“Tears of Milk”

Mixed Media on Canvas
2 x 2 metres

This painting is an emotional, visual depiction of the visible and not so visible stories that are paraded around the streets of Asia.

The dominant features are the ‘hand’, and the face. Each person that goes his or her own way is carrying with them the seeds of the next experience; the heart, life and destiny lines on the palm being but a metaphor. Our constructs are complex. Who we are, and who we are trying to be will be projected on our associations with people and places; building the ever increasing reservoir of memories which will underpin our conditioning. We take in even what we think we are not listening to. Walking through a shortcut can transpire into a never forgotten moment of the look on a prostitute’s face, as she stood there, in the doorway, waiting for customers. And what to say of the colours? Attention grabbing hot reds, bamboo greens, neon blues, tinsel yellow, gaudy pink, gutter blues……. the tacky becomes cheerful. Asia’s palette is not easy to fade, even with all the wear and tear.

Collisions take place all the time, between the ‘rural’ villagers and the sophisticates of the new flashy world. Birds eat the leftover rice grains that fell off a sack on a food and drink street cart. The sound of bells approaching turns out to be two big horses carrying a carriage with five tourists in it. Step out of the way, and make sure you don’t trip over your batik sarong. It is difficult to dodge the motorcycles and scooters with such high platforms for shoewear.

Tall buildings twinkle intimidatingly as the tuk-tuk driver gazes upon them, uncomfortable in his makeshift bed on the seat of his livelihood. Boundaries between private and public shift all the time. What was not outside your building yesterday now is. And it is here to stay. So you just step over.

The tears are real. Salty ones from happiness, or bitter ones from despair.

As a child grows his first pair of teeth, the mother knows that these are milk teeth, soon to fall down and grown again.

When there is little water in the body, or when the despair or happiness is not acute enough, we too have milk tears. These spill over, and stain our faces and clothes with invisible but concrete impressions, and in these moments, we age.

And the lines on our palm change ever so slightly.

With President Nathan


Schools viewing Philip Morris show