Cultural Fulcrum

The Fulcrum Five | 2026.07.24

2026-07-24T17:21:14.820+01:00

Tate Modern viewed from Thames Pleasure Boat. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

The Fulcrum Five | 2026.07.24

📍Five observations. One bigger picture.

We all want to champion culture, and we all know it cannot exist for free. Yet money remains one of the most uncomfortable subjects to talk about in the cultural sector.

As I looked back at my headlines of the week, I realised they were all asking the same question: who gets to shape culture? Whether it's executive pay, public funding, regional investment, the art market or the rise of new cultural centres, the answer increasingly comes down to who controls the money, and who has access.

1️⃣ New Leader, Old Debate

The appointment of Jessica Morgan as Tate's new director dominated arts headlines this week. What caught my attention wasn't the appointment itself, but the revelation that she reportedly took a significant pay cut from her previous role as director of Dia Art Foundation—where US tax filings showed compensation of over US$814,000 (over £600,000)—to lead Britain's largest museum group. Her predecessor Maria Balshaw reportedly earned £220,000–£225,000 ($293,000 to $300,000).

The disclosure inevitably reignited debates about museum directors' salaries. The huge gap between executive pay and frontline workers has increasingly widened, especially amid the rise of the cost of living. A curator's wages can be just a fraction of their bosses' pay. Last year, more than 150 Tate staff went on strike over pay. Similar actions also occurred in America in recent years. In Hong Kong, executive salaries at the financially struggling West Kowloon Cultural District Authority have also come under public scrutiny.

But are cultural leaders paid too much? Emotionally, my instinct is to say yes—I come from another profession where frontline workers are notoriously underpaid (that's another story). But objectively, if we believe culture is essential public infrastructure, then world-class leadership should deserve an attractive remuneration package, provided that they can deliver what they promised.

The wages gap between top tier management and frontline staffers is the real structural problem. A sector that cannot offer sustainable careers risks becoming one that only the independently wealthy can afford to enter.

The right question isn't about how much we pay cultural leaders, but how to find money to pay everyone else.

2️⃣ Can Culture Stay Politically Neutral?

Public funding bankrolls much of the cultural sector around the world. But as domestic politics and geopolitical tensions intensify, public money is increasingly coming with strings attached.

This week, the European Commission confirmed to pull €2 million in funding from the Venice Biennale over the return of Russia's pavilion, prompting the Biennale to challenge the decision. Meanwhile, others have questioned why similar action wasn't taken over Israeli's participation.

To me, this story isn't about Russia or Israel. It illustrates a broader reality: cultural institutions rarely operate independently of those who fund them. Governments, philanthropists, private donors and corporations all shape cultural priorities—sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly.

We've long liked to think of museums and biennials as politically neutral spaces. Earlier this month, the International Council of Museums (ICOM) stated in its revamped code of ethics that "Income-generating activities should not compromise the integrity of the institution. Museums should resist financial or political influence".

Yet the reality is often more complicated. When funding can influence institutional decisions, neutrality begins to look less like a permanent condition than an ongoing negotiation.

Who controls the funding increasingly shapes the narrative.

3️⃣ Can Britain Really Decentralise Culture?

Prime Minister Andy Burnham's launch of No.10 North signals an ambitious attempt to rebalance political and economic power away from London. If that vision succeeds, it could also reshape where cultural investment flows, building on initiatives such as the government's £130 million Arts Everywhere Fund and long-standing calls to close the North's cultural funding gap.

But decentralisation isn't just about moving government departments or distributing grants. It also means making culture genuinely accessible.

A return train ticket between London and Manchester can easily cost more than £100 if you are unable to make your purchase weeks in advance. Add a £20-plus exhibition ticket—say, to see Ai Weiwei's latest show in Manchester—along with food and other travel costs, and a day trip can quickly become as expensive as a short holiday in Europe.

If Britain wants a truly national cultural ecosystem, investment must be matched by affordability. Culture shouldn't be easier—or cheaper—to experience abroad than elsewhere in your own country.

4️⃣ Big Bucks at Auction—But Will It Trickle Down?

Last week, I wrote about how auction houses continue to post healthy results, suggesting that capital remains abundant at the very top of the art market. Elsewhere, however, the picture looks rather different.

Frieze Sculpture has announced just 11 artists for its 2026 edition. Out of curiosity, I looked back at previous editions and, excluding the cancelled pandemic year, this appears to be the smallest line-up on record—almost half the historical average. It remains unclear whether more artists will be announced, but if this is the final list, it inevitably raises questions about the economics of staging large-scale outdoor sculpture today.

The timing is notable. This week, my former colleague Tim Schneider published an excellent report arguing that the gallery sector is undergoing a structural reset rather than simply riding out another market cycle. His analysis suggests galleries are rethinking everything from real estate and pricing to expansion plans as the business model that fuelled decades of growth becomes increasingly difficult to sustain.

Money hasn't disappeared from the art world. It's becoming more concentrated. The bigger question is where it's flowing—and who is being left behind.

5️⃣ Southeast Asia's Cultural Moment

While museums in Europe and North America grapple with funding pressures and political scrutiny, Southeast Asia continues to build. It's a region I've long argued deserves closer attention—not only because of its growing art market, but because of its investment in cultural infrastructure and increasingly confident dialogue within the region itself.

One of the latest examples is Muara Arts, a new not-for-profit institution dedicated to Southeast Asian modern and contemporary art, which will open in Kuala Lumpur on 1 November. Established by the Creador Foundation, it has appointed Lydia Yee, former chief curator of London's Whitechapel Gallery, as its inaugural artistic director. As the first institution of its kind in Malaysia, it aims to become a major platform for the region's artists and histories, while strengthening connections across Southeast Asia and beyond.

The announcement follows another significant development: Hobart's acclaimed Museum of Old and New Art (MONA) has unveiled plans for its first international outpost in Bangkok. Developed in partnership with Thailand's Asset World Corporation, MONA Bangkok will be a purpose-built museum on the Chao Phraya River, reinterpreting the institution's unconventional approach for a Southeast Asian audience rather than replicating its Tasmanian home.

Having visited MONA in Hobart, I must say it remains one of the most unforgettable museum experiences I've had. David Walsh's museum didn't just transform Tasmania's cultural reputation—it reshaped its economy, proving that ambitious cultural institutions can redefine a city's global identity. Its expansion to Bangkok is therefore more than an Australian success story. It signals Bangkok's emergence as one of Asia's most dynamic cultural capitals, following recent additions such as Dib Bangkok and Kunsthalle Bangkok.

Meanwhile, Singapore Art Museum's chief curator Shabbir Hussain Mustafa has been named artistic director of Aichi Triennale 2028. This is a major appointment following that of Singaporean artist Ho Tzu-Nyen, who is serving the artistic director of this year's Gwangju Biennale. This small and wealthy city-state may not have an abundant number of museums, but its talent has gradually been claiming a spot on the global art stage.

Taken together, these announcements point to a broader shift. A new generation of patrons, foundations and cultural entrepreneurs is investing in infrastructure that look beyond national borders and towards regional collaboration. Southeast Asia isn't simply catching up—it's increasingly helping shape the future cultural map of Asia and beyond.

The Fulcrum Five | 2026.07.17

2026-07-17T19:38:26.235+01:00

Ray H. Bennett Lumber Co., Inc., No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons

NB: The Fulcrum Five began as a weekly news bulletin that I send to followers of my Instagram broadcast channel, Cultural Fulcrum. After a few weeks of experimentation, I realised that simply sharing news digests no longer satisfies me. I'm more interested in identifying the thread that connects seemingly unrelated stories and reveals the bigger question they're collectively addressing.

As the project evolves, I'm publishing the full essay here, breathing new life into my long-idled website, while continuing to share a condensed version on my Instagram channel, which exists only within Instagram's mobile app.

This is very much a work in progress. Let's see where it leads.

The Fulcrum Five | 2026.07.17

📍Five observations. One bigger picture.

This week's news has been haunting both my current home and my former one.

From Hong Kong to England and the art world, the headlines couldn't be more different. Yet they've all left me thinking about the same question—What actually makes a place feel like home? Between material prosperity and intangible freedoms, security and belonging, and economic power and cultural confidence, what are the forces shaping our narratives, cultural influence, and sense of belonging?

This reflection coincides with my preparation for the panel discussion that I will be joining this Sunday. Set against the backdrop of the exhibition "No Place Like Home III" curated by Hoa Dung Clerget and KV Duong at SLQS Gallery in London, the notion of home is exactly what this is exploring.

1️⃣ Why one family is leaving Britain for Hong Kong

The almighty algorithm has sent me this video of an Italian woman explaining why her family is leaving the UK after eleven years for Hong Kong.

Her reasons?

• Britain's public transport sucks and overpriced.
• Hong Kong is safer and more family-friendly.
• Racism in Britain is getting worse.

She's probably right about the trains. But the other two are a lot more nuanced.

Racism certainly exists in Hong Kong. It often manifests differently—in Cantonese, through social norms or institutional blind spots—and if you don't speak the language, you may never notice it. White privilege still exists today. This recruitment post specially says that only Caucasian would be considered, blonde with blue eyes preferred, despite it's potentially illegal, even in HK.

As for family life, Hong Kong can indeed be wonderful—if you can afford it. Money buys space, childcare, international schools and a comfortable lifestyle. It shields you from many of the city's structural problems. I cannot comment on that. It's the luxury I never had growing up in a grassroots background.

Safety, too, depends on what we mean by the word.

2️⃣ What does "safe" really mean?

The same week that people were praising Hong Kong as a safe haven, national security police raided two independent bookstores and arrested five booksellers on suspicion of selling "seditious" publications. Authorities also continued tightening pressure on independent booksellers around the annual Hong Kong Book Fair, where some independent bookstores were excluded from participating.

I grew up in Hong Kong during a period when books, ideas and debates were widely accessible—a privilege that I took for granted. I had the luxury of enjoying the freedom to read widely, disagree openly and ask difficult questions shaped the journalist—and the person—I became. Today, I understand that freedom is not free.

So is Hong Kong safe?

If we're talking about violent crime or mobile phone robbery, perhaps. The city is still one of the "safest" cities in the world.

If we're talking about intellectual freedom and freedom of expression, it's no longer a straight forward question.

Home isn't only about whether your body feels safe. It's also about whether your mind is allowed to be free.

Hong Kong's birth rate is among the world's five lowest. It happens for a reason.

3️⃣ England lost. But something else won.

To some, it might be a bit hard to fathom why Hong Kongers support England at the World Cup, but to us, it's almost the most natural. Growing up during the British times, we have been watching English football since a long time ago—I remember my earliest memories of football was 1986, when England lost to Argentina because of Maradona's Hand of God. I was just a young child, and yet I was devastated because it was unfair. From then on, I had been following English football closely until the 2000s.

So England's progress at this year's World Cup brings me back to the world of football. All the players I knew from the past have gone on to become football pundits. But I've discovered the great young players such as Jude Bellingham, Anthony Gordon, and Djed Spence.

England's defeat to Argentina in the World Cup this week was heartbreaking. They were so close to the final and bring football home.

But watching the reaction afterwards reminded me why I've grown to appreciate this country. There was disappointment, of course. But there was also generosity. People analysed tactics rather than searching for scapegoats. There was criticism, but also gratitude for what the team had achieved.

Public culture matters. How a society responds to failure tells you as much about its character as how it celebrates success.

Money can buy you a big apartment in Hong Kong, but not integrity.

4️⃣ Every football match carries history—and whose story is it?

After defeating England, Argentina's players including Lionel Messi celebrated their victory posing with a banner referencing the Falkland Islands, claiming that the territory belongs to Argentina. This has clearly violated international football rules as political statements are banished from the football pitch. And despite public outcry and interference from the UK, the I do not have much hope on FIFA taking action on this.

But inspired by Argentina's controversial tactics on and off the pitch during the tournament, I found myself reading about this South American country's history—its waves of European immigration, the marginalisation of Indigenous peoples, and the often-overlooked history of Afro-Argentines, whose presence has largely disappeared from the country's national narrative. The deeper I read, the more I realised how national identities are constructed as much through omission as remembrance.

While I was reading up on Argentina, I discovered history about Hong Kong.

Then still under British rule, Hong Kong played a logistical role during the 1982 Falklands War as a staging point for Royal Navy operations. Around 400 Hong Kongers were said to be among the crew, and eight died in this conflict that was initiated by Argentina, which invaded the islands. This was rarely discussed in our collective memories of Hong Kong, and yet, it should be treated as a key incident of how we were hurled into a conflict like this. This event also played a significant role in Britain's subsequent negotiation with China on the future of Hong Kong, with its fate sealed by the Sino-British Joint Declaration signed in 1984.

History has a habit of connecting places we rarely think of together.

5️⃣ Money can buy art—but can it shape cultural influence?

At first glance, the answer to this question is yes. But if you take a step back, the answer is not so straight forward.

This week, auction houses reported significant growth in their H1 results, with a 69.8% year-on-year increase. It's not a surprise, considering how big ticket items have been making headline-grabbing sales since the beginning of the year. Some auction houses reported that Asian buyers have been actively bidding at the top level, competing for multi-million blue-chip Western pieces.

Does this mean the art market has recovered? Most certainly not. Many people have analysed this already. I've also had many dealers and galleries, especially mid-sized ones, telling me that they have been struggling. Placing a work has never been harder.

So where is the money actually going?

That question reminded me of a recent Mandarin podcast I recorded. I was invited to join Taiwanese art advisor Gladys Lin on her podcast The Gallerina to discuss a fascinating topic: Why do Asian collectors have to follow the Western art market rules?

I responded with some fundamental questions—Why do people in Asia collect art in the first place? Why do they buy art from Western galleries?

The art market as we know it today was invented by the West, and if you want to participate in this, of course you have to play by Western rules. If you want to buy art from Western galleries thinking that they are the ones holding the golden standard, then of course you have to play by their rules. Simple as that.

But why can't Asian capital be building its own cultural narrative, rather than simply reinforcing Western institutions and Western rules? Why is it always getting a mention in the FT or the Guardian equals to attaining the "international" golden standard, something to boast about? I haven't seen a Western player boasting about getting a rave review in a local/regional paper like, errr, The Japan Times.

I don't think the problem is a lack of capital—the art market has already shown us the money—nor even a lack of talent.

Is it a lack of collective imagination—or the confidence to build alternative ecosystems? Why can't the Asian standard be the golden standard?

Money can buy artworks. It cannot, on its own, build cultural influence?

It is time to reconsider how we can collectively establish our cultural confidence and tell our own stories.

Each man is an island, but all islands are connected

2021-04-21T17:33:00.000+01:00

"No man is an island," the English poet John Donne wrote in the 17the Century. And yet in Hong Kong artist Stephen Wong Chun-hei's latest painting series Indoor Hundred Islands currently on show at Touch Gallery (Touch Ceramics) in Tai Kwun, each man is an island.

Having been through the COVID-19 pandemic for over a year, living through social distancing measures and even lockdown in some places, we have somehow learnt that Donne's notion was right, for we long for getting together and communicating with each, even via technology if we are unable to see each other face to face. But at the same time, each of us is also an island, for we must learn and get used to live with ourselves.

Wong's lovely paintings may have showed us that we don't have a choice — what else can we do if we can't even go out? But these one hundred small paintings also tell us that we can make the most of it, if we dare. We all have a little island inside. We can shape it whichever way we want, and do whatever we want on it. It all depends on our own perspective.

We have been relying on others to tell us that we are living in a safe and comfortable environment. But the world is in chaos (and looks like it will never go back to where it was after this pandemic). We can only search for peace and sanity from within.

I adore this series of paintings, although I heard that they have been sold out completely. Wong has been a favourite among local collectors. His landscape paintings exhibited at Gallery Exit's booth during Hong Kong Spotlight by Art Basel last year were almost sold out on the first day (I've featured this episode in my story for Artnet News). It's not at all difficult to understand why. His works are colourful, dreamy, a combination of reality and magic — almost magical realism. And his landscape paintings are inspired by his Hong Kong experiences.

Recently I've been listening to him co-hosting this horror story talk show on Clubhouse with fellow artist Hanison Lau Hok-shing. Some of the stories were horrifying (like, seriously horrifying because they were first person encounters). But the great thing was that these great stories took my mind off from the grim reality for a fleeting moment. Each man is an island, but all the islands are connected.

