Dusun 15

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October/November 2013

Earthstone ChuKhachao Touch

M.F. HusainPaul GnanaSelvan

Rithy Penh

e-journal of Asian Arts and Culturedusun

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Dusun fifteen cover by Earthstone Chu Editor Martin A Bradley email [email protected] Dusun TM Published by EverDay Art Studio and Educare October 2013

Dusun remains an entirely free and non-associated publication concerned with bringing Asian arts and culture to eveyone

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dusunemagazinefifteen

Dusun fifteen cover by Earthstone Chu Editor Martin A Bradley email [email protected] Dusun TM Published by EverDay Art Studio and Educare October 2013

Dusun remains an entirely free and non-associated publication concerned with bringing Asian arts and culture to eveyone

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inside....

6 Editorial

Absurdcity 11

22 Malaysia’s Museum of Ethnic Arts

Two Old Friends, short story by Paul GnanaSelvam 32

36 OTOA exhibition - Malaysia

Khchao Touch - Cambodian paintings 41

58 Rithy Penh - Cambodian filmaker

Earthstone Chu - Taiwanese paintings 67

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October/November 2013

77 India’s M.F.Husain in Singapore

Martin Bradley - poetry from India 85

94 Honey in Dali-land by Martin and Pei Yeou Bradley

It’s Tea Jim.....by Martin Bradley 126

dusun

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Dear Reader

Welcome to a brand new issue.

We are always glad to have you back. Pull up a chair, or squat on the floor, relax chant your favourite mantra and read this incredible issue of your favourite arts and culture emagazine.

As usual we have a bumper issue of material from across Asia. Scouts have scouted and trackers have tracked down some of the very best images and writing for you, and only you, to enjoy over the length of this well-crafted emagazine.

With the next issue Dusun goes seasonal. Four issues a year, to give yours truly time to select the very best for you. Christmas is around the corner and will be in the next holly clad, and ivy entwined, issue.

Meanwhile, kick those sandals off and put your feet up. Nestle that laptop/tablet/phone next to you and enjoy these delights...

Dusun is always on the lookout for fresh material, new artists/poets/writers etc to grace its pages. If you wish to submit, please do send your work to [email protected].

editorial

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Editor - Martin Bradley was born in London, 1951. He is a writer/poet/designer and a graduate in Art History, Exhibition Making, Graphic Design, Philosophy and Social Work. He has travelled most of the known world and lived in Britain, India and Malaysia. Martin was Guest Writer at India’s Commonwealth Writers Festival in New Delhi (2010) and Guest Writer at Singapore’s Lit Up literature festival (2010); he has read in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (2009, 2011), in Cambodia (2012, 2013) and The Philippines (2013). Martin writes articles on Art & Culture for magazines and newspapers and designs digital images. He has been the editor of Dusun – a Malaysian Arts and Culture e-magazine and founder/host of Northern Writers – a venue for ‘readings’ in Ipoh, Malaysia. Martin has had three books published during 2012 - Remembering Whiteness - a collection of poetry, Buffalo & Breadfruit - autobiography, and A Story of Colors of Cambodia, which he also designed. A fourth is due in December 2013 - Uniquely Toro, about a very special Asian artist.

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dusun art talks asia 2013

cambodiathe philippinesmalaysia“8

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cambodiathe philippinesmalaysia

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Malaysia...

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Long Thieh Shih - Western Figures in Oriental Clouds and Waves (1970)

Ilham Fadli- Arson' Delight , 2011

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Azam Aris - Angel (2013)

Loh Bok Lai - Crossing Desire 1997

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Samsudin Wahab- Intruder #1, 2013

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Shahrul Hisham, Mudik Ke Lubuk Pelang (2013)

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Wong Woan Lee, Someone Forgotten (Dream and Reality) (1999)

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museum of ethnic artsleonard yiu’s

Tuppa is the greatest of the rajahs of the spiritual world, To the Dyaks the jungle is full of the ghosts of dead men and other spirits greater than these, but all alike malevolent. They must be propitiated, for they delight in mischief and misdeeds. But spirits as well as mortals are in subservience to the higher beneficent powers who created them and all mankind. Chalmers distinguishes four such beings: Tupa, who "created mankind and everything that draws the breath of life, and daily preserves them by his power and goodness;" Tenubi, who made the earth and all that grows on it, and gives seed and bread; Jang, who founded and instructed the order of priestesses and makes their medicine effectual for men and crops; and Jirong, who presides over birth and death.'

Harvest Gods of the Land Dyaks of BorneoMargaretta Morris (January 1, 1905).

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Inside the museum

Museum Dusun

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museum of ethnic arts

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Dayak wooden mask

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One of the many treasures

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I did not know that the lift was working. If I had known, then I would have saved myself a walk up two flights of stairs, not to mention the embarrassment of telling my wife that the lift didn’t work. Out of breath and a little light headed, I was motioned towards the Museum of Ethnic Arts by my enthusiastic wife, my own enthusiasm had waned somewhere towards the top of the first flight of stairs and was practically nonexistent after the second.

