Local kids

This girl was a photo student of mine till her family insisted she go out begging again. This violated the agreement between the monks and her family with their "Food in lieu of begging" program. Begging is a common part-time job in this town, I know that, but she's capable of so much more. She's a fabulous photographer and dancer, lively and creative, and was a great mentor for the younger kids as well.

In a few years when she's too old to tug at the heartstrings of tourists, she'll likely be pressured to find other ways to make money for her family: the most common and lucrative way for unschooled girls of course is prostitution. (My teaching assistant refused to give in to the pressure so her mother kicked her out - I think they've reconciled now.)




R. was in town last week and as we strolled past Pub Street on his last night here, I saw a familiar silhouette covering her face with a woven cowboy hat. She was ashamed and playful all at once. I gave her a hug, said I missed her in class, then R and I continued walking...after a while here, you have to learn to do that, prioritize who can benefit from what little assistance one person can give.

And here are the individual photos of the freelance booksellers.




This girl is just as sweet and reserved as she looks.




This one loaned me a pen the other week when I was teaching kids at the river, and we used up the few drops left in the cartridge. Must remember to buy her a new one.




This girl's the ringleader, and has the best english, mainly because she never stops talking, no matter the language.





This one can be quiet but she's a great salesperson.




She's absolutely charming and rarely knows it.





I'm convinced this kid is gay. His mannerisms scream it as he poses foppishly in front of the lens and sings with the drama of an entire musical revue. He placed the frangipani carefully on a stalk of grass and instructed me to be sure I captured it in the photo.

Lately I've been hearing stories that some of these cute young freelance booksellers have been flipping the bird at travellers and even swearing at them when they won't look at the books.

I'd wondered why the kids said "Oh those tourists stuck out their middle finger at me!" Misbehavior must happen on both sides now and then.

Dead Puppies

My House: near such amenities as the Butterfly farm, the French Cultural Centre and even Hollywood Massage. Hollywood's the flashiest of the many brothels on that road, the one with Chinese lanterns swaying in the breeze

Last night for what seemed like hours in the elastic time that spreads itself between midnight and dawn, I woke up to sounds of barking and screeching in our dusty yard. For the second night in a row. It was a truly disturbing series of screaming barks from one dog's throat as it was attacked by another. They were insistent, unceasing, relentless. It wasn't from play-fights or noisy mating one hears on a daily basis down the dirt path leading from our house.

Awake and langorous not only from the heat but having plenty of hours for sleep that night, I walked half-dressed and half-awake to the terrace overlooking our yard. A group of dogs was growling in a quarterback huddle, circling a black puppy next to our "DUSKBIN".


The "Duskbin": our rubbish is tossed into the ditch a few feet away and burned every evening; this is common in Cambodia

They were all male, of course, destroying the potential threat the puppy presented to their dominance. There was nothing personal in their act of killing it, though it's likely the victim was a relative. They attacked the puppy with the precision and dedication of vultures, lunging at him over and over again. He shrieked and whined at an excruciating pitch. It was this that had woken me the past two nights. Was it the same victim? I wondered.

Suddenly one of the dogs, a ginger-spotted mongrel with cream coat, grabbed the limp black puppy - it was dead now - and ran past the jackfruit tree to our neighbor's wooden home. I know this dog; when anyone's within a yard or two it jerks back nervously, cowed like most other dogs here (I'm not sure if they're bred or beaten to be this way) but howls and barks like a maniac at any perceived threat that's a safe distance away.


Our jackfruit tree

The other dogs remained at the foot of the Duskbin, worrying at another lump of fur. This puppy was nearly silent, but not dead yet. It tried to clamber up the duskbin into the mango tree, but I couldn't tell if it was tied up or simply tangled in a rope tied to the dustbin. Either way, it didn't last long. The older males got to it eventually, and ripped it to pieces in the dirt.

I went to sleep remembering a debate R and I had had on whether dogs should be "fixed". What happened last night was "natural" - thanks to instinct and hormones and all the other elements that go into the ever-changing cocktail of animal behavior. But it was also one of the most cowardly acts I've witnessed in years: adult males ganging up on a pair of puppies because they were threatened by them. Sure, that judgement is a projection, and it's going to happen because that's how dog behavior works most everywhere.

Still, I'm an advocate of dog/cat castration (ooh, that word brings a chill, doesn't it?) & spaying. Simply stated, there are too many dogs in our neighborhood, so they're carrying out their own brand of population control.

live & learn, not teach & talk

Yesterday, I was setting up the playlist for my afternoon show at our local english-language radio station in Siem Reap. A flurry of activity just outside the studio window caught my attention. In the next room, a DJ from the Khmer radio station had been recording a "spot" (advert) with a sponsor.

The barang DJ with a show after mine showed up and was waving his hands excitedly, the back of his thick, hairy neck flushed with righteous emotion.

What on earth is he doing? I wondered as he pointed at the voice patterns visible on the computer screen, shaking his head. The barang was inflamed with passion, his gestures increasing in volume as he preached to the Khmer DJ and his client. The Khmers were relaxed and smiled faintly as the barang took over the computer and showed them THIS IS HOW WE DO IT! THIS IS HOW YOU NEED TO DO IT!

