My Story of the book - A Story of Colors of Cambodia

It was getting to be midday when that black SUV landed in my garden. Two artist friends, one small boy, a dog, and a woman whom I not met before, exited from the vehicle. The equatorial sun was typically hot, burning my arms. I welcomed my guests into my greened garden. I had no idea who that woman might be- my friend’s lover perhaps, his wife (whom I have never met) cousin, sister, the possibilities were endless. Later she was introduced as to the artist. I was pleased to meet her, but still had no idea who she was.

    A conversation rolled out. I was trying to publish my book of poems entitled Remembering Whiteness and Other Poems, and one of those friends was offering possibilities for that to happen. The female artist, had a book project in mind for a charity that she worked with. She, it seemed, was looking for a writer. It was a charity project. Charity projects frequently mean no pay.

    After an hour or two drinking local coffee (consisting of very sharp coffee beans roasted with margarine and sugar, doused with lashings of condensed milk and hot water, and a dash – perhaps a soupcon, of evaporated milk) we chatted, perhaps even flirted a little as, in my peripheral vision, I watched the dog and boy frolic in my garden. That artist tentatively approached me about writing her book. I said that I should have to think about it. Consider the time that I would have to spend. Way up the pros and cons. Delve into the nuances - but I knew from that moment that she had mentioned charity (and Cambodian children) – I was hooked - line, sinker, heart and all.

    Over the following few weeks, the artist and I met a few more times. The idea for a book grew, as did a relationship exterior to the book. She and I dashed down to Singapore (in what turned out to be her black SUV), to meet with Bill Gentry – the founder and managing director of the charity - Colors of Cambodia. Bill was a little surprised. He eyed me up and down - like some prospective father-in-law, but still gave his ok for me to be in on the project and…. we were set.

The shape of the book jelled - as did a relationship between that artist and me. Within a short space of time, she and I were on our way to that gem of green and lost cities - Cambodia. We had research and interviews to do. We had photos for the book to take, people to meet, schools to visit, villages to see and a whole country to absorb in a very short space of time. Our skates were on, wheels were oiled, and we were ready for the off………..

    Perhaps it was the headiness of the Cambodian air. Perhaps some glint of maddening sun prompting enchanting romance, some glamour caste by a passing Apsara, for in a moment of dreamy bliss (and in the back of a dusty tuk-tuk) I proposed to that artist, and she, after a moment or two of heart-pounding worry – said yes!  We got married there – in the gallery which is Colors of Cambodia, in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Bill Gentry (founder and managing director) was there and helped organise a very last minute wedding……and that was but the beginning.

     For the rest of that one solitary week, Mr and Mrs me juggled our personal lives and performed the tasks necessary to pull together the book which was to become - A Story of Colors of Cambodia. In a frenzied whirl, we jumped in and out of ancient, rusting tuk-tuks – felt/tasted, Khmer dust on our faces, in our mouths, in our hair, and secreted within our nostrils.  It was the Cambodian dry season. Heat and dust were everywhere, yet despite those minor inconveniences we interviewed many of the key players in the story of the charity - Colors of Cambodia. In hardly awoken mornings we visited Cambodian schools - where she and Bill taught art to underprivileged Khmer children. In brisk paced afternoons, we looked at smiling children faces, smeared with dust but very much alive and beaming love. During those days I observed the stressed businessman Bill and the hard working artist - singing, dancing and interacting with those Khmer children - in a most transcendental way. It worked. Laughing, joyful children drew. They smiled and drew some more. Bill and that artist were a huge hit. In each class in each school we visited during that time - all children clamoured to be next to them, as that energetic teaching duo fed off of the children’s love and natural innocence. I was bemused, enchanted by those interactions between these two foreigners and the Khmer children, and knew then that I had done the right thing in accepting the artist’s offer for the book. It was life changing - it changed mine.

     For more years than I care to admit, I had wanted to visit Angkor Wat. It was on my bucket list next to Indonesia’s Borobudur and India’s Taj Mahal and Khajuraho. Over time I had managed to get to just one of those incredibly spiritual places – India’s Taj Mahal, during a tour of Rajasthan. Then, over a laughingly British breakfast of nicely fried eggs, Cambodian bacon, French style Baguette rolls and a passable Khmer coffee, I discovered that she was taking me, and a group of advanced students from the Colors of Cambodia gallery, to the expansive ancient Hindu complex of Angkor Wat. To say I was thrilled was a massive understatement. It was the best holiday present in the world that my (newly married) wife could have given me. She and the students sketched and produced some very fetching water-colour paintings, while I took photos and eventually sat, then began composing a poem which eventually became Colors of Cambodia, and featured in the book.

