Gypsy King: Interview with Stephen Bradley, British Consu-General in Hong Kong

The best course between two points isn't always a straight line for Stephen Bradley. Meet a man who takes the scenic route. By P.Ramakrishnan. 

Portrait by Graham Uden.

His album of impressive pictures reveals that Stephen Bradley, the new British Consul-General to Hong Kong, has captured the world with near-professional precision; the composition and colours of images from his travels are compelling. There is one image that's particularly striking: a crunched white Land Rover under a toppled truck. Window panes shattered as if bullets punched through the glass, the roof caved inward like crunched paper; whoever was sitting on the driver's seat couldn't have possibly survived that ordeal. But Bradley did.

"We were at an 'S' shaped bend on a hilly area, just outside Beijing and, on the way, there were carcasses of trucks and buses on either side. As we were driving up this mountainous zone, I was trying to avoid rubble when a truck came speeding down the hill, and from that truck's point of view, he couldn't have slowed down or seen the maze that he had to go through just after the curb," he says, as he relives the near-fatal moments.

"I saw it happen... slowly. How it was coming at me, could see it tumble, hear the ceiling crack, the glass shattered immediately and I had cuts and scratches. I kept ducking down. At a time my hands were still on the wheel and there was that moment when you wait for the whole thing to come crashing down. But it didn't. Someone somehow kicked the door open on the side and I crawled out."

Other than a few nicks and scratches, he survived the horrific accident with only vivid memories. In fact, in the photograph he took of himself near the tin-can leftover that was once a $700,000 car, there's no evidence of any bodily harm. "Whenever I'm very stressed and things are going a bit pear-shaped, I look at two pictures; one of my kids the other of this. The problems don't seem as big after that."

An unfortunate remnant of a journey which began in Paris, it's not the only thing that he remembers of his two-month adventure with his wife, Elizabeth. "I had stored up a lot of vacation time so when I got wind of my diplomatic posting in China, we set off on the 16,000 km drive - from Paris to Beijing. I was getting to work, but we took a more scenic route."

Having joined the foreign office soon after college, he's had to pick up the shift base with family in tow every three years, but the perpetual emigrant enjoys being on the move. Even now, in Hong Kong he goes trekking every weekend in different spots as an explorer.

He asserts his life-long attraction to the Far East, which has lured him back time and time again. "I am a complete sino-phile, Chinese culture has always fascinated me. I studied Mandarin in university and I first came to China in the early 1980s as a student when China was, at that time, completely inaccessible to foreigners. We were about 20 British students and went to Fudan University. It was brilliant. We roamed around places where they had never seen a foreigner before, oceans of people in green and blue Mao suits. We stayed in pretty spartan conditions but it was all so exciting. There I was, speaking Chinese all day and night."

Hong Kong itself, of course, was also another attraction on the horizon. "I had first come to Hong Kong in '78 with my girlfriend from university (who is now my wife, by the way) and as her family's here, we've been to Hong Kong often. We have lived here before, and I worked in the old government office as a political advisor. My wife worked in a law firm in the early '90s. I really see Hong Kong as our second home."

So where is home? "Well, I feel rather nomadic. We go around the world carrying our collection of paintings, books and CDs. I was born in the States but then my early years were in England; but we've constantly been travelling, as far as I can remember. I have been a bit of gypsy, I suppose."

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler

Reel Masala: Hong Kong Tatler looks at the delirious joy of Bollywood

In this world of India's screen idols, Cruise and Roberts are unknown entities but the Khans, Bachchans and beauty queens dominate celluloid dreams. P.Ramakrishnan welcomes you to Bollywood.

A long row of heads snake to the ticket counter outside Ega Theatre on a scorching Sunday afternoon in Chennai, India's fourth largest city. It's the first weekend show of the Hindi film Daud, meaning Run. It stars two of India's hottest stars and the film's music is simmering on the charts. Luckily, a scalper is selling tickets for 250 rupees, equivalent to US$5.50, while the real value is only 50 cents. "Good action. Heroine hot. Super-hit songs, on-lee two-fifty," over enunciates the illicit salesman.