團結就是力量—立木畫廊香港空間新展覽《Power Wall》

2020-04-23T10:44:00.000+01:00

Power Wall — Power People by Nari Ward at Lehmann Maupin, Hong Kong (I took this pic at the gallery)

A version of this review was published on Lehmann Maupin gallery's WeChat channel on April 14, 2020

一束束七彩繽紛的鞋帶從白色的牆壁上破洞而出，它們各式其色，長短不齊，驟看感覺繁亂，不明所以。但往後退幾步再看，才驚覺原來從牆上鑽出的鞋帶構成了一個比普通人身軀更高的拳頭。緊握著的拳頭，是力量的象徵；力量不是個人的，是由款式各異但看似豪不起眼的鞋帶所組成 — 你我縱然有所不同，但團結就是力量。

於當下的非常抗疫時期，藝術家納利 • 華德（Nari Ward）在立木畫廊位於香港畢打行空間展出的近作《Power Wall — Power People》（2019年）猶如亂世中的一點警醒：要成功我們必須不分你我，團結一致；個人力量可能微不足道，但集腋成裘，我們定可以戰勝這場世紀瘟疫。

《Power Wall — Power People》是立木畫廊香港空間新展覽《Power Wall》的重點作品，也是華德於香港的首次亮相。是次展覽為現居美國紐約的牙買加裔藝術家華德及來自南非開普敦、現居於柏林羅賓 • 羅德（Robin Rhode) 的雙人展，也開展了兩位來自不同背景、採用不同媒介的藝術家的對話。雖說兩位藝術家看似互不相干，但殊途同歸，是次展覽巧妙地把他們建構於牆上的作品並列（juxtapose）展出，帶領觀眾反思一連串關於社會、種族、社區、集體意識、以至表達方式及媒介的議題。

華德擅長把拾荒得來，看似無用的物件 — 如嬰兒車、消防喉、棒球棍、超市手推車、各式各樣的樽等，透過藝術創作把它們重新賦予定義甚至是新生命。它們可以是雕塑、裝置、甚或是另類的繪畫，但無論是何種表達方式，華德的藝術是他獨有的社會評論（social commentary）。去年他於紐約新美術館舉辦回顧展《We The People》就是最好的見證，把他過去25年的創作匯聚一爐，概念性的作品看似簡單，卻深明大義，把一般看似是不相關的文化、習俗、社區歷史等連繫起來，細訴人間故事。

華德對社會、政治等問題的深刻體驗大概跟他的成長經歷有莫大的關係。於1963年出生牙買加，華德12歲時搬到紐約，1992年於City University of New York的Brooklyn College修畢了MFA之後遷往哈林區 — 相比起紐約的其他社區，哈林區過往的聲名可不是太好，往往給人的感覺就是犯罪率高，不穩定，不安全；而當時華德居住那座落於第116街的非法分租公寓更是毒犯、隱君子及靠收取非法外圍賭注為生等不法之徒的聚居地。為何當年會選擇在這個一般人都敬而之的地方落地生根？華德於2013年的《Artnews》訪問透露：「我覺得那裡的某一種聲音得不到應有的回響，那時我剛開始用隨處拾得的物件創作，（般到哈林）是我對該社區豐盛的論述 — 那裡的故事，失落及城市的枯萎 — 的回應。同樣的情況也發生於洛杉磯，尤其是1992年洛杉磯暴動後，類似的創作方法成了一股思潮。其實我那時的決定並非從個人出發，而是對那時的政治社會現況的回應，對我而言創作就是教我如何面對那種現況。」

從這裏出發，就不難理解《Power Wall — Power People》的深層意義。該近作出自於華德的經典「鞋帶」（shoelaces）系列，其中一個著名作品就是新美術館回顧展的點題作《We the People》（2011），同樣是由穿進牆身的七色鞋帶構成的裝置，「We the People」是美國憲法開首的三個字，華德模仿憲法原本所用的書法字體，用鞋帶把這組字重新「寫成」。但物料及裝置方法就成了華德當今對憲法的質疑。到《Power Wall — Power People》，華德用了拳頭這個符號讓觀眾重新詮釋力量、團結、甚至是權力等抽象概念。

Sole Revel by Nari Ward at Lehmann Maupin, Hong Kong (I took this pic at the gallery)

同樣在今次香港展覽展出的新作《Sole Revel》（2020年）也是用符號呈現。牆上多個由色彩繽紛的鞋帶建構出的腳印跟展覽空間另一旁的拳頭互動，清晰地闡明「路是人行出來的」這句老生常談的道理。兩個近作猶如回應著掛在另一幅牆上，華德較早期的「鞋帶」系列《Knot Endings》（2010年）。鞋帶的色彩明顯地少了近作的繽紛，運用了較為二元對立的色彩，但重疊的「8」字看上去像循環的軌跡，或是無限（infinity）符號的另類表達方式。可能華德原本創作的意圖（intent）是探討種族，貧困和消費文化等問題，但立木畫廊香港空間的佈置仿彿為這舊作帶來了新的詮釋。

牆壁可以是隔閡，分割的象徵，但也是無限想像的空間。華德的鞋帶穿透牆壁，打破隔閡，跟華德對談的羅德就運用日常生活材料如肥皂、炭筆、粉筆和油漆等，通過他那揉合繪畫，街頭藝術，表演，攝影等不同媒介的藝術語言，訴說另一個牆壁的故事。

對來羅德而言，公共空間的牆壁就是他的畫布；然而牆壁於羅德的人生旅途又有另一重義意。生於1976年，羅德成長於還是實行種族隔離政策的南非。那個長達四十多年，對有色人種的不公義、非人道制度直到1991年才正式結束。南非種族牆壁打破了之後的十年，羅德移居到德國柏林，那時曾經把這個首都分隔東西的柏林圍牆亦已倒下多年，逐漸成為年輕藝術家的聚居地。政治的牆壁雖已倒下，但卻成為羅德藝術的一部分，羅德好像在告訴我們牆壁，無論是思想上或實體上，都以某種方式仍然存在；而藝術就是能讓我們好好反思，甚或顛覆這頑固結構的武器。

The Point of Vanishing by Robin Rhode (I took this pic at the gallery)

羅德曾於2016年《Artspace》的訪問提及他和比他年輕、成長於1994年首次多種族全民大選是屬於「後隔離政策一代」（post-apartheid generation)：「這後隔離政策的一代我稱為born-frees，尤其是我那一代人，我們都被美國主流文化如滑板，時裝，藍球，hip hop等影響至深，甚至把這些美國的東西拿來融入到我們的文化符號當中......我認為那是正面多於反面的，因為那為人民帶來新的可能性，令我們意識到生存可以有很多不同的方式，我們可以用各種方法為我們自身及社會重新定義。」

羅德的藝術作品某程度上也闡釋了他上述的想法，他於不同社區的街頭牆壁創作就更為明顯。與其說羅德是個藝術家，倒不如說他是個說故事的人（storyteller），因為他帶有表演風格而又不失優默的牆壁創作都透過系列攝影紀錄在案，將本是建制外難以長期保留的牆壁創作及表演過情用攝影去捕捉下來，轉化到能夠長始存在於另一個媒介，用視覺語言重構故事。

於華德的《Power Wall — Power People》側旁的牆上掛了羅德的系列攝影作品《Four Plays》（2012－13年）。作品由16幅照片組成，紀錄了一連串表演者跟畫在牆上的藍球的互動關係。藍球，正如羅德於訪問中提及，是他那一代人的印記，據說作品展示了藍球教練指導手册羅列出的「技術動作」，從牆的上方垂下的鐵絲網就如現實生活中的藍球場的圍欄。但畫在牆上的藍球並非只有一個，而是一連串的，像炮彈般一股勁兒往鐵絲網方向射過去，究竟表演者是否要把藍球射過牆的另一邊？還是藍球從牆的另一邊射過來，令表演者非要飛身撲救不可？這個畫在牆上的藍球要怎樣才可以射跨過高牆？旁邊《Power Wall — Power People》那些能夠穿過牆壁的鞋帶又會否提供一點點指引？藝術沒有絕對的答案，但單是細想作品之間的互動也堪玩味十分。

又如作品《S》（2014）像是跟華德的《Knot Endings》互相呼應。畫在牆身的回形式萬字夾迂迴的建構成英文字母「S」，表演者扭曲的肢體動作和手上拿著的紙張跟這個英文字母配合起舞，猶如默片時代單靠影像說故事一樣，帶給觀眾無限想像，要怎樣才能完成「S」通往到於《Knot Endings》展現的無限（infinity）。這個進程也透過另一作品《The Point of Vanishing》（2012－13年）展現出來，隨著船隻的航行漸遠，表現者的視點也隨之改變，而表演者靠在地面的肢體動作也像是表現出過程中的驚惶失措。但縱然前路不明，前進是必須的，唯有見步行步，正如華德的《Sole Revel》所闡釋，「路是人行出來的」。

立木畫廊香港空間的《Power Wall》麻雀雖小，五臟俱全。當世界都仿彿因為疫情而停下來，是次展覽透過兩位藝術家的作品引導觀眾反思自身及社會當下，來得正合時宜，也為因要保持社交距離而躲在家中的你我帶給一點啟示。

Translation is not just about the language. It's about translating culture.

2019-04-11T05:12:00.001+01:00

Recently I had a discussion with someone about the Chinese translations of foreign movie titles and how they are different from each other in Hong Kong, Taiwan and mainland China. This reminds me of a story I wrote—the second feature story I wrote in 2000 not long after I joined the South China Morning Post as a fresh graduate. I cannot believe this story was written 19 years ago and it is still a topic of discussion today!

The story was a follow-up on the little incident happened at the press conference for French film La Fidelite, during which I pointed out to the director that the Chinese title seemed to give the audience a different impression of what type of film it was. It caused a storm and the distributor had to change the film's title and reprint all the promotional posters LOL.
This story is so old that it can't even be found online (!). I'm just going to share it here.
And thank you to all the interviewees who gave a chance to this fresh graduate nearly two decades ago.

By any other name

When does fidelity mean lust? When foreign film titles are translated for Chinese audiences. While film directors may not like it, there are reasons for giving movies new identities, writes Vivienne Chow

IT MAY HAVE BEEN sunny outside but there was a storm brewing in a Central hotel conference room last Wednesday. While visiting town to promote his latest film, La Fidelite, Polish director Andrzej Zulawski was shocked when I pointed out that the film had been given Portrait Of Lust as its Chinese title. "This is very vulgar," he said as his mood changed from light to dark.

Zulawski - here with his partner, French superstar actress Sophie Marceau - rounded on Peter Tam Kwok-hung, executive director of Astoria Film Distributors, for changing the title. In the end - much to the relief of all in the room - the director won the day and Tam agreed to return the film's original name.

Zulawski and Marceau left town happy, taking some comfort in the knowledge that La Fidelite is by no means the first foreign film to undergo a title makeover once it hits our shores. When Notting Hill came to Hong Kong, it became Romance With A Star in Chinese. Japanese thriller The Ring was altered to The Midnight Fatal Ring and we turned the Italian award-winning La Vita e Bella [Life Is Beautiful] into A Happy Legend.

According to Tam, about 70 per cent of films arriving here undergo a similar name-changing process. Why? He says it's all due to language and cultural difference; the fact that many Hong Kongers struggle to understand foreign titles and a straight Chinese translation can generate a meaning totally different from its original. A Chinese title which is easily understood is vital, he says, to the success of foreign movies, which are flooding the market. "[Hong Kong] movie-goers are more receptive to films [than movie-goers from other markets]," says Tam. "They do not have prejudices about where the film comes from." In 1996, only three foreign movies were in the SAR's annual box office top 10, but by 1998 there were seven and last year there were five.

Freddie Wong Kwok-siu, president of Hong Kong Film Critic Society, says it is much harder for non-Hollywood films - such as La Fidelite - to compete with American blockbusters. "They are not like their Hollywood counterparts, which have a lot of exposure before showing in Hong Kong. A greater effort in promoting these `alternative' films is essential," Wong says. Hence the need to find titles that will attract Hong Kong cinema buffs.

Shu Kei, who founded Shu Kei Creative Workshop which deals with foreign film distribution, agrees. "It is not unusual to change the title," he says, adding this is especially true in Chinese-speaking markets, where certain English titles mean nothing to the audience. "The [title] styles are different between the Chinese and the West," says Shu. "Western titles tend to be direct while Chinese stress the dramatic effect." The method of selecting Chinese titles is affected by Chinese literature which, as Wong points out, paints a full picture in a few words. "Chinese titles suggest more to the audience than merely the name of a person or a city, which is common in Western movies," Wong says.

Notting Hill is a prime example of this. Westerners recognise the fashionable London suburb inhabited by the rich and famous, while many Chinese would not have heard of the place. So, a strict translation of the title is meaningless and, in Chinese, the film becomes Romance With A Star - giving people more of an idea of what the movie is about. Sometimes, of course, the title has universal meaning, such as Titanic or The Prince Of Egypt, so no change is deemed necessary.

Promotion or marketing staff decide on titles changes. Their main concern is how to sell the movie in a creative way, says Winnie Tsang, managing director of film distributors Golden Scene.

The whole brainstorming process takes one to two days and begins straight after they watch the film. Distributors have to choose a title quickly as they have to get their publicity machines working. They face further pressure in that Hollywood movies often arrive here not long after their US release, or are even released simultaneously. "Sometimes local distributors have to decide the title for promotion even before the movie arrives," says Wong.

Knowing that such changes occur, some directors exert more control over their product once it heads overseas. The late Stanley Kubrick, for example, retained all rights to veto editing and title change. With Eyes Wide Shut, for instance, after the Chinese title was chosen, a group of consultants analysed the title to see if the original meaning was distorted," Shu says. "[Kubrick] even asked a Taiwanese director for advice." Its final Chinese title is adapted from a four-character Chinese idiom which is pronounced Eyes Wide Open, while the written characters convey the message eyes wide open but beware.

The style of Chinese titles has also changed over the years. In the 1960s, they tended to opt for the more poetic. Kubrick's Lolita is an example.

"In Chinese, it was called A Flowering Tree Crushing A Budding Flower. It was adopted from an ancient Chinese poem," Wong says. "A flowering tree symbolised an aged man while budding flower stood for a beautiful young girl, which was exactly the story of the film. It was an excellent title." These days more Cantonese is used in the titles and, as it is a harsher language, they have become less poetic. A recent example is clay-animated Chicken Run, which is turned into Don't Run Chicken, which also means "do not miss anything" in Cantonese.

Certain Chinese titles incorporate elements of local culture. The Chinese title of Leon: The Professional was This Killer Is Not Too Cold. Shortly before the film started showing, a Canto-pop song titled This Winter Is Not Too Cold was a smash hit. Then the creative promotion staff just replaced the Chinese words "winter" with "killer", and the title matched the story. Though Chinese titles sometimes change the meaning, they can also add colour and life to obscure English ones. Before The Rain has a great Chinese title, which means "the rain is coming from the mountain". This is also a title adopted from an ancient Chinese poem, according to Wong. The line implies a situation before a crisis, such as a war.

Of course, to put bums on seats, distributors may decide to create a seductive but misleading title, so that the masses expect some hot sex scenes. This was particularly common in the 60s. When Jean-Luc Godard's Contempt was released in Hong Kong, the Chinese title was Wild Blonde Cat, while Godard's Breathless became The Adventure In The Ocean Of Lust.

In the end, however, the demands of the market place will rule more often than not - in other countries as well as Hong Kong. After all, when Wong Kar-wai's Fallen Angels was screening in Japan, its English title was changed to Wings Of Desire - the same as the film by German director Wim Wenders - while in France they decided to turn Steven Spielberg's Jaws into Les Dent Du Mer [The Teeth Of The Sea].

Two years on -- Life as an independent writer

2018-04-06T06:54:00.002+01:00

Take my time: Puerta Roja x Soluna Fine Art booth at Art Central

Time flies. It's already been exactly two years since I embarked on the adventure as an independent writer and a non-profit founder. I'm often asked how my career and life has changed. I haven't really had the opportunity to reflect my experiences. But thanks to this interview by Telum Media, I got to organise and share my thoughts about my career development and the media industry.

Telum Talks To... Vivienne Chow, Cultural Journalist & Critic, Founder of Cultural Journalism Campus (CJC)

Congratulations on winning the IJP (International Journalists’ Programme) Asia-Pacific Premium Fellowship in Germany this year! You have embarked on a new journey since you became an independent journalist two years ago. What do you think is the highlight of your career during this period?

Thank you. The past two years have been an exciting journey of tremendous personal and professional growth. Being an independent journalist and critic contributing to a number of international media means that I'm given the opportunity to tell Hong Kong and Asian stories to a global audience from a local perspective. Being a Hong Kong-born, Hong Kong-educated journalist, writing stories that are interesting and relevant to a global audience has been a great challenge. But the past two years of experience has proved that people out there are interested in us. They are keen to learn about what's happening in this part of the world if we can create a narrative that is appealing and easy to understand. There's a great sense of achievement when I see my stories reaching people living in different parts of the world. I'd like to thank all the editors for their trust.

Having said that, I wouldn't have been able to achieve all these without my solid training at the South China Morning Post, where I worked for a total of 15 years since I graduated from The Chinese University of Hong Kong. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all the editors and colleagues at the SCMP for their teaching and tolerance all these years.

How have your experiences differed compared to working as a full-time journalist at a single media organisation?

Creativity is extremely important in journalism and the media, and you need to be even more creative when you are working for a number of media outlets that have different target audiences. First you need to have a lot of original story ideas; second you need to identify which stories will work best for which media. Over the past two years I have contributed to many outlets including Variety, Quartz, BBC World Service, BBC Culture, The Interpreter by Australian diplomacy think tank the Lowy Institute, Artsy and the SCMP. They all have different audiences with different focuses. When you work independently it is a must to be entrepreneurial, both in terms of story development and maintaining your career as a business. I'm still learning.

You've worked with many PR professionals - what are some of the best PR practices you've come across? Anything PRs should avoid doing?

Best PR practices are about honesty, being straight-forward, and be helpful. PRs should stick to the facts with no over-the-top exaggeration while providing useful information for journalists to do their jobs. One thing that I personally do not like is having PRs trying to dictate my storyline. I have enough editors doing that job already. I also want to take the opportunity to address some journalists' unwanted behaviour towards PRs: PRs are only there to help us get our jobs done, not our slaves or ego-boosters.

How should a PR pitch an art or cultural story?

Regardless of what kind of story it is, pitching to the media is simply increasingly challenging because most media are not interested in events, unless the event itself has strong news value. PRs need to dig out interesting stories behind certain events, coming up with strong, human interest angle. And as for arts and culture stories, PRs can ask themselves: does it have to be in the arts and culture pages? Can it appear in other sections? They need to be more creative.

