modern art
across from me on the dash sat this trinity of hispanic women, and the thought that immediately came into my head was: if jan van eyck lived today, this would be in his portraits. they all wore black pants with black shoes and carried black bags.
as far as i could tell, they were all strangers. yet lined up three in a row, there was an innate harmony across the three of them. the women on the left and right wore turquoise shirts. the one in the middle wore brown.
the woman to the left was young, with blonde haired gelled to her shoulders. she seemed expectant, fresh, waiting to spring into the city and off to meet someone important. she kept her gaze towards the front of the bus.
the woman in the middle was middle-aged. her hair was cropped and curly, thick black. she glanced around the bus looking at me occasionally (hidden behind sunglasses), perpetually serious. she looked stern and motherly.
on the right, the last woman was asleep, head drooping backwards. her glasses were offset on her face and her dark brown hair was held up by an orange clip. she looked perfectly content to snooze in her seat without worrying about missing a stop.
*
in chinatown, i took out some cash and hopped around from store to store looking for props and decorations. i ended up with a small silver kettle, a fan, some double happiness papers, an ornamental vase, a green-boxed pair of stress balls, a box of chrysanthemum tea, and a mah-jongg set.
i'll probably still have to make at least another two or three trips out there.
the lady i bought the mah-jongg from was very helpful and chatty, as opposed to other surly proprietresses. she helped me find the most aesthetically pleasing box without the americanized numbers in the corner of the tiles.
we met halfway in the mist of language, english, mandarin and cantonese all haltingly understood. after seeing my credit card, she wrote my surname on the receipt and asked if it was correct. she had gotten it.
i told her about my studies and my parents and where we were from. and she related a string of other film student tales, permit squabbles, similar prop-hunting, etc.
i'm glad i had that conversation. i wanted to have that conversation. i wanted someone to take pity on a fellow expatriate, talk about our different lives intersecting. i imagined becoming chummy with them, inviting me over for tea, for meals, talk about our absent family, each of us reciprocating a missing parent or child to the other. we'd play the tile game of course. and become lifelong friends, grow familiar with that cozy, dirty part of town, the microcosm of a community.
of course, after a while, i just walked away. she told me good luck though.
as far as i could tell, they were all strangers. yet lined up three in a row, there was an innate harmony across the three of them. the women on the left and right wore turquoise shirts. the one in the middle wore brown.
the woman to the left was young, with blonde haired gelled to her shoulders. she seemed expectant, fresh, waiting to spring into the city and off to meet someone important. she kept her gaze towards the front of the bus.
the woman in the middle was middle-aged. her hair was cropped and curly, thick black. she glanced around the bus looking at me occasionally (hidden behind sunglasses), perpetually serious. she looked stern and motherly.
on the right, the last woman was asleep, head drooping backwards. her glasses were offset on her face and her dark brown hair was held up by an orange clip. she looked perfectly content to snooze in her seat without worrying about missing a stop.
*
in chinatown, i took out some cash and hopped around from store to store looking for props and decorations. i ended up with a small silver kettle, a fan, some double happiness papers, an ornamental vase, a green-boxed pair of stress balls, a box of chrysanthemum tea, and a mah-jongg set.
i'll probably still have to make at least another two or three trips out there.
the lady i bought the mah-jongg from was very helpful and chatty, as opposed to other surly proprietresses. she helped me find the most aesthetically pleasing box without the americanized numbers in the corner of the tiles.
we met halfway in the mist of language, english, mandarin and cantonese all haltingly understood. after seeing my credit card, she wrote my surname on the receipt and asked if it was correct. she had gotten it.
i told her about my studies and my parents and where we were from. and she related a string of other film student tales, permit squabbles, similar prop-hunting, etc.
i'm glad i had that conversation. i wanted to have that conversation. i wanted someone to take pity on a fellow expatriate, talk about our different lives intersecting. i imagined becoming chummy with them, inviting me over for tea, for meals, talk about our absent family, each of us reciprocating a missing parent or child to the other. we'd play the tile game of course. and become lifelong friends, grow familiar with that cozy, dirty part of town, the microcosm of a community.
of course, after a while, i just walked away. she told me good luck though.