Hungry Ghost

Singapore has celebrated its version of Halloween already. Mid-September is the time for a month of Hungry Ghost rituals.
Local legend tells tales of the Gates of Hell opening for a short time to allow earthlings to make ammends with unhappy ancestors.
In order to keep them placated so they won't create mischief or bad luck for the living, food is piled onto makeshift altars and incense is burned around the clock.
A huge yellow tent was set up in Tanjong Pagar park to mark the highlights of on-going rituals. Monks show up to chant and keep the peace.
It's a scary time for people in their heads but no costumes are worn---the Monks are the only people in drag in their saffron robes.
Unlike U.S. Halloween festivities which can be just another large moneymaking holiday, Hungry Ghost in Spore is just an annual local Taoist event.

Chinese TV

Chinese TV is garish like pattern + color overlays in hotel/restaurant interior design; the ubiquitous neon of shop signs along the city rim every night [Zhuhai]; or even the clunky color + texture choices in the landscaping in "peoples' parks".
It is as stylized and shrill as traditional Chinese Opera; it tends to take on a particularly surreal tinge as it parodies American game show, reality show, cop show genres, and commercials and cartoons.
It's wonderful. And it's in technicolor!!

Shooting the Gods with Nick

Luckily, the nine a.m. Singapore sky was solidly overcast--perfect for walking.
The streets were dark stained from a steady rain hours before, now slightly steaming and silent as Sundays in most cities, except for the sizzling sound of taxi tires on slick pavement.
After walking just ten minutes, our shirts were thoroughly damp. A slight breeze stroked us--a welcome relief in the rising heat, as we entered the Tanjong Pagar Taoist temple complex. We split into different directions as we passed through the modest anteroom and spent a focused hour recording gently worn tiles, roof ceramics, newly gold-leafed colonnade brackets and altar dieties.

Nick was collecting collage imagery for work on a photographic series on Religion + War. Formerly based in Washington D.C., he is a professional portraitist who also taught photo technique at the Smithsonian. His new work is visceral and un-politically correct.
I was just savoring the visual feast before me--as usual.
As we moved to exit, many folks were arriving to burn handfuls of stick insense as thick as your thumb for departed ancestors.

We clung to the deep building shadows now beginning to form as we headed to the Pagoda Street subway escalator. The eastbound MRT offered its dependable cool relief as we boarded a desolate train and careened toward Arab town mosques. A short while later, we found the main mosque was closed so we opted to find a cafe to smoke shi-sha and drink mint tea. On the way, we were distracted by fabric stalls, prayer shawl and hat boutiques, perfumeries and bakeries--typical of the Baghdad Street bazaar. Weaving quickly through the sensual overload of a few final vendors, we eventually settled into a shady table as the cafe attendant fired our brazier and attached the plastic mouthpieces to our waterpipe. The white applewood smoke bubbling in the filtering bowl below softly complemented the crispness of the tea.

We sat, contented, for several hours, pinned to our seats by the heat of the day--we ordered Moroccan lunch and talked about Nick's living for 13 years aboard a sailboat in the Caribbean Sea. The mundane aspects of boat life like how to properly kill an ocean fish for a meal, is surprisingly not by clubbing but by pouring alcohol into its gills=instant death by vodka!! We left the conversation there as we slowly meandered by foot to the local multiplex.

Outside 10 Gopeng Street

Walks happen early morning and after the sun goes down. [springtime marks the beginning of hotter weather.]

The main neighborhood, Tangong Pagar or "divided island", lies in southeast Chinatown bordering the Financial District.
Among other things, it is the center of the gay district populated by bars, clubs and bridal fashion shops on Neil Road. [who better than a stylish faggot to dress a hopeful Cinderella on the most important day of her life?]

Singaporeans are fast walkers in this humidheat. I've learned to slow my pace to minimize overheating & drenching. British Colonial structures predominate the oldest areas flanked by concrete-metal-glass superstructures. Construction is rampant in within a two block radius of the ICON.

Narrow alleys hidden behind lines of Colonial row houses reveal small, freestanding altar houses which contain offerings of fruit and burning incense.
I prefer these walkways to the street front sidewalks. On one recent jaunt I discovered an impromptu arrangement of Chinese deity figurines arranged on a makeshift altar top=A homemade art gallery installation of throwaway art on miniature scale.
The artist clearly has an affection for this religious garbage; the artwork is an act of rescue and adaptive reuse.
It's more satisfying than the more studied, self-conscious work in local galleries---unlike cultural venues in most cities, this "art" is never pretentious or apologetic.