We entered Mr Yiu’s establishment, me a little reluctantly, my wife full of gusto. She’s like that, at times. My wife gets all fired up, bouncing up and down with puppy-dog excitement, whereas life and time have urged a tad more caution to my weary brain and bones.

Many candle-lit birthday cakes ago, I was attending a post-grad exhibition curator’s course and was taken to Oxford, to see the museums and gallerys. I admit to have fallen in love. One glance at the interior of Lieutenant-General Augustus Henry Lane Fox Pitt Rivers’ infamous museum, and I was awe struck. It appeared to be a barely ordered cornucopia of articles from the far distant reaches of the world, dripping with native spears and aboriginal objects enough to thrill even the most banal inner child. Thrilled I was, and have remained so these many years.

Imagine my shock then, upon entering Leonard Yiu’s Museum of Ethnic Arts, here in the heart of Malaysia’s capital city - Kuala Lumpur, to find something akin to that incredible repository bequeathed to Oxford from Lieutenant-General Pitt Rivers. Again I was awe struck, and more than pleasantly surprised to be greeted by the tribal arts museum’s owner and chief collector too - Leonard Yiu. He appeared before me like a Malaysian Cliff Richard, or Peter Pan - with blatantly boyish good looks and overflowing with his great knowledge of all

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things Iban, Kayan, Kenyah and generally of Borneo.

Masks jostled with statuettes. Statuettes stood proud against cabinets jam packed with curios and many wondrous objects of ‘art’ all clamouring for our attention. It was difficult to know where to look. So we looked everywhere, and all with Mr Yiu giving a running commentary of the histories, origins and symbolic meanings of each and every piece. Mr Yiu’s knowledge seemed inexhaustible as he gave depth, and significance, to just about every work we encountered, from stories of a Dayak ‘Sun god’ to the intricate skull carvings and their profound import.

Mr Yiu’s now departed father founded the original ‘art’ gallery, believed to be the first art gallery in mainland Malaysia, during the early 1960s. Leonard learned well from his father and now sports an antiques and coffee shop, a Chinese Art gallery as well as his Museum of Ethnic Arts, located in Kuala Lumpur’s Central Market Annex (2nd floor).

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A closer look

One of the many amazing exhibits

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Dayak carved animal skull

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There is little doubt that Mr Yiu’s is a labour of love, with the vast majority of the objects in his museum due to form the basis for an even grander collection to be housed in much larger premises, in the future. Some items, naturally, are for sale, and collected by Mr Yiu himself on his numerous expeditions up-river into the Dayak lands of Borneo, to further finance his important collection to be held for the nation. There was a little sadness when Mr Yiu mentioned that most of the collectors of ‘Ethnicl Art’ tend to be foreign visitors, which seems to mean those unique objects and artifacts leaving Malaysia for good. There was a wish that Malaysians might, one day, recognise the treasure they have, before it is far too late.

We took dinner, and rode the lift all the way down to ground level. My wife smiled one of her ‘knowing’ smiles.

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Dayak carved animal skull two

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Dayak carved animal skull three

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Wooden carving

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photographs from Dusun and The Museum of Ethnic Arts

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Functional object

Representational image

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Labour spent- under amid-day sun, scorching two silhouettes, and revealingbent upon- on grueling tasksbattling wits against body-walking, slogging, carrying- Saturday chores and-habits of young,in opposites and separates-all on an urban road- un-animatedinundated, byflashes of lights, dazzled visionsrumbling noises, moving objects-confused,clumsy and tipsy.

Shoved and seated,by trusting hands, the wornroad-side salon-He sits,waiting a turn, upright and proudpressed and dapper, khakis- wide at cuffs,balancing- a walking stickbony legs and knuckleslegs set wide apart,feet unsure of rest- hips festooned urinal tube, blood and pusin translucent bag,skinny hands, large watch- gilded and loosegreased hair- grey over-

TWO OLD FRIENDS

Paul GnanaSelvam

Poetry Dusun

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grown facial stubsthick lips- forlorn and wide,eyebrows- curled and springyeyes squinting, mouth smiling- likeabsurd switchesbewildered, astonished,yet comforted-by the noises of familiarityat everything, at everyonefor a kindred resonance.Staggering- on slow gaithands rowing- the confused winds,She arrives-blobby swaying hips, flabby mid-driftssagging breasts- bursting andcomplimentingwhite petticoat, against-shining dark tanwound off a bland guacamole sarilarger than life- bespectacledwhite wooly hair, neat and coiffured,bangles dangling,mouth gaping,breath heaving- sweet sweat aplenty,bumbling and listing dangerously threading the path-of jagged rocks.

