My 24-year old flat mate started dating for the first time last year. With no idea of what to do, she surprised her boyfriend with a somewhat unconventional technique, prodding his penis when in fact intending to give him a hand job. After cackling a bit, I asked her if she had ever watched porn. . . .
Buy a ticket, turn the corner and the first section of Guanfu Museum is devoted to a litter of cats. Ma Weidu, founder of China’s first private museum is a great lover of all things feline and ‘Pumpkin’, a piece of substantial orange fluff stalks around the exterior, tail up, as its resident . . .
While the curation of last year's Fibre Art Triennial in Hangzhou was decidedly patchy, visually it was a stunner. Certainly a cut above Art Beijing and the Shanghai Biennale. . . .
English gardens tend to manicure nature less than their French equivalent, with trees clumped together rather than lined up like sentinels. Cass Sculpture Park is a prime example of lawn and trees that tend to conceal rather than expose all. Last year it sprouted 18 more additions to the outdoor . . .
‘If I had to be there for over three minutes I would space out’. When dragged to temples by his parents, Lee Lichung, like many young Taiwanese saw them as relics of a world that had no association or relation to his current life. He would go to make offerings to deities on their birthdays and zone . . .
'All is well under heaven but the sky-high prices'. Yuan Tianwen shoots China’s modern real estate fantasy which consists of neo-neo-classical villas with a touch of Louis XVI. His clientele aspire to live in old Europe, a Europe that only endures in museums and outdated houses. The centuries often . . .
Tight-knit communities. Emotional bind. We speak of the social fabric of a place. Of lives intertwined and relationships fraying. The vocabulary of weaving has long been used to describe ties between communities and individuals, and in her work, Italian artist Maria Lai employs the visual vocabulary . . .
Reaching Li Xiaodong’s Li Yuan library (篱苑图书馆) which lies on the outskirts of Beijing takes a bit of a pilgrimage. We took a two hour bus to Huairou encountering a ragbag of tricksters who tried to get us to dismount at earlier stops along the way. Then it was another 45 minute cab up a twisty, . . .
Hutongs, the grey paved alleyways lined with grey tiled roofs that slant atop red painted wooden structures still split the middle of Beijing into uneven chunks. Wandering down these leads to unexpected encounters, a military uniform hung up on a washing line, hole in the wall hotpot places with . . .