opheliaswims

I shot this on Super 8 fim, and then edited it on a hand crank editor. The screen is dusty and full of scratches. I then shot this image onto 35mm slide film. The final step was to scan the slide.

I wanted to remove the image from the original by reshooting. My memories are like these images, reshot, removed, reshot and rethought.

Image: © Ophelia Chong

Beijing/ The Oriental TaiPan

I am one of the most sensitive people you will ever meet. I cry whenever I watch the part in Blade Runner when Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) lets go and falls to his death, I take in rescue dogs, I find homeless hamsters, I do almost as much Pro Bono as Bono (except I don’t travel by private jet).

This is my story about how I almost ran screaming from a spa in Beijing.

I love spas. Here in Los Angeles, the going rate for a facial averages $100 -$200. In Beijing, the capital of China, it’s $25- $75. For a foot rub with a choice of beverage and snack, it is 55RMB (US$8). That’s one hour of a masseuse rubbing your feet and a neck massage. The masseuse is paid an average of US$10 a day. In China, like Japan, there is no tipping.

So here I am sitting in this puffy giant Lazy Boy Chair, my feet in a bamboo bucket of heated herbal water. In walks this really cute young dude. He’s going to rub my feet. First I am thrilled; then a weirdness sinks in. “Hey, somehow this isn’t right, he rubs feet all day, he rubs the feet of people who aren’t very nice or people who don’t see him as nothing more than a human foot roller”. My second thought went to how most strippers hate their clients. (I know this because I have known a few…strippers).

As he rubs every toe, I fight the urge to sigh and say “more”. My brain flips back to Human Rights Mode in a blinding flash, my toes stiffen up.

“He’s doing this to make money to go to college, but he really hates every minute of it…he rubs feet for money…”
Cue in the lyrics from Hall & Oates:
She’s a maniac, maniac on the floor
And she’s dancing like she never danced before
She’s a maniac, maniac on the floor
And she’s dancing like she never danced before

Dang my ultra-sensitive bleeding heart brain!!!

I couldn’t just enjoy the moment. Nooooooo…I had to read all this stuff into it.

After the really great foot massage, I secretly tipped him and had him pose with Mister Pooh.

I miss you two as well…my favorite artists Richard and Jesse.
Click on image to enlarge.

The vein throbbed against the thin transparent opalescent skin of her long neck. Lust and envy tore through Del. Could he be the one to hold her warm body in his arms? To see the love in her eyes when he harvested her? He knew the moment he took her superior vena cava; it would be a moment of love, pure love. She would look into his eyes and thank him for being the one.

She looked at him and walked away. She slipped into the moving sidewalk and disappeared.

Image: ©Ophelia Chong / Gin Blossom Girl

During an chat with Jeremy, we talked about work and our Euphemisms for work. He sent this: “working the curly brace mines” – Jeremy J. Bornstein
(Jeremy is a software developer)
Image from Your one stop shop for Intelligent Camouflage/Multicam.com

Click image to enlarge (screen shot made with Skitch beta app)

Another lovely beta to have fun with. docstoc is “a user generated community for sharing professional documents. Upload and download documents for free…”
Do you need an NDA? Employment Agreement? LLC? or download The Art of War! This where you can find it. I have five invitations that I can give out. Comment back and I will send you one. :O)

Her eyes were pounding against her skull, they felt like hot coals. The Gardeners were feeding her drugs to strengthen her veins so that during the harvesting, the veins would not dissolve in their hands. Her hand went to the port the Gardeners implanted under her breast. It was a small silicon bag; it was filled by piercing the bag with a needle and filling it with a drug cocktail. They filled it every morning.

She could hear the constant whoosh of blood flowing through her super veins.

Her hand touched the wall, she could see the hyphae threads reach out to her. As she waved her hand over the mycelium, the threads followed her hand. The veins in her hand pounded against her skin. It was a mating dance.