What prompted you set up CJC five years ago? What are the highlights of this year's CJC Fellowship, which will soon take place at Art Basel?

As a journalist covering arts and culture for nearly 18 years, I observe this one important missing piece in the cultural ecology of not just Hong Kong but also around Asia, which is the media. We are investing so much public resources in cultural endeavours from West Kowloon Cultural District and new institutions to training artists and arts administrators. If people do not know about them or appreciate their impact, what's the point? I hope we will have more journalists and critics who can help putting arts and cultural productions in context, offering audience different perspectives to appreciate various artistic creations while helping arts and cultural practitioners to constantly improve their work by offering honest comments. I hope CJC can be a starting point for that. Last year our efforts were recognised as CJC was nominated for "Best Soft Power Cultural Activation Award" in The Leading Culture Destinations Awards 2017 in London.

CJC Fellowship, CJC's flagship programme that offers training and exposure to aspiring cultural journalists and art critics, will return to Art Basel in Hong Kong for the 5^th year in a row, thanks to ArtisTree at Taikoo Place and MG Interactive for their support. This is our most international edition with fellows from Hong Kong, Switzerland, mainland China and the Philippines! Fellows will work as journalists covering Art Basel and all other arts and cultural happenings during the week. We will be publishing our newsletter Cultural Express, available from the CJC booth at Art Basel's Magazine Sector. Please come visit us and follow our updates on CJC website, Facebook and Instagram.

Do you have any new journalism-related plans this year?

I will continue my journey as a storyteller and commentator in various medium, whether it is through writing, on camera presentation or public speaking. I will be spending my summer in Germany as IJP Premium Fellow to conduct a few journalism research projects there. I will share my updates on my Twitter, Instagram and Facebook page.

What makes an outstanding cultural journalist and art critic?

Don't afraid to be that child in The Emperor's New Clothes.

THE FAIR WARNING - Episode One: The Moon

2017-12-29T10:08:00.002+00:00

THE FAIR WARNING

A tale of greed, rivalries and broken hearts revolving round the art circus

By VIVIENNE CHOW

EPISODE ONE: THE MOON

Not everyone dares to dream big, but those who do must have an agenda, and this is particularly true in the art world. Take my friend Lily May Wong, for example. Her day job was as a professional psychic, reading Tarot cards and astrological omens for the rich and famous while writing an astrology column for a local newspaper. But she was not satisfied with that. She felt that art was her true calling and she wanted to make it big in the art world. “I’m destined to be an artist,” she declared when we first met over a decade ago at the vernissage of ART HK, Hong Kong’s first decent modern and contemporary art fair, not long after she earned her MFA at the Slade School of Fine Art in London. “THIS is going to make Hong Kong an art hub. I know I’m right.”

In hindsight, Lily May might have been a better psychic serving others than reading her own fortune. Nearly 10 years since, she was still nowhere near realising her artist dream. The fortune-telling business fared far better. Her conceptual performance art, inspired by her New Age theories, just did not interest any curators or gallerists, not even her dealer boyfriend Raphael Kunst, who inherited the gallery business from his parents living in Cologne and recently opened an art space in Berlin. Raphael had secretly told me that Lily May’s art was simply not up to standard and not sellable. But he did not want to upset her and told her only that performance art was too avant-garde for his young gallery at this stage. And as for me, I simply declined to review her shows - a critic should never write about their friends.

Lily May had been telling me how wonderful Raphael was since they met in Berlin last summer, and how much she was in love with him. She said she was ready to spend the rest of her life with him at any moment.

“Are you ready to give up everything in your life here and move to Berlin? And more importantly, have you resolved everything with you-know-who?” I asked.

“The universe will come up with the best solution. Besides, I can focus on my art in Berlin. The transit Pluto has just entered my ninth house of higher education and long-distance travel, making a nice angle with my natal Sun. I think this is it,” she said happily, all that psychic-speak going over my head. “Don’t worry about you-know-who. It’s long over.” She probably needed another psychic’s help.

I could see why Lily May was so eager to find her place in the art world. A big part of the art world was made up of vanity. From the glitzy art openings and private dinners saturated with free-flowing champagne to headline-grabbing, multimillion-dollar auctions, there was no other playground as dazzling and alluring as the art world. It was fuelled not just by the power of money. It was an exclusive little universe that would open its doors only to a handful of privileged players.

Decades ago when Hong Kong was still a British colony, fundraisers endorsing charities for the poor, the sick and the suffering were prime showcases of the upper class. Socialites dressed to the nines posed for society page photographers and gave press interviews as if they were strutting down the red carpet of the Oscars. It was pretty easy and straightforward to get into the game. It didn’t matter if you knew nothing about the latest research on cancer or the political reasons behind the famine in Africa. All you had to do was simply to act charitable and buy your way in. And pictures of your compassionate self in a gown or tux would appear in the next issue of some high-society glossy magazine that 99 per cent of the city’s population had never heard of. But that was already so last century.

These days, the art world operates on a completely different scale and dynamics. Money is still essential, but the exclusivity of the art world is now built upon knowledge, taste and class, which money cannot buy. Dealers and auction houses would be over the moon for having closed a lucrative sale, but genuine respect for the buyer, the artist, the curator, the journalist or critic, and other players in the entire ecology is not guaranteed in the process. This is exactly what makes the art world so fascinating to a lot of people, and plenty of them try their hand at finding their way in and climbing up the ladder using various means besides money.

"There was no other playground that was as dazzling and alluring as the art world."

First, one must demonstrate a love for art. This August, I ran into the aforesaid lovebirds while queuing for Gregor Schneider’s N. Schmidt, Pferdegasse 19, 48143, Münster, Deutschland, an eerie installation featured at the Skulptur Projekte Münster for the summer. Locating his work on the top floor of the LWL-Museum für Kunst und Kultur, the German artist had created a residence occupied by one N. Schmidt, according to the doorbell name plate. The residence comprised two symmetrical flats. Occasionally the alarm went off as disoriented visitors found themselves trapped in the space pushing the wrong door. Since only one person at a time was allowed to tour the private space of N. Schmidt, the wait could take up to one and a half hours. Bragging about your travel to the lesser-known German town and patiently wait for your turn to view the artwork was certainly one good indicator of your passion for and insider knowledge about art, perhaps along with some sense of subdued artistic elitism.

There was no better time to have Lily May and Raphael join me in the queue. Lily May was more charming than ever. Her skin was glowing. Her long black hair shone under the sunlight. I had never seen her this happy before. Art and romance. She had it all there.

To Raphael, on the other hand, I suspected the installation outing was more than just to keep his girlfriend happy. He had missed an opportunity to mingle with the travelling art circus during the opening weekend of the decennial Münster sculpture project in June, being busy preparing his gallery for its first LISTE art fair, which opened just a few days afterwards, coinciding with Art Basel. To ensure that he had something to talk about with his clients (and tout his relevance to the contemporary art world), he had to come to this decennial event in the name of research.

It was 28 degrees Celsius and there were still a few people ahead of us. Raphael ran off to buy some cold drinks for us. Lily May turned round as soon as her boyfriend was gone and whispered into my ear: “Something’s off.”

I raised one eyebrow and asked her to tell me more. My friend said she had a funny feeling about this outing. “I drew The Moon last night,” she breathed, trembling.

“Sweetheart, I do not speak your Tarot language.”

“This card means uncertainties ahead, and secrets are to be revealed,” Lily May continued. She took out her iPhone and showed me an image of the card. There was a big moon hovering over two white towers, and two dogs in front of the towers, surrounded by a body of water. “See this crayfish at the bottom? It’s climbing out of the water to walk on the path to the moon. Crayfish are not designed to live on dry land. My intuition tells me that once the cat is let out of the bag, it’s dead.”

I was confused by the cat and crayfish talk. “Lil’, you think too much. You need Raphael’s cold drinks to cool you down.”

Someone had just joined the queue behind us. I thought it was Raphael with his cold drinks but it wasn’t.

“Hello, Prudence! Oh my God! What a surprise to see you here!” Lily May said, suddenly snapping out of her musings and brimming with enthusiasm.

“Lily May my darling, what a delightful surprise!” exclaimed Prudence Miyazaki, one of Asia’s most powerful collectors who lived between Hong Kong and Tokyo. She was wearing an elegant black wide-brim hat, a pair of Chanel sunglasses that covered half of her face, and white wrist-length gloves. The style was typical upper-class Japanese, a graceful shield against harmful UV rays. No wonder Prudence looked 20 years younger than her age.

Prudence was originally from Hong Kong. Thirty-five years ago she married Ryuichi Miyazaki, scion of the Miyazaki Corp, one of the biggest electronics manufacturers in Japan. The pair had met when she was studying art history at the Courtauld Institute of Art in London. The Miyazaki family held one of the most important collections of Impressionist and Modern paintings, acquired in the 1980s during the Japanese economic bubble. Prudence might be filthy rich but she was restless in the role of a tai tai who spent endless days shopping and getting beauty treatments. Fortunately, the family needed someone to look after all those paintings, so she put her knowledge of art history into good use by managing - and expanding - the collection.

She turned to me and greeted me politely. I had interviewed Prudence a few times before, but I certainly did not know her as well as Lily May did. It turned out that Prudence was one of Lily May’s fortune-telling clients.

I had always had trouble with carrying on a conversation with these super-rich people, who sounded like they came from another planet. Just as I was scratching my head trying to come up with something intelligent to say, Raphael returned with three bottles of ice-cold Coca-Cola.

They “air-kissed” each other’s cheeks. I did not know that Raphael had known Prudence since he was a child. “Prudence came to our house in Cologne for dinner on a regular basis. She is my parents’ best client,” Raphael said, taking a sip of the coke. “You should come visit my new space in Berlin. It’s in Potsdam Straße. I’m taking the family business to a new era and showing more avant-garde contemporary art pieces there. You might find something you like.”

“But you won’t see any of my works,” Lily May sulked. “Apparently my works are not good enough for the Kunst Galerie.”

“Babe, YOU are in my private collection,” Raphael playfully kissed Lily May’s cheek. To be honest, I was surprised to see how much Raphael was into my friend.

“By the way Prudence, are you here alone? Where is Mr Miyazaki?” Lily May asked.

“He has business to attend to. I decided to reward myself with a solo holiday - technically I’m not alone. My assistant is with me but she has gone to run a few errands. I decided to come now so that I don’t have to run into that travelling art circus. You know what it’s like,” Prudence laughed awkwardly. “I haven’t done this since my freshman year at university. I deserve a break after 35 years of marriage.”

The three of them chatted away while awaiting their turns to go inside the door guarded by a man in uniform and sunglasses. People emerging from the big black door all carried an intriguing puzzled face. Some of them appeared to be in awe, but most looked lost and disoriented. I just couldn’t wait for my turn to experience the work - listening to these three talking about rich people’s problems made me feel so much like an outsider.

"There went her ticket to the art world and possibly her true love."

Prudence kept herself entertained with romantic snippets volunteered by the couple. There were just two more people ahead of us. “It’s going to be our turn very soon,” she said with a hint of excitement. Then she turned to Lily May. “How was Menorca? The photos you sent me were lovely. I assumed you two had a great time there for the New Year’s?”

Lily May’s face went ashy. Raphael turned to her, trying to keep himself composed. “As a matter of fact, I was in Berlin at the time. Obviously, an invitation to celebrate the New Year’s in frigid Berlin was not as tempting as a trip to the sunny Menorca albeit it was winter. What did you do there, Lil? I thought you said you had to stay in Hong Kong because of an emergency appointment,” he questioned her.

“It was…,” Lily May’s words trailed off as a shiver went down her spine. In an instant she knew this was what The Moon meant. “There was an emergency and I was meant to tell you earlier.”

“In Menorca? Was it an emergency secret meeting with him?”

“Let’s talk later,” Lily May managed to utter while gripping Raphael’s hand firmly. But Raphael shook her off.

The guard swung opened the black door again and signalled one of us to go in. There was no better time for Prudence to escape from the tension that she had set off with her throwaway remarks.

“I better get going. I’ll see you after this intriguing art experience,” she said quickly and headed inside.

Raphael glared at Lily May after Prudence walked away. Tears welled up in Lily May’s eyes. “I always knew there was something you had been hiding from me. If you cannot be completely honest with me then… I thought we were going to be together for a very long time,” he sighed. “I need to be alone now.”

“Don’t go, Raphael. Wait. I can explain.”

Raphael did not listen. He left.

I held Lily May’s hand and tried to comfort her. There went her ticket to the art world and possibly her true love. She was in tears, trembling. “I knew this was coming. I knew he did not trust me 100 per cent. And my card was right.” She never forgot about self-promotion even at the worst of times.

Guarding Gregor Schneider’s N. Schmidt, Pferdegasse 19, 48143, Münster, Deutschland

“Just let him be. Give him the space he needs,” I said. “It will be your turn next. Just go enjoy a bit of solitude while you are inside. Don’t waste our efforts queuing.”

Lily May strived to smile as she glanced at the snaking queue behind us.

“But speaking of which, why did you go to Menorca? Why couldn’t you tell Raphael?” I could not help asking. “Honestly, what do you see in Raphael?”

Before I could get an answer out of Lily May, the guard opened the door and Prudence emerged from the inside. She put her sunglasses back on as soon as she saw us - trying to avoid eye contact, obviously.

“Lily May, it’s your turn,” Prudence held Lily May’s hand gently. “Don’t worry about Raphael. He will come to his senses. Enjoy the installation - and don’t get yourself locked up,” she quipped.

“I’m sorry about what had just happened, though,” Prudence said. Right, so finally she had realised that she was guilty. “Both you and Raphael are dear friends of mine. But the truth is, if a man does not have the capacity and patience to hear you out, you should move on. It’s better to find out sooner than later. A girl must protect her heart.”

Prudence planted a kiss on Lily May’s cheek before saying goodbye to us. Lily May then headed inside the staircase while I continued to wait. Watching Prudence’s lonely silhouette depart from the museum, I had a feeling that what Prudence said was not an allusion to the Raphael situation but to something else, something that could explain why she was in Münster alone unaccompanied by her husband, also a renowned art connoisseur.

I couldn’t wait for Lily May to return from Gregor Schneider’s installation.

TO BE CONTINUED…

More about The Fair Warning

一次不忠，百次不用? Is infidelity such an unforgivable sin?

2017-08-13T07:10:00.000+01:00

Looking sideways: how did Queen Elizabeth II cope with the rumoured infidelity of Prince Philip in the new season of The Crown? Photo: Netflix

The Crown returns to Netflix with a second season on Friday, December 8!

It took a while to get into the story in the first season but the portrait of Queen Elizabeth II's struggle as a young woman taking helm of such a big job and her marriage with Prince Philip went beyond the usual court drama - it was a modern love story that a lot of working women could relate to.

The good times. Photo: Netflix

Judging from the trailer, it looks like the second season focuses on Her Majesty's dealings with challenges from politics, family drama (the wild life of Princess Margaret) and the rumoured infidelity of Prince Philip (who has just officially retired from public service).

The "national husband": Taiwanese actor Joseph Chang has won the hearts of many women who are afraid of dishonest men. Photo: Fox Networks Group

Speaking of infidelity, my most recent Quartz story "Why this Taiwanese man is the dream husband of many women in Hong Kong, Taiwan and China" touches upon this subject.

Cheating is just so common that it is not limited to the wealthy class. I used to believe the Chinese saying of 一次不忠，百次不用 (never tolerate someone who cheats even for once). Emotionally, we (women) want to find the one and only that lasts forever. But at the end of the day, human beings are animals and perhaps we are not designed to endure a long-term monogamous physical relationship. Where is the middle ground?

Here's a video on the meaning of infidelity from The School of Life that might be able to answer this question.

The Crown season 2 might shed lights on overcoming infidelity in relationships. After all, the Queen and Prince Philip are still together today.

Art is about exploration of ideas: lessons from Beijing Art Trip 2017

2017-08-10T09:46:00.001+01:00

Visiting the studio of Sui Jianguo: the exchange with one of the most best known Chinese contemporary artist proved to be the perfect conclusion of the four-day art journey in Beijing. Photo: Vivienne Chow

Artists aren't just craftsmen who make pretty objects. They are the greatest thinkers and critics of our times who put forward their ideas into the works they create. Learning about art, history and the world and forming opinions about them are pivotal in the training for young artists.

This summer, 20 teenagers from Hong Kong were brought to Beijing for a four-day art exploration trip. They are not the usual teenagers. These are teen artists who have won recognitions at this year's The Wharf Hong Kong Secondary School Art Competition. The trip was a reward to their outstanding achievements in their artistic pursuits.

The trip had a full itinerary, visiting museums and exhibitions ranging from traditional and classical Chinese and western art to contemporary works as well as meeting two of the greatest artists of our times - Fang Lijun and Sui Jianguo. Hong Kong artist Chui Pui-chee and I were invited to join the trip as mentors to the student artists, discussing art and sharing our experiences with them.

Rather than just being another thematic holiday, the trip was essentially an art journey giving these young hopefuls an opportunity to widen their horizons and explore new art ideas, whether with us or among themselves. It was not about "educating" them from a top-down model, but an exploration of ideas and sharing views and knowledge on an equal footing.

Say cheese: at CAFA Art Museum. Photo: Vivienne Chow

There is no absolute right or wrong when it comes to expressing personal opinion, as long as your argument is logical and you can back your points up with facts and evidence. The students were incredible in this regard.

