A LITTLE KOREA IN SYDNEY

“The heart remembers what the head erased.” – Korean proverb

I was in Sydney for the day today for work. I attended a special Australia-Korea partnership for the future Business Briefing Forum supported by the Australia-Korea Business Council. The event was very good in that if nothing else it allowed some serious networking to occur, by bringing under the same roof people who had the same goals and strategies. The Ambassador of Korea to Australia, H.E. Dr Woosang Kim gave a very informative and engaging talk and the Australia Government was represented by two parliamentary secretaries to ministers.

The event was catered for very well and during the morning break there was entertainment also in the form of a Korean folk dancer who performed two traditional dances, the flower dance and the fan dance. For lunch I joined an educational envoy and two of his staff and we enjoyed a traditional Korean meal at the Daejangkum Restaurant. This was a very warm and friendly restaurant with some very good food. Most people think that Korean food is like Chinese or Japanese, but in fact, it has its own distinct style and uses ingredients in special and locally defined ways.

I read about the influence of Korean culture and religion on food, and there are some extremely interesting and admirable things about it. For example, Buddhist monk Dae An, owner of Balwoo Gongyang Temple restaurant, says about food:
“It is important that temple food does not run counter to nature. It minimises the use of artificially processed foods by insisting on seasonal natural produce. The food is simple and plain. We make only what we can eat; no leftovers are allowed. We should be grateful for our food, always aware of the travail of the farmer and nature in bringing a single grain of rice to fruition…”

How simple and fundamental and wise this statement is. How we could learn from it and apply it to our own table…

Both Busshism and Confucianism are widespread in Korea and these two philosophies have elegant, simple precepts whose observance leads to a harmonious coexistence with other people, animals, nature and the environment. Confucianism teaches Koreans to respect their elders as a matter of course and respect other people as a show of good etiquette. In meals this translates thus:

“Respect for elders dictates that you do not pick up your spoon or chopsticks until an older person has begun to eat. Conversely, you should be careful not to continue eating after an older person has finished. When drinking wine, etiquette dictates that you should turn your head away from the older person.

It is considered uncouth to make noises while eating. You should not slurp soup and noodle dishes. Do not talk with your mouth full and if you need to talk do it quietly and limit the conversation to the essentials. In earlier times, all meals were conducted in silence, but this has been relaxed somewhat nowadays. Do not lift your rice or soup bowl from the table (as the Chinese often do), as this is considered impolite.

Eat with an awareness of hygiene. A meal is a very sociable occasion in Korea and much sharing of side-dishes or even main courses occurs. Do not rummage through the side dishes with your chopsticks. Use the serving spoons provided. Wrap meat and fish bones in a paper towel and dispose of them discreetly without the other people being aware of it. Turn aside to sneeze, use your handkerchief to cover your mouth and nose and preferably wash your hands before resuming your meal.”

I really like these rules!

Rice is the staple food of Korea and it is the basis for highly nutritious and delicious dishes. Rice and products, prepared in all sorts of different ways can form the foundation of many a meal, and be prepared in endless varieties of savoury and sweet ways. The Korean word for rice is “bap” and this turns up in many a recipe. For example, steamed rice is “ssalbap”, while “bibimbap” (= mixed rice) is a savoury rice dish served with seasonal vegetables served on top of it.

A variant of this is “dolsot bibimbap” (“dolsot” meaning stone pot), which is bibimbap served in a very hot stone bowl in which a raw egg is added last and it is cooked against the sides of the bowl. The bowl is so hot that anything that touches it sizzles for minutes. Before the rice is placed in the bowl, the bottom of the bowl is coated with sesame oil, making the dish fragrant, but also the layer of the rice touching the bowl becomes golden and crispy. Numerous side dishes usually accompany the meal and these are flavoursome, spicy, sour, crisp, sweet and tart. Fermented dishes and pickles are also favoured.

“Gogi gui”, (Korean barbecue) refers to the Korean method of grilling various meats in a distinctive way. Such dishes are often prepared at the diner’s table on gas or charcoal grills that are built into the centre of the table itself. Most diners enjoy doing their own grilling at the table. Some Korean restaurants that do not have built-in grills provide portable stoves for diners to use at their tables.

At lunch we had the traditional dolsot bibimbap with various side-dishes. It was delicious and a wonderful vegetarian meal, which was healthful as well as tasty.

PLANT A TREE FOR EARTH DAY 2010!

“Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.” - Chief Seattle

Millions of people around the world will celebrate Earth Day today, especially so this year, as 2010 marks its 40th anniversary. The idea behind the day, celebrating our planet and all living things that inhabit it, began during the early 1960s hippy movement, as Earth Day bloomed into a grassroots cause that eventually culminated in the first USA observance in 1970. The first Earth Day in 1970 brought more than 20 million people out into the streets to protest against environmental destruction and changed history.

Senator Gaylord Nelson of the USA was instrumental as the driving force behind the establishment of Earth Day and this link explains how it occurred to him in his own words. As all ideas that are ripe for their time do, Earth Day took root, grew and blossomed into the “greening” movement that is now part of the way that we live.

Presently, in many parts of the world there is a move to extend Earth Day celebrations for an entire week thus increase awareness of greening, recycling, better energy efficient communities. In 2010, there is major campaign in a Billion Acts of Green to help to get the entire planet involved in recycling, planting a tree, saving energy, reducing greenhouse gas emissions or any other action to better the earth.

One of the symbols of Earth Day is the “Earth Flag”. This uses an image of the earth as taken from space and it highlights the fragility of our “spaceship earth” in which all of the living creatures on the earth’s surface share its limited resources and depend on each other for survival.

Seeing that I planted two trees at the weekend, my pledge is to plant a few more until the end of the year. Here are the instructions on successful tree-planting:

•    Select the right time of year for planting the tree. Do not plant in late spring or summer because the heat will stress the plant and may cause it to die. The best time to plant a tree is fall (autumn) or early spring.

•    Check to see if there are any local requirements concerning digging deep holes if  you need to dig near telephone and other cables (for example, in urban areas).

•    Choose a suitable tree for the region, climate, and space. It is best to choose a tree native to the region where you will plant it. considering, including how quickly and how large they grow, how much clean-up the need, and their tolerance to diseases, drought, and pests. Be sure you know  the growth habits of the tree you will plant, the shape and size that your tree will have when it is mature.

