MONDAY ARTPOST 0808-2022

MONDAY
ARTPOST
0808-2022
ISSN1918-6991
MONDAYARTPOST.COM
Columns by Artists and Writers
Bob Black / bq / Cem Turgay /
Fiona Smyth / Gary Michael Dault
/ Holly Lee / Kai Chan / Kamelia
Pezeshki / Shelley Savor / Tamara
Chatterjee / Wilson Tsang / Yau
Leung / + DOUBLESPREAD (Lee Ka-sing)
/ Both Sides, now (Holly Lee)
MONDAY ARTPOST published on Mondays. Columns by Artists and Writers. All Right Reserved. Published since 2002.
An Ocean and Pounds publication. ISSN 1918-6991. email to: mail@oceanpounds.com

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Banksy

The Photograph
coordinated by
Kamelia Pezeshki
Geranium by Mehraban Mehrabani

ProTesT
Cem Turgay

CHEEZ
Fiona Smyth

Poem a Week
Gary Michael Dault
Eyewitness
tin-plated sun
blue whitewashed walls*
everything once soft
hardens and falls
a man
comes down the street
dressed like a black bull
he drags a gray cloud
like an old dog
his life is full
* The first two lines are from “Pre-Autumn” by Juan Ramon
Jimenez

ART LOGBOOK
Holly Lee
1. St. Nicholas: Russia’s most popular saint in icons
https://www.rbth.com/arts/335113-nicholas-wonderworker-russia-icons
2. From St. Nicholas to Santa Claus
https://www.medievalists.net/2014/12/st-nicholas-santa-claus/

Greenwood
Kai Chan
Drawing, ink, graphite, pastel on paper

Open/Endedness
bq 不 清
工 作 狂
WORKAHOLIC
至 少 你 知 道
魔 術 只 是 一 種 掩 眼 法
儘 管 謎 底 不 一 定 浮 現 如
亞 特 蘭 提 斯 , 但 它
確 實 存 在 於 預 期 之 外
像 醫 生 的 時 間 觀 念
永 遠 帶 一 種 誤 差
但 藥 我 是 準 時 下 了
像 他 們 每 天 下 班 , 又 像
那 刻 , 詩 神 來 到 瞳 孔 之 後
並 且 說 時 間 到 了 , 然 後
你 又 記 起 昨 晚 的 夢 僅 僅 是
密 封 的 玻 璃 瓶 。 上 面
一 艘 艘 貨 輪 在 港 口
以 外 , 等 待 泊 岸
等 待 卸 下 眾 人 的 心 事
讓 船 舷 能 離 開 水 面 卻 又 無 法
升 往 天 空
At least you know that
magic is only a camouflage though
the answer to the riddle will not surface like
Atlantis, but it
does exist beyond its expectation,
such as, physicians’ sense of time,
which always entails dilatoriness.
But I’ve taken my drugs on time,
like how we get off work, or that
moment Muses arrived behind my pupils
and said it’s time. Then
you remember again the dream from last night was
an air-tight jug. Above it,
Cargo ships are just outside
the port, awaiting to dock,
to unload everyone’s thoughts,
to lift their hulls out of water but can’t
buoy up in the sky.

Caffeine Reveries
Shelley Savor
Dark Cloud Dreaming

Travelling Palm
Snapshots
Tamara Chatterjee
Mexico (November, 2017) – We spent the
last few days of the itinerary in Mexico City;
soaking in the hallowed blue walls and huge
papier-mache constructions suspended in
time and space. It certainly provided the
much needed culture in the final foray. On
the last day; we resumed the journeyer’s trail
to Tenochtitlán, the focal point was a little
light babble with a stone carver.

Yesterday Hong Kong
Yau Leung
Blissful Downpour after a long drought (Castle Peak Road, Shamshuipo, 1963)
Hong Kong was hit by a severe drought in 1963-4, during which water supply was restricted to 4 hours per 4
days. These boys were rapt to see the pouring rain and rushed to embrace the free shower.
8x10 inch, gelatin silver photograph printed in the nineties
OP Selection, edition 1/100, signed on verso
From the collection of Lee Ka-sing and Holly Lee

Leaving Taichung
Station
Bob Black
The following poem, Hong Kong: Songs from the
Rooftops, is an 8-part poem that was written over the
course of the last 5 years. Each part corresponds to
a part of Hong Kong and each part also is dedicated
to a friend. It was completed this past spring. This
poem is dedicated to 8 friends, for whom the city
is a constant conversation in my head and heart,
regardless of the shape and tune.
This poem is dedicated to: Holly & Ka-sing Lee,
Nancy Li, Kai Chan, Yam Lau, Chris Song and Ting,
TimTim Cheng, Tammy Ho and Kristee Quinn.
May they always be filled with voices, food and
sound. Carry on.