They were mostly in their senior years in secondary school. Some of them have just graduated and are about to pursue tertiary education locally and abroad in autumn. They came from various schools, from traditional local schools to schools operating the IB system and international schools.

Regardless of their background, these young people shared one great quality - they were opinionated and paid attention to their surroundings. This wasn't just my own personal view. When inspecting students' award-winning entries, Sui was very pleased to see that these young artists had a lot to say about the world they were living in, and were critical about their student lives and the society.

Sui Jianguo was very curious of students' creations. Photo: Vivienne Chow

One example, The Disappearing Mushroom Pavilions, the competition's champion and winner of Hong Kong. Harbour. 20 Years special prize, depicts student artist Suen Yat-ching, 17, mourning for the disappearance of his beloved "mushroom hut" dai pai dong brought upon by urban redevelopment and the treasure of the city's collective memories. Howard Law's portrait of Martin Luther King Right for the Black impressed Sui, who complimented the 18-year-old's vision and awareness of global issues and history. To Sui, independent thinking was the, if not the most, important foundation for a good artist.

While all the students have demonstrated their craftsmanship and techniques in drawing and painting in their award-winning entries, forming an informed opinion about art could be a little bit of challenge to some at the beginning. But this trip filled the gap and gave them the chance to think twice about the meaning of art.

Whether it was the exhibition of Dutch old master paintings at Rembrandt and His Time: Masterpieces from The Leiden Collection at the National Museum of China or the Andy Warhol exhibition at Riverside Art Museum; the solo exhibition of Zong Qixiang modern paintings at CAFA Art Museum or Hong Kong artist Lam Tung-pang's first Beijing solo show Fragmentation at Chambers Fine Art and Yang Jiechang's abstract ink paintings at Ink Studio in Cai Chang Di art district, they were all very curious and they had a lot to say.

Touring Ink Studio with Hong Kong calligraphy artist Chui Pui-chee. Photo: Vivienne Chow

Cheung Hoi-yan, 17, and Ma Lik-ki, 21, were impressed by the diversity of the artworks they were shown during the trip. They appeared to be more receptive towards abstract and conceptual works. Here's a video of Cheung and Ma sharing their views of the art they have seen.

At National Art Museum of China. Photo: Vivienne Chow

Pang Po-yi, 17, showed great interests in old master works at the Leiden Collection exhibition, where the realist paintings were artworks that she could relate to from her traditional painting training. To 14-year-old Audrey Lam, fine Chinese paintings and calligraphy at the National Art Museum of China were new artistic adventure as she was not exposed to such works previously.

Visit to Today Art Museum's multimedia exhibition .zip Future Rhapsody was a mix of adventure and culture shock. The group exhibition showcased a range of large scale video installations and conceptual pieces questioning the digital age we were living in. Some of the students were in awe of the challenging works, while others took their time to ponder the meaning of these art pieces.

Getting arty at Today Art Museum. Photo: Vivienne Chow

It was a stark contrast with the visit to the Palace Museum, the symbol of Chinese dynastic history and house of classical art treasures. Some students including Venus Lam, 16, said they had been to the palace when they were little, and thus the tour of the museum and meeting with the museum's management were an eye-opener.

Be bold: a fruitful dialogue with Fang Lijun. Photo: Vivienne Chow

But viewing exhibitions could not be compared to meetings with Fang and Sui at their studios located in the outskirt of Beijing. We first visited Fang's place. The artist greeted us at the entrance of his studio, leading us to the space where he allowed students to roam around freely before sitting down for a chat over juices and sliced up water melon. They were a little bit shy in the first place, but after warming up, they took turn to ask Fang questions about his creative journey.

One of the students Sam Ng, 17, asked Fang how he dealt with his down times while making art. It seemed to be an ordinary question but Fang took the question seriously. After the group chat, Fang ran up to Ng, asking the teenager if he had unhappy experiences while making art. I didn't follow the conversation but the scene warmed my heart.

'this is just a start in their art pursuit. these kids are entitled to apply for the wharf art scholarship which is now supporting 12 students' art or design studies in universities around the world'

On our way home, Chui and I had a quick chat to conclude the busy four-day art journey. It was an invaluable opportunity to be exposed to such great variety of art and cultural treasures and we hope the students will cherish this experience and continue to explore new ideas. This trip was merely the beginning of their artistic pursuits - they are eligible to apply for the Wharf Art Scholarship, which has been awarded to 12 students' studies in art or design in universities locally and abroad.

These youngsters are our future.

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Ten years on, we still don't have a Bruce Lee museum in Hong Kong. Do we have to wait for another decade?

2017-05-29T08:52:00.000+01:00

Bruce Lee in action. Photo: Internet

Recently I wrote a story for Quartz (Tourists keep looking for Bruce Lee in the one place that can't seem to remember him) about the difficulties in finding traces of Bruce Lee in Hong Kong, the city where the late star grew up and he became a kung fu legend and screen icon with the movies he made with studio Golden Harvest. This is particularly true when the exhibition Bruce Lee: Kung Fu ‧ Art ‧ Life currently on show at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum will end its 5-year run in July in 2018. Since we don't have a museum dedicated to Lee, if the show did not extend its run, fans will lose a precious spot where they can pay tribute to their beloved idol. It'd be a shame for Hong Kong not to have a destination commemorating Lee.

During my research for the story, I reconnected with Wong Yiu-keung, chairman of Bruce Lee Club, the Hong Kong-based fan club. Mr Wong said perhaps now would be the time to re-boot the conversation about building a Bruce Lee museum in Hong Kong.

Mr Wong shared my story in Quartz on his Facebook, in a post reminding me that we have in fact known each other since 2008 when the proposal for a Hong Kong Bruce Lee museum was first tabled.

I was in shock when I read Mr Wong's Facebook post to be honest. I was following the whole saga through out a long period of my career at the South China Morning Post, but I didn't realise that 10 years have already passed - and today we still do not have a Bruce Lee museum in Hong Kong.

This is one of the stories I wrote back in 2008 - Fans kick into action to plan museum at Bruce Lee's home - when Yu Panglin, the late owner of Lee's former residence at 41 Cumberland Road in Kowloon Tong, listened to fans' plead and decided to donate the mansion and turn it around into a Bruce Lee museum.

Over the past decade I wrote a series of stories related to the development of the museum proposal. I spoke to Mr Yu, Lee's brother Robert Lee and sister Phoebe, daughter Shannon Lee, government officials, and even Lee's former lover and actress Betty Ting Pei. Here are some of the highlights:

No cash to buy Bruce Lee home: minister (2008)

Bruce Lee's Kowloon Tong house to be turned into museum (2008)

Bruce Lee's daughter makes a tearful return (2008)

I will do my part to turn home into museum, says ex-actress (2008)

Lover still so glad Bruce Lee came into her life: an interview with Betty Ting Pei (2008)

Shannon Lee backs plan to turn her father's home into museum (2008)

Daughter backs plan to restore Bruce Lee home (2009)

Contest opens for ideas to turn Bruce Lee's home into star draw (2009)

Don't blame me for failure of Bruce Lee house (2011)

Enter the long-awaited Bruce Lee show (2013)

Bruce Lee show could grow into permanent exhibit (2013)

Fate of Bruce Lee's HK$100m Hong Kong mansion hangs in balance after tycoon owner Yu Panglin's death (2015)

Over the years, I couldn't quite understand why Hong Kong does not have a museum its most famous son - Bruce Lee was the one who put Hong Kong on the world map, even today, despite he died so many years ago (I still have foreigners asking me if I knew kung fu XD).

//Michael Tien Puk-sun, a consultant for the Bruce Lee Club who has been in contact with the government on the issue, said he received a reply from Secretary for Commerce and Economic Development Frederick Ma Si-hang declining the use of government money to buy the property, which is now a love hotel. 'The answer [from Mr Ma] was that the tourism angle was not a strong enough reason to use public money,' he said.// -- 2008

I seriously cannot understand the government's logic from above. From a cultural perspective, Hong Kong should have a Bruce Lee museum. From an economic perspective, the reasons are much stronger - imagine having the very own Bruce Lee museum in Hong Kong, how many tourists can we draw per year? It makes much better sense to have a unique Bruce Lee museum in Hong Kong than a Disneyland (look at how the one in Shanghai has taken off). Who wants to go to Hong Kong for Disneyland? To experience the world's tiniest Disneyland? Seriously!

But perhaps it's a little more complicated than I imagined - after I wrote this story in 2013: Bruce Lee's legacy leaves a family divided. In this story, I wrote extensively about the family feud of the Bruce Lee family.

I'm not going to repeat the sad story here. Just click on the link above and have a look. It is sad not only because of the family division, but how it hurts fans from all over the world. For a legend like Bruce Lee, the right to his story and legacy do not belong to just one or two people, but everyone in the world who respects and honours him.

It seems this Bruce Lee story never ends. I only hope that we don't have to wait for another 10 years for a Bruce Lee museum in Hong Kong.

Cheung Chau Bun Festival: Heritage or Spectacle? 長洲太平清醮: 是旅遊盛事還是文化遺產？

2017-05-04T12:45:00.001+01:00

The bun towers. Photo: Vivienne Chow on Instagram

Scroll down for English text

長洲太平清醮: 是旅遊盛事還是文化遺產？

對於在長洲長大的我及部份島民而言，太平清醮是一令人又愛又恨的日子。愛是因為這個傳統節慶是我們的童年回憶: 那時只是島上的盛事，都在平日舉行，沒有什麼外來遊客，外面的人也不太清楚我們島上有個這麼的節慶; 我們都興高采烈地迎接那兩日額外的學校假期，要參加表演巡遊的隨便去，要不輕輕鬆鬆遊山玩水後去吃齋飯(雖然阿媽會買定午餐肉看門口)看巡遊。

後來太平清醮鐵定於佛誕公眾假期舉行，變成旅遊盛事。遊客爭相擁入小島，看似很熱鬧，但盛事跟島上居民的關係越來越遠; 我們都怕了那些破壞小島寧靜的遊客，怕了那些為了做生意的而captialise太平清醮的老板(雖然揾錢是需要的)。我們盡可能都躲在家中，或逃離長洲。太平清醮的長洲almost是不屬於長洲人的。如果不是有工作，我也不會回來。

其實我很想知道現在的太平清醮除了帶來商機處處外，對長洲人有什麼意義？對島上社區及人際關係的建設有更大的貢獻嗎？是否有真的在承傳我們的文化遺產？

Cheung Chau Bun Festival: Heritage or Spectacle?

To local inhabitants or those who grew up on Cheung Chau, the annual Bun Festival is a love-and-hate occasion. We love it because this traditional festival, during which we pay respect to gods and the nature through eating vegetarian dishes to the parade around the island, plays an important role in our upbringing.

Back in the days before the festival coincides with a public holiday, the festival - the parade - took place during the week. Few from the city knew about us and even if they did, it would be difficult for them to come to Cheung Chau to experience the festival.

But for us, we had two extra school holidays back then. We were very excited as the festival approached. Those who wished to join the festival could do so, whether to be part of the parade as the children flag bearer, or become one of the floats (if your parents have the connection). Those who just wanted to enjoy the parade as spectators after eating three days of vegetarian meals (No meat was sold during the festival period back then. But my mum would stock up some canned meat just in case we wanted to eat meat), or swimming or riding our bicycles. We used to go to our grandma's place to watch the parade - her place had a balcony overlooking the street where the parade would pass by. It was our own little VIP area.

Then later on, the organisers decided to coincide the festival with the Buddha's birthday, which is a public holiday. It suddenly became one of Hong Kong's biggest tourism spectacle. Restaurant and shop owners were delighted by the move, as it brings A LOT of tourists to Cheung Chau, making the festival an important business day on their calendar. But to the islanders, it became the day to escape from the island. If we were not part of the festival programme, we'd either stay at home or go to town to avoid the crowd. The Bun Festival, originally an occasion to bond the local community, became distant to the islanders.

I couldn't help but wonder if it was the right thing to do. Few years ago I wrote a long piece in the South China Morning Post, detailing the pros and cons about turning a cultural heritage into a tourism spectacle. On one hand we need to keep a tradition alive, and making it a tourism attraction is one way - at least it generates income for the island. But on the other the original meaning of such tradition is diluted, distancing itself from the local community where the tradition is rooted.

This is a double-edged sword. I don't have the answer to my question, but how to keep our tradition alive without distorting its original meaning is a serious matter that is worth our time to contemplate.

We need Cantonese opera IN the city: why a Cantonese opera exhibition at Times Square matters

2017-01-25T16:50:00.002+00:00

A visit to one of Hong Kong's busiest shopping districts turned out to be a trip down the memory lane. Stumbling across Times Square in Causeway Bay over the weekend, I was surprised by not the frantic the Lunar New Year shopping crowd but a Cantonese opera showcase right in the heart of the city.

Celebrate Chinese New Year with Cantonese Opera at Times Square, Causeway Bay. Photo: VC

Running until February 11, Celebrate Chinese New Year with Cantonese Opera is an exhibition and showcase co-presented by Times Square and The Chinese Artists Association of Hong Kong.

Just like what the title suggests, the event is to tie-in Cantonese opera with Lunar New Year, featuring performances by young Cantonese opera artists as well as exhibition of the colourful and glamorous Cantonese opera costumes, set pieces as well as some multimedia presentations of the tradition of the art form that has already been enlisted under the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage list.

It was exciting to see such an event staged right in the middle of the city. I grew up on Cheung Chau, an outlying island that is an hour boat-ride away from the city centre (well, 35 minutes if you take the fast ferry). The island is a house of treasure for Hong Kong's cultural heritage, and Cantonese opera plays a huge part in it.

Cantonese opera performances were staged at purposely-built bamboo theatre during almost all important festivals. And the biggest shows can be found during the Bun Festival and Pak Tai Festival, which celebrates the birthday of the Pak Tai god outside the Pak Tai Temple.

Cantonese opera costumes in festive colours featured at Times Square exhibition. Photo: VC

As a child, I was mesmerised by Cantonese opera performances - the extravagant costumes, the music, the singing, the dancing and the stories of the operas. The bamboo theatres were also children's favourites for hide-and-seek (note: it is VERY dangerous to run around bamboo theatres). I fell in love with this performing arts at a very young age, and I began practise singing Princess Chang Ping《帝女花》 with the cassette tapes I borrowed from the library. The words were difficult but my curiosity and determination to succeed conquered it all - I looked up all the words and phrases I didn't know in dictionaries and asked my family and school teachers to explain the meaning of the text. When I was primary six, I took the chance to perform an excerpt from Princess Chang Ping at a school singing contest and to my surprise, the crowd went wild. And I won the competition!

Fragrant Death, the most famous song from Princes Chang Ping - this was the song I performed

when I was in primary school and it is still my favourite piece. Lead stars Yam Kim-fai and Bak Suet-sin

are irreplaceable. I've probably watched this hundreds of times since I was a child

and it still moves me to tears today.

But it wasn't until I grew up that I realised Cantonese opera culture has already been fading in the city. There are very few bamboo theatres built in the city centre because of the lack of space and reasons beyond my comprehension. People have the impression that only old people enjoy the shows and Sunbeam Theatre in North Point becomes the only place to go to.

Over the years, The Chinese Artists Association of Hong Kong has been pressing the government to make an effort to safeguard such cultural heritage. Ko Shan Theatre's annex was later only built to accommodate performances of Cantonese opera. West Kowloon Cultural District's first performance venue Xiqu Centre, which will open in 2018, is dedicated to the arts of Chinese opera, and no doubt Cantonese opera will play leading role.

West Kowloon Bamboo Theatre 2014. Photo: WKCD website

Few years ago West Kowloon Cultural District attempted to revive the bamboo theatre tradition by staging West Kowloon Bamboo Theatre, a series of Cantonese and Chinese opera performances taking place during Lunar New Year at a massive temporary bamboo theatre in Tsim Sha Tsui, right where Xiqu Centre will be located. The initiative was kicked off in 2012, followed by two more editions in the Lunar New Year of 2013 and 2014. The programme series was well-received as it brought Cantonese opera back to life in the city centre.

But sadly, since the construction of Xiqu Centre began, we no longer get to enjoy Cantonese opera and the bamboo theatre in the heart of the city. Thus the Times Square show is particularly meaningful as it brings such elegant performing arts back to where it belongs -- the city centre and the people. [UPDATE: Louis Yu, performing arts executive director of WKCD, just told me that Bamboo Theatre will return to West Kowloon when Xiqu Centre opens.]

Cantonese opera costumes featured at Times Square exhibition. Photo: VC

The Times Square show highlights a range of costumes previously worn by Cantonese opera masters such as Susan Tse, Law Ka-ying and Yuen Siu-fai, on display alongside three traditional Lunar New Year performances set pieces -- The Birthday of the Goddess of Mercy, A Fairy Delivers Her Son to the Mortal Father and Promoting to High Officialdom. An audio guide narrated by Law can be downloaded with smartphone.

Rising stars: young Cantonese opera artists who will be performing at the Times Square exhibition. Photo: VC

Performances of excerpts of important Cantonese opera titles are also staged on a regular basis. The public will get the chance to meet the rising stars of Cantonese opera, performing titles include Saving the Holy Matron, excerpt from The Lotus Lamp and Stealing the Flute, excerpt from A Forced Match, under the artistic direction of master Sun Kim-long.

The most fun part of this exhibition is the photo booth. Visitors can have a taste of dressing up as a Cantonese opera star in this photo booth and go home with a series of photos and a GIF image on their smartphone. Although I won a Cantonese opera singing contest, I never had the chance to dress myself up in Cantonese opera costumes. This fun photo booth satisfied my desire.