•    Select a healthy tree. If there are leaves on it, look at the condition of the leaves, but remember that the best time to plant many deciduous trees is when they are dormant.

•    Decide where you want the tree. Many people forget that trees will grow large, so in addition to arranging it according to how you want the area to look, think ahead. Will it shade other plants? Will its branches affect power lines or neighbours’ property? Will it cause or be affected by flooding?

•    Once you’ve decided on the tree and location, take a suitable shovel and dig a hole. The size of the hole depends on the plant, but always dig it a little larger so that your plant ‘s root ball will easily fit . Dig a hole 2-3 times the width of the root ball, not just enough so it will fit. This allows good root growth. Water the base of the hole and let the water seep through into the surrounding soil.

•    Put a mixture of charcoal chunks mixed with sand and spoil in the centre of the hole so that it forms a pedestal on which the root ball will sit. This encourages good drainage.

•    Prepare your tree for planting by taking it out of the pot or cutting the hessian around the root ball if it is a larger tree.

•    Place the tree into the hole gently. Be sure the hole isn't too deep or too shallow. The ground level of the plant in the pot should match up with the ground level after you fill the hole in. Do not bury over the crown (where the stem changes to root) or leave any roots exposed.

•    Add fertiliser only after the hole is dug. All plants need fertiliser to thrive, but too much and you will burn the leaves or kill the plant (more is not better!). A good choice is slow release fertiliser, available from nurseries. Use some compost or composted manure instead of fertiliser if you have some. Compost or composted manure is essential if you are planting fruit or nut trees.

•    Pack the soil and compost firmly around the tree and water. Allow settling, backfill the remaining soil, and water again. This will eliminate air pockets. Water 4 litres for every 20 cm of tree height.

•    Cover the planting hole with 5 cm of shredded hardwood or leaf mulch to keep water in and most weeds out. Do not put mulch against the trunk or it will rot. Mulch out to the level of the tips of the branches.

•    After the planting is finished come back in about an hour and water one more time. You may need to stake the tree also so now is a good time to do it. Drive the stake beside the tree, hammering in until it is strong and stable. Tie the tree loosely around the stake so that the tie does not dig into the bark and damage your tree.

•    Water regularly until the tree is established. The stake can usually be removed after the first year.

•    Enjoy your labours, and as an old Greek proverb says, “A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in”.

BYZANTIUM

“An age which is incapable of poetry is incapable of any kind of literature except the cleverness of a decadence.” – Raymond Chandler

Byzantium, was the Greek city by the Propontis (the Sea of Marmara), at the southern end of the Bosporus on the European side, later renamed Constantinople, and now Istanbul. It was magnificently situated, commanding the two opposite shores of Europe and Asia with the advantages of security and great ease of trade. It was originally founded by Megarians in the seventh century BC, opposite Chalcedon (the ‘city of the blind’, so called by the Delphic oracle because its earlier Megarian founders had failed to choose the superior site of Byzantium).

Ruled by Persia from 512 to 478 BC, then alternately under Athenian and Spartan dominion in the fifth and fourth centuries, Byzantium was a formal ally of Athens from c.378 to 357 BC, and then again when successfully resisting Philip of Macedon in the famous siege of 340–339 BC. The help supposedly given by the goddess Hecatē on this occasion was commemorated on Byzantine coins by her symbol of crescent and star (adopted by the Turks as their device after they captured the city in AD 1453). The city suffered severely from the Celtic (Gallic) invasions of the third century BC and subsequently passed into the Roman empire, while remaining Greek in culture. It was chosen by the emperor Constantine for his new capital (AD 330), to be known thereafter in the West as Constantinople.

When the Roman empire in the West finally collapsed in the fifth century under barbarian invasions the eastern empire and its capital, firmly in the Greek world, flourished. The city's position as the capital of the eastern empire was interrupted in 1204 when it was captured by the French and Venetians (collectively known as Latins) during the Fourth Crusade, and became the seat of the Latin empire until restored to Greek possession in 1261. The last emperor, Constantine XIII, was killed when the city and empire fell to the Turks in AD 1453, under whose rule it has remained to this day as Istanbul.

I wrote the following poem after visiting the city some years ago…

Byzantium

Byzantium, on heavy golden crown
You are the brightest jewel!
On the crossroads of history
You soar like a double-headed eagle.

Byzantium, dressed in royal purple,
You temper time with a steel sceptre.
With pen, coloured mosaic, faith and spirit
You light the dark corridors of the centuries.

Byzantium, you’re overtaken by dusk,
You’re oppressed by the melancholy of the Bosporus.
In Saint Sophia’s lofty halls, expires
The pitiful flame of the last votive candle.

Byzantium, you draw your last breath,
When minaret rises and wounds the blue sky.
The eagle-sun dies in the west
And dyes the white and blue incarnadine.

Byzantium, in blood-red skies now
The crescent moon now promenades.
And in its faint, borrowed light,
Only your eternal sadness in the night will reign.

A COMMUTER STORY

“It is clear that the way to heal society of its violence... and lack of love is to replace the pyramid of domination with the circle of equality and respect.” – Manitonquat

Some of you who read my blog regularly may know that I commute to work on the train. This is a convenient and “green” way to get to work, as well as allowing me some time while on board to do all sorts of things: Read, write, listen to music, etc. I have my computer with me on board and it’s amazing how much one gets done in even 20 minutes of travel time. At other times I observe my fellow travellers and it amuses me to imagine their lives, simply by looking at them – they way they cut their hair, their jewellery, their clothing, even the perfume they wear. Overall, I enjoy my commuting time and most of my fellow travellers seem to do so as well. Occasionally there are some unpleasant commuters, you know the kind, those who have their iPods on too loud, those that take up three seats, the ones who are openly rude and impolite.

However, this morning in Clayton, a suburb a few kilometers away, a man was stabbed in the morning rush hour at the railway station. The victim in his 20s was stabbed up to eight times just outside the Clayton station, at about 8:15 a.m. He died in the station car park with commuters in shock as they filed past his body covered with a blood-stained cloth, to get to their train a few metres away. The murderer was not deterred by the broad daylight, the hordes of commuters going to work, no the very public place.

We are living in times where our life is forfeit from the one minute to the next. Being in a crowd or being locked up at home makes no difference. Death could be waiting to confront us at any time. Who knows whether the poor victim could have imagined last night that the day he had lived would have been his last? Did his family suspect that yesterday was the last time they would have seen him alive? His friends who perhaps waved to him from the train, did they see the murderer amongst the crowd?