Another sidewalk statement I see every now and then is a burnt offering bounded by a chalk circle. Dave Woo of Singapore says it's dark. Rough translation: bad Taoist voodoo to be avoided. That specifically means not stepping within the chalk boundary. That's a lot to ask of someone whose head is usually in the clouds but I manage to be vigilant.

Other areas of the city, Dhoby Ghat or Orchard Road, although more contemporary like the nearby financial district, lack the charm and character of Tanjong Pagar.

Inside 10 Gopeng Street

My apartment, housed in a new high-rise in Chinatown, is one of many 'upsides' to living here.
The tour begins in the kitchen and rotates through the livingroom, bedroom and bath.
I can see myself in the floor=I can also see all my silver head hairs littering the floor too!
Chinatown sits north outside the livingroom window.
The jungle you see on the 31st floor contains sitting/lounging areas, and stretches between both towers.
There is always an invigorating breeze up there.
Floor 7 is pool deck with areas for bbqing.
No complaints here.
Once again, I'm extending an invite to anyone who wants to visit.
I'm told I could be here through 2010.

Gong Xi Fa Cai

There hasn't been a post to this blog in a while because I've been having issues with Singapore. Delayed culture shock is one way of describing it, or, after you read this you might opt for xenophobia--the ultimate choice is yours. My reality has been harsh and sobering; it is also fraught with the fear of exposing some not-so-nice perspectives---after all, I DO want people to keep tuning in and not be turned off.
Before I continue, I'd like you to hold the image of lying on your back with your body & limbs held in light restraint while a persistent drip of cold water gently taps your upper forehead.

I've realized that I'm very American.
For starters, I can tell you what I'm not: I do not have a gigantic entitlement complex, something I've witnessed time and again both domestically and internationally from film industry people . I do not throw my weight around while grandstanding that what we have in the US is better or matters more--I've also seen how ineffective that behavior is. Besides, if I behaved that way, my mom [now deceased] would kick my ass. I'm not dismissive, exclusionary or rude.

I am honest, and sometimes unforgivingly so. Since relocating here, the restrictiveness of this city insults my sense of independence and my freedom as a free-thinker.
Now here's a day-to-day example that can be extended in all directions [drip: It's the smallest straws that finally break the camel's back]: I walk into my local bank with a sack of coins for deposit into my account. Teller says: "Sir, we only work with customer's coins on Tuesday and Thursday." I blink, fighting back laughter and disbelief [the automatic coin counter is sitting behind her on the back counter, plugged in blinking as well]. I take a big breath and assert, "Well, it's Monday morning and I'm here now so how do we solve this?" She repeats her statement with no change in inflection. Then I threaten, "I'm not coming back here with these coins." She blinks a few times, pauses, and quietly offers, "Please wait here."
She meets me on my side of the counter, escorts me to a far corner of the exterior of the bank and shows me how to use the ATM coin machine. I have no idea it exists but am happy to learn this new task.
This might seem like an extremely minor event, but I can assure you this is encountered every day, every step of the way. Drip...drip...drip....

Similar events are really pervasive in our Chinese owned corporate office which is run like a strict, catholic high school. Flinty, calvinist nuns have been replaced by men in business suits. For feminists reading this, there are no women in upper management.
The only example I'll give here is regarding photocopying: no artist on the LA design team can directly color print from her/his computer to the network computer. Instead, the inefficient, work-stopping solution to this issue is to walk over to a designated corporate employee with a memory stick, interrupt her/his workflow and wait an indeterminate length of time for the copies to materialize---that is, if they happen to be at their desk at that precise moment. At first, the request for color copies was resisted because of the 'expense' involved [the truth is: Americans are seen as wasteful and I support that], but my convincing argument was: handing someone a black&white copy of color artwork is just as informative as handing that person a blank sheet of paper. We are artists and we communicate most effectively in color. Drip...drip...drip...drip...drip.

SNAP.

The question I ask myself over and over is: "Am I really having this conversation? Again?"
Patience is not my virtue and I suppose that qualifies me as a typical American. Folks here seem okay with asking permission and waiting for everything. Though recently, one thing that no one here asked permission about was taking an extended leave for Chinese New Year--by extended, I mean 7-10 days to be with family. This annual event is a mass exodus over sometimes thousands of miles to renew familial ties in a big way. In American terms, this holiday is so huge in Asia, that it encompasses the essence of Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year's Celebration, but with gunpowder. Fireworks and loud, bashing noises go on for three weeks to drive away negative and evil spirits of the past year. While this cleansing happens, the focus is purely about Luck and Money for the newly unfolding spring and year ahead. What else is there, right?

For my money, I'd wish for individual thought and a more callow, enterprising spirit. Gong Xi Fa Cai = Happy New Year. Drip.