Dream come true: Vivienne in Cantonese opera costumes, photo only.
Photo: Times Square exhibition photo booth

The Times Square show is worth a visit - and I hope this is just the beginning: if Times Square is planning to bring the show back next year (which they totally should!), a bamboo theatre should be erected in the Open Plazza to house such an exhibition, rather than placing it under the roof of a mediocre set-up. Cantonese opera at bamboo theatre is far better than any other boring Lunar New Year decoration seen at any shopping malls - it is the living cultural heritage that we all must treasure.

A story behind a story: from art to car racing

2016-10-15T09:25:00.001+01:00

Over the years I have written stories that don't fall under the usual definition of culture. In 2011, I wrote a magazine feature about how some Hongkongers took their passion for car racing to China. It was published in Post Magazine.

This story began with an art-related acquaintance - I met Vincent at an event at the Hong Kong Arts Centre. It turned out he was an art enthusiast as well as car racing. I found it fascinating as I knew no one who participated in car racing (I don't even have a driver's licence to begin with) and I didn't know car racing was in fact a big thing to some people in Hong Kong.

So I followed Vincent for two races in China and there I experienced a whole new world.

Back then, Vincent said his dream was to have his own art gallery. I thought he was joking. But years later, his dream came true.

***

Vincent Chan Fook-shing undoes the buckles of the five-point red seatbelt and climbs out of the boiling hot modified Volkswagen Polo he has just taken for a spin around the Shanghai Tianma Circuit. He takes off his white helmet, a huge grin on his face. 'That was better than sex,' he says. 'That was awesome.'

The 43-year-old art dealer-turned motor sport enthusiast unzips the front of his fireproof suit. He is one of a group of elite Hongkongers who can afford to take their expensive car-racing dreams north.

'Finally I have raced at all the racetracks in China, and this one has probably been the most fun.'

Chan has just competed in the Polo Cup, a race under the umbrella of the China Touring Car Championship (CTCC), the country's largest motor racing competition, with eight events at seven racetracks.

Still holding his helmet, Chan dashes to catch up with his 'little master', another Hong Kong driver, Andy Yan Cheuk-wai, who is competing in the next race for the Changan Ford Racing Team. Yan, 27, is going head to head with blogger Han Han, who made Time Magazine's 100 most influential people list last year thanks to his well-read, and occasionally controversial, blog. Han became a champion driver in 2007, with the Shanghai Volkswagen 333 Racing Team.

Engines are thundering on the track as drivers wait for the green light. Skinny models in ultra-mini mini-skirts pose next to the cars, breathing in petrol fumes through plastic smiles. Fans roar when Han makes his entrance.

The sport on the mainland attracts not only Hongkongers such as the wealthy Chan and aspiring professional Yan, who cannot realise their dreams in their track-less home city, but also international car manufacturers that know a good marketing opportunity when they see one. China is becoming a powerhouse of car manufacturing and sales. Last year, motor sales on the mainland hit a record 18.6 million, according to the China Association of Automobile Manufacturers.

'We don't need to promote the races overseas,' says CTCC chief operating officer Cheng Guang. 'We need to focus on local promotions. The car market in China is bigger than that in Europe and the US, and their manufacturers have to do business here.

'To the Chinese government, car racing is a branding exercise, a platform to connect with the international world. This is not something Hong Kong can do.'

Founded in 2004, CTCC, formerly known as the China Circuit Championship, is now a national event with the official approval and support of the State Bureau of Sports.

'If you do not make it a national brand, it's impossible to make car racing happen,' Cheng says. 'Without the government it's impossible to organise this kind of motor racing. We have tracks being built, one after another. Who else can make this kind of investment?'

Cars are beginning to be seen as more than just a means of transport, Cheng says. 'Driving is becoming a form of luxury enjoyment and sports competitions are the ultimate of such enjoyment. China doesn't have a history of motor sport, but we are getting there. We have a future.'

This race - a season opener for CTCC 2011 - has attracted 12 teams, which are competing in two categories based on engine size: 1600cc and 2000cc. The biggest commercial supporters are foreign carmakers with joint ventures on the mainland, such as Volkswagen, Ford, Honda and Nissan. And success does not come cheap.

'If a team is determined to win they will have to spend at least 20 million yuan [HK$21.8 million],' Cheng says.

Not as fast or glamorous as Formula 1, the touring-car races are promotional exercises as much as they are competitive.

'We bring [members of motoring associations] to the tracks, show them around and even let them go for a spin so that they can experience the awesomeness of legal speeding,' Cheng says. 'And gradually, they will fall in love with the sport, and the cars of course.'

'Racing has been a very good platform to promote our products,' says a spokesman for Ford China, which, with Changan Motors and Mazda Motor, operates the Changan Ford Racing Team. 'We brought motor racing culture to China in 2006 ... and over the past five years we have won three overall championships, winning 15 races at CTCC - the best for any racing teams at this race.'

He declines to say how much Ford has invested in motor sport on the mainland but, after winning the CTCC championship in 2009 and last year, sales of the Ford Focus, the car used to race, reached a monthly record of nearly 20,000 in January.

Kelvin So, who runs Hong Kong team China Dragon Racing, says motor racing would not have thrived on the mainland if not for the Hong Kong-Beijing Rally, first held in 1985. 'Perhaps Hong Kong's mission to promote motor sport is completed,' he says.

BACK AT THE CIRCUIT, Chan has caught up with Yan, who is on the track, waiting for his Ford Focus to be readied by engineers flown in from Britain. Reporters and television crews are taking pictures and bothering celebrity drivers such as Han, who is being tailed by privileged fans who have scored passes to get pre-race access to their heroes. Chan pats Yan's shoulder and wishes him luck.

Chan and Yan met in 2009 through mutual friends and Chan says his 27-year-old mentor regularly offers him tips on driving techniques. To return the favour, Chan sponsored the young driver for a while. As Chan tells Yan about the Polo Cup race - he didn't win - the young models, ordered by their manager to hold their chins high and stand straight to accentuate their figures, interrupt the conversation, posing next to Yan in front of dozens of reporters. Yan forces a smile.

'That's part of the job,' the camera-shy driver says.

Yan, who has been racing since he was a teen, starting on go-karts, is among just a handful of Hong Kong drivers who have been signed by a mainland racing team.

'As a Hong Kong driver you need to put in extra effort to secure a position,' says Yan, who is aiming for a top-three finish. 'China's professional racing teams, which are funded by car manufacturers, tend to give more resources to mainland drivers as they are the people they want to groom.'

Yan was 19 when he started racing touring cars at events such as the Hong Kong Touring Car Championship (HTCC), which, despite its name, never took place in the city. It was organised by the Hong Kong Automobile Association and first held at the Zhuhai International Circuit in 2002. Last year it moved to the Guangdong International Circuit, between Zhaoqing and Sanshui. China Dragon Racing is one of the teams that regularly competes at HTCC events.

To pursue racing, Yan relied on the support of his father, who runs a garage business, and sponsorships from family and friends such as Chan, who is used to owning six cars, including a Ferrari, but is often chauffeured around Hong Kong in a family seven-seater.

Yan's big break came in 2009 when he was signed by Changan Ford, which pays him a salary (which he declines to reveal) and covers some of his expenses.

'I'm very fortunate,' says Yan. 'Motor racing is not like any other kind of sport, like running, which you can do anytime, anywhere. For motor racing, the first thing you need is a track, which we do not have in Hong Kong. Then you need a car, which could cost about HK$1 million in order to meet the requirements of the 2000cc category. It costs about HK$2 million to race for one year. How can a young man afford such an expensive sport if there is no financial backing?'

Yan has a strong enough reputation to attract sponsors - not only motoring companies but also local dessert chain Chung Kee. But they cover only 70 per cent of his racing costs at most.

The expense means Hong Kong has not produced many young drivers in recent years, says Yan. 'Most of the drivers from Hong Kong are aged between 30 and 40, because they are the ones who can afford to race. But it's too late to begin taking part in any kind of sport professionally if you are starting out at that age.'

Chan's love affair with motor racing began in Canada, to where his family moved ahead of the handover. He began racing for fun. Back in Hong Kong, developing a career in the art business, his passion was revived; through friends he got back into motor racing, taking part in HTCC races in 2007 and investing in a racing-car service company.

In 2009, he took part in the Radical Cup China, established by a British manufacturer of open-cockpit racing cars, winning second and third in Shanghai and Chengdu, respectively.

Chan and a group of like-minded friends - mainly lawyers, doctors and businessmen - take their motor racing seriously, even though they race at an amateur level. Their passion has led to the formation of Holiday Racing, which won the overall second-place HTCC team award last year. Chan, the team manager, says its name reflects the nature of racing for its members. He says the experience of travelling from track to track has allowed him to witness the growth on the mainland.

'When we first raced in Guangdong last year there wasn't even a hotel, let alone massage parlours and other facilities [around the track],' he says. But, within just one year, hotels, restaurants and even factories have been built around the circuit. 'These tracks bring economic opportunities. Just imagine, during that weekend you have more than 100 people coming to spend a few nights there - accommodation, catering, entertainment.'

Hong Kong drivers may not have a track or the support of their government, but they do have history. So says Hong Kong has produced more winning drivers than anywhere else in Asia except Japan, winning titles from the Macau Grand Prix to the Asia Touring Car Championships. After the first Macau Grand Prix, in 1954, and up until the handover, Hongkongers - Chinese and Caucasian - drove away with 14 major titles, in cars and on motorcycles.

Motor sport in Hong Kong began in the 1950s with small races at locations including Shek Kong Barracks and the HMS Tamar site. The Motor Sports Club of Hong Kong was established in 1952 and staged the first Harper Hill Climb, up Golden Hill, Kowloon Reservoir, the next year. The event included a motorcycle race called the Caltex Cup.

The year after the first Harper Hill Climb, the club's first secretary, Paul du Toit, joined forces with Automovel Club de Portugal's Carlos Humbert da Silva to stage the first Macau Grand Prix, won by Eddie Carvalho, a member of the Motor Sports Club of Hong Kong.

'I'm sure the number of people who can drive outweighs those who can play football,' So says. 'But the government never treated car racing as a serious sport.' He says one reason could be the image presented by illegal racing. But, he adds, mainland operators 'look for Hong Kong people to take part in the races, absorbing our skills and networks'.

So says his team raced in CTCC competitions between 2005 and 2009 but had to pull out due to a lack of backers. CTCC regulations prevent drivers from Hong Kong, Macau and Taiwan from racing in the 1600cc category.

'To sustain a team you need HK$10 million to HK$20 million a year,' he says. 'Without support from car manufacturers, many teams cannot continue. Now Hong Kong teams are pulling out while mainland teams are growing. You have to be like a star in order to get sponsorships, but how many can be like Han Han? Now we can only take part in races on a part-time basis.'

Meanwhile, the full-timers are aiming high. Hongkonger Sam Hui, who runs Ghia Sports, one of the largest racing teams based in Zhuhai, says he has been looking for young mainland drivers such as 19-year-old rising star Sun Zheng.

'Unlike many in Hong Kong who have to worry about school and making a living, Sun doesn't have these worries,' Hui says. 'His father can support him, so he can dedicate his full attention to the sport.'

Sun has a lot of potential - as well as having rich parents he is good looking and well-mannered, but fierce and ruthless on the track. 'We have a lot of hope for Sun. He's a semi-professional and he's earning a salary and sponsorships,' Hui says.

Cheng predicts that, as the car market continues to grow, so will racing. 'Then we can find a way to groom young drivers and our races can help them gradually climb the ladder so that we can have a national racing team,' he says.

Sun, who is studying motor engineering in Beijing, is less optimistic. He criticises regulations that bar non-Chinese drivers from entering CTCC events.

'There's no point if you just race against Chinese drivers,' he says. 'Foreign teams would love to have a Chinese driver, for commercial reasons, but our standards are still very behind [those of other countries]. We must go overseas and bring the experience back if we want to improve.'

TRACKSIDE, THE CARS ARE lined up in the sun, engines revving. The stands are full. The green light flashes and they're off.

For 30 minutes the only sound is that of roaring engines. Yan, who came third in the qualifier, maintains his position while waiting for the opportunity to move up. Chan follows his every move, explaining the nuances of the game to a friend. The crowd screams when a mainland driver crashes on a sharp turn, and roars even louder when Han is forced to pull out because of a mechanical failure. After 25 laps, Yan crosses the finish line in second place. He has got what he wanted; a place on the winners' podium and a champagne shower.

Both Yan and Chan will continue to live their motor racing dream on the mainland: Yan is preparing for the next race, in Zhuhai, next weekend; while Chan, who will also compete in Zhuhai, is pursuing an another, relatively down-to-earth passion.

'I'm hoping to open my own art gallery,' he says.

My review of a review: on M+ Pavilion's inaugural exhibition by Tsang Kin-wah

2016-10-11T16:22:00.001+01:00

M+ Pavilion, the first permanent building in West Kowloon Cultural District. Photo: Vivienne Chow

In my previous capacity, I didn't get that many opportunities to write art reviews. It is not an easy task to write a review that is informative while conveying your opinion about a show. Of course it always depends on who your audience is. But to me, writing is about communication, and I want to reach a wider audience and introduce them to meaningful cultural events that are inspiring.

It turns out my 16 years of journalism training is very handy when it comes to writing art reviews. I had the pleasure of reviewing Tsang Kin-wah's solo exhibition “N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶”, the inaugural show of M+ Pavilion in West Kowloon Cultural District - originally published in Artsy on September 20, 2016.

After this review was published, I was told that some people were "surprised" by this piece. According to my sources, people were surprised that I was "capable" of writing something "positive", considering my track record of being a vocal critic of the West Kowloon project (the arts hub's previous CEO Michael Lynch actually nicknamed me "trouble").

Nevertheless, there is no such thing as positive or negative. There is only truth. It is true that the West Kowloon project is full of problems, and they are partly the results of the chaotic political situation in Hong Kong. It is true that I do not agree with spending such excessive money on the hardware instead of cultivating artistic talent, audience, critics and administrators who are the indispensable pieces of a healthy cultural ecology.

But it is also true that there are things about “N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶” that I liked and I didn't like. And the significance of this show is greater than the show itself, and it should be judged beyond its artistic merits. Positive or not, only depends on whether you agree with what you read.

***

Photo: Vivienne Chow

Hong Kong’s M+ Pavilion Opening with a Local Artist Is More Important Than You’d Think

There are a few names that make Hong Kong proud, and Tsang Kin-Wah is one of them. Over the years, the Chinese artist has carved out a unique brand of art through his innovative use of text in various mediums ranging from painting to video installations. His distinctive body of work demonstrates that Hong Kong is more than just a hot marketplace for art. Artists from this region are capable of creating impactful works that have universal appeal.

Hong Kong’s brand-new space for contemporary art, M+, is another name set to make the region proud. When it opens in the West Kowloon Cultural District in 2019, the Herzog & de Meuron-designed museum will be the most ambitious of its kind in Asia. Dedicated to 20th- and 21st-century visual culture, it promises to be bigger than the Museum of Modern Art—set within the District’s over 40 hectares of prime land by the waterfront—and will cost HK$5 billion (US$645 million) to build. M+ is tasked with taking art in Hong Kong, and Asia, to a new level.

Thus when the museum decided to stage Tsang’s new solo exhibition, “N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶,” as its inaugural exhibition, installed in M+ Pavilion—the museum’s smaller space and the first building erected in West Kowloon Cultural District since the area was designated a future arts hub—it was not hard to understand the selection. The public is eager to get a taste of what this cultural district has to offer.

“ ̶N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ” is contained within the mirrored facades of M+ Pavilion. It’s a follow-up to Tsang’s solo show “The Infinite Nothing,” which was Hong Kong’s presentation at last year’s 56th Venice Biennale, co-curated by Doryun Chong, the deputy director and chief curator of M+, and Stella Fong, the museum’s lead curator of learning and interpretation. The same team is behind this current show.

At the Venice Biennale, Tsang charmed exhibition-goers by taking them on a journey through an immersive, multimedia installation inspired by German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s notion of eternal recurrence. Viewers were mesmerized by Tsang’s text-based, moving-image installation while walking through a cleverly reconfigured space, which eventually looped them back to the starting point of the show—a physical manifestation of a philosophical concept.

But rather than simply being a recreation of that exhibition, “N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ” takes the same melancholic sensibility to new heights by questioning the emptiness of life and the value of human existence, reflecting the inspirations that Tsang drew from the text of William Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

The solitary tree emerged from a deserted garden. Photo: Vivienne Chow

The journey of “ ̶N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ” begins as viewers enter M+ Pavilion’s elevated level. The open-air terrace has been reconfigured into a walled space covered with mirrored facades just like the building’s exterior. Visitors are forced into confrontation with the eerie reflections of their own images, and are guided by a string of texts through the semi-open space, along a circular trajectory. In the middle, a solitary tree is positioned amid a garden covered in sand.

Visitors then move into a dark gallery through a long corridor. An image of a prison projected at the end of the tunnel is obstructed by a series of cold aluminum pillars. After meandering through the pillars, they find a large video image of another solitary tree projected on a glass wall inside the gallery, contrasting the real tree planted on the terrace outside.