Why was he stabbed? Robbery? Settling of accounts? A matter of the heart? An act of ethnic motivated hate? A victim of a psychopathic rage? Who knows? Will we ever find out? Apparently both men were Asians and according to witnesses an argument may have preceded the stabbing. There may be photographs of the murderer on security cameras and police appear to be hopeful of capturing the perpetrator, but how often have we heard that and how few times is it true? In any case the young man who died will not be catching another train, ever again.

One of the most upsetting thing about the case for me was that hundreds of people walked by the dying victim and did nothing to help. Only one young psychology student stopped to help and he heard the incomprehensible dying words of the young man as he lay in the pools of his blood. About 15 other people just stood by and watched the scene in morbid fascination… Who knows what the dying victim was trying to say as he lay dying? His murderer’s name, if he had recognised him perhaps? An appeal for help? A message of his loved ones? The name of his wife, girlfriend, mother?

In the meantime our city, like so many other large cities around the world is experiencing a wave of knifings. Wild, vicious stabbings where youth are often implicated. The problem is enormous and “Knives Scar Lives” campaign here in Australia doesn’t seem to be helping. Increasing numbers of such horrible crimes are being reported on a daily basis.

O tempore, o mores!

A CHALLENGING FILM

“The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.” - William B. Yeats

Please read this poem:

Absent from Thee I Languish Still;

Absent from thee I languish still;
Then ask me not, when I return?
The straying fool 'twill plainly kill
To wish all day, all night to mourn.

Dear! from thine arms then let me fly,
That my fantastic mind may prove
The torments it deserves to try
That tears my fixed heart from my love.

When, wearied with a world of woe,
To thy safe bosom I retire
where love and peace and truth does flow,
May I contented there expire,

Lest, once more wandering from that heaven,
I fall on some base heart unblest,
Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven,
And lose my everlasting rest.

It is a poem written by John Wilmot (1647 – 1680; Oxfordshire - England). Most of you will probably not know this poem nor the poet. What if I say he was also the Second Earl of Rochester? Some of you may recognise him now, but still, for the most part, most people would not have a clue as to who he is. Judging from the poem, you might guess he was some young, noble and romantic Englishman who spent his life sniffing the roses and delighting his virginal love with delightful poems such as this.

In fact, he was a rake and a libertine, a bisexual and utterly debauched, by all accounts already having a terrible reputation by the age of fourteen years. By the age of 33, John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester was dying, of syphilis, gonorrhea, other venereal diseases, as well as the effects of alcoholism. However, you may be pleased to learn that he repented on his deathbed… He was the ultimate restoration rake, immoral and dissolute, promiscuous and decadent. His short life was a surfeit of excess, and yet his fine mind was capable of logical, rational, original and creative thought.

All of this of course would make a marvellous film! And so I thought, when I chose the DVD of Laurence Dunmore’s 2004 film “The Libertine” with Johnny Depp playing Rochester and John Malkovitch playing Charles II. Stephen Jeffreys who wrote the play that the film is based on, was also responsible for writing the screenplay. I was not familiar with the play, but I knew of the Earl of Rochester and his (s)exploits as well of his poetry.

The film follows fairly accurately the biography of Rochester, and sets a realistic scene in Restoration England around the 1660s. The return of Charles II to the English throne allowed the English to return with gusto to the previously forbidden pleasures of theatre, visual arts, scientific enquiry and promiscuity. In the 1670s, in the middle of critical political and economic problems, Charles II asks the return of his friend John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester, from exile to London. Although his friend John is a dissolute drunkard and cynical poet, the King asks him to help him raise funds by preparing a spectacular play for the French ambassador to earn the financial support of France. John in the meantime meets the aspirant actress Elizabeth Barry in the theatre and decides to make her a great star. He falls in love with her, and she becomes his mistress – to the dismay of his wife, Elizabeth Mallet. The play Rochester presents is a pornographic romp which openly satirises the king, causing John Wilmot’s banishment once again…

The film is bawdy and sometimes verging on the pornographic, so in this respect it is not suited to viewing by prudes. The playwright stretches his point and the director gleefully follows suit. The licentiousness of the Restoration after the strait-laced rule of the Puritans is accented to such an extent that it appears almost a caricature. Yet, much of the literature, the art, the documentary evidence of the time shows that our official history books (especially if they are deemed suitable for use in schools) must be necessarily bowdlerised.

The acting in this film is very good and Depp gives an excellent performance as does John Malkovitch. There is something very disturbing about Rochester’s initial speech that begins:
“Allow me to be frank at the commencement. You will not like me. The gentlemen will be envious and the ladies will be repelled. You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on. Ladies, an announcement: I am up for it, all the time...”
It sets the stage and prepares the viewer for the onslaught that follows.

It is not an enjoyable film to watch, but nevertheless, one which puzzles and confounds the viewer at times. There is much there to digest and the questions about morality it asks are sincere and should generate much cogitation. I would recommend it with reservations and only to people I know would rise to the challenges of this film, which when viewed superficially could be dismissed as sensational and pornographic.

DAVE COOPER

I wanted to make the violence beautiful in order to heighten our revulsion. – Edward Hall

We had a very quiet Sunday today, going out for a short drive in the morning and then passing by a Sunday Market on the way back home. The weather has been very changeable, but warm. Certainly the last throes of a Summer, which has been mild this year. The days continue to shorten and the sun is losing its fierceness. Autumnal days of warm contentment.

For Art Sunday today (upon the suggestion of a friend), I am featuring Dave Cooper. This is an American cartoonist, illustrator and artist, born in Brooklyn NY in 1967. He presently resides in Ottawa, Canada, and is presently mostly working on fine art, to the dismay of his comics fans. Cooper first came to the public eye in his teens when his sci-fi comics were published in Barry Blair’s Aircel Comics. Blair mentored the young Cooper and although there were never any accusations of molestation, Cooper has described their relationship as “inappropriate”. Cooper spent several years in a band and then returned to comics in his 20s, producing disturbing and strangely erotic work.

Increasingly, Cooper spent more time concentrating on paintings, which have a popular art appeal and are often inspired by the images, colour and clean lines of the comics he initially drew. The images of his art are often grossly misshapen and gaudily disturbing. The erotic mingles with the repulsive and the amusing with the disconcerting. In any case, whether one likes his art or not, his imagery is hard to ignore and will certainly raise an intense emotional response – as should all art.