Hong Kong: Songs from the Rooftops
“In these shaken times, who more than you holds
In the wind, our bittermelon, steadily facing
Worlds of confused bees and butterflies and a garden gone wild”
-- 梁 秉 鈞 , Bittermelon
III
Wan Chai: The Sky Red as Your Name Buckled in a Letter
Once, beneath the sky red above us, you wrote your father in red ink,
a forlorn chance for fear to visit his life,
you spoke a lullaby in my ear when finished, a snake in the shape of a hat
containing a pachyderm
a tongue of torn letters inked on cheap rice paper, pressed desperate as passenger
on that tram long-ago
cramped
against the green tile above the men searching for body and salvation, and some
anew new
piu haak, you once wrote him, until you looked over the roof edge and watched
lives scatter
swarming as the far-off waves battering your heart.
and so it began with the knotted sound of a rung bell wrong in a temple, the
flutter of a golden silk robe and the line on an old woman’s hand who once spoke
across a room you would live as long as a bird at sea and you read, then after
the flight around your mouth, and the sky again red and our fingers red, and
the clock in the room red and all the lines in the rain long in their lacquered
reflections
red:
our stitching, my love, red.
the sky red as your name buckled in a letter: 木 心
“Even in the dark recesses of bramble and cave, light spiders in
and allows the moon to thread a silver’d path,
outward to you, Baba, even in winter, full-bellied,
you wobble and space my hope toward home,
you wobble and space my heart home.”
And then it was sent

From the Notebooks
(2010-2022)
Gary Michael Dault
From the Notebooks, 2010-2022
Number 149: Tape, the Measure of Man (Temporary Version), March 10, 2020.

TANGENTS
Wilson Tsang
Summer sometimes

DOUBLESPREAD from
Double Double studio,
photographs by
Lee Ka-sing
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An excerpt from
Windmills, Fields,
and Marina
(Double Double,
July edition 2022)
Holly Lee
Both Sides, now
front and verso
(with words)

Both Sides, now
I like to explore. At times, I’d trail off into unfrequented paths. “Both Sides Now” is a series of
photographs I took of things that were once affecting, or touching my life — a bowl, a small figurine,
a paper cup, a postcard, a papier-mâché cat, a hockey player, a maple leaf, a giant neon billboard... I
photographed them front and back; put them in frames gathered from department or home furnishing
stores. These domestic frames shared a common feature — backing only with clear glass, designed to
show images on both sides.
There are objects everywhere, spreading all over the place in our ex-gallery, now our studio and
home base. Throughout the years they stayed silent, collecting dusts. Yet each has a history and story
yearning to be unfolded. Every once in a while I would examine them with my hands; trying to retrace
my life through the dots, to reclaim lost and forgotten moments. My thoughts then, would wander off
to form narratives; some kind of memoir, a short fiction, a poem, or simply, a playful babble.
In a paradoxical manner, the frame with the image of an object inside has also become another
object, taken in another photograph.

Suki
我 是 貓 媽 媽 。 媽 媽 叫 貓 貓 坐 在 她 的 大 腿 上 看 電 視 。 媽 媽 貓 反 過 頭 來 要 一 個 吻 , 嗅 嗅 貓 媽 媽
嘴 裡 三 文 魚 的 味 道 。 貓 貓 有 很 多 很 多 名 字 :suki, suki 仔 , sukimoto, Kiki, suki 貓 頭 , kitty kitty,
李 叔 奇 , 出 奇 , 貓 珠 珠 , 貓 奇 , 貓 奇 奇 。
(A Google translation)
I am a cat mother. Mother calls a cat sitting on her thigh and watching TV. Mother cats turn a kiss, sniffing the
mouths of cats and mama’s salmon. Cats have many names: suki, suki Tsai, sukimoto, Kiki, suki cat head, kitty
kitty, Uncle Li, surprising, cat beads, cat odd, cat odd.
(A human translation)
I am a catmom. Catmom calls cat to sit on her lap and watch TV. Momcat turns for a kiss, sniffing the smell of
salmon from catmom’s mouth. Catcat has many many names: suki, suki Tsai, sukimoto, Kiki, suki maotao, kitty
kitty, Li Suk-ki, surprised, cat precious precious, meowki, meowkiki.
Suki, front and verso
A pair of archival pigment prints in frame, frame size 325 x 172 x 32 mm, work year 2018.
PS: Tomio made this beautiful paper mâché after our cat Suki. Later, he made another paper mâché after Tofu,
Henrik and Wing’s vision impaired dog. I wish they can meet someday.