He looks,She halts-Stopping momentarily- hands on hips,eyes cupped- against the glaring sunscrutinise and salivatea graceful mango treeboasting and plentiful,

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of bounty untold, She-sucking in beautyof life unraveledbends, careful and calculated-and picks- nibs and smell,an unripe fruit,too eager to ripen.

The path meets,of an old memory- of some-thing familiarcaught in the tear drop of an ayepeering across,the busy road, the little ram-shacklerotting with age-dilapidated and still,She- catches sight-Of him,She-smiles, gurgling,and howls-to no availing reply,“All’s well?”He-grins, even wider,his rubbery lips- vibrating a little,minding a groan-rising from the guts-and stops with a squeak-words concealed-by drools aplenty.

She waits-ears falling on despair,the sun beating- treacherous,

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unkindshe resumes- journeying uphill-a lumbering shadow.

He-hears, faintly unsure-feels-two hands, jabbing the armpitsbiting on dentures- hoisted, lifted and,seated again, on a grand salon chair-machines abuzz,tools clipping-old memories recoiling, oftwo friends, converging together,at-the crossroads of a timeless age.

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The Artists....

Melissa Lin (b.1982) is an artist and astrologer. As a traveler and ex-plorer of internal and external landscapes, she enjoys distilling life experience and observations in her works.Her paintings and drawings have been exhibited in Malaysia, Thailand, the Netherlands, Denmark, Singapore and Indonesia. Pereira Irving Paul (b. 1977) is an explorer of esoteric art, occultism and alternative consciousness. He is a self-taught multidisciplinary artist who believes that Magick and art spring from the same creative source in the universe.He continues to translate visionary inspiration from the esoteric realms into bodies of work spanning literature, spoken word, sound and visual arts.

Gaëlle Chong (b. 1981) is a writer and draws places to go for alien tourists, northern norvegian black metal humor and digested versions of her emotions.

Gaëlle Chong “Blablabla”

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Visionary art as an antidote to corporate fascism

The world appears to teeter once again on the brink of all-out war, as criminal regimes with covert links to oil giants, drug cartels, vice syndi-cates, mercenary armies and terrorist cells attempt to shock and awe the masses into docile submission to their totalitarian dictates.

Religious fanaticism, spurred on by vested interests with divisive survival strategies, rears it ugly head whenever the corrupt status quo feels threatened by increasingly vociferous demands for radical reform.

At apocalyptic times such as this, the soul finds refuge and revitaliza-tion in magical epiphanies of the unfettered imagination as expressed through visionary art.

They have always been with us, these conjurers of phantasmagoric landscapes who speak directly to the innermost cores of our being, bypassing our nitpicking intellects. A close encounter with such im-agery restores our primordial memory of authentic freedom, of vistas undefined and unconfined by artificial boundaries and obstacles. They remind us who we really are, beyond outward appearances, beyond bureaucratic pigeonholes, beyond our own fears and fleshly limitations. It is the visionary artist we must thank for reconnecting us with our inner beings where our humanity is most deeply rooted.

Pereira Irving Paul “Guardians at the Threshold”

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Throughout the centuries, they have spoken to us from their own mysterious depths, with voices intimate and introvert, of the soul’s adventures in dimensions far subtler than consensus reality. Visionaries like Hieronymus Bosch, William Blake, M.C. Escher, Salvador Dali, Alex Grey, Abdul Mati Klarwein – who share an artistic lineage with magical realists like Dante Alighieri, Jorge Luis Borges, Lewis Carroll, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Isabel Allende. Their work serves an entirely thera-peutic purpose, resensitizing and reintegrating our battered psyches, affording us a secure hideaway from the ruinous violence of outer realms ravaged by the territorial disputes of warlords and would-be world conquerors.

It gladdens my heart to witness the continuance of this essential therapeutic service as signified by the coming together of three young visionary artists who, in expressing their own internal dreamscapes, remind us where our true freedom dwells – in the secret depths of our own unique individuality.

Melissa Lin, Pereira Irving Paul and Gaëlle Chong… thank you for freely sharing with us the astounding authenticity, veracity and raw power of your extraordinary inner visions.

Antares MaitreyaMagick River1 September 2013

Melissa Lim “Motion Mirage”

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Cambodia

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Khchao Touch

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Take a minute for yourself

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Khchao Touch was born in Battambang in 1982 and trained at the Phare Ponleu Selpak art school from 1998 –2003, she then became a teacher there until 2008 when she left to pursue her artistic career full time.

Since then she has had solo exhibitions at the French cultural centre and the Art Café in Phnom Penh, The Hotel de la paix , Heritage suites hotel and French cultural centre in Siem Reap as well as participating in numerous group exhibitions in Cambodia and abroad.Touch has travelled to France where she was artist in residence at Atelier Fenetre sur rue, in Bordeaux, France and to Long Beach, USA, where she made an installation at the 2nd city gallery.