Readers who wish to find out more about this artist are directed to the Wikipedia article and Cooper’s own personal website 1 and website 2.

GRADUATION

“No man should escape our universities without knowing how little he knows.” - J. Robert Oppenheimer

I was in Brisbane for the day today as the graduation ceremony for our Queensland students was scheduled. I always enjoy traveling to our different campuses at graduation time as it is a pleasure to see our students’ hard work acknowledged and rewarded. The ceremony is always well-attended and is a happy occasion for both staff and students, who see it as a highlight of the academic year. The families of the graduating students are also there in full force and the happiness and pride in their faces as they see their students finally reaching their goal, is a delight to see.

The ceremony was at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre in Brisbane’s Southbank, which is a magnificent venue. It always tends to be a long ceremony, over two hours long as there are processions, speeches, presentation of certificates and testamurs, student and staff awards and responses. My speech is at the beginning of the ceremony and I always try to make it as uplifting and inspiring as I can. This year, my speech ended thus, befitting graduates who will go out there in the community to work in health care:

“…Always try to be good and do what is right, rather than what happens to be pleasant or convenient at the time. What is good and what is happy are the same. Be unselfish and help others because the world is full of suffering and to alleviate the suffering is the noblest thing that a human being can do. Should we be fortunate enough to be able to live our lives by these simple precepts we may confidently say that we have not lived our lives in vain.

Graduands, you have succeeded. I am sure my colleagues, your fellow students, you families and friends join me in congratulating you most sincerely.
It is now time for you to go out and be inspired to do great things…”

The ceremony finishes with the academic procession exiting to the strains of the organ playing the old 13th century student song: “Gaudeamus Igitur”. Quite fitting therefore to have this as the offering for Song Saturday!



Gaudeamus igitur
Juvenes dum sumus.
Post jucundam juventutem
Post molestam senectutem
Nos habebit humus.
Ubi sunt qui ante nos
In mundo fuere?
Vadite ad superos
Transite in inferos
Hos si vis videre.
Vita nostra brevis est
Brevi finietur.
Venit mors velociter
Rapit nos atrociter
Nemini parcetur.
Vivat academia!
Vivant professores!
Vivat membrum quodlibet
Vivant membra quaelibet
Semper sint in flore.
Vivant omnes virgines
Faciles, formosae.
Vivant et mulieres
Tenerae amabiles
Bonae laboriosae.
Vivat et respublica
et qui illam regit.
Vivat nostra civitas,
Maecenatum caritas
Quae nos hic protegit.
Pereat tristitia,
Pereant osores.
Pereat diabolus,
Quivis antiburschius
Atque irrisores.

Let us rejoice therefore
While we are young.
After a pleasant youth
After a troubling old age
The earth will have us.
Where are [they] who before us
Were in the world?
Go to the heavens
Cross over into hell
If you wish to see them.Our life is brief
Soon it will end.
Death comes too quickly
Snatches us too cruelly
It spares no one.
Long live academe!
Long live the professors!
Long live each student!
Long live all students!
May they always be in their prime!Long live all girls
Easy and beautiful!
Long live mature women also,
Tender and lovable
Good [and] productive.
Long live the state as well
And he who rules it!
Long live our city
[And] the charity of benefactors
Which protects us here!
Let sadness perish!
Let haters perish!
Let the devil perish!
Let whoever is anti-student
As well as the mockers [perish]!

AUTUMN TART

“Youth is like spring, an over-praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.” - Samuel Butler

Autumn has come bringing with it delectable fruits and vegetables. The new season apples are delicious at the moment as are juicy blackberries, bright pumpkins and persimmons, sweet plums and pears. I had an apple for lunch today and it was juicy, crisp and rich with a fruity aromatic smell. The inclination then came to me to have home made Tarte Tatin at the weekend. We have a good recipe and it will be just the thing for weekend breakfast!

Tarte Tatin
Ingredients – for the filling
    10 crisp eating apples
    Juice of 1 lemon
    150 g vanilla sugar
    1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
    1/8 tsp ground cloves
    80g unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
For the short-crust pastry
    180 g plain flour flour
    a pinch of salt
    90g unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
    2 and 1/2 tbsp ice-cold water
Fresh cream to serve with

Method
1. First make the pastry: Sift the flour and salt into a bowl. Add pieces of the butter over the flour. Rub the butter in, until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs, then add the water, a little at a time, mixing thoroughly. If the dough is still crumbly after adding all the water, add a little more water. The moment the dough coheres into a single ball, stop the mixing. Wrap in cling film and put in the refrigerator while you prepare the apples.

2. Preheat the oven to 180°C

3. Peel the apples. Cut one in half, then cut one of the halves into two. Cut the other apples into quarters and remove all the cores. Put in a bowl and toss with the lemon juice to prevent browning.

4. Sprinkle the sugar into a large oven-proof round pan in a thin layer. Heat gently over low heat, watching it all the time, as some of it will brown before others. The sugar should melt to a dark brown liquid all over without burning. Remove from the heat and immediately scatter about one-third of the butter over the sugar. It will bubble instantly.

5. Place the half apple, cut side up, in the middle of the pan. Arrange a tightly packed wheel of quarters around it. Dot with the remaining butter. Sprinkle with the spices. Place over a gentle heat to start it cooking. Remove from the heat.

6. Roll out the pastry to a circle just bigger than the pan. Drape it loosely over a rolling pin and then place over the apples. Tuck the pastry down the sides of the pan to seal in the apples (take care you don’t touch the hot pan!).

7. Bake in the middle of the oven for 25-30 minutes, until the pastry is cooked. Remove from the oven and leave to cool for 10 minutes.

8. Cover the pan with a serving plate and flip the tart over onto it. Rearrange any stray fruit. The fruit should look glossy and caramel brown. Serve with fresh cream on the side.

I am going to Brisbane for the day tomorrow as we have our graduation ceremony there. It will only be a day trip, but I am still a little put out by it.

Enjoy your weekend!

ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE...

