blog of Joe cz Liao

I am writing this on the last day of another year.

It has been a year cruelly short yet impossibly eventful.

This year began by returning to ‘home’ home in Hong Kong, after four years in LA and six months in Tanzania.

The year has allowed me to live off of money I made by doing the trades I simply enjoyed doing. Thanks to people’s recommendation and appreciation, I was given a great share of opportunities.

The year has also taken me to many new places outside and in Hong Kong, where I thought I knew well. Every fresh piece of land I lay my foot upon gives me a sort of comfort that I am, literally, not stepping on the same ground.

The year has connected me with many friends old and new, whom are often inspiring and uplifting, and without whom to share my life would not be half as interesting.

The year has taught me many humbling lessons and helped steer my direction. I myself am very excited about this coming year.

Thanks to all of my family and friends who have cared about me even I might not have been able to tell you directly how much I care about you too. Thank you, if you are reading this, you know I am saying this to you.

Wish you a happy new year.

Despite my lassitude after a long day of plentiful traveling, and my warm comfort in bed doing my bedtime reading, I was suddenly awashed with a strong urge to write. The trigger was the encountering of the word ‘magic bullet’…

I recall a few years ago, 2006 that was, while I was in LA, I went to a play/musical with a few friends called “The Black Rider – The Casting of the Magic Bullets“. My friend Yankov who, then as a master’s student at the UCLA theatre school, inspired us to all go out to the play. He had warned us about the slightly unusual style in advance, and as I was along with others also in the process of putting together a stage performance then, I paid a lot of attention to the highly stylistic stage design, lighting and directions. Occupied by all the spectacles, I failed comprehensively to appreciate the classic, well-known, (originally german) ingenious story.

Wilhelm, a file clerk, falls in love with a huntsman’s daughter. In order to marry, Wilhelm must prove his worth as a hunter and gain her father’s approval, but, as “a man of pen and ink”, his shot is lousy and his hopes of marriage worsen. That is until he is offered magic bullets by the devil, Pegleg – who assures him that his bullets will always have a sure shot. However, Pegleg stipulates that, while most of the bullets will hit anything Wilhelm pleases, one of the bullets is under Pegleg’s control. Foolish, naive, and overrun with desperate hope, Wilhelm accepts the Faustian pact. On the day of Wilhelm’s wedding, the final bullet strikes his beloved dead. He then goes mad, and joins the previous victims of Satan’s cunning in the Devil’s carnival.

—A Synopsis from our beloved Wikipedia

Ever since my childhood, I have always been curious about where one would actually find the devil to make deals with. Not that I was prepared to make one, but I was genuinely curious, or thinking ‘just in case’. Now that I am not as ingenuous as then, when I was reminded of this story tonight, I suddenly realized the (banal) fact that the deal has always been in place awaiting us to jettison our long upheld values, moral standards and integrity.

Now, who doesn’t want a few magic bullets? Thoughts anyone?

It took me a while to sum up my thoughts and finally conclude my own learning about the piece XLIEUX – an interactive installation art piece by the very talented Wendy Tai, in collaboration with myself. (more…)

Stephen Greenwood left the place about 30 hours ago. This place is quiet without his itunes library.

He has been a close friend, a colleague, a peer. His influence on me has been noticeable. I wish he had a good and inspiring time here.

As for myself, the to-do list is never ending. It’s been months since I last finished every item I listed for any single day. Like Mary said, we’re only paying back the interest…. and I am not even at that stage yet.

Leaving for Japan in 12 days, staying there for 3 months. I shall speak the language, and likely meet some people.

Applying to Architecture school. Preparing for the GRE. Then, look for a Design office to work at, Shanghai maybe?

Want to sing out loud something in the public, but muffled by shyness. Still waiting for that someone to come out inside me.

Want to finish the film. Want to pour my hearts and brains and sweats into it, and show it to people. Want to make it my work that concludes, for now at least, my endeavor in films.

Should travel on foot, with a backpack and a pocket knife. How do one gather mass while rolling? Has technology made this possible yet?

I always remember when I was finally taught about Modernism, the style that I have always sought after, in school, and the surprise in finding how completely it has failed. It is the exact opposite of what the pioneers wanted it to be. Despite the lack of sophistication of the general public, they may say, it was, in my opinion, partially due to the imperfection of the pioneers’ characters as well (do they dare saying that they were simply seeking a solution for the human society, with no desire for beauty and aesthetics and comfort?) It is not a criticism to them. It is simply restating the fact that we’re only human.

I was also surprised how thoroughly the message and statement behind modernism has disappeared, as far as I am concerned, for in the years of growing up and hearing the words countless times there have never been a hint of them that I could recollect.

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There is always this feeling in me that Hong Kong is all about business, all about money, and there is very little culture and very little appreciation for the arts. Any appreciation for ‘design’ would exist only among consumer items such as shoes, handbags etc. Art & design is superficial, here.

That could not be true. Afterall, Hong Kong is home to 7 million people.

There is quite some stereotyping going on with the people of Hong Kong. Hong Kong people constantly stereotype other people (now that is a stereotype itself). I was taught that stereotyping is not good, but it is difficult not to when more often than not there is some truth in that.

I noticed, for example, when I was visiting the artists’ studios in Fo Tan the other day, that the word ‘香港人’(Hong Kong People) appeared quite frequently. Of course, those who were using the word are from Hong Kong themselves. I deduced that among the ‘artists’ there’s a tendency to look down on the general public of Hong Kong, and pride themselves as something else. (Maybe that’s just the artists’ pride same as everywhere else?)