Mirror image: the solitary tree projected on the glass wall inside the gallery. Photo: Vivienne Chow

Questions about solitude and the meaning of one’s path through life are surfaced further via an immersive video installation, a work that can be viewed as a diluted version of Tsang’s previous works, such as the Seven Seals, with simpler, shorter text. The words rush at viewers while a soundtrack plays samples of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and grunge rock music, conveying another of Tsang’s inspirations: Kurt Cobain, the tragic rock icon and frontman of Nirvana. (It’s worth noting that Tsang’s influences aren’t all Western; he’s also been influenced by Eastern concepts, such as the idea of karma.)

The exhibition ends with a hazy image of a donkey carrying a heavy load, projected onto the ground. One can’t help but feel the heavy burden of our absurd existences, especially in the context of Hong Kong’s politicized society and the chaotic world beyond it.

But that feeling of melancholy subsided somewhat as I discovered a paper bookmark embedded with wild chrysanthemum seeds enclosed in the exhibition’s press pack. The strikethrough of the show’s title might not be a denial of existence after all. “ ̶N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ” is not perfect, but it plants a seed for the future of arts and culture in a financial capital that was once considered a cultural desert.

Visit the original Artsy page here

The drugs don't work

2016-08-22T08:07:00.001+01:00

"You are not my methadone" July 10, 2016 Instagram @missviviennechow

Recently in the New York Times, Melissa Hill wrote about the science behind heartbreaks. Breakups are painful because of our body, not just our heart. And love is essentially a drug:

"What's crazy about the pain of a broken heart is that your body perceives it as physical pain. Love activates the same neurological reward centres as cocaine, and losing love can feel like going through withdrawal after quitting drugs or alcohol cold turkey.

Regardless of whether we're in pain from withdrawal or experiencing an emotional rejection, neurons in our anterior cingulate cortex and insula start firing. We think the only way to feel better is to experience the high again; we physically crave it."

It wasn't the first time that I came across writings that compare love to drugs. In 2010, The Guardian had a story about a research conducted by the Stanford University dedicated to this matter. It was discovered that love could serve not just a painkiller. Love could also stimulate parts of the brain that were activated by drugs like cocaine and morphine.

In this regard, overcoming the agony of a heartbreak is no difference from quitting a drug.

I remember when I was a child, I often came across notices about methadone clinics around the city of Hong Kong. I didn't know if there were that many drug addicts around town, but these clinics provided a great source of entertainment for us in our primary school days. We always made fun of the use of methadone, acting as if we were taking a dose by drinking orange juice in a small plastic cup - it was the image that we saw on TV back then.

Today, the Department of Health still has a list of all methadone clinics, and to my surprise, there are quite a number of them.

None of these methadone clinics, however, would offer treatments for heartache. But thank god to technology, dating apps like Tinder and what-not have become the methadone for heartbreaks.

How many times have you told your friends suffering from a heartbreak by finding a new girlfriend or boyfriend? "Get over it and move on. Find a new girl/ man - as quickly as possible." "Find a new lover before your ex does so."

So essentially the way to get over your ex is to find a replacement - you are not quitting the drug, you are just subscribing a certain dose of methadone.

You sign up for one of those dating apps and embark on a journey to look for the brand of methadone that would meet your needs. You want to find a new lover before your ex does. You want to show him or her that you are living a great life and you don't need him or her in your life any more. It has become somewhat a competition, even if your ex doesn't see it that way.

You get on with the programme, swiping left or right whenever you have a moment off from Facebook or other social media. You going on dates that can make you feel good about yourself. It takes the pain away temporarily - even just having a new texting buddy is a nice distraction from any thoughts about your ex and the failed relationship.

Nevertheless, you will soon realise that such dating methadone isn't the cure for your heartache. Methadone, at the end of the day, is just methadone. It isn't helping you come clean of the addiction. It only numbs the pain for a fleeting moment and after a short while, your pain resumes, because sometimes, the breakup itself isn't the cause for agony. It opens a can of worms buried deep down your soul that will take not only a long time but a great deal of efforts and courage to heal. And no one, no methadone, can help you, except yourself.

The Drugs Don't Work - The Verve

Parallel universe: why the development of Hong Kong cinema is the mirror image of the city's political landscape

2016-04-15T04:32:00.003+01:00

Ten Years: What holds the future of Hong Kong?

Art is never for art’s sake. The curious case of Ten Years is the latest episode of the long-running reality drama that passes for Hong Kong society today. While the film itself is a political statement, the saga surrounding the Best Film award it received at the Hong Kong Film Awards on Sunday night simply parallels the political climate in the city.

Nearly 20 years after the British handed the sovereignty of Hong Kong back to China, many citizens have become increasingly worried about their future as Beijing’s influence grows. Questions of whether our freedoms and the rule of law – the cornerstones of the city’s success – are still intact make news headlines every day. The use of traditional Chinese characters and Cantonese language are said to be under threat as Putonghua and simplified characters are introduced in schools and mainstream television. Small shops have been forced out and replaced by pharmacies and retail chains selling gold and cosmetics to mainland tourists.

Hong Kong cinema, a cultural heritage that put the city on the world map and made the city proud, has a fate that mirrors that of its city.

The Closer Economic Partnership Agreement between the city and the mainland might have opened up opportunities for local filmmakers and investors in a market of 1.3 billion. But at the same time, it has dragged audiences away from Hong Kong cinema. To get into the mainland market, Hong Kong filmmakers have to play by mainland rules under the co-production agreements. They have to surrender their creative freedom in order to get the nod from mainland censors and win cash from mainland investors. Half of the cast have to be mainland faces.

A decade later, the city suddenly realised that its cinema heritage is in danger of extinction: people have been distancing themselves from these so-called Hong Kong films, as seen in the poor box office performances of co-productions. The city is running out of talent before and behind the camera – the average age of the stars competing for this year’s Best Actor award was around 50 or above.

Hongkongers fear losing their cultural heritage and identity. These sentiments soon turned into political action. The city has in recent years seen large-scale protests that drew tens of thousands. There was the protest against the introduction of national education in schools in 2012, outside the government headquarters in Admiralty. A year later in the same spot, the public rallied against the Executive Council’s decision to reject Hong Kong Television Network’s free-to-air licence application. In Sheung Shui, a series of protests against parallel traders has been staged since 2012.

Umbrella as the symbol of defiance during Occupy protests

Tensions came to a head in 2014 with the 79-day Occupy Central protests, with demonstrators demanding universal suffrage for the chief executive election without Beijing’s screening. Most recently in Mong Kok, violent clashes broke out between protesters and the police on the first day of the Lunar New Year.

Similarly, a revolt has been brewing in Hong Kong cinema, with filmmakers starting to make movies that speak to a local audience, instead of aiming at the more lucrative mainland market. Pang Ho-cheung’s comedy Vulgaria (2012) and Fruit Chan’s sci-fi horror film The Midnight After (2014), the latter of which is considered to be a political allegory, are prime examples. And they received support from the Hong Kong public, too – Vulgaria was the second top grossing local film in 2012, and The Midnight After totalled more than HK$21 million in the box office, the fifth top grossing film in 2014.

The Midnight After: Hongkongers’ sense of displacement.

But just like the series of protests prior to the Occupy movement, these films alone were not enough to make a difference.

In this regard, the independent film Ten Years, which depicts a bleak future of Hong Kong in 2025 under the influence of communist China, is like the Occupy Central of Hong Kong cinema. Sunday night’s Best Film accolade from the Hong Kong Film Awards has an effect similar to the Lunar New Year protest in Mong Kok – long-suppressed discontent and resentment are finally laid bare for all to see.

The award was determined via two rounds of ballots cast by industry professionals. It is a democratic system that has proved to be effective for years after it was introduced to the award show that was established 35 years ago. Its outcome will never please everyone, but it must be respected.

The controversy over the award for Ten Years lies in whether the film was awarded for its artistic merit or its political statement. The award was certainly a political statement – a vote of protest against not only the current situation of Hong Kong, but also the hegemony of a film industry that has been dominated by mainland co-productions. Critics say such collaborations typically favour mainland talent and capital, while sidelining local talent. At the same time, the film was also recognised for its artistic merit, for it clearly resonated with the people of Hong Kong and made an impact.

Those who protested against the movie’s win were mostly movie moguls – such as MediaAsia’s Peter Lam Kin-ngok, also chairman of the Hong Kong Tourism Board – who have vast business interests on the mainland. They are also among those who benefited the most from the co-productions over the past decade. Critics claimed Ten Years, which was made on a budget of HK$500,000, did not meet the award’s artistic criteria, and threatened to boycott the awards if its voting system was not changed.

The idea that a creative work’s artistic merit is tied to how much it cost to make it is laughable and doesn’t need to be taken seriously. But not so the demand for change, which will compromise the probity of the awards. Such a move must not be allowed to proceed.

If the Occupy movement can be said to have nurtured the seeds of localism in politics, it’s only natural that the same is happening in cinema. In recent month, we’ve seen the release of the political comedy Mobfathers, the crime thriller Trivisa and the documentary The Taste of Youth, all of which speak to a local audience and are expected to take centre stage at next year’s Hong Kong Film Awards. The film industry must defend the integrity of the awards – the way Hongkongers should defend the freedoms and rule of law of this city.

A version of this was published in the South China Morning Post on April 8, 2016

"Hi, my name is J5!"

2016-02-27T10:50:00.000+00:00

Subtitles in simplified Chinese on TVB J5's Mandarin newscasts

People change with time, and nothing stays the same.

Recently I ran into my old school friend Jay Ng. Despite the fact that we had not seen one another for nearly 19 years, we spotted each other right away as we walked pass the headquarters of HSBC in Central.

Jay still looked the same: the long straight black hair framed her oval face perfectly. Her beautiful dark eyes were blinking with amusement as she saw me.

"Oh my God! It's been soooooooo long!" Jay screamed with excitement.

We laughed out loud as we gave each other a big hug. Pedestrians dressed in impeccable business attire passing by thought we were lunatics but neither of us cared. A surprise reunion of old friends mattered much more than opinions of people we didn't know.

"When did you come back to town? How come you didn't tell me?"

"I only just arrived couple of days ago! I was planning to message you next week after I'm settling in. I just sorted something out at the bank. Oh dear Hong Kong has changed so much!"

Jay's family sent her to boarding school in the UK just before the 1997 handover. She refused to go but she apparently had no choice at the time. We were best friends at school and we thought we would be enrolling the same major at the same university. We even fantasised meeting our Mr Rights around the same time so that we would be able to stage our weddings together.

Of course when she told me that she had to leave, we were saddened by the fact that we had to go separate ways so soon. But I was always grateful that we managed to keep in touch over the years, although I must admit that time has eroded our friendship a bit.

"So, are you back for good?" I asked.

"Well, I wouldn't call it 'for good' just yet. My family wants me back to take care of the family business. I'm not even sure if I'm capable for the job so we'll see."

Then Jay handed me her name card. "Here are my new contact details. Let's have a proper catch up next week!" she said. "I'm so happy that you are still around."

I flipped her bilingual name card and spotted something out of ordinary: one side was printed in simplified Chinese. The other side was in English, but her name read different.

"How dare you didn't tell me you were already married and didn't invite me to your wedding? Am I still your friend?" I rolled my eyes. "So who's the lucky guy, Mrs Wu?"

Her pretty face suddenly went blank. "No, I'm still single," she said, with a faint hint of disappointment. "I just changed the English spelling of my last name from the Cantonese Ng to Wu in Mandarin."

"WHY?" I was astonished.

"Technically it wasn't my idea," Jay sighed.

Jay told me that because her family's business was now headquartered in Shanghai, she will have to travel around the world frequently among Hong Kong, Shanghai, New York and Europe. And to avoid confusion and have greater advantage in the business world, her family suggested her changed the English spelling of the family name from Ng to Wu, so that people would regard the family business as a mainland-based business instead of some small corporation from Hong Kong.

"I didn't see the logic to be honest. At the end of the day, business is business, regardless of where you come from. But then, my family said the whole world was obsessed with China, and if changing the spelling of my family name on my name card would help, why not? I didn't change my passport name," she said. "Besides, foreigners can't pronounce Ng."

That was not the Jay I knew. I recalled back in the days in school, Jay was a girl with principle. Once in our Chinese class, our teacher was mocking us for being too quiet and timid to speak up in class and answer her questions. The whole classroom went dead but Jay raised her hand and hit back.

"We don't speak not because we are incapable of answering your questions, but because we couldn't be bothered. You have been bullying us because you despise us. You think that our class isn't as good as your other classes. You haven't brought your best to our class, and why should us?"

We applauded for Jay's bravery and the teacher was embarrassed. Jay dared to speak the truth. And since then, the teacher's attitude towards our class changed dramatically. She brought her best to our class and eventually our results in Chinese language were at the top, beating the rest of other classes in our year.

And almost 20 years later, Jay backed down. "The world has changed. My recent experiences have told me that western investors have no interests in Hong Kong any more. It is a small market and it has been marginalised. They are interested in a huge market of 1.3 billion population. We can only go with the flow," she said.

"Is that so?"

"I don't have the answer, but it's harmless to try. We now have all our documents in English and simplified Chinese. I can read the characters though I never studied them, but the use of Chinese language is completely different from the kind of Chinese language usage I grew up with. What can I do? I have 300 families to feed."

I didn't want our first encounter in years to end on a sour note. So I tried to come up with a joke. "So you are now Jay Wu, that's like TVB's J5 channel," I laughed. "You know that they are having subtitles in simplified Chinese for its Mandarin newscasts? What a coincidence. Jay Wu sounds exactly like J5!" The number five is pronounced "wu" in Mandarin.

"Oh stop that! You aren't the first one teasing me about my name," Jay laughed.

We both had to run to our next appointments. So before we said goodbye, we agreed to catch up next week at Clipper Lounge at the good old Mandarin Oriental.

"Ciao! J5!" I laughed.

"Yea right," Jay frowned. "Now I have to keep telling my business associates that 'hi! My name is J5."

I missed the Jay Ng I knew.

ENDS

What if Frozen is the new Sex and the City?

2016-01-04T16:17:00.000+00:00

Queen Elsa and Princess Anna in Disney animated feature Frozen. Source: Internet

Finally. I've watched Frozen.

I'm a fan of animation particularly those from Japan. But when it comes to Disney animated films, there's always this love-hate relationship going on between us.

On one hand, I admit that I enjoy fairy tales for they are easy, sweet and lift me up even on the worst possible day with a glimpse of hope, that miracles will happen eventually if the right ingredients are in place.

But on the other, the theme of princess-got-rescued-by-prince-charming-and-live-happily-everafter stemmed in many Disney cartoons is simply toxic. Little girls dream of themselves as princesses and all they have to do is to look pretty and then one day, prince charming comes along, rescues them from all the problems, and they will live happily ever after. And as for the boys, they have no choice but to grow up to become the prince charming and to rescue pretty girls whom they barely know. The notion of living happily ever after is the worst. For those of us who have been in and out of relationships, finding a partner is not the end but the beginning of a new chapter of the bittersweet life story. A relationship is not about dating someone who showers you with all grand romantic gestures and sweep your feet off the ground. A relationship is about living the reality and it requires a lot of work.

So when I see department stores' children section is crowded with (ugly) merchandises of Frozen, and my Facebook feeds are full of friends' daughters dressing up as Princess/ Queen Elsa, my guard is up. What has Disney done this time around? Why are the little girls so crazy about Frozen? Is it simply because of the pretty blonde princess who is gifted with the magical power of freezing everything off? Or is it because of some subliminal messages in theme song Let It Go (I much prefer the parody version Fuck It All actually) that have secretly gotten all little girls hooked? The more I think about these unresolved questions, the more I reject watching this Disney offering.

Thus for two years since it was released, I still had not touched it, until a recent long haul flight.

The lacklustre offerings in the in-flight entertainment system somehow directed me to click of Frozen. It was the end of 2015 and I thought, well, as a journalist who seeks the truth of everything, I should watch it before I hate it.

So in the name of research, I brought my sceptical self to watch this movie I have been hating for no reason, and my perception swung to opposite end of the pole afterwards.

I'm not going into the details of plot, as everything is available here. What this Disney feature surprised me was the emphasis of girl power and sisterhood, and a new (and relatively correct) rendition of true love.

Girl power was touched upon in Disney's previous offering Tangled (which, I admit, I enjoyed very much), in which Rapunzel plays some kind of a heroine and rescues her lover in the end. Frozen takes this heroine character further: Elsa finally comes to terms with herself - fucks it all to just be herself, despite she is seen as a freak.

But while all the little girls are obsessed with Elsa, her younger sister Anna is the real protagonist and heroine. The naive younger princess meets prince charming who sweeps her feet off the ground, but it turns out the prince is a fraud. She thinks the act of true love is a kiss that will save her life - just like how it has been portrayed in Snow White or Sleeping Beauty - but the act of true love is not confined to just romantic love, but the love of sisterhood. She meets a brave boy who accompanies her quest to find her lost sister Snow Queen, and although the boy (seems) to love her, he is just making her life better, a bonus to her life, rather than the centre of her life.

If this is a lesson from Frozen, I can't help but associating this with the earlier seasons of Sex and the City, which is about the friendship of four women (sisterhood) in their quest for love from a man. The prince charming might be their goal, but it is the sisterhood that stays with them regardless of who the man is. They don't need prince charming to survive. Prince charming is just a bonus to their already fabulous lives.

I don't know what young girls have learnt from Frozen, or if the girl power is what draws them to this Disney feature. But if this is the case, then I suppose Disney might have finally done a good deed.

The art of unfriending and untagging

2015-11-20T15:13:00.002+00:00

Facebook: Keeping yourself updated with the rest of the world, including your ex
Source: Internet

Over the past few months, I've been keeping myself busy with one of the biggest projects of my life: decluttering.