“I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” - Agatha Christie

Another shudder of the earth has caused another tragedy, this time in a remote part of China. This latest fatal earthquake with over 600 people dead and close to 10,000 injured has failed to attract the coverage of the Haiti or Chile earthquakes so far. I heard about it on the radio this morning and then searched the internet for news, but had difficulty in getting something concrete and accurate. Even the exact part of the quake defied my initial attempts to locate it with Google maps. The newspaper this afternoon relegated the news to page 10 with a couple of short paragraphs. More bodies are expected to be recovered with the poverty and remoteness of the region making it difficult for rescue efforts to be carried out.

This latest earthquake brings home what may be a truism: The West has selective awareness and filtered sensitivities to events around the globe. There are some events in some geographies and certain nations that will arouse immediate interest, sympathy and wide media coverage, while others will hardly register or will be given limited media coverage. Our prejudices follow us even in the expression of our altruistic tendencies and our help to fellow humans may be coloured by our carful filtering of the information that reaches our emotional response centres.

The remoteness and poverty of the Qinghai region, located on the northeastern part of the Tibetan Plateau, coupled with the poor weather conditions with biting cold, wind and sleet will make rescue efforts difficult. There is little hope for the people trapped in rubble, who are thought to number about 300-400. People are clawing through the rubble with their bare hands to try and save the trapped. Dozens of children were apparently amongst the dead. Later on tonight the news reports started to come in and supply the terrifying pictures to satisfy the ghouls amongst us. The same images that we saw not too long ago in Chile, in Haiti, in Indonesia…

The terrible part of all of this is that lives have once again been interrupted. Not only the ones prematurely ended, but even the lives of the survivors who have to cope with the terrible loss of loved ones, homes, memories, keepsakes. Imagine that happening to you! The accessibility and yet remoteness of all these terrible things happening around the world can make us immune and blasé about the gut wrenching tragedy that those who experience them first hand feel. Reading the newspapers, seeing the news on TV, accessing the internet provides us with an endless supply of terrible news from every corner of the earth. Overload…

The essence of the tragedy still remains. Some are dead, many are injured, some are trapped and dying. Survivors are going hungry and cold in some remote corner of the earth. We ignore them at our peril. Today it is they in this position, tomorrow our turn may come.

PARTING'S SWEET SORROW

“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” – William Shakespeare

One of the sorrows of love is parting. As Shakespeare has put it in his famous oxymoron, the “sweet sorrow” of parting is balanced by the future sweet joy of reunion. But time drags when one is separated from one’s beloved and there’s more sorrow than sweetness in the waiting. The keenness of the separation is whetted by the distance and time that prevents the lovers meeting and the longer the separation the keener the sweetness of the reunion.

Here is a poem dedicated to all those who are suffering this exquisite dulcet melancholy, but especially for T…

Parting’s Sweet Sorrow

The moon alarmed has hid behind a cloud,
The wind is whistling and the rain will fall.
And in my room my restless breath heard loud;
My solitude a gnawing pain, a soft grey pall,
A deadening fog, an empty echoing hall.

You write to me as you roam and sail the seas,
The words of love a hollow echo of your voice.
And in my empty room my heartbeats freeze
As your insistent absence will not let me rejoice;
I have to cope, there is no other choice.

The yellow autumn leaves swirl in the blowing wind
The rain now falls in sheets, the street deserted, void.
Sleep will not come to me, my mind to you is pinned,
Thoughts of your face, your touch, your voice I can’t avoid;
I wish that your departure I could rescind.

Time flows unctuously through the sleepless night
The curtain pulled back allows the street light entry.
The rain, the hidden moon, the sickly yellow light:
My only companions, my loneliness the faithful sentry.
When you are absent all my nights are white.

Jacqui BB is hosting Poetry Wednesday

GENDERCIDE

“If women didn’t exist, all the money in the world would have no meaning.” - Aristotle Onassis

What are little girls made of, made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice, and everything nice,
That's what little girls are made of.

What are little boys made of, made of?
What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy dog tails,
That's what little boys are made of.
                                       Nursery rhyme

I read once again with horror about the major problem of female infanticide and feticide (“gendercide”) that remains rampant in China and India. Female infanticide has been a feature in many cultures through the ages, and has probably been responsible for many millions of female fetus and infant deaths. The problem is most acute in China and India, the most populous countries in the world. These countries have a strict population control policy coupled with a strong culture of male supremacy, and gendercide is continuing to occur with alarming regularity there. In all cases, female infanticide is an indication of the low status accorded to women in many parts of the world.

In January 2010 the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences demonstrated what can happen to China if girl babies are killed. Within ten years, the Academy reported, 1 in 5 young men would be unable to find a bride because of the reduced numbers of young women (this is a figure unprecedented in a country at peace – compare the shortage of marriageable young men after the first world war in Europe!). In China, a specific word “guanggun” (meaning bare branches) describes this shortage of bachelors. The shortage of females seems to have become more acute between 1990 and 2005, amongst other factors, linked to the one-child policy, (introduced in 1979).

Unfortunately, China is not the only country affected by gendercide. Parts of India have sex ratios as skewed as anything in China. In other East Asian countries, like South Korea, Singapore and Taiwan there are also high numbers of male births compared to female. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, former communist countries in the Caucasus and the western Balkans show a strong preponderance of male births. The traditional patriarchal values of these societies seemingly have been revived as soon as the communist regime was overthrown.

Social scientists are predicting all sorts of consequences that will arise in these societies once the shortage of females becomes widespread. Women may become a commodity, especially in terms of their social and reproductive functions. Prostitution is likely to rise, warn the experts, as will rape and homosexuality amongst the males. A trade in stolen children and nubile women may also be an observed effect.

Once again, the inhumanity of humankind astounds me.

The Wagoner’s Lad



Oh hard is the fortune of all womankind
They’re always controlled, they're always confined
Confined by their parents until they are wives
Then slaves to their husbands for the rest of their lives.

Oh I am a poor girl, my fortune is sad
I’ve always been courted by the Wagoner’s Lad
He’s courted me daily, by night and by day
And now he is loaded and going away.

"Your parents don’t like me because I am poor
They say I’m not worthy of entering your door
But I work for a living, my money's my own
And if they don’t like it, they can leave me alone"


"Your horses are hungry, go feed them some hay
Come sit down beside me as long as you stay"
"My horses ain’t hungry, they won’t eat your hay
So fare thee well darling I’ll be on my way".