Touch was a nominee for the Sovereign Asia Art Prize 2009 and run-ner up in the “You Khin Memorial Women’s Art Prize 2010. She was also listed in South East Asia Globe magazine’s top 10 Cambodian art-ists feature.

As well as being a wife and mother, Touch is a member of the Cambo-dian Association of Creative Arts Therapists and is a founding member of the 9 Faces artists collective.

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Every so often a book appears that reveals and illuminates a project that might otherwise remain largely unknown by the outside world: ‘Colors of Cambodia’ is such a book. This is a highly personal and passionate account written by Martin Bradley and illustrated by Pei Yeou Bradley of her encounter with a remarkable art-based project in and around Siem Reap in Cambodia, and how she was drawn into practical involvement with the children for whom the project exists. Richard Noyce, Artist, Wales 2012

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[email protected] h t t p s : / / w w w . f a c e b o o k . c o m /groups/138402846288849/http://colorsofcambodia.org/

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Mask

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Now I know

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Restful Place

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Restful Place 2

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Restful Place 3

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Restful Place 4

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Restful Place 5

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nurture yourself with

dusunasian arts and culture emagazine

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remembering whiteness & other poems

by martin bradley

downloadable as a free pdffrom

http://correspondences-martin.blogspot.com/2012/04/open-publication-free-publishing-more.html

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Rithy Penh

The Missing Picture 2013

Film Dusun

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Rithy Panh is a film-maker who is followed and cherished by the Festival de Cannes. In Competition with his first movie, Rice People (1994), he returned in 1998 with One Evening after the War in Un Certain Regard. He had two movies shown Out of Competition, S21: The Khmer Rouge Death Machine in 2003 and The Burnt Theatre in 2005, followed in 2011 by Duch in Special Screenings. This year, he is in Un Certain Regard with The Missing Picture.

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For many years, I have been looking for the missing picture: a photograph taken between 1975 and 1979 by the Khmer Rouge when they ruled over Cambodia... On its own, of course, an image cannot prove mass murder, but it gives us cause for thought, prompts us to meditate, to record History. I searched for it vainly in the archives, in old papers, in the country villages of Cambodia. Today I know: this image must be missing. I was not really looking for it; would it not be obs- cene and insignificant? So I created it. What I give you today is neither the picture nor the search for a unique image, but the picture of a quest: the quest that cinema allows.

Images fron the animationThe Missing Picture 2013

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Rithy Panh is a film-maker who is followed and cherished by the Festival de Cannes. In Competition with his first movie, Rice People (1994), he returned in 1998 with One Evening after the War in Un Certain Regard. He had two movies shown Out of Competition, S21: The Khmer Rouge Death Machine in 2003 and The Burnt Theatre in 2005, followed in 2011 by Duch in Special Screenings. This year, he is in Un Certain Regard with The Missing Picture.

The work of the Cambodian film-maker is entirely devoted to the Khmer genocide, which decimated his family and disrupted his child-hood. In L’Image manquante (The Missing Picture), for the first time, he evokes this tragedy in the first person. L’Image manquante is inspired by the book The Elimination, also told in the first person, which he co-wrote with Christophe Bataille, and which was first published in French in 2012.

How did your film come about?For some time, I had this idea of the missing picture. I went on location with the Pléiade complete works of René Char, a skull in plastic that you can take apart (eyes, ears, brain and so forth), a statuette of a flayed human body - still in fluorescent plastic - and several “maps” of acupunc-ture points ... Then the rest came bit by bit, image by image, sequence after sequence...

Do you have a memory, a story from the set?After a year of shooting here and there, I was faced with the problem of the disappearance of the people and places I was talking about and of which there was no trace left. I decided to change everything and tell the story through characters modelled in clay. I felt a sort of trippy drunkenness, a breath of fresh air and freedom, my assistant wondered if I hadn’t been smoking grass.... What kind of cinema influences you?Everything and almost nothing... in the end, any cinema that is free, daring, inventive.

(From Festival de Cannes)

The Missing Picturewritten & Directed by Produced bytext written bywith the voice of music bysculptor DoP editingspecial effects sound mixing Coproductionwith the support of in collaboration withthe participation of with the support ofRithy PanhCatherine DussartChristophe BatailleRandal DoucMarc MarderSarith MangPrum MésaRithy PanhMarie-Christine RougerieNarin SaoboraEric TisserandCDP, ARTE France, Bophana Production Région Ile-de-FranceCentre national du cinémaet de l’image animéeMEDIA Programmeof the European CommissionProcirep – Société des Producteurs, Angoa

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Rice People (Neak sre)In Cambodian refugee camps, when children are asked where rice comes from, they answer, “from UN lorries”. They have never seen a rice field. One day, these children will have to learn to live in Cambodia, i.e., they will have to learn to cultivate, to plough, to work the land. Rice people tries to share this way of life, to demonstrate the fragile equilibrium on which it lies and the freedom it represents. Written by L.H. Wong

