write better straight-comedy, when I’m best at writing things that combine comedy and drama, and I have difficulty writing things that aren’t driven by story and character.

It’s weird to start finding myself in a place where I don’t feel unsatisfied all the time. I always felt like self-acceptance lived in direct opposition to self-improvement, and it’s strange to realize that they go hand in hand. Instead of focusing on things I can never be, I can focus on the things I do best, and get better and better at them. I’m okay with not being perfect–I’m okay with being okay.