Oh hard is the fortune of all womankind
They’re always controlled, they’re always confined
Confined by their parents until they are wives
Then slaves to their husbands for the rest of their lives…
                                                                          British folksong

SYRIANA

“The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.” - Dorothy Parker

We watched Stephen Gaghan’s 2005 film “Syriana” at the weekend. The cast featured George Clooney, Matt Damon, William Hurt and Christopher Plummer. The idea was admirable and the plot ever topical and worthy of coverage. However, this was one of the most boring movies we have watched in the last few months. The writer/director is well out of his depth and the result is a film that we “all have to see because it concerns us” but which unfortunately causes great distress not because of the subject matter but because of the pedestrian way in which it has been made. Add to that a director who wants to gain “avant-garde brownie points” – hence perhaps the disjointed nature of the narrative.

I was completely interested in the subject matter, I am aware of the dirty games that are played with oil around the world, I have read about the corrupt politics and have seen documentaries that deal with the issues. I looked forward to the film, especially after having read some of the favourable reviews of the movie. Imagine my disappointment when I spent over two hours trying desperately to become involved in this convoluted and overly didactic film. I was repelled by all the characters and could not sympathise with anyone – not even the supposed good guys! That’s bad in a movie!

The film set out to be a whistle blower of CIA’s involvement in supporting America’s big business interests (surprise?) It was also to show that by meddling in the very complex politics of the region, the CIA continually creates the very problems it is trying to “resolve” and therefore contributes to the continuing lack of stability in the Middle East and which result in, for example, terrorism (oh, really?!). The battle to control the US (and therefore world) supply of oil is the main theme of the movie, but references are also made to the global arms and drug trades (hmmm, they’re related, are they?). There are token references to human relationships and some dialogue that attempts to join the disjointed mess of the plot together. The actors try very hard, but unfortunately end up being very trying.

I wanted this movie to be a hard-hitting, involving, clear and incisive exposé of an important cluster of interrelated international issues. However, all I got out of it was a muddled, very poorly written, rambling attempt to “disclose” something that we all knew and it did it in a patronising and boring manner. The acting was dull and I fail to see how George Clooney won a best supporting actor Oscar for it! The filmmaker failed in delivering an engaging and interesting movie. I was not involved, the film did not draw out an emotional response from me. I neither laughed nor cried, was not amused, was definitely not captivating.

I cannot recommend that you see this film. It is full of self-importance and pats itself on the back too hard and too loudly. Empty vessels make the loudest noises…

ART SUNDAY - KIRCHNER

“The problem in defense is how far you can go without destroying from within what you are trying to defend from without.” - Dwight D. Eisenhower

For Art Sunday today, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner (1880-1938), who was born in Aschaffenburg in Germany. He studied architecture in the Technische Hochschule at Dresden, and painting in Munich. In 1905, he and his colleagues founded the Die Brücke group. He was the leader among the German Expressionists at the time. In 1911, Kirchner moved to Berlin and the complexity of Berlin’s urban cavalcade prompted him to capture it on canvas. Berlin’s social life, the women, the glamour and all of Berlin’s artificiality were captured by Kirchner’s “bold lines and clashing colors.” The First World War was soon to follow and it would deeply effect Kirchner’s concentration on his art.

Kirchner participated in the field artillery of the First World War. He served in the 75th Artillery Regiment. However, in October 1915, he was discharged because of lung disease and because of several nervous breakdowns. The artist, in fact, would never recover from the persecutions of the Nazis. Later in the Second World War, the Nazis condemned him as a degenerate artist and confiscated 600 of his works. Kirchner was unable to handle so much hatred and he committed suicide on June 15, 1938.

His painting from 1923 “Kaffeetisch”, Oil on canvas, 119 x 120 cm, Museum Folkwang Essen shows a lapse into cheerfulness as with bright colours and simple direct forms he depicts an intimate coffee party where a family are enjoying the simple pleasures of life. The intent gazes of the two women deep in conversation, the tender gesture of the little girl holding her mother’s hand and the rapt attention of the father as he looks across to his wife are a tender testament to the quiet domesticity that Kirchner had missed in the trenches of the first world war and which he could see threatened as the storm clouds presaging the second world war were gathering.

OLD AGE IN SPRING

“To know how to grow old is the master-work of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of living.” - Henri Amiel

Old age is something that we have to come to terms with if we survive long enough. Sickness is one of its attendant misfortunes and for some of us, these two ills will cause much pain and sorrow. What is the best season to die for an old sick man? Spring I think, for to die in such a glorious time of the year surrounded by the blooming flowers, birdsong, the warming sun and the promise of so much life bursting forth after the dead winter surely is a promise of a victory of life over death, of joy over despair, of healing over sickness?

Here is Edvard Grieg’s “Våren” or “Last Spring”. It rejoices in spring, but it is to be a last spring, for the poet knows that he will see no other. Between 1877 and 1880, Grieg produced a set of songs as his Op. 33 on texts by the so-called “peasant-poet” of Norway, Aasmund Vinje (1818-1870). The composer had been greatly inspired by the then-late poet’s verses, so much so that after completing the set, he decided to arrange two of its songs for string orchestra, this one The Last Spring and The Wounded Heart. The last Spring is a hauntingly beautiful and sad piece of music, but are not our sweetest songs, the saddest also?

The singer is the Norwegian singing sensation Sissel, who sings this song in a disarmingly simple and straightforward manner without a trace of sentimentality. Enjoy it!

A HALAL LUNCH

“We are all dietetic sinners; only a small percent of what we eat nourishes us; the balance goes to waste and loss of energy.” - William Osler

I had a very busy day today, spent with some fellow academics who were visiting our College from Malaysia. The meeting was very successful and we ended up signing a memorandum of understanding that will allow our two organisations to co-operate in our educational goals. I took them out to lunch, mindful of their religious dietary restrictions as they were Muslim. We have a plethora of restaurants very close to our College in the City and these can cater to a wide variety of tastes and dietary demands: Australian, Asian, European, American, African cuisines are all well represented in their endless varieties, but also there are vegan, vegetarian, classic, new, experimental cuisines, etc.

We ended up going to Chillipadi, a contemporary Asian restaurant which has the added benefit of being 100% certified Halal. This means that Moslem people can eat freely as the meal is prepared according to the religious restrictions placed on diet by Islam. “Halal” in Arabic means “lawful” or “legal” and as it applies to food, it means that certain foods or components of food are forbidden, while what is allowed has to be prepared in prescribed ways. “Halal” is the opposite of “Haraam” meaning “Harmful” and hence forbidden.