To most people, decluttering means going through your belongings piled up at home and getting rid of things that you no longer need. It is a cleansing process not only on a material level - you are also mentally weeding out stuff that is blocking you from moving forward.

But decluttering does not stop at the material level. There is a lot more work to do in the digital realm.

Social media plays a major part of many of our lives. We share out thoughts in our status updates, write things on other people's walls, share news feeds and post photos of friends and tag them.

Then of course, some people just have this thing of posting photos of flaunting their intimate moments with their boyfriend or girlfriend in social media, shouting out loud to the world: "Hey look at me and my (happy) relationship!"

It might be alright when the relationship is good. But when things turn sour, what do you do?

I accidentally came across this 2012 study conducted by Dr. Tara C. Marshall, from the department of psychology at the School of Social Sciences at Brunel University, Uxbridge, UK. Entitled Facebook Surveillance of Former Romantic Partners: Associations with PostBreakup Recovery and Personal Growth, the analysis studied data from 464 participants on their online/ offline contacts with their ex. The survey found out that staying "friends" with an ex on social media like Facebook -- receiving their status updates, tagged in old photos, etc -- causes much "greater current distress over the breakup, more negative feelings, sexual desire, and longing for the ex-partner, and lower personal growth".

"Overall, these findings suggest that exposure to an ex-partner through Facebook may obstruct the process of healing and moving on from a past relationship".

I don't need an academic study to tell me this. In fact, I learnt it the hard way.

It's never a good idea to post anything - status, photos, etc - about your relationships on your social media. Relationships are private and personal. If it's good, I'm happy. And I have this glow on my face and those who know me can see it. If it's bad, then I'm sad, and I most certainly don't want the whole world know about it. Friends who are real friends will know, and they will reach out to comfort me regardless.

Only immature people flaunt their intimate relationships on social media.

So the decluttering project also includes going through my social media history. I went through my photos to see what have been posted - either by me or someone else. I hid those that were posted by myself, and untagged myself from a number of them posted by someone else. I just don't want a certain part of my history to be publicised in social media.

But hiding and untagging myself from old photos do not mean I'm erasing my history. What happened has already happened. The memories are mine and they stay with me until the day I die. Memories are private, and the only people I can and want to share these memories with are those who were there to create these memories together. Anyone who wasn't there need not to know - and most certainly not to see them in old photos that pop up right in their faces, particularly perspective new partner(s), whose existence in my life is to create new memories.

It's simply rude, disrespectful and inconsiderate of your current partner's feelings when you keep flaunting your dating history on your social media page. And I do not want to do that to the person I'm currently dating.

You might argue that unfriending an ex is "uncivilised". But seriously, exposing myself to unnecessary emotional trauma is way more uncivilised than unfriending someone who is no longer part of my present life.

As Facebook is introducing a new function to limit your exposure to your ex without unfriending them, looks like there's a new "civilised" way to handle the matter. But the conclusion remains: stay away from your ex on social media after breaking up.

So for the sake of myself and my future, I declutter thoroughly, both in the material world and in the digital realm.

Related post: Dating with Whatsapp

ENDS

Reaching out to the public - the role of commercial sector in Hong Kong culture

2015-11-09T09:12:00.003+00:00

Chloe Cheuk - Waiting for Another Round

There was a time where art and commerce were mortal enemies. Art was the saint, whereas commerce was deemed evil. And if there was ever any crossover between the two, the resulting works were degraded as commercial, with low artistic value created solely to keep cash registers ringing.

But in a healthy cultural ecology, support from commerce is indispensable. Cash is a necessary component of setting up exhibitions and producing shows, from venue bookings to administrative expenses. Artists need to be paid too – they have to eat and they have bills to pay. And when bureaucracy gets in the way of application for government funding and causes a major headache for many artists and arts groups, sponsorship from the private sector is not necessarily evil.

Hong Kong’s new media art group Videotage seems to have found a middle path.

Just over the weekend, I managed to catch the exhibition Both Sides Now II – It Was the Best of Times, it Was the Worst of Times? before it closed. Jointly presented by Videotage and Britain’s videoclub, this exhibition of moving images was staged at K11 art space – a gallery located at K11 shopping centre, the show’s co-presenter – in Tsim Sha Tsui, right inside an MTR station tunnel that would see hundreds of thousands of city dwellers pass by.

The show is the second part of the Both Sides Now series that has travelled to UK cities Brighton, Hastings, Leicester, London, Manchester, Portsmouth, and Shanghai and Wuhan in China. Hong Kong is the final stop.

Viewers get to see a wide range of moving image works by artists from Hong Kong juxtaposing those by British artists. Recent works are shown side by side with those dating back to as early as 1990 – and some are very critical and provocative, politically, socially and aesthetically.

Compared to other traditional forms of media, works of moving image can be challenging to a general audience as they adopt a different narrative that may be too abstract to those who grew up on a diet of popular films and television shows.

But this was exactly why Videotage chairman co-curator Isaac Leung decided it was right to stage such a show at an art space inside a shopping centre.

“A lot of shows are a lot more disengaged from the public,” Leung told me.

He said that as art had become more of a commodity with the booming of the art market, it had lost its original place.

“It seems that art isn’t taking a cutting-edge role at the forefront of the society, unlike start-ups or companies like Kickstarter, Tesla or Airbnb, which are really changing human lives and re-organising resources. The art world seems to be going back to the patronage system and art market, making art become a commodity.” Well, I've definitely had a taste of this start-up culture while I was in Berlin earlier this year.

Leung said he hoped an exhibition at a shopping centre’s art space could distract people from their everyday lives and take a pause to look at something inspiring. And it seems he has achieved this goal, with many spectators spotted at the show appearing not to be regular art event-goers.

Audiences were enthusiastic in expressing their thoughts and opinions about certain works, particularly those produced by Hong Kong artists. While Chow Chun-fai’s Repainting “Infernal Affairs” (2007), a video made of 58 paintings of shots from the 2003 Hong Kong crime thriller classic, would bring back a lot of collective memories and generated a lot of responses, Wong Ping’s friendly animated video FRUITPUNCH - We Want More - MV (2010) questioned the world of capitalism, shown alongside a “questionnaire” asking the public when they believed they would be able to buy a flat. Most respondents chose “the next life” as their answer – it was no doubt depressing but almost ironic to have this on display at a shopping centre run by one of Hong Kong’s largest property developers.

A number of works by Hong Kong artists were direct responses to last year’s Occupy protests – which was probably the worst of times, but also the best of times, although they were only mentioned in the exhibition programme, not exhibited at the shopping mall art space.

These works included Kacey Wong’s Hongkongese Warning Squad (2014),Waiting For Another Round (2015) by Chloe Cheuk, Birdy Chu’s The Interviews (2015), DDED’s Anti-riot Citizens vs Brutal Police (2014),Admiralty Hong Kong October 28 2014 (2014) by Valery Grancher, MAP Office’s Under The Umbrella (2014) and One Letter Horse’s Feature of Anti-Occupy Chinese University Movement (2014).

While works by Hong Kong artists focused on the local context, those by their British counterparts addressed more universal themes, such as the impact of social media on the media landscape and contemplation of humanity.

Following the conclusion of the exhibition, Leung said, analyses of the exhibition and audiences responses would be made available to the public online. The show organisers were also working on a third edition of the series.

Now we are in the thick of the Hong Kong Art Gallery Week, a period full of art events and talks opened to the public. Art galleries aren’t just shops selling artworks as commodities. They [OK, the real galleries] play an indispensable role in a cultural ecology, which I will delve into another time.

The world isn’t polarised into black and white. There are more than 50 shades of grey in between.

A version of this post was published in SCMP.com

How far will you go for a dress?

2015-11-03T20:59:00.001+00:00

So finally I've bought my first piece of garment on the Internet.

Call me old fashioned but I've always been the kind of girl who enjoy shopping at shops - I like to feel the fabrics, try things on, check myself in the mirror. I love talking to sales girls, who always wear this smiley face that make me feel good, even though I'm well aware of the fact that they are waiting for me to take my money or credit card out of my wallet.

Last week, I did my window shopping routine in Causeway Bay not preparing to buy anything - I've just decluttered one-third of my wardrobe and I had no intention to add anything to my already crowded closet. I planned on to save the space of my closet for something more important in my life than clothes.

But this tulle maxi skirt caught my eyes. I've always been a fan of tutu, and I've always wanted a maxi skirt. So of course I'd like something rolling two into one, but somehow I never found the right one.

But there it was, hung right in front of me. The milky white tulle maxi skirt with a faint hint of vintage grey was calling me. It's light, elegant, stylish, and, well, a bit like dresses from fairy tale with a touch of street fashion.

I had to buy it, I said to myself quietly.

"How much is it?" I asked the friendly sales lady.

"HK$1,050. It's already 50 per cent off. It is from Korea." HK$1,050? Seriously. I wasn't in the market for a thousand dollar dress.

I left the shop with great disappointment, though still debating whether I should go back to buy the dress.

I began looking up images of tulle maxi skirt on my smartphone.

Awwwww....they are so beautiful. I seriously really desperately wanted one.

Then I stumbled across an image of a tulle maxi skirt that looked almost exactly like the one I saw at the Causeway Bay shop.

It was from Taiwan-based online shop Dagogo (http://dagogo.tw), which was selling the dress at, NTW1,500 - about HK$350.

OMFG!

I immediately click on the link to this online shop, hoping to find a way to ask if they would ship it to Hong Kong.

But the only way I could get an immediate response was through LINE - I had to have instant communication.

Email seemed taking too long and shopping was always about being impulsive.

So I installed LINE, contacted the shop, and the shop owner said they would ship to Hong Kong, and it would cost something around HK$400!

HK$400!

So what happened with the other HK$600? If this shop in Taiwan was only asking for HK$350, this means out of the HK$1,050, 60 per cent of the money I pay would go to rent and overheads.

Okay I wouldn't mind the overhead costs and salary for the sales lady as I think she totally deserved it.

But rent?

Seriously. I pay enough rent and I'm done with paying any extra penny to property developers that have been sucking the blood out of citizens of Hong Kong. They were not making our city a better place to live but instead, they took advantage of our desperation for space. Eventually the high rent killed the best small local shops which once made Hong Kong a place of interesting street culture. This of course deeply impacted artistic and creative productions, which required large spaces. A number of artists, musicians and designers struggle with finding affordable studio spaces to continue producing works. The failure of the factory buildings revitalisation scheme is a great example.

But more importantly, high rent kills our spirit to take risks and be adventurous with our lives - many of us were stuck with jobs we didn't like simply because we were so afraid of not being able to pay the rent.

So now it's a matter of principle - it was not that I'm unwilling to pay a thousand dollars. It was because this was a rip-off and unjust!

OK! I will take it!

"But how can you pay? The easiest way to pay is to transfer money to my Alipay account."

I didn't have an Alipay account, which is China's version of PayPal. I never shopped online outside of Hong Kong and anything else besides stuff for my darling cat Prince.

But for the sake of the dress, I installed Alipay. And I went to 7-11 to buy top up vouchers.

It wasn't as easy as I thought though. Alipay was really complicated and the vouchers I bought couldn't not top up my account. I browsed the Alipay homepage but it was frustrating. Why did people invent a payment platform that is so not user friendly?

I cried for help, asking around if anyone could rescue me. I seriously wanted the dress.

Finally a colleague helped me transferred money to the Taiwanese online shop's Alipay account. Four days later, the dress arrived. And it fit perfectly.

I couldn't help but wonder how much of my other shoppings have contributed to the wallets of the modern day feudal lords. And why I had been so stupid to realise it only just now?

This dramatic shopping experience was certainly a great lesson. The online shopping culture is there, and high rent forces me to embrace this new culture.

Is Hong Kong ready for a TV revolution?

2015-10-11T08:53:00.001+01:00

Television is most certainly not dead. Just when many people in Hong Kong - including my mother, a 50-something-year-old housewife -- have been dreading over the city’s lacklustre offerings on the small screen and switching off, a TV revolution led by a global force is about to hit the town.

The arrival of Netflix, the latest Apple TV launch and mainland online platform LeTV’s Hong Kong plans have made news headlines recently. To the city’s TV fans - or more precisely today, consumers of moving image content -- nothing is more exciting than have more choices of home entertainment that go beyond programmes produced by local players free-to-air broadcasters, the dominant TVB and the beleaguered ATV, available only on a rigid linear schedule, and pay-TV operators Cable TV and Now TV offering programmes looping around the clock.

But while consumers are ecstatic about the abundant choices of content in future, the arrival of these international digital content powerhouses will undoubtedly shake Hong Kong’s television ecology to the core.

Locally produced television content is forced to go head-to-head against programmes from all over the world, where many of them are of high production value, thanks to the easy access through high speed internet and state-of-art hardware and softwares. How can local players compete with these multi-million dollar productions and retain their audiences and advertisers?

The other question is, how will this affect Hong Kong culturally? Television has long been regarded as an integral tool that constructs the city’s cultural identity after the 1967 riots. Citizens were exposed only to limited choices of locally produced television programmes because of the restriction of technology and their analogue lifestyle in the past. Since the inauguration of TVB in 1967, its programmes, particularly the melodramas, had been a core representation of Hong Kong values and collective memories. But as more and more audiences are walking away from local television content and opt for global content according to their personalised taste, will this be the beginning of the fragmentation of Hong Kong’s cultural identity?

The past month could’ve been like Boxing Day for Hong Kong’s TV audiences: the delightful ride began with Netflix, the American internet streaming entertainment platform offering a library of movies and TV shows including award-winning content such as political drama House of Cards, confirming its long awaited launch in Hong Kong early next year, alongside other Asian territories including South Korea, Singapore and Taiwan.

China’s largest online video company LeTV, which offers TV content streaming services in mainland and Hong Kong, snatched the broadcast rights of English Premier League football games in the city from next season onwards for Hong Kong at a reported deal worth US$400 million, beating PCCW. LeTV also produces its own TV dramas available to Hong Kong and mainland viewers via its digital platform. Now LeTV is teaming up with Hong Kong Broadband for high speed internet traffic, though it remains a mystery on its "collaboration" with Now TV on showing English Premier League.

This was followed by the highly anticipated Apple launch, where the latest version of Apple TV branded as “the future of television” was introduced. Viewers can personalise their choices of TV programmes through apps such as YouTube, Netflix, or movies carried on iTunes, and watch shows whenever they want. The device also allows viewers to play games, shuffle your music and videos by installing the right apps accordingly on you TV screens.

The world of television is heading towards new era thanks to the digital revolution. Television is no longer television. It has become a multi-functional and multi-purpose one-stop shop of home entertainment available on wired television sets, smartphones, tablets and computers. It becomes a much more personalised entertainment experience which can be enjoyed anytime, anywhere. Audiences are opening their arms to embrace the pleasure brought by this unprecedented change.

But when even the honorable legislator Christopher Chung Shu-kun could confuse streaming with downloading at a Legislative Council debate on the review of Copyright Ordinance last year, are Hong Kong’s TV policies and regulatory structure ready to embrace this change? Will Netflix in Hong Kong face the same fate as Uber did recently and be prosecuted for whatever reasons?

Hong Kong’s definition of television remains more or less the same as the way it was when TVB was inaugurated in 1967. Television, free-to-air and pay-TV, is subject to broadcasting regulations. Licensees are required to pay government fees for the licence to air their programmes via spectrums. They are also subject to strict advertising regulations that limit the exposure of commercials to audiences. And although digital terrestrial broadcasting was launched in 2007, the government is further delaying the analogue switch-off date to 2020 despite 80 per cent of the city’s households already have access to digital broadcasting.

The traditional mentality of television remains among players. Despite TVB has been actively cultivating its online presence through its MyTV platform, terrestrial broadcasting, analogue and digital, remain the core business. Perspective player Forever Top, a consortium led by property tycoon David Chiu Tat-cheong and MGM China co-chairman Pansy Ho Chiu-king, is bidding a free TV licence. The ailing ATV has found a consortium of mainland investors to inject HK$5.1 billion and to apply for a new free TV licence.

Advertisers today still rely on the much criticised ratings system which fails to provide accurate data of viewerships profiles and demographics as their guideline to place ads.

Traditional TV’s programming makes almost no difference from those shot in the 1980s. Mid-night replays of drama classics from decades ago, such as recent “hits” like stock market drama The Greed Man (1992) starring Adam Cheng and comedy Justice of Life (1989) starring Stephen Chow were landed on front pages of entertainment press and widely discussed on social media.

But as television is migrating to the internet, the regulatory model will soon be no longer applicable.

People are walking out of Hong Kong’s television. TVB’s figures show that within one decade from 2005 to 2014, nearly a million viewers switched off from the dominant players’ prime-time drama series, leaving only an average of 1.4 million viewers still watching the shows. ATV, on the other hand, has an average of 64,660 viewers. This means nearly 5.7 million people - or 80 per cent of Hong Kong’s population -- are not watching terrestrial free TV.

But will one day these existing stakeholders gang up to stop the evolution of television in the digital era, just like what the taxi industry did to Uber?

The internet becomes the next battleground for local television, but this could further kill the local TV industry. When people are given the choice of programmes from all over the world, the quality of local TV productions has proved to be inadequate when facing a global competition. Even my mother - apparently a target audience of TVB - ditched the dominant broadcaster’s dramas long ago for Korean soap available on the internet.