Bowl
Words are magic wands
one wave can incise a thought
inerasable for generations
I am lake bright mountain colour
Sounds scenic isn’t it? Thanks to our old masters who molded me – a small pavilion on a hill with shady trees,
a man lies down, drinks his wine and rhymes his poem, distant hills on the other bank, a boat floats leisurely
on the lake. I have been depicted this way for five hundred years. The masters follow the same equation to paint
and repeat me, occasionally making some little changes, say, add a person fishing, a few more birds in the sky.
This has always been ME! Yet when I look around myself, I feel misplaced, so disconcerted that I want to cry.
For I have changed – and have already made a lot of progress. Strange cement forests sprouting from my body;
boats, ferries, cargo ships and cruisers sliding day in and day out over the skin of my water. The noisy bunch!
How could nobody notice or show the courage to acknowledge the change?
I, lake bright mountain colour, am only an age-old idea, a mere ghostly existence?
I am bowl
A bowl that holds rice or soup, to be precise.
Even though I came from the world famous porcelain town Jin de Zhen, I belong only to the civilian class. My
clan’s long and glorious history has become solely bygones. Despite the fact that I have reached the age of
retirement, I am still 30 years younger than my master – my owner. Don’t ask about my origin, master is a fool,
she can’t even figure out her own history, let alone mine. But a friend of my master said my face was familiar,
she told her I was made around the 80s, by New Wind – one of the ten big porcelain factories in China. I think
this might be true as this factory was renowned for scenic paintings on porcelain wares. There’s one thing I can
be certain of, I must have belonged to the family of porcelain goods exported to Europe, America, South East
Asia and Hong Kong in the 80s.
For your future, my advice to you brothers and sisters: go along with globalization, gone old greet new, gone
east meet west, nationalized style gone Japanese. Me? If not for the love of my master, I would have been
buried in the landfill with other garbage. On the other hand, if I am luckier, and able to get more promotion and
publicity, I might be recognized and even able to secure a small spot in certain corner of the museum.
My Name is Pingy
Actually, I have several names, Pingy is just my infant name. The bowl you are seeing in this picture originally
existed as a pair, a wedding gift from my mother for my dinner table. Many bowls and dishes have broken
Bowl, front and verso
A pair of archival pigment prints in frame, frame size 272 x 220 x 32 mm, work year 2013.