In the large amphitheater, a minute before the film begins, the curtains draw apart to taped music and lights illuminate the mammoth screen. Many in the audience are considerably well attired and the entire film-watching exercise is mink-coated with a bygone formality of attending a screening. One expects glamorous stars to take centre stage under a shower of flashbulbs but other than a uniformed usher seating a late attendee, there's nary a celebrity in sight.

As the titles reel across, someone shouts a laudatory comment in the local dialect as the main protagonist's name appears in bold. The hero doesn't appear in the film until the premise of the tale is established. Ten minutes into the movie, a mini commotion erupts when he finally does show his face. Dozens in the audience whistle, a few more clap. When the heroine's famous locks sway side to side in slow motion as the camera pans across her back, there's more catcalling and applause.

During a particularly well-executed action-shot, people hurl pennies and lemons onto the stage in the most blatant act of deference hitherto unseen outside of temples littered across the city. In obscure towns and villages across India, temples to movie stars are erected, but to see the deification in action is an eye-opener.

As the musical reaches its crescendo overly enthusiastic fans take the stage and start dancing to the hit song. The screening is halted. Lights come on. The police come in and some of the dancers swoosh back into their seats while the more fanatical are escorted out. The show continues.

Most fans cannot remember what the first film they watched was about, but most also never forget their first tryst with Mumbai's magical movie mayhem, aka Bollywood, the all-singing, all-dancing euphoria that leaves even the most jaded critic bemused, if not amused. There's nothing quite like the success of excess, which defines the mammoth Hindi film industry.

With an ever expanding audience of more than a billion, Bollywood can be seen as an alternative to Hollywood's clinical and polished products. The phenomenon has been subtitled or translated across Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and now is brimming over to Western cultures. Hollywood should take note of this crouching, or should that be dancing, tiger.

Across Asian cinemas, indigenous movie industries have buckled under the global takeover of Hollywood. Incapable of competing with the monstrous budgets and effect-laden extravaganzas such as the Star Wars sequels and prequels or the Harry Potter series, Korean, Japanese, Chinese and Malay audiences have shown their back to their respective film industries, which were already ailing in the losing battle against piracy. The Hong Kong film industry used to produce nearly 700 films per annum, but that figure spiralled down to 400 in 2003.

The only industry to successfully flick off Hollywood has been Bollywood - where other than an occasional patronage of films like Titanic or Spiderman, the audience remains disinterested even in the dubbed-in-Hindi versions of Shrek, Matrix and Mission Impossible.

The Bollywood cast almost always gorgeous. All the beauty queens in the past decade that sprouted from India are currently starring in films. The heroes are paragons of virtue and the villains, pure evil. There is very little subtlety in emotion, the plots are more often than not predictable and yes, every actor - from the sobbing widow-mother and the moustached gangsters to the protagonists - must sing and dance on screen, regardless of talent or ability.

Playback artists provide vocals to the tone-deaf but telegenic cast, and choreographers can take up to two weeks to shoot a five-minute song sequence of the biggest stars dancing to their tunes. Gone are the days of dancing around trees in rainbow-coloured costumes. The latest flicks are executed with epic Broadway-style perfection. Dance director Farah Khan was nominated last year for a Tony for her work, which she fashioned for Andrew Lloyd Weber's Bollywood Dreams.

Unfortunately, Bollywood can never be taken too seriously. Whether it's a film about war, romance, ethnic conflict, Aids, cancer or any other tragedy, the lead will suddenly burst into song at any given elegiac opportunity.

So can an Indian film, without the standard commercial staples of song-and-dance, evolve like Hollywood did, shedding the dance dramas, in the natural evolution of cinema? The most famous man in India, actor Amitabh Bachchan says, "Indian movies come with certain expectations. A mixture of song and dance, comedy, drama, action, emotions are served together. If a film is offered to me without the usual elements, I see no problem in doing the film. I am not disheartened by commercial failure."

In his 30-year career, with more than 100 films in his cinematic CV he's done less than a handful of non-musicals. At the age of 62, he still dances with age-defying grace, even if the role demands him to be the grave patriarch in the film.