One Evening After the War (Un soir après la guerre). After the end of the Cambodian Civil War, people in Cambodia struggled in their return to their normal lives. Among them is a kickboxer Savannah (Narith Roeun). A survivor of the war, who lost most of his family to the horrors of the Khmer Rouge, he lives with his uncle in Phnom Penh. Savannah begins a romance with a 19-year-old bar girl, Srey Poeuv (Chea Lyda Chan). She is humiliated by her debts to the bar's owner, and is forced to keep working. Savannah wants to help Srey clear her debt, so he teams up with an ex-soldier and plans a crime that could net him some money.

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Duch, Master of the Forges of Hell (2011) Duch, le maître des forges de l'enfer (original title)Between 1975 and 1979, the Khmer Rouge regime caused the death of some 1.8 million people, represent-ing one-quarter of the population of Cambodia. Kaing Guek Eav, better known as Duch, was in charge at M13, a Khmer Rouge-controlled prison, for four years before being appointed by the Angkar ("the Organi-sation", a faceless and omnipresent entity which reigned unopposed over the destiny of an entire people) to the S21 centre in Phnom Penh. As party secretary, he commanded from 1975 to 1979 the Khmer Rouge killing machine in which at least 12,280 people perished, according to the remaining archives. But how many others disappeared, "crushed and reduced to dust", with no trace of them ever being found? In 2009, Duch became the first leader of the Khmer Rouge organisation to be brought before an international criminal justice court. Rithy Panh records his unadorned words, without any trimmings, in the isolation of a face-to-face encounter. At the same time, he sets it into perspective with archive pictures and eye-witness accounts of survivors. As the narrative unfolds, the infernal machine of a system of destruction of humanity implac-ably emerges, through a manic description of the minutiae of its mechanisms. Written by Catherine Dussart Productions

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Taiwan

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earthstone chu

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Just let thousands blue hair moved lingeringly and curly, as old worry and

new anxiety were submerged

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To run after one hundreds number 1 in life is not better than to make effort for discovering the abundant taste of invis-ible energy of life

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To lean close to each other lets power rises.” Rising power is brilliant even in bumpy road; it is difficult to breath in

nature when there is no chi.

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coloured ink water painting, on rice paper

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” There are various appearances in life so we call it ‘plenty postures’; that chaos

without boundary is brilliant master. “

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Universe is limitless but squeeze in a bunch; men and items overlap only dif-ficult to exchange mind. Come and go by luxuriant way; with just no asking and no thinking one can develop surprising realm.

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Unification of universe and man has the way for reacting without fixed direction, one’s gain and loss, rising and falling, are

just beautiful view.

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Bright moon which knows my heart should lighten me. I realize that one is not alone while the light of moon knocks the cold bed

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Understand autumn and winter for flying while the clean and dirty

permeate everywhere; gain sentiment for enlightening under everyday’s wind

which brings rain.

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Singapore

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Indigo Blue Art presented a special summer collection of limited edition M.F. Husain prints, covering a variety of coveted subjects including Madhuri Dixit, Mother Teresa, horses and mythological icons, Ganesh and Hanuman.

Gallery Details:Location: Indigo Blue Art 33 Neil Road, Singapore 088820Nearest MRT: Tanjong PagarTel: 63721719www.indigoblueart.comOpening Hours: Mon – Sat (11 am – 6pm)Closed on Sundays and public holidays

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About M.F. Husain Born in 1915 in Maharashtra, Husain’s humble beginning as a painter of cinema hoardings, toymaker and furniture designer left him struggling to earn a living in Mumbai.

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About M.F. Husain Born in 1915 in Maharashtra, Husain’s humble beginning as a painter of cinema hoardings, toymaker and furniture designer left him struggling to earn a living in Mumbai.

A prolific artist who painted life in all its forms, Husain was able to adeptly integrate the environmental experiences and influences from his journeys into his works. This exhibition offers a rare glimpse into the history of an enigma, whose remarkable works are as diverse as his odyssey through life.

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However, his determination and love for painting gradually earned him recognition as an artist in the late 1940s.

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In 1947, Francis Newton Souza’s invitation to Husain to become a member of the Progressive Artists’ Group was a harbinger of his phenomenal success as a painter. Internationally venerated as the ‘Picasso of India’, M.F.

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Husain has since stood at the forefront of modern Indian art,

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and continues to do so even 2 years after his death.

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India

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fan brushes delhi heat I shelter

waiting for teaa solitary peacock

preensjumps down from his perch

marches across parade grounds of my fatherlal qila

once royal endures squirrels

mynahs pigeons tourists

the barbarians have come and gone and it is another kind of game

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ChennaiCity of assailmentsOrefactory and audibleVisual and tactileScreaming at my senses.Chennai24 by 24 in a four by fourWhere life persists and re-sistsWhere my way is the only wayThe ego wayThe way of life.

