Eileen St. Louis

This Friday eve concluded a week of catwalking fashionistas as more than fifteen classes showcased handmade dresses and outfits pieced together from their wardrobes. Pictured here are some highlights from the preliminaries and the finals where designs were judged and scored before a crowd of over one thousand students. Some dresses were made from mosquito nets, palm leaves, magazines and newspapers, cellophane and even product labels. I was astounded by the student's creativity and wished I could buy some of the dresses. I will definately commission my favorite designer who worked with many of my friends on their haute couture to make me a grand dress. The winning class receives 200 yen which they'll most likely use to go out and celebrate. I was pleased to see some cross-dressing dyky lookin' models who swept the femmes off their feet in dips or escorted them off the catwalk with their big strong arms.

During the heavy rains, I kept busy painting with the Japanese teacher Nobuyo at the local youth recreation center. There is a middle school student who is usually at the art studio. Sometimes he is painting a still life, a Chinese portrait or in this case, copying into calligraphy the text of a famous romance novel. On our way to the youth center, Nobuyo and I take a shortcut through some backyard gardens and when we go through the middle school, we always pass between these dorms where there is always laundry hung on full lines. We have wondered why on the building to the right the laundry is always shirts and pants, while on the left the laundry is always underwear. Well, when we returned late one evening, Nobuyo and I discovered exactly the reason. On the side with only underwear hanging were young men showering! Apparently both dorm buildings were all male and the side facing our path were the bathrooms. To my surprise, Nobuyo said, "We should look carefully!" a...

It is a windy day in Wenchang, reminiscent of autumn days on the east coast of ol' U.S.A. I feel the chill of witches in the air as the wind howls and whistles, noting the changes of the season. The tree leaves crash into eachother sounding like violent waves at the seashore. Tree branches shudder and bounce as ships do at sea during stormy weather. I stay late in bed, reading trashy novels by Chinese women and dream about other worlds from this. I realize that being in China can be strangely romantic. I feel like a shipwrecked American, marooned in a backwards land where they often play bad pop music and throw trash where ever that feel like it. In learning traditional Chinese painting, I am finding great pleasure in the way a few graceful strokes of the brush, plants and animals come alive. My teacher speaks a string of Chinese I don't understand, so I must observe carefully, her skillful hands and fingers as they may quick and confident movements that stymie the ima...

I am eating salty chicken with an Estonian named Sander, who is twenty two, wide-eyed and enjoys sci-fi novels. Along with us, is a nineteen year old from Germany named Tammo, who just finished the highest level of education you can get in Germany. They have come to Wenchang through an international volunteer organization for a life of minimal sleeping quarters, star-type attention from the locals and a bit of teaching now and then. My students are earnest but about half the class cannot even stumble through the right words to express what they are thinking. They all want to know my history, as I am an anomoly amongst the other foreign teachers- I'm different but not different enough as far as my physical traits. As I walk up the street from shopping to our school, Anne sees me and jokes, "I thought I saw a breath of Greenwich village in our little Wenchang." Meanwhile Joanne comments, "We thought maybe it was a local Chinese that just dressed really different....

To my obligations Ask me not of what I want Of my good intentions Please give me what I need Lazy sweetness In noontime's daydream I wrap myself in the night's caresses Waiting for my true love's kiss Gently, gently Rock me slowly Forever and ever Waves wash over

I've learned that my father's family are shrimp farmers living in a village nicknamed, "big friend's village." One of my cousins who I am asked to call "Older Brother" said that my grandmother's mother was a great shrimp catcher when they used to go out on the boats. As Older Brother puts it, "When she threw her net in the sea, she pulled many when she brought it in." Since 1990 they have been farming shrimp in artificial ponds due to the decrease in shrimp population. Older Brother says some young men still go out and shrimp the old way. There stands in their courtyard, a great house built by my father's eldest brother. Inside is fine wood and marble furniture and painted tiles. Older Sister, his wife and a much older woman with white hair sit me down with some red eggs and ask me to eat. Red eggs are for good luck when relatives return. This time, Lucky, a senior at the college accompanies me to see my relatives in Yen Duin. ...

On this rainy day in Hainan, I am reminded of other happy rainy days spent in bright lights, bright city- my New York. Like the day I helped Erin Shannon set up her first Unseenamerica show in Kingston. I remember us attaching red balloons to lead gallery hoppers to the building. I remember being pleased with how I managed to light the photographs with some lamps borrowed from the offices. I remember eating yummy burritos and taco pie. It has now been raining for more than 12 hours. And it is raining hard. We are in a mini-typhoon, one of many to come in the autumn months as the weather begins to get cooler. As the wind picks up, it howls outside and bangs on the front door. Pineapple and chocolate museli cereal with milk is like the best thing in my world right now. Its comforting in the midst of this stormy night. Highlights of my past two weeks are opening ceremonies at the college, National Day in China celebrating 59 years as the People's Republic and my vacati...