Reflecting on Main Azaad Hoon, or "I am Free", a serious, song-less movie, Bachchan says, "I think it was a very sensitive film, it was very dramatic film. Obviously, it didn't do as well as expected and that's the end of the story."

Starting off as a minor character artist, the thin, lanky Bachchan came from humble beginnings. His poet father couldn't launch his son in the movies - Bollywood is notoriously nepotistic. It took him nine films, in roles of varying length and quality, before his career took off in 1973 as the "angry young man" of the film Zanjeer ("Chains"). In his movies he fought corruption, gangsters, nefarious politicians and booted a dozen goons single-handedly while ultra-glamorous gals sashayed around him. He was the embodiment of a hero in the following decades and remains much loved by the nation.

His popularity was so strong in the '80s, that Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi asked him to join politics, but his fame didn't register as well in the ballots. Returning to films, audiences flocked to see him again and now, 35 years since he starred his first film, he has acquired living legend status. "I am very grateful for the affection and support the people of my country have bestowed upon me, during my most difficult times as well as otherwise. As long as I have their support I will remain in the industry," affirms the Emperor of Indian cinema.

Currently, almost all the stars in Bollywood are progeny of yesteryear actors, producers or directors. Even Bachchan's son Abhishek, joined the constellation in 2000.

Shah Rukh Khan, the current young King of Bollywood, is the glaring exception. A stage and theatre actor who starred in television, he shifted from Delhi to Mumbai to court cinema, a daring choice that paid rich dividends. He starred in regular fare at first, but took on three negative roles in films Baazigar (Gambler), Darr (Fear) and Anjaam (Result). While the first two films were major successes at the box office, establishing him as a cult-figure, the last one bombed. Now he romances a bevy of Bollywood beauties in soft-focus, frothy romances.

For women, it's just as difficult to find a foothold in cinema unless their lineage connects them to the film industry. Since 1994 however, there's been a window opening for the fairer sex - sheaf through a catalogue of Indian leading ladies and each seems more glamorous and gorgeous than the last. Aishwarya Rai was Miss World, Sushmita Sen was Miss Universe, and Diya Mirza was Miss Asia Pacific. Gone are the days of buxom divas in sequins and garish gowns. Buoyant on their pageant-winning fame, producers almost immediately sign on the former models or beauty queens and roll out the red carpet. As pageantry work lasts but for a year, all want to keep their celebrity status alight and films enable them to do this.

Among the beauty queens, Aishwarya Rai and Sushmita Sen are head and shoulders above their competition. The first Indian actress to find her replica at Madam Toussauds's in London, Rai also appeared on the cover of TIME magazine earlier this year as the face of Bollywood and was listed as one of the 100 most influential people in the world by the same magazine.

Her fame has crossed borders. She appears with Martin Henderson in the English film Bride and Prejudice this year. With upcoming films in the company of Michael Douglas, Meryl Streep and Brendan Fraser, her sari-strapped shoulders are poised for a global takeover. When Julia Roberts saw Rai at Cannes in 2002, she gasped, "She is the most beautiful woman in the world."

Sushmita Sen, the first Miss Universe to sashay into films, also in 1994, makes no pretences on what the directors are looking for. "At the set of my last film, I came out of my make-up room dressed to the hilt. My director, the cameraman and so on stood there looking at the pleats of my sari, if my hair was ok, if the nail-polish matched everything... and then I was asked to go change this, that and beyond. Film is a visual medium and I have no qualms about looking the part, as long as I don't look stupid!"

Sen hasn't made a heady splash at the box office. Her preference for off-beat, serious movies caters to a niche audience - she hasn't been part of a masala film. Masala, which is an amalgam of spices, is an oft-repeated phrase for a typical Hindi movie.

Respected producer Yash Johar, who recently passed away aged 75, previously said, "In the West, one goes to see a film with boyfriends and girlfriends. In India, you go with the entire family to see a film so it must have something for everyone." With his last three releases finding box office gold, he and his writer/director son Karan have found a winning formula. "There is no room for vulgarity or nudity, and the current trend of sexy movies is just a phase. A mass audience will eventually reject obscenity and we must think of socially responsible films for everyone," assures producer.