ChennaiGreen from the skiesBrown from the earthWhere feminine galleons driftMultitudes of hues, shadesWhere jasmine prevails.

ChennaiExtremeCopiousAbundantRichSilk and satinBeggaredA paucityTattered sackclothHomespun cottonSwirling latrite dustBetel Stained copies of last week’s ‘The Hindu’.

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ChennaiOf godsAnd GodTemplesChurchesMosquesSoulsInterpersonal interactionSolitude.

Chennai of sweet paan and sweeter chaiMasala land of soothing lassiFermented land of dosai and vadai

We strive and starve togeth-er

Chennai of breezy mota marisCooling Coromondal breezesDiluvian autorickshaws,Beggar mothers emaciatedChild wieldingAmbling to shelter

Madras reveal to meYour flooded and drought ridden soulYour KaYour checked lunghi enwrapped atman.

(Chennai by Martin Bradley)

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delhi callingback to red brickheat and dustscents between sambar and jasmine land of my fatherlal qila callingchandichowkpale mausoleumcelebrating difference similarityverisimilitudeumbilical cord tying veena tagoremythical malguldiits in the games people play hold closehold backmother India enwrapped yet still openwelcomingremembering her antiquity cultural longevity motherliness

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sleep my dharma babylet the lotus guide your dreamsmay the eightfold pathsteady your footsteps and give you mindfulness

sleep my dharma baby and in your dreams, rest may it bring you peace joy and love to lighten your busy life

sleep my dharma babyand in the morning awaken with fresh eyesand an easy heartmay a smile brighten your day as you brighten mine

sleep my dharma babythe whole world is yoursthe sun and the moon shine just for youmountains rise and seas flowmay this day be the day of your dreams when all your wishes are grantedand your heart is glad

sleep my dharma baby rest easy in my love

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Malaysian artistPei Yeou Bradley aka Honey KhorTravels to Catalonia, Spain in search of Salvador DaliPaintings by Pei Yeou Bradley; text by Martin Bradley

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Travel Dusun

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Is Dali here in Sant Martí d'Empúries?

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Fiqueres by Pei Yeou Bradley, 2013

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Dali was absent, nevertheless it was still exciting to be sleeping in the

room he always stayed in (room 101) when visiting Hotel Duran, in

Figueres, Spain. Those two weeks in Hotel Duran were time well spent

and extremely memorable for us as my artist wife was using the room

as a temporary art studio. Her exhibition was later to be hung at the

cafe/restaurant Dalicatessen, in Figueres, known for its speciality of

anchovies from Roses on the Catalan coast.

The Durans had been great friends of Salvador Dali, schoolmates,

friends and patient chefs too, acceding to Dali’s often eccentric tastes

in both food and art materials. Rumour has it that as well as ordering

a variety of birds to feast upon - thrushes, larks and terns, Dali once

ordered an octopus, but not for eating - for use as a brush for painting.

Another gem tells that Dali was in the habit of drawing on the hotel’s

tablecloths, which were subsequently sent for laundering. You might

wonder just how many millions of Euros those tablecloths could be

worth on the current art markets of the world if they had been saved

from laundering.

In Figueres nearly everything is Dali. The town has made great use

of its connection to that great Surrealist painter, especially after Dali

made inroads to construct his teatro museo de salvador dali (Dalí

Theatre and Museum) there, in 1974. At times the sheer weight of

commercialism does tend to cloy. You can only see so many badly

made Dali watches (as key rings) or buy so many posters of his work

before the excitement wears off. But, and there is a big but, when

you come face to face with his actual works (in the Museum) you are

frequently awestruck. Well, I was, and that does not happen to many

times these days.

Hotel Duran was a sheer delight. Yes, the hotel did make its connection

to Salvador Dali clear, but in an understated, subtle way. Photos on

the wall showed generations of Durans with Dali, or Dali and his

classmates both at school and at the art school in Madrid. Other

photos were of Gala and Dali, but they were all outdone by original

Dali lithographs hanging in reception and all dinning areas of that

hotel. Hotel Duran is a treasure trove for lovers of Dali’s work and,

incidentally provides some of the best accommodation and food to be

Eating Catalonia

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found in Figueres, as we (my Dali struck wife and I) were to discover on the last night.

Breakfast at the hotel was the usual European fare, with lashings of cold meats and cheeses, not to mention gallons of Nespresso coffee to wash down the rolls, croissants and chocolate croissants. Tea infusions nestled against each other for comfort and the odd pyramid of Lipton’s Earl Grey tea waited for this odd Englishman to purloin. We never lunched at the hotel. Daylight meant us traipsing off to Cadaques, Port Lligat, Roses, Girona, L’Escala or Besalu (a medieval Spanish town famed for its Romanesque bridge).

