SATURDAY MORNING I DECIDE TO FLY BACK TO CHINA TO MAKE SOME ART

By Xiaolu Guo

 

It was ten thirty
We decided not to argue anymore
So we left the bedroom
A place difficult for Zen
We rode bikes to see Gregory Crewdson
An American Photographer
In the White Cube

I see a mother with an obscure face
Blood on her daughter’s bed
You see a naked woman
In a well lit middle class living room
Her crotch bleeding
We see mirrors everywhere
Dislocation, disorder, disturbing, disguise
Beneath the roses
I picture Freud, Jung and Alfred Hitchcock
Lurking

We left to see another exhibition
Trees In Snow
By Abbas Kiarostami
It was just a few streets away
In Rivington Road
Twelve o’clock on Saturday
I was hungry
We never ate proper breakfast
When our love had problems
And Abbas was a very simple man
Trees in snow was in black and white
Pure and clean
Like a vegetarian meal

We rode back to Brick Lane
Shalimar - you can try the rest but we are the best
That was your favourite place
Steamed spinach for two pounds seventy five
You said western culture is dead
I said eastern culture is old
And that’s why I left Asia

Western artists are ill I said
Because there is too much psychology here
You frowned
OK, that's too much art in the morning
Let's have another Fish Masala

 

 

14th May, 2005, London

 


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  © 2004 - 2006 Xiaolu Guo