"My audience is no longer just the Indian market. We are selling our films around the globe. Prints of my latest movie have gone to Arab countries, Malaysia, England and Russia with English subtitles. We shot a part of my last film in New York and hired American dancers and actors for scenes, and they were so happy to join us. Shah Rukh's popularity has spread across the suburbs of New Jersey and New York - we had to get security for him." laughs Johar.

Films in India, in comparison to Hollywood, are made from modest budgets. The most expensive film ever made in Bollywood has Devdas (2002), a lavish visual spectacle that purportedly cost US$10.8 million. It has so far grossed $12 million at the box office. Most movies are made for a fraction of that cost. The highest grossing Indian film in the international market has been Monsoon Wedding, which grossed $30.7 million. The film was made for a budget of $7 million. The highest paid actors are Amitabh Bachchan, Shah Rukh Khan and Hrithik Roshan, each getting anywhere between $700,000 and 900,000. Remuneration varies according to the length of the role, the producer and, a la Tom Cruise, back-end deals according to box office results.

Actresses Kareena Kapoor and Aishwarya Rai lead the way with deals of up to $500,000. Market savvy Rai, however, has made a killing with wise modelling contracts with major brands as a spokesperson for L'Oreal hair care products, Coca Cola, Fuji film and Nakshatra diamonds. And according to well-publicised reports, Rai landed a one-year $700,000 contract with Lux soap in India. Walk through Wanchai in Hong Kong, the airports of Singapore, or a mall in Paris and the fair, green-eyed Indian goddess stares out from various Longines posters.

Back at Chennai, the weekend premiere of Daud is over and the savvy illicit ticket salesman is still out on the street. When asked if he goes to see foreign films, he replies "I eat pizza. OK. Nice. But later I had dosa again; pizza is not very filling. In same way, English pictures are ok, but you need more action, like a Hindi picture."

Hong Kong Tatler, December 2004

Midas Touch: Concierge Service in Hong Kong to the Max: Your Every Whim and Wish Fulfilled

Have your wishes obeyed, says P.Ramakrishnan, your every craving can be fulfilled in the privacy of your own home, where the telephone is your personal Genie and a credit card is your magic carpet.

As her husband left for a meeting hours before she came to grips with jet lag, she awakens alone in her room. Flipping through a mind-numbing array of channels on her flat screen TV, she pauses to find a familiar face smiling back at her, Julia Roberts on In the Wild series. The cine-siren looks like she is having so much fun. Reaching for her Vertu phone, she presses the button that immediately connects her to Quintessentially, and to the friendly concierge service, she says, "I'd like to play with a baby chimpanzee this weekend."

Before she knows it, a meeting between madam and simian is arranged for only HK$10,000. A fabulist tale to feed urban legend in a city devoid of wildlife? Hardly. Hong Kong is a land of endless opportunity to those who have copious amounts of credit and credibility. In a city that has more millionaires per square mile than Hollywood, New York or London, perfectly manicured fingers are forever punching in digits to get things signed, sealed and delivered to their doorstep.

A knock on the door leads to the arrival of a home-delivered bottle of bubbly the size of a small child. She uncorks, lifts and pours bubbling gold into an Italian tiled Jacuzzi. Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield reportedly dipped their celebrated bodies every week in champagne ablutions, as did King Louis XIV of France. In Hong Kong, she finds herself in the finest bathwater, Veuve Clicquot's La Grande Dame, and before the sun rises again, HK$605,760 will have been poured away. Courtesy of a call to Richemonde's direct sales department, several Balthazars were delivered for the VIP client.

A bushel of Waratah petals, one of the rarest flowers in the world, litters a silver Tiffany & Co basin, for a mere $15,208. Found only Down Under, the rare flora was purchased via phone-auction at Sotheby's Australia by her personal assistant and they arrived only moments ago, plucked simply to delicately scent her bath. Gingerly, she slips out of her hand-painted (and hand-delivered) wooden Dior shoes, of which only 2,000 were made in 2002, and sold for just under HK$10,000. She sinks into the sparkling champagne.