Lunch was grabbed on the fly, and where we could, along bus or train routes. Sometimes it was green tea with fresh orange drink and later gelato ice cream (an Italian import) in Girona. There was zarzuela (Catalan fish stew) in Roses, washed down with sangria, after visiting a local famers’ market and buying chorizo (Spanish sausage). Other times Middle-Eastern cous cous in Cadaques, taken down some ancient lane laden with bougainvillea, accompanied by Damm Lemon 6-4 (cold lemon cerveza - the Spanish equivalent of British shandy), or simply gazpacho (cold, spicy, tomato soup) taken with local Catalan bread smeared with garlic and rubbed with tomatoes in the Spanish way, while we were on our way.

Generally we steered clear of the tapas bars. Tapas (Spanish appetisers similar to the Middle Eastern mezze or Hong Kong Dim Sum) are a great way to sample Spanish food, but are renowned for

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cost, not per single dish but as an accumulation over the evening, like

in Sushi bars. Tapas simply was not in our meagre budget, travelling,

as we were, from the Far East and having to convert from Malaysian

Ringgit to the more expensive Euro.

We made plans to meet up with Hotel Duran owner Lluis and his

beautiful and most charming wife Joaquina, for dinner, on our final

evening at Hotel Duran. Admittedly I had fantastic notions of being

served the head and feet of terns, or sea urchins, thrushes, if in season

of course, and finished off with garnatcha, which is a sweet local wine.

The actuality of that meal was no less fantastic than my imagination

had been moments beforehand.

It was Hotel Duran’s Degustation Menu - a careful, appreciative tasting

of various foods and focusing on the gustatory system, the senses, high

culinary art and good company (according to Wikipedia). The wine was

rioja, not garnatcha, but local and tasty. The appetiser was gin and tonic

iced lime foam, which immediately send me back to my pre-hippy days

a young mod pretending to be all Ray Davies and ultra sophisticated.

I had been introduced to frozen margaritas, in Cambodia, by one

wealthy American and here was being introduced to a frozen G & T by

a wealthy Spaniard - is there a connection between wealth and frozen

alcohol, I idly wondered. That drink of fantasy and memories came

accompanied by a cracker (biscuit), brandishing cold meat, foie-gras

and one troublesome small fried egg. Why was the egg troublesome?

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I stared and stared and thought - how on earth did they manage to reduce that egg in size, then it hit me - it was a fried quail egg, duh!

The salad was a carpaccio of wild mushrooms, local prawns and mixed lettuce in black truffle oil, wrapped with toasted bread. The soup was cold. It was meant to be cold, and green, with leaves of lettuce shredded, almonds and paper-thin baked wraps to dip into the soup. The fish dish was wild fish grilled to perfection, as opposed to tame fish perhaps, with steamed cauliflower, broccoli, courgette and cherry tomatoes, and the meat dish was a succulent centre steak with a buttery, creamy idiazabal (Basque) cheese sauce and scalloped potatoes, with a fruit drizzle. Just when we had surrendered, on came the dessert. An Ascot hat on a white plate appeared before me. The hat’s feathers were solidified sugar twists, its brim was three different coloured and flavoured sauces - including a freshly and properly prepared vanilla cream, while its mainstay was the tatin (jelly) of fresh fruit.

What a send off. The airline foods, on the flights back, were a pale comparison to those we experienced in Catalonia, northern Spain. But, there again we were happy to be returning to the gastronomic hub of Asia - Malaysia, home of Durian, nasi lemak and teh tarik. We flew home to the children, writing and painting, glad to be back after two weeks away in our Surrealistic fantasy, but with very fond memories of Hotel Duran and all the amazing people we met on our travels.

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Plaque on the house in Figueres, where Dali was born

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Dali at school in Figueres

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Your scent of seaCervezaBathersOf porcine propotionsTransposed with touristsIn the seasonBefore blackberryOliveIn a time of sunQueuePaella.Sol BleedsRedTo shouldersNecks too thickenedTo comprehendThe kernelOf beautyFound in silence.Evening cloudCreamsPreviously blue skyMuslim moon

PaleSilveryPeepsAnd disappearsAs in antiquity.

Cadaques

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Costa slipsTowardGrey ofTwilightSea indistinguishableFrom sky.

The artist drawsHer bowOf squirrel brushAnd shootsThe writer

Through hisArt.

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Cadaques by Pei Yeou Bradley, 2013

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You drink slow cupsChocolateCoffeeEat slow

Ice creamsThat meltAnd dripLike so many

Dali watchesOver

Your pendulousBouncingBreastsMade redBy Costa sunYou breathe

Your tanin smoke

Sip lemon beerAnd thinkPerhaps

All paintersAre madThe sane painterPaints behindThe windowYou dare notLook in

For her sanityRevealsYour madness.

