A Turner exhibit at the Met

A couple of weeks ago, on a leisurely but rainy 4th of July weekend in New York, there was nothing better to do than to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

This was an inspiration, for it turns out that there was a huge exhibit of Turner oil and water color paintings on display.

Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775 - 1851) was a romantic, inspired by and in search of "The Sublime". He was very advanced for his times and controversial. A contemporary review was posted near a painting, reflecting what some art critics thought of his style, when it turned abstract: "Throwing handfuls of white, and blue, and red, at the canvas, letting what chanced to stick, stick; and then shadowing in some forms to make the appearance of a picture."

For a modern viewer however, his most abstract paintings seem familiar and reveal Turner as a great precursor to the Impressionists. It is forbidden to take pictures at special exhibitions at the Met, but I dodged the guards and managed to catch on my phone camera four of the most impressive abstract works on display.

Willows beside a stream

This charming landscape is rendered in impressionistic touches, suggesting rather than asserting, creating a relaxed and quiet mood. The eye is attracted to the left bottom corner by a few colorful and bright brush strokes, which sketch what perhaps was intended to be a pastoral scene. It is left unfinished, but it creates a welcome counterpoint to the trunks of the willow trees across the stream.

The Lake from Petworth House, Sunset


Calais Sands at Low Water, Poissards Collecting Bait

A powerful painting. In the forefront, against the backdrop of an incandescent sunset, bent-over fishermen wives collect worms in the wet sand. The thin film of water over the flat sand reflects their twisted bodies, the setting sun, the dark clouds and an isolated rock.

Sunset over Como

A late unfinished washed out water color ... an evanescent dream ... but one can distinguish the ruin of a castle, the towers of a town in the distance, the lake surrounded by dark hills under the vibrating light of an Italian sun.

The cockroaches of Singapore

The tropical climate of Singapore must be favorable to cockroaches, which grow here to a respectable size and are often visible at night scurrying at an amazing speed across the sidewalk in front of you.

Sometimes you see an enormous and frightening picture of a giant cockroach floating in front of you on a double-decker bus, as an ad for Combat, an insecticide which must rack a lot of sales in this city-state.

Once in a while, as it happened today, I see one on the kitchen floor as I walk in to make a cup of coffee in the morning. But then it is on its back, moving its legs and antennae slowly in an agonizingly slow death. It can stay like this for hours. I, like most people, find this insect particularly repellent, and I do not have the patience of letting it die while I have to pay particular attention not to inadvertantly squash it with my bare feet. But I am always afraid that, if I try to seize it with a piece of paper towel, it will suddenly come to life and wiggle out from under my hand. The very thought sends shivers down my spine. So, before collecting it to throw it down the garbage chute, I squash it with an old newspaper, putting an end to its agony.


This morning, before going through this unpleasant and macabre routine, I decided to take a picture of this dying cockroach. The camera detected something I had not noticed with the naked eye: a small pool of liquid oozing out, together with life, from the insect's body.

Jazz at the Kitano Hotel, New York

Walt Weiskopf Quartet feat. Walt Weiskopf-tenor sax, Joel Weiskopf-piano, Paul Gill-bass, Kendrick Scott-drums

Scenes from my windows

Dawn over glass and steel ...

Even in modern buildings, the Chinese tradition of hanging clothes to dry at the windows endures ...

A swimmer in the pool of the hotel next door, on a leisurely sunny morning ...

From an office window ... demolition on a grand scale.

Oscar Wilde

The movie "Wilde" is on display in Singapore. It came out in 1997, and one wonders why it is shown here more than 10 years later. Perhaps the censors have finally decided that the Singapore audience is mature enough to be exposed to Oscar Wilde's homosexuality.

It is a beautiful production, which benefits enormously from glorious settings. Wikipedia informs us that "Scenes were filmed at Knebworth House in Hertfordshire; Lincoln's Inn in Holborn; Lulworth Cove, Studland Bay, and Swanage Pier in Dorset; Luton Hoo in Bedfordshire; Magdalen College in Oxford; and Somerset House in The Strand". These settings and the opulence of the late 19th century interiors and costumes make this movie one of the best period pieces that cinema has ever achieved.

The movie owes much to Stephen Fry's performance. Throughout the movie, Oscar Wilde tells a story of a giant to his two sons, and Stephen Fry successfully conveys the notion that Oscar Wilde, below his veneer of socialite and brilliant writer equipped with a sharp wit, was himself a gentle giant. This comes out most movingly when, under questioning during his trial for indecency, he gives a definition of "the love that dares not say its name". His gentleness and humility in front of the prosecutor questioning him make for the most effective eloquence, which wins him the support of the court's audience, to the great chagrin of the judge.

