Satellite

I orbit around many bodies

And sometimes it feels like

I live out my life

In pleasing others

A beat here, then 

A transfer of attention -

Only to find

I've neglected myself

For extended periods 

Of time -

And now I feel 

Left behind

But tuning in

To my own frequency

Requires time, requires space

Furthermore requires conviction 

That the others can wait

And who am I

To claim that time

Is something I can use for me?

Who am I 

To know that I

Would love to spend the time with me?

 

Revisiting the City

Moving between Elizabeth St and George St (central thoroughfares in Sydney), I noticed that a Korean café I once visited with my friend appeared to have closed. I looked for other points of interest, so as not to dwell on disappointment. Across the street, a café by the name of Golden Brown seemed promising, but a police squad were right in front of it, hovering over a man on the ground. I kept walking. 

 

Closer to the George St side, a new area for dining had opened up with Japanese and Chinese restaurants in the most prominent locations. A text full of hanzi (Chinese characters) had been painted on the wall on a faint blue background, along with fluffy white clouds. Entering the World Square shopping complex, to which it was connected, these were more familiar grounds, and didn't have much to offer, except to whisk me into George St.

Catching a glimpse of something very colourful, at first I thought I was looking at a sculpture for the Chinese New Year, but the tell-tale outlines and patterns of a tuk-tuk soon made themselves known. The body of the vehicle was stark in red and blue, and attached to the rear was a fountain of large, red and golden cards. Getting close to the opaque cards, I admired the raindrops glistening on them. On top of the structure was a big bowl of popular Thai fruit, bringing pinks, yellows and oranges into the pallette. I noticed the wheel leading the tuk-tuk was a shade of purple, and the sign at the top marked the area as Thai Town. A celebration of the community.

I reached my destination when I ascended to the highest accessible floor of Central Park Mall. You can't miss the Japan Foundation once the lift delivers you there. Toyo Ito was the man (it's usually a man) of the hour: a respected architect since the 1970s, this exhibition showcased three of his large-scale public buildings. All three were in regional cities, and encouraged the people moving within them to relax. Ito believes that when people leave behind nature to enter a man-made structure, they take on a degree of tension. Whether through rounded forms, innovative cooling/heating, subtle asymmetry or as few walls as possible, his goal was to create attractive spaces people would adopt as their own. He appeared happy that many visitors felt at home in his public buildings. 

Like me, Toyo Ito doesn't care for the abundant modernist architecture of Japan. However, I can't help but notice that his work, as highlighted in this exhibition, is not that radical a departure from the style he seeks to differentiate himself from. I can see the box shape in the frame of each building - at first glance it appears to have more in common with the status quo than Zaha Hadid or BIG. But it's true that, the more you look, the more irregularities you can see. The subversion is there. It may be more modest than I would ideally like, but it was fun to wrap my brain around something new. I would like to move through some of these buildings, finding variety in their multi-faceted lighting, furniture and textures. 

The city stimulates through many moving parts, not all of them good, but when there's a lot to please me, it's well worth the journey. 

To feel one’s feelings

Previously I discussed being reminded of European cultures at every turn. From my current position, in my room, my gaze tends to rest upon the vivid yet intricate commercial art of my Pylones bags. They are a world one can immerse oneself in. I do.

If I redirect my gaze, I catch sight of another artwork, this time a rainbow-splattered Berlin skyline. I’ve had it since 2016, and I feel ambiguously about it, but I like it enough to keep it. It reminds me of: serendipity (meeting a fellow traveller who helped guide me to the market’s location), the grit of the urban centre meeting the vibrancy and innovation of its people, previous infatuations with cityscapes, a romance which morphed into an enduring friendship, and a multitude of other things. 

Pylones is also many things, including: a charming aesthetic, a reminder of Paris and also Lyon (where I first wandered into one of its shops), my adventures in learning French (including confusing my Parisian summer fling when I claimed the word ‘apparate’ existed in English, and my sense of pride when I bought two pâtisseries using only this foreign language and received friendly smiles from the elderly Lyonnais behind the counter)…

There are other things I associate with Germany and France, too.

As part of my French language study, I downloaded a 19th century novella called Ourika, first in French, and, failing to make much progress down this avenue, then in English translation. The overwhelming negation of the presence of a Black woman in the white aristocracy of the time was evoked with powerful, disturbing imagery. Ourika was analysed in a subsequent book which made an even bigger impact on me, Robin Mitchell’s Vénus Noire: Black women and colonial fantasies in 19th-century France. It brings to life the immense cruelty and sadism that was a frequent part of the picture. It was written by an African-American woman who travelled to Paris for her research, and I got the impression she was horrified by the whole experience.

One doesn’t have to look very far to find examples of German racism. The current Chancellor, Friedrich Merz, said he had a problem with the ‘Stadtbild’ (city image), and you should ask ‘our daughters’ what he meant. It’s obvious he dislikes the presence of men of colour in everyday life, and sees them, collectively, as rapacious towards white women. Protests followed, but he remains in the nation’s most powerful position.

The enchanting and the atrocious co-exist in Europe. There are no easy answers to the question of: How do I make space for all of the feelings they generate in me? The wonder and the disgust. The curiosity and the suspicion. The emboldenment and the intimidation. It’s an ongoing process, and there is some hard-won maturity too, but I have yet more to do.