    In that week, aside from teaching and ogling at Cambodia, we generally got down to the business of the book. In the warm evenings, when we were not observing the advanced students painting in the gallery – we rested amidst the calls of romantic cats on tile roofs, and mulled over the day’s events/recordings/observations. That became our holiday – visits to captivating places, meeting intriguing peoples and seeing happy, laughing children who wanted nothing more than to be loved and to be nurtured, and who in return gave warmth, love and happiness.

    Back in Malaysia, the artist busied herself with organising the sponsorship for the book. There was a notion (born out of the idea that every penny should be for the charity it was given for) that the – A Story of Colors of Cambodia, should be entirely self-sufficient, and not rely upon any finance from the parent charity Colors of Cambodia, or from its parent company Positronic. That effectively meant that while I was busy collating the material I had gathered for writing, writing, poring over countless photographs for inclusion into the book and wrestling with design programmes, my new wife was even busier raising funds to support the printing of the book - the book launch and just about everything else.

    That black SUV fairly flew around our home city of Kuala Lumpur and, on occasions, dashed down to Singapore so that we could liaise with Bill. Frail tyres became punctured and air-cons refused to spread cool. Soothing music started to send us to sleep, while rousing music interfered with the earnest conversations we were having about publishing details. Breakfasts, lunches and dinners were frequently grabbed on the run, with no opportunity to cook for ourselves, except for the very rare occasion when I cooked pasta, or wasabi potato salad for a monthly Damma meeting. One evening a month, we allowed ourselves the luxury of a cheap bottle of red wine – but only after work had finished at 10pm, and we were too tired to do any more.

      At one point, due to severe frustration and feeling neglected by my new spouse - I seriously considered posting my wife’s hand phone – the one with the cute red rubber cover and bunny ears - to some far-off destination – Poland perhaps, or Timbuktu, just so she could spend a little more time with me – without that object being between us. But I didn’t. I realised that these inconveniences were a necessary part of the process of delivering the book. It was all about the book, and the Cambodian children who were the ultimate recipients of all this hard work.

     Meetings came and went, as did deadlines. Temperatures rose both in and out of our apartment – outside due to a thick fog haze settling over dusky Kuala Lumpur, and inside due to acute differences of opinion over the designing of the book. The book’s cover changed at least three times during this period. But, eventually, all temperatures cooled and we were able to move on with the book writing and design. My dear wife took a two week break to Europe, leaving me to write in peace. That was heaven. No meetings for that week, no pressures other than my self-imposed writing deadline. I really began to make writing progress.

    Then, one fine equatorial day - that artist gave me the great news. She had managed to raise the entire amount to print the book. We were both ecstatic. There were so many kind people who believed in our project, and some had parted with large sums to enable the project to move along. We shall always be grateful to those people, their unselfish generosity, and the way they rallied around when the need was there.

    Book editors appeared as if from nowhere, helping hands stretched out to guide us and assist us with the creating of the book, its editing and smoothing over the written and design cracks which were inevitable with such a project. Always, at the back of our minds, was the thought of the children we were doing all that for. It was for those Cambodian children, in Siem Reap, who had difficulties attending school and/or who had no access to art, school books, school bags, pens, pencils etc. Many had no school uniforms either.

    Eventually the writing was done. The book designed, re-designed, and designed again. We were swept towards our printing deadline, and the result the profusely illustrated book – A Story of Colors of Cambodia. The book is not a full account of that charity, rather just a brief insight through the eyes of one volunteer – the woman who became my wife, in the gallery belonging to that charity – Colors of Cambodia.

Eight and one half years later and the bubble had burst. During the Covid 19 pandemic the woman whom I had pledged my life to turned her back on me. It was a very sad ending to that romance which began so full of hope. I will never forget the promises that were made and the hope engendered, but nothing lasts forever and I continue my life journey alone, back in Britain.

BFM Radio interview - A Story of Colors of Cambodia

BFM Radio interview - A Story of Colors of Cambodia

selected images from the launch of A Story of Colors of Cambodia

Dusun 9

Open publication - Free publishing - More art

My 'baby' is born!

It's here.
Mybaby has been born.
Nine months in the making.
All the blood sweat and tears that went into this publication.

I have to thank a whole host of people who have aided and abetted us in this endeavor....and this we have done in the book itself.

For better or worse for richer or poorer, here is my book about the charity Colors of Cambodia.
It's called.
A STORY OF COLORS OF CAMBODIA and is available after the launch on the 14th October this year.