She turned her head and saw him staring at her. His mouth shut and he took a quick breath. She turned her head to one side, exposing her neck and enlarged jugular vein. He didn’t turn away.

To be continued.

Image: ©Ophelia Chong/ Paramour House, Los Angeles

Yom Kippur (Hebrew:יוֹם כִּפּוּר ) known in English as the Day of Atonement. With its central themes of atonement and repentance for sins against both God and one’s fellow man.

Here’s my list for the past year:
1. Sorry to all my friends for getting you into any hare-brained schemes that did not pan out.

2. Sorry for not completing all the Pro Bono work, I got busy and procrastinated. I promise to finish it all asap.

3. Sorry to me for not doing enough artwork.

4. Sorry for getting angry at stuff I should have dealt with right away.

5. Sorry to my mother for not showing up sooner to take her to the doctor, and getting her all upset. (She did make it on time).

6. Sorry to friends that got burned by other people that I let into our group.

Image: © Ophelia Chong / wall by 4th and Western Blvd, Los Angeles

Short Story to continue after this List of Sorries.

In the future, cities will be powered by mold and human blood.

The smell was what you noticed first when you arrived in the city. It was a combination of a sickly sweet scent and pine. The pine was artificial, on each corner there was a spray station that shot out fine scented mist on the hour. The city had a soft halo about it, partly from the thick layer of smog and the other that you could touch, a downy fur-like coating that covered the entire city.

The Mold provided the power for the humans. The Mold was feed by vascular tissues that ran throughout the city, spreading fine tentacles through concrete and steel. Living strings weaved themselves throughout the city infrastructure. At night the Mold would pulse through the city and give off a blue green glow.

This was Mutualism, the humans cared for the Mold, The Mold powered the cities. They both benefited from this relationship. The Gardeners cared for the main arteries that carried blood to the Mold. Feeders pumped blood into the veins. Vessels supplied blood for the Mold. But the most important job was the Giver; her job was to supply the veins for the Mold. Every vein would be pulled from her body, and placed into slim glass tubes. The process was long and arduous, she would be kept on life support until the last vein was pulled from her body. The Giver and the Mold had a parasitic relationship, it never came out well for Givers.

Once the veins were harvested, Gardeners would take the tubes and replace the dead ones; they kept the city running.

Del sat on the bench eating his lunch, a simple sandwich of greens and a warm beer. He was a Gardener, in the Flow Division. Del’s responsibility was to see to the care of the existing veins in his section. His job description was simple; catalog and install each new vein.

She sat on the stone wall, watching the people go back and forth. She wasn’t hungry. She tried to time her breathing to the beat of the feet passing her by. She was trying to make every moment count. She even counted every color and had a running count of seven colors in her head. The pine misting told her when the hour passed. She was designated as a Giver.

He saw her lips first. She was counting. he followed her lips down to her neck. It was a smooth line. She turned her head to him, and mouthed a number.

To be continued

Image: © Ophelia Chong / 35mm slide shot from a super 8 film off a viewer

“This is Ophelia, she is the ex-wife of David Henry Hwang…”

Last night, I was introduced as the “ex-wife”. I felt like the coat of paint under the fresh new one. Still there, if you scratch the surface you will see me. I like being the ex-wife. It’s easier to deal with one set of neuroses than two. “So, that’s what she looks like…” Good thing I have been going to the gym. I flexed my pecs everytime someone referred me as the “ex”. I puffed proud. I carry it as a badge of honor, “yeah, hey, I was there when…”

The phrase deus ex machina ['de.ÊŠs eks 'maːkÊ°i.naː] (literally “god out of a machine”) describes an unexpected, artificial, or improbable character, device, or event introduced suddenly in a work of fiction or drama to resolve a situation or untangle a plot (e.g. an angel suddenly appearing to solve problems). Or an “ex-wife” descending upon your stomping grounds, and making her presence known.

Image: © Ophelia Chong/ Tokyo Fish Market, Tuna