TVB has been recording an average of single digit ratings online despite its efforts. Ricky Wong Wai-kay has made multiple attempts to revolutionise television in the city with his Hong Kong Television Network (HKTV) via free-to-air TV and mobile TV. But he was banished from entering the market one time after another. He then make HKTV an internet TV platform, but as he puts his shows produced at HK$1 million per episode online. But the results fell below expectations after a couple of hits.

A small market of 7 million population is not enough to support multi-million TV productions, despite subscriptions. TV content has to target at a regional, if not global, audience, just like Hollywood films to serve an international market.

But this leads to another question -- how much “Hongkongness” can be retained if Hong Kong’s television producers are aiming at producing shows catering an audience beyond the city? That’s a question remains to be answered.

While the government and the older generation are still holding on to the “Below the Lion Rock spirit” stemmed from the 1970s RTHK drama today, the city has become more fragmented than before. Young people are tuning to 100 Most’s MostTV, a quirky internet platform operated by youngsters offering hilarious multimedia content and video clips offering a sarcastic take of the city’s political affairs, showbiz and social issues (Yes, I am a fan). Moving image content available on the internet is destined to further dissect the city’s population. A wider gap among different generations is expected and this needs to addressed in order to hold the city together.

Regardless of how this television revolution will pan out, consumers are the ultimate winner. After all, we just want to treat ourselves with some high quality home entertainment after slaving ourselves all day only to pay the bills and the exorbitant rent.

An edited version of this piece was published in Sunday Morning Post on September 13

What is Hong Kong going to do next when the taste of home can only be found abroad?

2015-07-05T18:24:00.003+01:00

Crispy roast pork belly at Tak Kee, Berlin - an authentic Hong Kong delicacy available only on weekends

One of the unspoken rules many Hongkongers abide by when they travel to Western countries is to stay away from Chinese restaurants.

I’m sure there are plenty of great Chinese restaurants in the West – perhaps in Vancouver or Toronto where many Hong Kong people reside, though I haven’t had the opportunity to visit those two cities.

But for some strange reason, some of the restaurants I have seen in the West which claim to be serving Chinese or Hong Kong cuisines did not seem quite right.

The food was either cheap, greasy Chinese takeaway – fried noodles, dumplings made out of one-inch-thick pastry and sweet-and-sour pork (too sweet or too sour) – or Chinese dishes made with a Western twist (which means not Chinese at all).

Call me conservative, but as someone who grew up with fresh seafood and authentic Hong Kong-style Cantonese cuisine, visiting Chinese restaurants was never on my agenda during my stay in Berlin. I’m completely fine with salad and schnitzel.

But a recent experience in the German capital changed my perception a little bit.

By chance, a Hongkonger who has spent a great deal of his life in Germany recommended that I visit Tak Kee in Charlottenburg. I was told that the restaurant, founded by Hongkongers, offered the most authentic Hong Kong cuisine in Berlin. I was sceptical, but being an adventurous traveller, I still gave it a go.

As I walked down the streets, following the instructions on Google Maps, a red sign resembling the design of a KMB bus stop caught my eye. It wasn’t only a signage for the restaurant, but also a surprising connection to home.

Stepping into the cosy restaurant, a large banner depicting Hong Kong’s famous skyline was hanging on the wall. Having stayed for more than a month in an extremely green and spacious city, with countless parks and low-rise buildings, the image of neon signs and skyscrapers along the Victoria Harbour waterfront suddenly made striking just how far away I was from home.

There was nothing fancy about Tak Kee’s dishes, but its authentic Hong Kong flavour connected me with my home city: clay pot rice with chicken and mushroom; fried broccoli with garlic; stir-fried morning glory with chilli and preserved bean curd paste; and crispy roast pork belly, which was a delightful surprise.

An authentic Hong Kong meal that made me feel like at home in Berlin

It was the taste of home. It blew away not just me, but also fellow Hongkongers living in Berlin and travellers who have enjoyed the Hong Kong experience.

One of the German-speaking Hong Kong owners of Tak Kee told me that the restaurant had been around for two years.

The lady said running a restaurant in Berlin was much easier compared to Hong Kong as the rent was much lower, overhead costs were lower, and she could get better and leaner meat for the crispy roast pork belly, their signature dish.

“And there is so much space in Berlin. In Hong Kong, you can only afford living in a shoebox. How can you live a life that that?” she said.

She had a point. What kind of life are people in Hong Kong leading? Many enslave themselves for nothing but buying a small flat at an exorbitant price. Many people have to give up on dreams and ambitions that do not generate enough money to pay the mortgage or rent.

This hurts much more when you consider that Hong Kong likes to pose as the cultural hub of Asia, investing billions of dollars into cultural infrastructure like the West Kowloon Cultural District. But how can we expect young people to be creative and dream big when buying a flat has become their sole life goal?

Just as I was contemplating this, I received a WhatsApp text message from a friend in Hong Kong: “Do you know [that] your favourite restaurant in your ‘hood has closed?”

Where's Hong Kong heading to?

Seriously?

“Charlie’s Place is no longer there. It cannot afford the high rent any more,” the friend said.

Charlie’s Place in Landale Street, Wan Chai, was my favourite because it served simple, home-cooked, MSG-free fare including rice, soup or drinks at just HK$45 to HK$65. It was the taste of home.

“The owners said they would try to find another affordable location but I don’t think it’s possible,” my friend continued. “Nothing is affordable in Hong Kong. I don’t know what they are going to do next.”

Indeed, what is Hong Kong going to do next?

Originally published in the South China Morning Post's blog Culture Club

Berlin Calling: the Eternal Recurrence

2015-06-01T16:44:00.005+01:00

“And this slow spider, which crawls in the moonlight, and this moonlight itself, and I and you in the gateway, whispering together, whispering eternal things – must not all of us have been there before? And return and walk in that other lane, out there, before us, in this long dreadful lane – must we not eternally return?” -- Friedrich Nietzsche

At this year's Venice Biennale, artist Tsang Kin-wah represents Hong Kong at the international art Olympics with his moving image installation The Infinite Nothing. It is a mesmerising piece of work: as a viewer journeys through the pitch-black dark rooms saturated with the powerful text-based moving images and eerie sounds and returns to the starting point at the end of the journey, he is immersed in an enclosed space where time appears to be standing still, offering him an opportunity to contemplate his life journey.

In an interview I did with Tsang in Venice for the South China Morning Post, we talked about his idea of the show. German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche's theory of “eternal recurrence” has been centre to the development of this spectacular installation, which was produced with the support of what is arguably my favourite curatorial team from M+, the visual culture museum to open at the West Kowloon Cultural District in in Hong Kong 2019.

Eternal recurrence, according to the exhibition publication, “is the idea that the universe has been constantly recurring in a similar manner in infinite time and space”. Tsang says he believes in the idea, that we all travel to the same places over and over again through our life journey. But despite we might have been revisiting the same spots, every time the experience is different, he says.

“No one can step into the same river twice,” Tsang tells me.

* * *

The almighty force of the universe has once again brought me back to Berlin.

* * *

Five weeks have passed in the blink of an eye since the beginning of the IJP Fellowship. Organised by the non-profit IJP (International Journalists' Programmes) founded in 1981 for the promotion of journalists in Germany and internationally. This year, four of us from Asia – Tianqin Ji from mainland China, Tshering Palden from Bhutan, Jieun Seo from South Korea and myself – were awarded the prestigious IJP Asia-Pacific Fellowship.

The two-month programme is structured in a way to experience life and culture in Berlin and Germany while polish our journalism skills through our work experience placement with a local newspaper and research on our individual topics here in Berlin.

The first half of the programme has been completed – three-day orientation programme together with German journalists who are currently now researching on their individual topics in Asia, followed by two-week intensive German language training provided by the Goethe-Institut and a one-week travel through Germany to Dresden, Weimar and Munich, visiting local media, cultural and business corporations to exchange our ideas and views of politics, journalism, culture and pressing global issues. This was followed by a one week break before starting our work placement with a local newspaper. We are all assigned to station with different newspapers and I'm working with Berlin-based broadsheet Der Tagesspiegel.

* * *

This is my third time to come to Berlin, but none of it has been my conscious choice. I had been brought here.

The first time was in 2004 when I was selected as one of the 10 young film journalists and critics from all over the world to take part in the inaugural Berlinale Talent Press as a young film journalist and critic at the Berlin International Film Festival. The second time was two years ago when I was invited by Germany's Foreign Office for a culture exploration trip in Berlin and Frankfurt. This year, I return under the capacity of IJP Fellow.

Of course, there is always Venice -- how is it possible to forget!

“No one can step into the same river twice,” says Tsang Kin-wah.

Eternal recurrence - perhaps there's some truth to it.

As I walk down the same streets, passing by the exact same landmarks that I had once stumbled across, I am constantly reminded of a distant past that has long been buried in the deepest end of my memories. There had been many happy moments, and traumas that I wish could be wiped out.

The streets and the landmarks might still be the same, but I am a different person compared to who I was in 2004, and happy new memories are now staying with me.

There is no such thing as “the same river”.

The destiny of ATV is already written in the stars? 從占星角度看亞視

2015-01-04T14:08:00.000+00:00

Ancient people believed that our fate has already been written in the stars the moment we were born. And hence, over the course of human civilisation, various types of star-reading methods have been developed. Whether it is astrology in the West or Zi Wei Dou Shu 紫微斗數 in Chinese traditions, humans, generations after generations, strived to unlock the secrets of their destiny through decoding the positions and movement of stars.

When astrology is tied in with the beleaguered Hong Kong free-to-air television station Asia Television (ATV), it became a great topic of discussion over a delicious hot pot dinner with my good old friend E.

E, I would address her as Master E, is an astrology enthusiast. But her knowledge and sharp interpretations of the positions of stars make her more than just an amateur. It is my honest hope that Master E will go on to develop a second career as an astrologer, for she is truly talented.

So our conversation went from gossip over to the fate of ATV, a topic (yes a topic) that I constantly write about in my job as a newspaper journalist covering cultural affairs, as we dip the beef slices into the boiling soup.

The recent ATV reality drama evolving around shareholders disputes, court rivalries and Labour Department's prosecution of unpaid staff salaries (first happened in September, and now the station hasn't paid staff half of November and December salaries) have been making news headlines. Although ATV's executive director Ip Ka-po insists that ATV will live, and is confident that a white knight will turn up at last to rescue the station from debts and demise, few believe that ATV can survive. The Communications Authority has refused to recommend a renewal of ATV's free-to-air licence, which is due to expire in November. The Chief Executive in Council is supposed to give a TV station 12-month notice if it decides to terminate a TV station's licence. This means CE in Council has already delayed its decision by over a month. There are suggestions of the government trying to buy time for ATV to either look for a new investor to solve the problem, or leave ATV to die so that Chief Executive Leung Chun-ying don't have to take any responsibilities over the fate of ATV.

Whether this is true or not, the reality is that ATV is on the edge of collapse. And what do the stars say about that?

While we were waiting for the meat balls to get ready in the boiling soup, I asked Master E if we could create a natal chart for ATV. And apparently we could.

The picture on top is the natal chart for ATV, taking the time and date of broadcasting commencement of ATV - formerly known as Redifussion TV before rounds and rounds of ownership reshuffle -- as its birth time and date.

When the chart was generated with a smartphone app, we burst out laughing (sorry it was quite mean over a TV station striving to survive) with amazement, because, at first glance, ATV is destined to suffer.

The inner circle shows the natal planets, meaning the positions of the stars when ATV began broadcasting on May 29, 1957, at 7pm. The outer circle shows the current positions of the stars, which are generally called transit.

Here are a few key indicators:

The very first thing that Master E spotted is the position of Pluto, at 28' 01" degrees Leo, which almost conjuncts ATV's Midheaven (at 28 degrees Leo). With such a position of Pluto, said Master E, ATV is destined to live a hard life. According to Cafe Astrology, the Midheaven, locating on top of the chart, indicates one's "achievements in the eyes of society, public face, accomplishments and over all sense of responsibility and standing in the society".

But when Pluto, a planet indicating renewal, rebirth and destructions, conjuncts Midheaven, it's not a good omen. Astrologer Robert Pelletier has said that such position indicates inevitable changes through out one's life, with over possessive parents attempting in dominating one's development. "At some point in your life, all the negative consequences of your actions will be exposed, thus tearing down whatever good you have done. Nixon is an example of this type of person."

In reality, ATV has experienced endless ownership changes, from Rediffusion to entrepreneur Deacon Chiu in the 1980s, then Lim Por-yen in the 1990s, followed by mainland businessman Feng Xiaopeng, and then ... the Cha brothers, Liu Changle, Taiwanese snack tycoon Tsai Eng-meng and now Wong Ching. These owners, who can be considered as parents, imposed tight control over ATV's development, from business strategies to programming. "But they never resolve the roots of the problems, and every new owner only inherited the liability from the past," said Master E.

The other thing to look at is the transit Pluto, currently at 13' 15" Capricon, Second House, which is sometimes called the House of Possessions, which often deals with money. When Pluto sweeps across ATV's Second House, as we all know by now, ATV is in deep deep financial woes. Master E said the effect of Pluto in Second House will also impact the opposite Eighth House, which stands for death, transformation and debts (!). With Mars, a planet indicating the "active energy", located at 15' 32" degrees Cancer, Eighth House, Pluto is forming a direct opposition against Mars. Under such influence, ATV is destined to suffer financially. And since Pluto moves very slowly, ATV is not likely to get out of its financial troubles any time soon.

Tension will be escalated when Pluto forms an exact square with Uranus, a planet representing progression and freedom, during March 11 to 28, said Master E. Various astrological sources have highlighted the influence of Pluto-square-Uranus, as the two planets form seven exact squares (angled at 90 degrees against each other) from 2012 to 2015. Such position brings about sweeping changes, revolution and clashes. It is not a comfortable time, as we know that over the past few years, there have been various clashes, political movement and even revolution (take the Umbrella Movement last year, for example).

Master E estimated that March will be a critical time for ATV. Last month, the court ruled in favour of Tsai and appointed accounting firm Deloitte to become managers of ATV, taking up the responsibility to find a new investor to acquire the 10.75 per cent stake from Wong (well, Wong's relative Wong Ben-koon controls 51 per cent stake of ATV) to break his dominance and find a new CEO. Deloitte has said that it will probably take two months to find a new investor. So if everything goes smoothly, Deloitte should be able to find a "white knight" by the end of February. But if things do not go forward as planned, it is logical to expect something bad will happen to ATV in March. But of course, we shall see.

The last key point is the position of Saturn. A planet signifies restriction and limitation, Master E has told me that whenever Saturn passes, expect crisis and chaotic changes that will drain you. It will require you to face your problems and deal with them, albeit in an often destructive manner.

This, I have to say, is quite true, as Saturn toured my Sixth House over the past two and a half years. The Sixth House concerned about health and the daily work we do. It is often recommended to have a body check when Saturn tours the Sixth House. For me, I found out that my BMI has entered the obesity zone, and that sent me a wake up call to lose weight before it was too late. Thus I worked on my diet and exercised a great deal, and now, six months down the road, I have lost a total of 10 kg. I wasn't paying attention to my astrology chart at the time, but now, I must admit that astrology is quite fascinating.

Back to the case of ATV. Transit Saturn has entered the First House of ATV, now at 01' 07" degrees. The First House, which can be interpreted as the House of Self, relating to one's identity. Now with Saturn touring ATV's First House, it is inevitable for ATV to experience what could be a frightening identity crisis, Master E said. Saturn will remain in one house for approximately two and a half years, meaning that this identity crisis for ATV is only at its beginning.

The other major problem for ATV, as indicated by Saturn, is the "Return of Saturn", meaning the transit Saturn will conjunct ATV's natal Saturn.

Here, in ATV's natal chart, the station's natal Saturn is at 11'16" degrees, Sagittarius, First House. Return of Saturn is a very major, and often painful, astrological phenomenon. When the Return of Saturn takes place, one is likely to experience disruptive changes -- divorce, life crisis, termination of employment, hazards, etc. On the down side, it is painful, but on a positive note, it rids of things that should not remain in your life, and you move on afterwards only for the better.

It takes roughly 29 years for Saturn to return to its natal position. Master E said Saturn will return to ATV's natal Saturn approximately the beginning of 2016.

At this point, we fell into shock as we were enjoying the delicate beef melting in our mouths. If the next Return of Saturn is going to commence at the beginning of 2016, this means, the last Return of Saturn took place 29 years ago - 1987.

What happened to ATV back in 1987?

In 1987, when it was still owned by Deacon Chiu, a four-alarm fire broke out in ATV's previous headquarters in Broadcast Drive, Kowloon. The eight-hour blaze burnt down the building, studios and filming equipment, causing a broadcast blackout. It was reported that Sir Run Run Shaw, who owned TVB at the time, offered a helping hand to ATV by allowing its rival into its headquarters (TVB was ATV's neighbour in Broadcast Drive back in the days), so that it could maintain its operation. The news team had to operate on their vehicles parked in the streets. A year after the fire, Chiu sold his shares and Lim Por-yen took over.

Will similar hazards happen to ATV again during its next Return of Saturn? Of course we still don't know at this stage, but Master E said it will certainly not be comfortable for ATV.

What intended to be a fun look at ATV through astrology turned out to be a shocker. Neither Master E nor myself had any intention of spreading salt on ATV's wounds, or to promote any form of superstition. We were only curious of what the stars might have laid out in the destiny of ATV - just another perspective to look at what is going on with this TV station that was once a trendsetter and a cradle of Hong Kong's creativity.

The stars might have indicated a path, but the future is in our hands. All I can say is, ATV, good luck.

ENDS