The real hero of the movie is Wilde's flowing prose, magnificently delivered by Stephen Fry. Ultimately, this is what makes this movie successful, together with the brilliant cast around Stephen Fry: Jude Law (eleven years ago, he really looked like a pretty boy in his role of Lord Alfred Douglas), Vanessa Redgrave and others.

The love scenes, I must admit, made me uneasy, and I suspect that many reacted to them in the same way. It still strikes most people as shocking to see sex scenes between two men. The musical score did not help, as its swelling romanticism, annoying enough during heterosexual scenes, felt in this case totally out of place. This is, I think, the one weakness of this movie.

A Jazz Legend in Singapore

Last Wednesday night at the Esplanade Concert Hall, the legendary tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins gave a single concert, his first in Singapore he said as he introduced his ensemble at the beginning of the concert.

The most amazing thing about the fact that this concert happened at all is that Sonny Rollins is 78 years old. He was born in 1930 and started his career as a jazz musician when he was a teenager in the 1940s in the Bronx. His age, as well as his name, was the draw, and the hall was full. There were many caucasians in the audience, and they greeted him with enthusiasm when he appeared on stage with his group.

It was an unusual group, a sextet with a tenor saxophone, a trombone, a guitar, a bass, drums and percussions.

Sonny Rollins is tall with still an abundance of hair, sparse on the top only, white and grey, standing on his head, and a big white beard, very unusual for a Jazz musician. He walks like an old man, with a rather unsteady gait, but as soon as he blows his horn, his age becomes irrelevant and he is like a lion with a white mane, roaring with the most extraordinary energy.

His dress also was unusual. He wore a red shirt falling over white pants. When he soloed, he would often walk back and forth on the stage, or suddenly stop and bend over to extract the last gasp of air from his lungs catching a high note, as all saxophonists do. His soloes were amazingly long and energetic. He would then turn his back to the audience and face his group, going from one musician to the next, prompting them to launch into their own improvisations, which he would accompany with just a few syncopated notes.

It was for me a special experience, for, as a teenager, I was always eagerly waiting for Sonny Rollins' next recording and would never miss his rare concerts in Paris. I was a little apprehensive before this concert, wondering how he would sound now.

It was hard to believe that this man was almost 80 years old. The concert lasted without an interruption for almost two hours. The audience was wild with enthusiasm and he got a standing ovation after playing an encore.

Qingdao revisited

Last week, I had three days of meetings in Qingdao, a large port in Shandong Province. It was an opportunity to stay at the Shangri-La Hotel, always a pleasure. The temperature was cool the night I walked around the hotel, on large modern avenues, and the thick fog chilled me to the bone.


A strangely shaped red building (looking a bit like a top) stood in the night near the waterfront.


I mentioned how much I had liked a foot massage on my last trip to Qingdao. Our local office hosted a visit to a place reputed to be the best in town. No large room was available, so our group had to split. A colleague from Singapore and I found ourselves sitting in deep cushioned armchairs and these two young women worked on us for a good hour.



They were in their early twenties and really skilled at what they were doing, but the most extraordinary thing was their genuine mirth as they were joking with us (fortunately my colleague could speak Chinese, so we could have a rudimentary conversation). They were happy, giggling at us and merry. I found it extraordinary that they could display so much enthusiasm at doing this lowly task, that they could still love what they were doing after massaging so many feet. I had noticed the same thing when I had my first foot massage experience two and a half years ago in Qingdao. After such a satisfying experience, I wanted to tip the girl, but was told by our local people that no tips were allowed and that none would be accepted.

This is the great strength of the Chinese people: their spirit, their sincerity, their hard work. I could see it displayed also, but in a different way, in the high ranking officials of the Port Group with whom we had meetings earlier. They had the same conviction, dedication and energy. But, in them, it was a bit upsetting, for it betrayed a desire for supremacy, and a highly political motivation.

They showed us a movie about their port, which has grown enormously over the last few years. The English voice-over sounded like propaganda: over images of workers marching in military formation, it said that the port was working very hard to build socialism. Then the chairman gave us a harangue, comparing the inefficiency of US ports compared to Chinese ports, in particular Qingdao, quoting numbers of employees compared to throughputs at the ports.

This was a reminder that government-owned enterprises in China (always led by high ranking Communist Party members) have a political purpose as much as a commercial one. This, coupled with the remarkable drive of the company leaders and the discipline and eagerness of the workers (exemplified by the two young women at the foot massage place) makes a very powerful and scary combination.