Hong Kong is a respectable city, with great talents all over the place (albeit a few disgusting newspapers and magazines) However I feel that people here, especially the elites, do not take pride in being a Hong Kong person. I am glad I was born and grew up here, although sometimes I feel hollow and distasteful that my profession is seen as ‘beautifiers’, but I am trying to change that whenever I could. There is so much to be done in this place.

Style is a dear word. It is all over the place. I have always been searching for it. As a designer/artist, or writer, or just an individual, it’s more or less a compliment when someone says you have a style. Of course, there is Neil Strauss who is known as Style in his community, and being as excellent as he is in what he does, “Style” must be a good thing.

I read magazines and books on design and try to digest what people do and develop a style of my own. Out of 6 billion human lives, a unique style, what the hell.

Today I was looking for Style. I went across an article about film editing, and, to my understanding, the author was making a point that our immersion in a world of sound bites is really sacrificing the true art of film editing, of pacing, of sensitivity and the attention to subtlety. I do not have a stance yet because I reckon my editing style must be at most a part of the sound bite culture as that is the air I breathe, but then I feel like I was also paying attention to all the things she mentioned to be good. Of course, huh, I am not even up for that level of criticism.

Yesterday I came across the work of Rob Chiu and was blown away by his cinematography and his vision. His style was strong, and memorable. Some people call anything avant-garde MTV-ish. Good for MTV, not good for the artists. I consider his work very stylish in a good way.

Then I came across this video by Luis Sinco and it’s simplicity is no less powerful. There was no special effects or any noticeable editing tricks. Plain simple story telling. The mature people finds this the true art. Simplicity is also a style, as we know it.

I am confused, as much as I was when I was reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

Then I remember something my very good friend Arron Chu told me long long time ago. The exact episode I could not recall with precision, but the concept is stuck with me ever after.

You have to know, Arron is an expert on jeans: He can tell you the history of jeans, when the first pair was made, where, by whom, when did jeans start having a button at the button end of the zipper cover flap, and when the first pair with red thread inseams was made… The thing is, he never buys pre-washed jeans. It was the hip thing then (and now) and everyone buys jeans pre-washed. I asked him what is his reason for not buying them. He showed me an ad in a magazine, in which a man is walking in his beat up jeans, in the far back a vintage motorcycle, dirt road, etc. He told me, the reason why we like pre-washed jeans is because of this image that we associate them with: an adventurous, couldn’t care-less attitude that dude in his leather jacket carries. Now, which one is more important? The attitude? or the pair of ’stylish’ jeans…

A conversation with George Payne helped me understand the current state of the world a little more, I summarized our conversation into two points and he said it was a good way to put it. So I would like your input:

1. Through many elaborate manipulations, there is now far more money in the world than the sum of the worth of all productions.*

*(2009.1.26: York helped me understand a little more about the global economy. This problem is invalid. There seem to be no one sentence overview of the economic problem. I was advised not to write about economics no more :-P)

**(2009.2.7: Peter Schiff Was Right)

2. The price of our specie’s future is not calculated into the current market (or not enough, yet) while it is certain that the market will not live beyond the specie.

Nothing new, and the solution always seems to be government regulations and broad base education.

Now, I had shark fin soup last night at a family dinner (though I avoided it at my friend’s wedding banquet). I am a hypocrite. But still I tried to make the point to my uncle that we should not order it next time. He asked me why and I told him about the food chain and the environment blah blah blah… He responded saying the problems are not new, so why bother. I told him, it is exactly because the problems are not new anymore that we must act faster and harder. He didn’t respond to that one.

Now the biggest problem:

3. knowing the problems does not make one able to live outside of it. Everything that surrounds us are created by the system that has created our problems today. Almost every action I take in this society directly or indirectly flourish the way the world has been run. I constantly feel ashamed of my own hypocricy.

Changing the whole system is out of the question. Evolution is the natural way. Either natural selection will select a better way of living or a better way of cleansing. We MUST add to the selection pressure of all things towards the future we hope to see – I assume – one that has human.

I have to recall that private plane we flew for only twenty five minutes over to Tanga (where my journal is left off last). It was so short and so refreshing, seeing things from a different angle. It was special, and not so special… That was only a little more than four weeks ago.

We were then in a hurry to reach Singida, where we would meet up with Mohammed and David and visit Mohammed’s parents together. By bus from Tanga to Dodoma, Train from Dodoma to Singida. We were only so briefly passing by each of our ‘destinations’…

Tanzania was hardly my destination. I reflect upon my motivation to go onto such a trip – now I could not even call it an adventure – I am back home already, in one good piece. It was special, and not so special.
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In the small basement chambers, which is about 3 meters wide, 5 meters deep and 1.5 meter tall, 50 male or 75 female plus children would stay for two to three days or more, awaiting for the slave auction to open. According to our guide Christopher, many of these people would die of suffocation, starvation, disease or god knows whatever reasons. But that would be OK, for if they could not survive the three-day storage they probably were not strong enough to be sold for a good price anyways.

At the auction, the slave up for bidding would be tied to a pillar, whipped repeatedly as people call their prices. If the slave shall make a sound when the whip cracks their skin, the price would suffer, so would the good temper of the seller.

Children were of little uses as they are not strong enough and not worth the investment of food and care until they are. They would be thrown in as extras for the bulk buyers.
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