since. I cracked this bowl some twenty years ago, but was reluctant to have it disposed. Seeing the bowl is like
seeing my long gone mother, it is hard and impossible to let go.
The harbour where I grew up experienced no wars, revolutions or hunger. My slumberous soul floats along
historic currents, oblivious to soaring memories of its past and coming. The China I long for is crafted from
literature, history, music and poetry. My favourite poet Du Fu (712-770 CE) once wrote, “The state is broken,
its mountains and rivers remain. The city turns spring, deep with plants and trees”. The overwhelming change
today feels like “The state remains, its mountains and rivers shattered. Cities turn concrete grey,
wealth and lust are what matter”. China will definitely change. Its supersonic train will not stop, racing towards
a newer, braver but irredeemable world. Flip-flopping. Hello Creator; Hello Destroyer.
文 字 真 像 魔 術 棒 , 一 下 子 點 下 來 就 凝 固 了 一 個 思 維 , 叫 它 好 幾 個 世 代 也 不 能 翻 身 。
我 是 湖 光 山 色 。
很 風 景 畫 , 是 不 是 ? 也 多 謝 歷 朝 歷 代 的 工 像 畫 師 , 把 我 塑 造 成 的 模 樣 — 山 丘 上 有 小 亭 , 樹
影 婆 娑 。 古 人 臥 坐 吃 酒 吟 詩 。 對 岸 山 脈 連 綿 , 一 葉 輕 舟 飄 蕩 在 湖 水 上 。 千 百 年 來 , 畫 師 依
循 公 式 重 覆 , 或 偶 作 改 動 , 或 加 上 個 江 人 垂 釣 , 這 個 便 是 我 ! 回 首 看 看 我 的 週 圍 , 真 迷 惘 得
想 哭 。 我 進 步 神 速 , 三 合 土 森 林 從 土 地 上 長 出 奇 葩 , 小 輪 船 小 氣 艇 大 郵 船 洋 洋 灑 灑 在 湖 面
滑 翔 。 怎 麼 我 變 了 也 沒 有 人 知 道 ? 我 湖 光 山 色 , 竟 是 個 陳 久 的 思 維 , 一 個 魅 影 的 存 在 ?
我 是 碗 。
準 確 一 點 說 , 是 盛 飯 盛 湯 的 那 種 碗 。
同 樣 是 陶 瓷 盛 器 , 出 自 於 聞 名 中 外 的 景 德 鎮 , 我 祇 是 屬 於 平 民 階 級 。 我 族 類 悠 遠 輝 煌 的 歷
史 , 皆 成 為 陳 年 舊 事 。 我 雖 然 巳 經 到 了 退 休 的 年 紀 , 但 比 我 的 主 人 要 年 輕 三 十 歲 ! 別 問 我
的 來 歷 , 主 人 糊 塗 , 連 她 自 己 的 歷 史 背 景 都 弄 不 清 楚 , 更 甭 說 我 了 。 不 過 我 如 此 推 想 , 我
大 概 是 生 產 於 八 零 前 後 十 大 瓷 廠 其 中 之 一 的 新 風 瓷 廠 。 我 這 樣 推 測 , 是 因 為 他 們 好 像 擅 長
於 風 景 彩 描 。 較 可 肯 定 的 是 我 一 定 屬 於 當 年 外 銷 歐 美 、 東 南 亞 及 香 港 的 其 中 成 員 。
至 於 我 們 的 現 狀 與 未 來 嗎 ? 也 只 可 跟 著 全 球 化 的 時 代 走 。 去 舊 迎 新 , 去 東 迎 西 。 僅 存 的 一
點 國 風 都 改 吹 了 和 風 。 如 果 不 是 主 人 愛 惜 , 我 現 在 已 經 葬 身 填 土 區 。 假 如 再 幸 運 一 些 經 人
提 拔 , 我 可 能 有 機 會 擠 身 博 物 館 呢 !
我 叫 小 萍 。
其 實 我 有 好 幾 個 名 字 , 小 萍 祇 是 乳 名 。 你 現 在 看 見 這 隻 碗 原 本 是 一 對 的 , 是 我 結 婚 時 母 親
給 我 添 置 的 廚 具 。 當 年 很 多 的 碗 碟 已 經 不 存 在 , 這 隻 碗 在 卄 多 年 前 打 破 , 不 捨 得 扔 掉 。 看
見 它 就 好 像 看 見 已 故 的 母 親 。 我 成 長 的 港 灣 沒 有 經 歷 戰 爭 革 命 和 饑 餓 。 混 混 沌 沌 的 我 真 的
像 浮 萍 般 飄 泊 在 歷 史 中 的 長 流 , 並 且 沒 有 儆 覺 它 前 呼 後 湧 的 記 憶 。 我 的 中 國 是 來 自 文 學 、
歷 史 、 音 樂 和 詩 歌 。 國 破 山 河 在 , 城 春 草 木 深 。 這 年 頭 驚 天 動 地 的 變 化 , 更 像 國 在 山 河
破 , 財 色 輕 心 。 中 國 必 然 轉 變 , 這 列 超 音 速 快 車 是 會 義 無 反 誨 的 衝 往 未 來 更 勇 敢 的 新 世
界 。 一 個 從 創 造 者 到 摧 毀 者 的 變 臉 。

Canada Welcomes You
In the winter of 2017, we drove our newly-rented Honda to Niagara Falls to see the Winter Festival of Lights.
Walking through its 8KM-long illumination route, we saw the world’s largest illuminated Canadian-American
flag – made virtually with thousands of light bulbs. It was installed front and back: the Canadian flag facing
Canada and the American flag facing the United States across the border. At that time, the inhospitable and
negative immigration attitude of the Trump Administration was hurting the world, and my thinking on the
meaning of the flag was not as a tourist passing through; but as a person living on – this side of the land. The
night, though cold, was long and magical. We stayed in a nice B&B run by Lynn, a pretty woman in her thirties.
She fed us fresh fruits, hot muffins and baked fruit strata. All was well; we felt so welcome, but could not avoid
the feeling of still being tourists traveling in our adopted country. As we talked Lynn told us we missed seeing
two family members – Bandit and Peter. Early this morning Peter had taken the husky out for a long walk.
Canada Welcomes You, front and verso
A pair of archival pigment prints in frame, frame size 470 x 425 x 20 mm, work year 2018.

Add these ebooks to your collection
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164 pages. ebook US$5 Paperback CAD$75

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