Dusun 8

Open publication - Free publishing - More art

The Story of Colors of Cambodia

due out in October.
Launch 14th October 2012

High-Tea seats available at RM50 - to go to the charity Colors of Cambodia and the children of Siem Reap, Cambodia to aid in their education and bring art to an artless environment.

Launch will include a small gallery of Cambodia children's and teacher's art available for purchase.

Text by me - Martin Bradley and illustrations by my wife - Pei Yeou

A Different Future

Admittedly I was a little surprised, and somewhat excited, to be invited to the launch of the 1Malaysia Contemporary Arts Tourism Festival 2012. I was puzzled and quietly expectant too when I read the programme of events for that day. The events included a speech by YB Minister for Tourism Malaysia and the launch of an arts competition entitled – 1Malaysia – The Futurists. I was more than a little curious to see that The (Italian) Futurists were alive and well and encamped within this particular neck of the equator.

   That afternoon, there was the usual speechifying by the government minister – the hand shaking and back slapping. Smiles fairly beamed from the stage at the Kuala Lumpur Convention Centre, lighting those examples of Malaysian art displayed for the purpose of the festival - adorning one side of that quite spacious hall, on level three. At one point in the proceedings a gigantic replica eye – like something out of a Dali film or Redon pastel, was lit and revolved revealing – well, very little actually. It was all a little bizarre.

   My view of the stage was constantly obstructed by a female photographer. She just would not take no for an answer - not even when asked to back off by the slightly miffed YB minister herself, so I apologize in advance if I missed the reference to The Futurists, but I am not conscious of having heard any reference to that bright band of Italian artists who had created their particular world view during the early years of the 20^th century. There were no manifestos manifesting themselves, no painterly references to the future, speed, technology, youth, cars, airplanes or industrial cities. No Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, Umberto Boccioni, or Carlo Carrà either - I was somewhat befuddled.

   It seems that it was yet another of those cultural misunderstandings that I have been having so frequently - since I decided to lay my hat on a metaphorical hat peg, within my miniscule apartment on the fringes of the main Malaysian metropolis. The Italian Futurists and their love of machines, movement, and fascism were obviously not the focus of an arts competition. The term ‘The Futurists’ had been high jacked by possibly well meaning, but perhaps a tad confused, committee attending to the day to day affairs of the aforementioned 1Malaysia Contemporary Arts Tourism Festival 2012 and paid no heed to the previous art movement of the very same name..

   Having been kept on tender hooks for practically the whole event, I had no choice but to shuffle down in my seat, ignore the annoying photographer (and the gentleman with the mop of silvery hair immediately before me), and get on with enjoying the show. And there was much to enjoy too.

   Ramli Ibrahim and the Sutra Foundation dancers were stunning. The whole ensemble – dancers, Ramli himself - the lighting and music gave us more than our money’s worth. Ok, yes I was a VIP guest so it was free, but you know what I mean. It was superb. The dance theme appeared to be spirit and the emancipation of women, but I could be wrong. It was a sheer delight and continues to occupy my thoughts some hours now from the actual event.

   The anklung musician was a surprise as well. Despite having been resident in Malaysia for some eight years, I had not heard one of these bamboo instruments played until the launch of 1Malaysia Contemporary Arts Tourism Festival 2012. 

   Perhaps I should explain - the anklung is an instrument made from hollow bamboo. It resonates when struck and generally is comprised of two bamboo resonators tuned to complimentary notes. The instrument is shaken to produce its unique note. But - joy upon joy, there was not just a solo artist - but eventually a whole orchestra – admittedly of school children, but an orchestra nevertheless, who played beautifully as my wife and I hastened off as work beckoned at that point.

   All in all the 1Malaysia Contemporary Arts Tourism Festival 2012 was an interesting experience – but no Futurists. I idly wonder what that art tourism concerned committee might come up with next year – Post-Impressionist painters – who paints indentations made by posts or Dadaist creatives who only make images of their fathers, perhaps. It therefore should be most interesting - when the future finally arrives.

Buffalo and Breadfruit

get it here

Buffalo and Breadfruit

‘Perchés…’ – Cie Chabatz D’entrar

'Perchés…' - Cie Chabatz D'Entrar - given to us by Alliance Française and the French Art and Film Festival 2012, is what the French are good at – simple stories, well told and with a slightly surreal edge to them.  Last night, after wending a long way into the velvet and sparkling city of Kuala Lumpur, and beyond, from my suburban home - we eventually discovered Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre (KLPAC). That home for all things performance based was secreted within a park at Sentul, almost hidden amongst the verdant foliage and ponds of robust Koi carp.