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Artist Pei yeou Bradley in Girona

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Artist Pei yeou Bradley presenting her work to Spanish writer Cristina Vila

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Is Dali here in Roses?

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Artist Pei Yeou Bradley watercolour sketching outside Figueres railway station

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Sant Pere church by Pei Yeou Bradley, 2013

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Another view of Sant Pere church by Pei Yeou Bradley, 2013

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Santa Maria church Cadaques by Pei Yeou Bradley, 2013

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Dali photographer Joan Vehí with Dusun editor Martin Bradley

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Dali and Bradley

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Dali Museum in Figueres, Catalonia, Spain

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Slight breeze tugs leavesShaddow dappled ripplesLake of grassSpritesAttempt exitFrom treesCausing the trunks to bulgeLike a mime artist

You carry the lieOf the birdparkOn your tongueI carryThe truthOf the birdparkIn my heartI smileAs sun shaddowDapplesYou cry

Is itBecause of roasted thrushesDecapitated larksNaked rabbitsAnd green parrotsAngry at placid pigeons

SweetAnd sourBlackAnd green olivesFlavour AugustEveningAntique stoneBuildingsFeed entrancedEyesContemporaryWater babiesBatheIn agua meditationIs it a toast to Cervantes?

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Dali Museum by Pei Yeou Bradley, 2013

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Dali found in Port Lligat, Cadaques

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Interior of Dali’s home at Port Lligat

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It’s Tea, Jim, but not as we know it.By Martin Bradley

“We are open until 11.30pm” said the young girl from Myanmar. Then... “That’s an old menu board, it’s not so good, you must try the new menu, it has beef”. My wife and I were looking at the sign outside Tea Chansii, in Puchong, on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur, and wondering about lunch one day. It had been late in the evening, about 10.45pm or so, when we had arrived, ordered and began to indulge in the bubble tea that wasn’t bubble tea, an Italian creamy and

Food Dusun

Tea Chansii, Puchong, Selangor, Malaysia

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very sweet dessert - Panna Cotta, and a small(ish) bag of butter garlic flavoured popcorn. It was all good, and very international too. She, the young girl from Myanmar, had been smiley throughout, patient and helpful and, in fact, only began to close up shop as we paid, and were leaving (post 11.30pm).

Bubble tea has been a phenomenon since the 1980s. Variously known as Pearl Milk Tea and Boba Milk Tea, there are various claims as to its origin in Taiwan, and many ways of making it. Some of the essential ingredients are tea (of some description), black beads of tapioca, powdered milk and sweetening. To this simplistic mix are added various flavoured syrups to give colour and flavouring, and various chunks or layers which may or may not include Grass jelly (cincau - a jelly made from a type of mint).

Over the last two years Bubble Tea has taken Malaysia by storm. It is extremely popular amongst children, teens and twenties and is now found being sold by van vendors outside the school gates. It’s a Taiwanese typhoon that has swept across this land much as coffee houses had done in dear old UK way back in the 1950s, only without the Rock n Roll (thankfully). But, Tea Chansii is not bubble tea, there are no bubbles (tapioca) to be found in Tea Chansii, instead

Wild flavours of popcorn at Tea Chansii

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there are a variety of tea drinks ranging from ‘Just Tea’ - Yuchih black tea, Jasmine green tea, Winter melon tea, to ‘Refreshing Fruit Tea’ - British fruit tea (and I am wondering just what that might be), Japanese fruit tea, Taiwanese fruit tea and Healthy C fruit tea. The list goes forever on. There is tea with Jelly, tea with red bean, aloe vera, basil seed, cream tea etc, and then there are the juices, and all this before we get to the add ons........

We had only recently arrived back from Spain, northern Spain, well Catalonia if you must know. And, as wonderful as Spanish food and drink are, and they are wonderful - I’ll tell you one day just how wonderful, we did miss all the variety found in Malaysia, Bubble tea being no exception. I suppose that we were just fascinated by the whole international approach by the Tea Chansii outlet (new in Puchong, and open just when we needed it). Because of that one outlet, my wife and I were able to go ‘dating’ for a few minutes after a somewhat exhausting day - she teaching and I writing, and we both moving into our new house at one and the same time.

How to chill at Tea Chansii

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So we sat, after work, a small jar of Panna Cotta, a milky tea with grass jelly and a plastic container of butter garlic popcorn between us, catching up on the day, planning for tomorrow and the rest of the week, wishing the boys were with us to share the experience. But they were either abed, studying or (more likely) playing computer games. That little respite at Tea Chansii hit the spot for us. The girl from Myanmar was still smiling as we bade her farewell, promising to take her up on her menu suggestions. some lunchtime when it is possible to meet up with my wife again, to eat

130 http://www.amazon.com/Buffalo-Breadfruit-Unwary-Malaysia-ebook/dp/B008BHM91C