The Quran specifies the forbidden (Haraam) substances and foods as:
•    Pork (flesh of pig, swine)
•    Blood
•    Animals slaughtered in the name of any other god except Allah.
•    All that has been dedicated or offered to an idolatrous altar, or saint or divine being
•    Carrion
•    An animal strangled, beaten to death, killed by a fall, savaged by a beast of prey (except that which has been slaughtered subsequently, while still being alive)
•    Food over which Allah’s name is not pronounced
•    Alcohol and other intoxicating substances.

Any allowed meat which is to be consumed has to be killed by ritual slaughter called “Dhabiha”. This consists of a swift, deep incision with a sharp knife on the neck, cutting the jugular veins and carotid arteries on both sides of the neck, but leaving the spinal cord intact. This method is believed by Muslims to kill instantly and painlessly, thus humanely, for the animal. Fish and most sea-life are excluded from the Dhabiha rule.

For lunch at Chillipadi we ordered several plates which had placed in the centre of the table and we then shared around. We had tea and iced water to drink. We ate the following:
•    Laksa noodles with seafood
•    Penang prawn noodles
•    Curry chicken rice
•    Thai beef salad
•    Vegetarian Mee Goreng with eggs
•    Vegetarian Nasi Goreng with eggs

The food was quite nice and my Malaysian guests were very complimentary and enjoyed it very much.

In the afternoon I had a three hour meeting, which left me quite exhausted. Just as well the weekend is looming ahead, I’m looking forward to the break!

I JUST WISH I WERE A DOG...

“We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults.  Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.” - George Eliot

I read the news with great dismay and my faith in the human species greatly diminishes each day. What monsters we humans are! What new horrors are we yet to commit, what terrible deeds to shock and terrify each other? What new ways to kill and maim, torture and humiliate shall we discover?

In Kingston, Jamaica, Garsha Wilson a taxi driver is accused of raping a 12-year-old girl, then strangling her. After thinking she was dead, he buried her in a shallow grave and covered it with rocks. Unfortunately for him and luckily for the girl, she was indeed alive, only unconscious, and she was able to dig herself out of her grave and raise the alarm.

In Russia, two men are being tried for killing, then chopping up a 16-year-old girl, cooking and serving her flesh with potatoes for dinner. Maxim Golovatskikh and his friend Yuri Mozhnov, both 20-year-olds, drowned and then butchered the hapless girl. Their excuse was that they were “hungry and drunk”. One of the jurors at the trial became ill after looking at the graphic photographs provided by the police. Remains of the girl were disposed of in a rubbish skip.

Brian Jones, a 63-year-old jilted husband in Britain stabbed his ex-wife to death as she was preparing to celebrate the end of their 10-year marriage with a “divorce party”. A lover was involved and the husband who was visiting a friend of his next door to the matrimonial home “snapped” when he saw a banner up with the inscription “The Party’s Here” and a picture of himself with the message “Pin the Tail on the X”.

Yet more bombs have ripped through apartment buildings across Baghdad, while another bomb exploded in a market, killing 50 people and injuring more than 160. Al-Qaida insurgents have been blamed by officials as the country struggles to come to terms with an unresolved election result. It was the fourth set of attacks with multiple casualties across Iraq in five days…

In Kyrgysztan, about 50 people died yesterday in riots in the capital while nationwide the death toll may be higher than 100 people. The dead had multiple gunshot wounds, the police being the ones suspected for the slayings. More than 500 people are also thought to be injured. Opponents of the president Kurmanbek Bakiyev took control of the country after the day of violence, which ended with Bakiyev fleeing the capital.

And then a ray of sunshine amongst the gloom… A guide dog helped his blind master David Quarmby, a British man 61 years old, to reach home (after a journey of nearly 200 km) before it collapsed and died of a cancer. The man had no idea his dog was dying of a malignant spleen tumour. The man had no idea the dog was sick, the only indication that something was wrong being its refusal to gobble up its usual doggy treat. When they got home and the dog was taken to the vet after it collapsed, the malignancy was found. I’m afraid the news is bad. The dog died as it was given anaesthetic to prepare it for surgery and its master is inconsolable.

Sometimes, I just wish I were a dog…

ABOUT LOST DREAMS

“The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.” – Oscar Wilde

I was reading a friend’s blog today and she mentioned in one of her posts how she was considered by people around her as “old” while she herself never thought of herself as “old”. I am getting to the stage now where I think of myself as beginning the down hill ride to where old age resides. And how quickly one may tumble down that hill, especially as one nears the final few stretches to the bottom. The greatest surprise of all perhaps is all the while one is growing old, one is still feeling young. What a shock that can be if one is buoyant and bursting with youthful enthusiasm and verve, if one is laughing and thinking young and then, wham! One inadvertently gazes into a mirror and who on earth is that …old person staring back?

Perhaps the most disheartening part of growing old is the loss of one’s youthful dreams. The loss of the illusions, the fantasies, the ideals of youth is a shocking realisation. Whether this loss has occurred despite ourselves, whether it has occurred as consequence of our life’s vicissitudes, or whether we have done it voluntarily, it hardly matters. What matters is the hopelessness of that awareness, which truly ushers in a very rapid senescence.

This poem I wrote several years ago when I discovered that a good school friend had “progressed” in the world and had “fallen into” a very good position in the public service, had “married well” into a family of influence and “enjoyed the good life”… When I met him after many years I could hardly recognise him but unfortunately we had nothing to talk about as we had no longer anything in common.

The Ballad of the Grand Bureaucrat

And so I got tired of talking of the moon,
The flowers, the flying birds, the blue skies above.
Princes on white chargers live only in fairy tales,
Together with Beauty, the elves and trolls.

The years have passed by and I no longer fantasise,
No more accept my mind’s creations without thought.
I grew older, and all my boyhood dreams died,
While my tender heart was still young…

Now everything I see, with cool logic I view,
Before I speak I think all things through.
The world’s a liar, a relentless, cruel, unjust master
Who will crush you if you don’t think as he does.

I exchanged my innocent childish hopes
With facts, inhuman numbers, hard calculations.
A marriage by proxy, the bride’s dowry rich,
As a result, all at the office call me “Sir”…

And if sometimes the tie chokes me,
I rarely remember my childhood fables,
And in the realm of my office, I quickly forget
All babyish nonsense and the make-believe.