As we waited to shuffle our way to the theatre hall we were becoming increasingly bethronged by the usual kissy, kissy, lovey, lovey wet-cheeked crowd who generally turn out for such city theatre performances. I could not help but notice that in this multi-cultural, multi-ethnic equatorial city of Kuala Lumpur there was a large(ish) crowd of pale Europeans and a much smaller crowd of locals. It could have been the expat French contingent flocking to support their motherland’s endeavour, or simply a lack of interest on behalf of the more local inhabitants of our emerald city, but the disparity was noticeable.

It was a fine performance, spoilt only by an irritatingly rude blonde woman who was objecting to my camera clicking, and brusquely demanding that I cease. No amount of explaining would suffice that harpy who then proceeded to chitter-chatter her way through the entire performance – hence making more noise than my few camera clicks could ever have made. Nevertheless, and despite aforementioned harpy, those few short minutes being enthralled by 'Perchés…' - Cie Chabatz D'Entrar will live on in my memory long after that spell-weaving troupe has packed up and returned back to the land Liberté, égalité, fraternité.

The story of 'Perchés…' - Cie Chabatz D'Entrar, was a far from straightforward romance. In its own unique way that story of enduring love and equilibrium was reminiscent of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and his engaging tale of the Little Prince blended, perhaps, with all the charm of Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain (Amélie) and the beguiling humour of Jacques Tati’s Monsieur Hulot.  The performance was a delightful, charming, balance between theatre and circus, referencing both while maintaining uniqueness unquestionably French. There was a fine matureness in the story (and performance) seldom seen in these equatorial lands, unfortunately.

With the long ‘legged’ movements of the only two characters/actors on that stage at KL PAC, as they were strapped onto their stilts, I was, at once, reminded of two things. One was of the French philosopher Jean-Paul Satre and his theses on balance, equilibrium - and the other, of certain memorable works by the Spanish painter Salvador Dali. Dali, if you remember, had flirted with the French Surrealists, and painted Sur réalité in his Paranoid Critical method. As I watched Anne-Karine Keller and Olivier Léger perform, those be-stilted figures reminded me of Dali’s elephants. There was a grace and elegance to those elongated, spindly, legs which brought to mind Dali’s Temptation of St. Anthony. That revelation brought home the weight - physical and metaphorical, that those stilts carried on that KL PAC stage floor, and the nuanced layers of meaning spinning like plates before us.

The short love story we were presented with, was in itself simple. Middle-class lovers play in circus inspired choreography. Theirs is the perfect life. They play, they tease, but the darker side appears as their societal position does not allow them to bend and pick up the caste away spoons/saucers which have been scattered - littering the stage. Tragedy arises in man’s fall; there is the pain of separation, realisation of sacrifice and the joy of reuniting amidst all the bathos and pathos of a remarkable performance, minimalist stage set, and music which both brings to life the actions on stage as well as audibly perfuming the theatre. The disappointment, if disappointment it was was only in the entire length of the performance and, as P.T. Barnum, or was that Walt Disney, said - always leave them wanting more – and that was how I, and many members of the audience were left – wanting more. I know that I most certainly did.

Dusun 7

Open publication - Free publishing - More art

Remembering Whiteness and Other Poems

Open publication - Free publishing - More asia

Dusun 6

Open publication - Free publishing - More arts

Colors of Cambodia Charity Book Sponsorship

The Need To Create

The need to create, the need to communicate and to use our imagination is in all of us – the young artist Pua Zhe Xuan is no exception.

Pua Zhe Xuan was born with autism. According to Kid’s health (America) - Autism causes children to experience the world differently from the way most other children do. It's hard for children with autism to talk with other people and express themselves using words. Children who have autism usually keep to themselves and many cannot communicate without special help.

Pua Zhe Xuan has developed skills in communication which are fresh for him and exciting for us. He has taken to making images to help him communicate his thoughts and feelings to the outside world. Over time, he has built up a portfolio of stunning imagery to tell his personal story and to reflect his thoughts and feelings about the world around him. Art has truly become a language for Pua Zhe Xuan, giving him a connection to a world he was born disconnected from.

As he has developed his artistic skills, Pua Zhe Xuan has been able to render complex patterns and eventually produce works of art worthy of notable artists such as the Swiss ‘Outsider’ artist Adolf Wölfli. Outsider art is that which is created outside the boundaries of the official art culture, and has included many fascinating artists and their work. Many of Pua Zhe Xuan’s images also resemble ‘naive’ artworks from places such as Haiti and more specifically the works of Hector Hyppolite, or the paintings of Frenchman Henri Rousseau (Le Douanier or the customs officer). 

