Walton Ford.

There is something a touch dull about those toucan prints, though-- maybe they're just a little too innocent. For it to really work well with our style, we might need images that are just a little off, just a little dark-- like the zoological watercolors of Walton Ford. Though he uses the tropes and style of eighteenth/nineteenth century naturalists, he uses his works to comment on themes like colonialism and the natural sciences. I like the bizarre painting of the gluttonous heron above, or the ominous image of the gharial and the monkey below. Anyone know if he's done one of tropical birds?

Fish-head still life.

Though we visited the Hsinchu Harbor fish market on an ill-fated search for lunch, I couldn't help but pull out my camera for a few shots. What is it about fish markets that inspire in me a still-life? In part, it's undoubtedly the pure visual appeal of glittering scales and shining fins; but I think there's something more to it.

The still-life was perfected as a genre of painting during the height of the Dutch Republic, an era when the country was at the center of a grand and wealthy trading network. The still-life painting was meant to show off expensive imported foods, in the luscious oily gleam of a painted lobster or melon. But behind the veil of grandeur was a deeper message: that inside these delicacies were the seeds of rot, decay, of wealth's own undoing. Our current consumption of the ocean's riches is quickly leaving it depleted of life, meaning that in several decades Davy Jones' cupboards might be quite bare. Given that we might be one of the last generations to enjoy a decadent seafood meal, the still life really seems a fitting form for photographing a fish market.

Gods and Spirits of Thong Lo: #1, Ganesh of the Parking Lot.

Enthroned above rows of parked luxury sedans, Ganesh guarantees traffic safety.

Siam Scrawlings.

Across the skytrain tracks from the glittering towers of the Siam Paragon Shopping Centre are a network of dingy alleys. These thin pedestrian roads are packed with tiny shops, which range from stands selling $5 t-shirts, to closet-sized boutiques stocking work by local designers. The area is very popular with hip Thai youth, and really is a great place to look out for new clothes. It's also a good place to look out for street art. Perhaps because the area sort of markets itself as being counter-culture (which, I guess, it almost is, if compared to the places across the street), most available walls and shutters are covered with the work of local street-artists.

I'm say stop global warming.

Last week, I picked up three handmade postcards being sold by the students of my school. Apparently designed to promote several environmental messages, they had a charmingly simple, graphic style. The first was a cute drawing of an elephant, accented with plastic butterflies.

The second was a sweet misquoting of the "I am not a plastic bag" purse, which is currently one of the hottest knock-off bag designs in Bangkok.

And this one, of course, had obvious appeal.

Painted Stork.

Back in July, Bordeaux and I visited the Chiang Mai zoo, mainly so that I could see the beautiful Mekong Giant Catfish. While there were a few odd elements- a confusing layout and an abundance of concrete trees- it was a rather impressive zoo, with a wide range of animals scattered throughout the beautifully landscaped forest. One of the most intriguing aspects of the zoo was the use of hand-painted signs to identify animals. With their bold colors and dramatic lettering, they made even the penguins look like stars in an action movie.

An October love-note.

Last week I bought a set of watercolors at a small art store in Banglamphu. In college, I was always working on at least one art project, spending hours in the painting studio or the sculpture shop, or working on illustrations in the drawing room. I especially miss doing that around Autumn; I have great memories of taking a break from the studio, the smell of paint thinner clinging to my t-shirt, and crossing the lawn of dead leaves on the way to the campus cafe to get a coffee to refuel. While it would be impractical to work on any large scale oils during my time in Bangkok, water colors provide an art form more suitable for nomad living. I'd really like to do a watercolor for Halloween, to send out as cards to family and friends back home. I've never really worked with water colors though, so it's proving a bit of a challenge. My first effort, a deep green Thai pumpkin with pale yellow flesh, came out pretty muddy. By the time I'm able to paint something worth sending home, Halloween will likely have passed.

I can't imagine anything more likely to rekindle the feelings of Halloween than a little craft-time. My earliest memory of the season was of planning a Halloween party while in Kindergarten. My mother drove me out to a small stationary store on the other side of town, where I was to pick up supplies to make invitations. After a few diversions along the way, like admiring the changing leaves along the Rio Grande and stopping outside a farm to look at their Bison, we made it to the shop. In my memory it was a sweet little book and stationary store, but in reality it was probably in a strip mall. I selected several sheets of Mrs Grossman's stickers, featuring grinning jack-o-lanterns (like above) and tiny black bats.

While my taste might no longer run toward Mrs Grossman's, I still think sending some Halloween correspondence seems like a good way to inaugurate the season. I found the above card from EmptyGeorge at Etsy; I think it nicely combines some classic creepiness with a nice touch of style- and I like seeing something for Halloween that isn't just in orange. However, if you feel like making your own cards, it might be fun to get some colored paper and a few rubber stamps. The eerie stamp below comes from Alpha Stamps' website, which offers a number of Halloween designs, including a few inspired by Mexican artist Posada. If my watercolor skills don't improve soon, I may have to order one myself.

Cambodian Signs.

Aside from the crumbling relics of French colonial architecture, one of the most attractive elements of Cambodian streets are the abundance of hand painted signs. They advertise sewing services, appliances, and hair salons. The images seem to be taken from specific photographs; I'd often see the same woman's face on multiple signs, with only the color of the dress or the details of the hair changed.
Not all hand painted signs are used for advertising. Some of the most intriguing are those with a social message. Hand painted billboards warn against the dangers of drugs, speeding, and landmines. I'm not sure of the exact meaning of this somewhat mysterious one below, which seems to caution against the dangers of women.