I reign, I order, I command, I’m the man in charge
Everyone trembles when I raise my voice.
A public servant and bureaucrat though I be,
The public is ill-served by me.

The rules and protocol, laws, regulations I know off by heart,
And only if one oils my wheels will I do what I should…
The whole world’s a sinking ship with rotting timbers,
Who am I to start stopping the hulk’s holes?

It’s only in the darkness of my bed in blackest night
That I often wake in fright –
My childhood’s lovely pastel-coloured dreams haunt me
But now torture me as nightmares unrelenting…

Jacqui BB hosts Poetry Wednesday. Visit her blog for more poetry!

MINE DISASTERS

“Who can hope to be safe? who sufficiently cautious? Guard himself as he may, every moment's an ambush.” - Horace

News of the coalmine disaster in West Virginia has landed on my computer screen. This is right after the dramatic rescue of miners in Shanxi, China after spending nine days in a flooded mine a few days ago. China has a long history of mining accidents and many miners have unfortunately perished, as the safety standards are not as high as they are in most other parts of the world. The rescue effort yesterday and the miraculous return of 115 miners to the surface surprised everyone not least the Chinese themselves who are used to many a fatal mining accident on a regular basis.

Five bodies have been recovered now, and those were the unlucky ones… Unfortunately 33 more miners are still missing, also suspected dead. The Chinese miners accused their bosses of ignoring warning signs of danger as water was noticed leaking into the pit days before the latest disaster. Unfortunately the workers’ pleas were unheeded and when disaster struck, everyone expected the worse. I can only imagine the terror of those trapped workers in the wet darkness as they ate pine tree bark from construction wood poles and drank cold water to stay alive for the eight days and nights they were underground... In any case most survived!

Which tragically is not the same for the American miners. Although safety standards and better working conditions are the case in the USA, the accident yesterday confirms the fact that mining is a dangerous occupation in any country of the world. At least 25 miners are dead and four are still missing. I think of this and the thought of these innocent lives lost while trying to earn a living for their families haunts me. Each of them left their families the previous day and went into the mine, the thought of death far from their mind. Each spouse, child, relative and friend waited to see them back after work but instead this tragic piece of news that interrupted so many lives by putting an end to some of them.

There will always be mines and there will always be accidents. However, it is up to us as a society to demand safe working environments for everyone who works for a living. It is up to us to ensure that mines are safe and that full precautions are taken to make this occupation as safe as possible. That is the only way to reduce the number of accidents and reduce the number of deaths. We must reaffirm our commitment to the prevention of accidents, injuries, illnesses and death in the workplace. We must demand prevention programs and the stringent enforcement of health and safety laws.

AND THE BAND PLAYED...

“What is tolerance?  It is the consequence of humanity.  We are all formed of frailty and error; let us pardon reciprocally each other's folly - that is the first law of nature.” -Voltaire

As all good things come to an end, so did this brief holiday over the Easter weekend. It was a beautiful, restful few days with friends, family, good food and beautiful weather. It is such pleasant, short and relaxing breaks that help us to restore our energy and assist us to find the courage to continue with our daily grind.

We watched an interesting movie from Israel today. It was Eran Kolirin’s 2007 “The Band’s Visit”, a film which he both wrote and directed. The plot is deceptively simple and pace is relaxed and gentle, with some remarkably good performances by Sasson Gabai and Ronit Elkabetz as the two leads, Tawfiq (the Egyptian band leader) and Dina (the Israeli shopkeeper).

The story concerns an Egyptian police band from Alexandria who goes to Israel for a concert to celebrate the opening of an Arab culture centre. The band arrives, but unfortunately due to a mix-up nobody is waiting for them at the airport and they decide to catch a bus and get to the town where they are expected to play on their own. They get hopelessly lost due to misunderstanding caused by a mispronunciation. They are marooned in a small town with nowhere to sleep and with little Israeli money. The kindness of the locals, headed by the outspoken Dina does a lot to highlight the commonality of human experience between the Arab and the Jew, the Egyptian and the Israeli, the man and the woman.

This is film that is made with consummate skill and is never forced. The story develops effortlessly and the interactions of the characters are natural and one can see that the tension between the two cultures and the two peoples dictate the initial awkwardness, suspicion and prejudice. The intimacy that develops between Tewfiq and Dina is a delight to watch and the help and advice one of the band members gives to a romantically challenged young Jewish boy is classic!

There is wisdom, gentle humour, earthiness and a delightful affirmation of humanity in this film. As a bonus, the music is very good and the song at the end of the film is worth waiting for as the credits roll through. Get your hands on it and watch it. It is an unexpectedly offbeat and delightful movie.

EASTER DAY AND RENOIR

“It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.” - P.D. James

Happy Easter! We have had a lovely day, relaxing at home, enjoying the company of family and friends. The weather was perfect, an autumn day full of mild sunshine, and we spent a great deal of it in the garden. The jasmine perfumed the air and the zinnias were blooming wildly in the background. There was soft music playing and we broke our fast with a delicious lamb roast whilst sipping some delightful shiraz.

What better way to celebrate this glorious Easter Sunday than with a Renoir? His “Le déjeuner des canotiers” (Luncheon of the Boating Party) remains the best-known and most popular work of art at The Phillips Collection, in Washington DC, just as Duncan Phillips imagined it would be when he bought it in 1923. Each character in the painting has been identified. The woman playing with a dog is Aline Charigot (who would become the wife of Renoir); the painter Gustave Caillebotte is sitting in front of her; the man with a top hat is Charles Ephrussi (the editor of the Gazette des Beaux Arts) etc.

The painting captures an idyllic atmosphere as Renoir’s friends share food, wine, and conversation on a balcony overlooking the Seine at the Maison Fournaise restaurant in Chatou. Parisians flocked to the Maison Fournaise to rent rowing skiffs, eat a good meal, or stay the night. The painting also reflects the changing character of French society in the mid- to late 19th century. The restaurant welcomed customers of many classes, including businessmen, society women, artists, actresses, writers, critics, seamstresses, and shop girls. This diverse group embodied a new, modern, egalitarian Parisian society.

Renoir seems to have composed this complicated scene without advance studies or under-drawing. He also spent months making many changes to the canvas, painting the individual figures when his models were available, and adding the striped awning along the top edge. Nonetheless, Renoir retained the freshness of his vision, even as he revised, rearranged, and created a beautiful work of art.