Within Pua Zhe Xuan’s paintings there is often an unwitting comic element, such as cute overweight birds that should never fly – but do. They leap and fly from the boy’s imagination into our own. It is there they nest and nurse remarkable eggs of creativity. The boy’s unique artistic freedom captures our imaginations, helps us to fly, and enables us to imagine impossible but glorious worlds of his heart, and of his gentle spirit.

In those drawings by Pua Zhe Xuan, smiling lions and/or moustachioed tigers stand transfixed, as if spotted by an all too obvious camera, and pose. The comic nature comes from the all too human expressions on the animal faces. It is as if Aardman studios are in mid-capture of some comic animation, and the boy acting as their cell painter. But it is not a studio break, there is no studio and the boy reveals himself as the champion of his personal dilemma by communicating so precisely and so floridly to a multiple audience who clamber to see his slightly humorous works.

There are times when a doting parent guides his eager hand, but mostly Pua Zhe Xuan is resolutely his own person. Like any artist aware of his own mind, Pua Zhe Xuan shrugs off guidance in favour of a mind free to travel into unknown, and possibly unknowable, worlds. Like Wölfli or French naive artist Séraphine Louis, amazing floral themes re-occur within his unimaginable forests. Sometimes they dance like Heinz Edelmann’s cartoon illustrations for The Beatles ‘Yellow Submarine’. At other times Chinese lanterns and trees sway to an unheard, but universal, rhythm knowable only to the boy - Pua Zhe Xuan himself. Ferns and expressive leaves remind us of both Séraphine and of Hyppolite, their closeness to nature and the brightness of their imaginations. Pua Zhe Xuan blesses us with his visions of a warm, comfortable nature where the worst thing that can happen is we split our sides laughing at butterflies and dragonflies, which are far too plump, or having our ribs tickled by those comic cats.

Over a few years, aided by one enlightened teacher Pua Zhe Xuan has grown and acquired unique skills and boundless imagination to create his formidable imagery. There is little doubt that, as time slides forward, the boy Pua Zhe Xuan will become a remarkable young man who will delight in taking his audiences on spectacular visual rides. This is but the beginning of an incredible career in art. Already Pua Zhe Xuan has exhibited in Kuala Lumpur and journeyed to Cambodia

can also be read in Dusun 5

Creating Colors of Cambodia - The Serial

 Creating Colors of Cambodia 4

Creating Colors of Cambodia 3 


Creating Colors of Cambodia 2


Creating Colors of Cambodia 1

Ali Rahamad - Senses of Malaysia January 2012

Scents of India

There is radiant splendour and vibrant beauty to India which Rafiee Ghani captures well in his latest exhibition – Perfumed Gardens, at Galeri Chandan, Bukit Damansara, Kuala Lumpur.          
   Amidst russet forts, towering minarets, eggshell blue skies and the vermillion of northern saris, there is the vivid perfumed romance of all that is rich and stunning about Rafiee’s India.

   Though the title ‘Perfumed Gardens’ is perhaps best known from Sir Richard Francis Burton’s translation of the Arabic erotic manual, it suits the vibrancy of Rafiee’s exhibition well. The wandering visitor to Galeri Chandan becomes ‘perfumed’ with colour exuding from canvases and watercolour papers throughout Rafiee’s stunning display. Those rich, lively, visual, aromas permeate consciousness in an almost subliminal way, leaving the visitor heady, intoxicated by their sheer beauty.

   As you might expect - vermillion, cardinal, crimson, cerise – the colours of India, dance and swirl from Rafiee’s paintings, often counterbalanced by walls of blue, or simple Indian skies. Red in all its facets presents as the bonding colour, uniting works throughout the well-spaced gallery. Galeri Chandan’s unique architecture only enhances the exhibition. The visitor is allowed a certain voyeurism when peeking through arches, around corners, down staircases – like the small children we all secretly are, excited at the next find in the treasure trail of that Perfumed Garden.

   And it is an excitement. The journey that Galerie Chandan and Rafiee Ghani take us on is a journey of spills and trills, a secret journey bound in symbolism, closeness and distance, a voyage of re-discovery, root finding and whole-making. India has that effect. Once sampled it is never forgotten. Be it the bounce and brashness of Bollywood, or the dank misery of Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay, India gets into the blood like an incurable virus, forges love/hate but it is never forgotten. Like Rafiee’s paintings, India always calls, sometimes we heed that call, sometimes we simply listen and reflect, surround ourselves with its hues and scents and recall the heat, the passion, and the perfumes which linger in oh so many gardens.

Perfumed Gardens - an exhibition by Rafiee Ghani; at Galeri Chandan, Bukit Damansara, 9^th January – 3^rd February 2012.