This barang DJ isn't known for his proficiency with computers, or even for his DJing expertise, for that matter. And here he was, telling these guys what to do; undoubtedly plenty of the information was incorrect. The Khmer DJ was progressively losing face in front of his client as the barang went on, but he appeared relaxed, his face impassive...

Many western men in Asia - particularly those in their late 30s and older, and who speak little more than a few words of the local language so communicate solely in english - adopt a paternalistic attitude to Asian men and women.

With local women, western men ooze a kindly condescension often mollified by mutual charm and flirtation. Local men, it often seems, can do nothing right in the eyes of western men. They beat their wives/girlfriends, [and western men don't?], they cheat on them [ditto], their physical strength and anatomy – in short, their testosterone - ostensibly doesn’t measure up to the wild hairy muscular prowess and fierce intelligence of western men. Of course Khmer men don’t know how to do anything right, from driving a taxi to wiring a house. Western men can, and always do, do it better. This arrogance is often tolerated by Khmers and western women, but it is never accepted by us.

Why are we here, in this country? I wondered as I watched barang take over the Khmer’s seat at the computer in one of the more obnoxious displays of male competition and “I’ll show you how to do this, as you seem incompetent” I’d seen in a while. Are we here to tell people they’re incapable of understanding our fabulous western innovations or are we here to live and learn from what we see around us? Perhaps for those of us who teach here, it’s a combination of both, but always, always undertaken with discretion and respect for those in whose country we’re living.

Silk BluePrint-Experiments

Cyanotypes printed onto different colored silk backgrounds - that's what I've been busy with this past week. They're all painted with varied amounts of water, to show the possible gradations and contrasts for each type of silk. All these particular flowers are frangipani, collected from Wat Damnak by me, or from Wat Bo by a bunch of local street kids/freelance booksellers who thought I was a crazy lady for picking up the white wilted flowers off the sidewalk. "Hey I know you!" said one husky-voiced girl of fifteen or so. "You read me that email!"



They knew better than to ask me to pay them in cash, but when I promised, "I'll bring you some photos of these tomorrow," they said: "No! We want pictures of US!" Who can blame them? Of course it turned from one photo of each kid into five photos each. "You can pay that much, I know you can," they wheedled. "At least four each, it's not too expensive," treating me exactly as they do their book-customers all day long.


"Hey," I said, trying unsuccessfully to be stern, "You know I'm not a tourist, I'm a volunteer here. Three dollars is what I pay for food on an expensive day. I'll give you two each, times six kids, that's twelve photos." They protested, but you've got to draw the line as soon as possible. "If you help me again next time, I'll give you more photos." I don't need their help at all, but they're nice kids once the haggling's done.

More photos of them online next week.



Got thse samples back from Samatoa the other day, they'd stitched the silk into bags and scarves and eventually several will be made into curtains and whatever else I - or others - can come up with.



Samatoa's a fair trade french/Khmer store in Siem Reap, near the Psah Chas [Old Market] and they're interested in doing a line of clothing with some of these. I've warmed to Seiko, their new Japanese/French designer; she and her French boyfriend have come up with some wonderful models.



Photos make them look flat and dull, but when you see these silks in the light, they're just fabulous; they're gentle on the skin, and light to wear. The only drawback: as I found out when we got married, an excessive amount of sweat can occasionally turn them an unusual shade of purple! After a week, though, the dark blue magically comes back. Ditto for the fading effects of long-term direct sunlight [no silks or photos should ever be in direct sunlight anyway].



Sunset scarf printed with salad greens ["Eat Me!"] for Marie, who wouldn't let me pay for my hors d'oeuvres anytime we met at Carnets d'Asie last month. She looks wonderful in red. The scarf's original color was a brilliant carmine, and I had Samatoa sew the seams in the contrasting-ly bright color.



Bokor images printed onto very rough raw silk for a friend who commissioned some silk cyans last month. The fabric is as scratchy and intense as unprocessed linen: it breathes very well and is less transparent than many Cambodian silks, which are of a looser weave than the more famous Thai variety.

These days I'm not into writing, unless I'm getting paid for it. Not.at.all. I'd rather spend my time climbing up and down from my rooftop, developing pictures.

Paragraph from an email to R:

It's been a very productive two days in Phnom Penh: checked out how Julian, a professional DJ ran his radio show; had a meeting with LoveFM's manager here and have a contact for their marketing department; have a probable fill-in-the-gaps show at Popil gallery later in the year [and got confirmation from Stephane's discerning eye that the newest watercolor-like technique - with cyan chemicals - that i've just begun is much more interesting than straightforward cyanotypes]; bought 26meters of different colors/textures of silk at much cheaper rates than in Siem Reap; made up all 43 Bokor photos into negatives; got some good feedback on the silk cyans - by wearing them! - had a blogger meeting, saw one night of the artsfest and hope to see some old french photos of cambodia today before picking up the mp3 CDs of the latest western hits from LoveFM and catching the bus to Siem Reap.

Next week: photos of silk cyanotypes in different colors.