Her pedicured poodle Pooky trots by. Despite his long face, she feels her pup has been in a better mood since the seance she had for Pooky and his bitch, who died a month ago, after the dog-caretaker left her too long under the curling helmet. It totalled $4,000 but was money well spent on the reader from the New Age Shop.

Her phone buzzes and she's informed the delivery was made on her hubby's flight. "Yes, mm hmm," she mumbles, trying to slip her Lucida diamond toe-ring off with her other foot. The life-sized teddy bear accompanying her husband made it through immigration and was belted comfortably into the Gulfstream G5. A simple speed-dial to Metrojet ($1,369,000) for the 15 hour return journey to LA) and her beloved was floating on air in utter comfort.

"Ma'am, they have arrived," says one of the staff after a glove-padded knock on the door. Trained at the Ivor Spencer international school for butler administrations, his salary rivals that of a manager in a major bank, but where else would she find someone trained to fly her chopper as well as deliver a steaming cup of mocha with the same degree of ease?

With aerated excitement she slides out of the tub to see what taitai.com has delivered. Though a technophobe, she was thrilled to log onto the Net and order the entire fashion spread of September's UK Elle. A few clicks and two-fingered typing made her the first owner of that collection in the continent.

Signing off the invoice with one of the rarest pens in the world, she didn't look twice at the instrument that had fascinated her for all of 15 minutes. French artist Michel Audiard's mammoth tooth pen ($182,000) is held only by presidents and other captains of industry, but this session of retail therapy is flung aside soon after she circles the total of $421,000 from her bill.

Sifting through the rack of her new favourite line, stroking one of the whispery textiles, her assistant gives her the phone again, "Your mother, ma'am."

That would be the chair, she presumes. For mother's day she had delivered an ergonomically perfected Osim iMedic 500 Massage chair ($31,571) wrapped in Mongolian, hand-knit pashmina (an additional $38,987) to her mother in Vancouver. Her black card came in handy on her impromptu decision to send a gift at such short notice.

She had considered giving Mother the portrait she had done by Simon Birch, but when she saw how beautiful she looked, she decided not to part with it.

What she didn't know, of course, were the hurdles the service would have to jump through to find the chair supplier, deal with customs, and work through a public holiday to deliver on time a limited-edition chair. The devils in the details were shoved under the carpet as she heard, "It is lovely, I just don't know what to do with it!"

Hmm. A multi-lingual technician will have to be arranged to help Mother employ her high-tech recliner. Re-dialling her Centurion contact, expedient arrangements are made.

While chatting, her favourite stylist, Philip B, swishes in and she warmly greets him before he and his entourage start setting up. Stylist to the stars in Los Angeles, a well-advanced jingle had him on a flight and in person, in the room with his bouquet of hair-spa treatments. "Gotta go!" she calls down the line to her mum. She sits down as stylist and assistant puff and coif her head into Hepburnian perfection.

There for all of 60 minutes, with a bill totalling $39,500 (not including first-class return tickets from the States at HK$60,000, and his stay at the Inter Continental Hong Kong Deluxe Suite, HK$14,000) he sits on a chaise nattering as her face gets painted by Cameron Diaz's make-up artist, Gucci Westman. On cue, Westman had entered the scene. Their rendezvous was arranged via agent Art and Commerce.

Astride on a stool wrapped in songket, the gold-threaded textile once worn exclusively by Malaysian royalty (a whopping $21,392 per sq/m), a blur of hands fasten sashes on her back, roll strands of a $238,000 Cartier double-rowed diamond, coral and gold necklace that her personal shopper from Lane Crawford wisely picked out. Priceless in her eye, but 426,000 on the register. Someone sprayed her fovourite scent (custom made in the French city of Grasse, at HK$1,400/250ml), as a final nail brush stroke coats an aberrant chip. In a flourish she's done.

Even the border-hopping mane man was impressed. "When's project Dumbo drop?" he asks, referring to her plans to have an elephant greet guests at the entrance of her upcoming bash.

"Not good. They can't ship one in from Africa but the Thai connection is working out well. Ideally, the African giants would be perfect - they have bigger ears than the Asian elephants - but Loxodonta africanas area protected species."

"Can it be done?"

"Of course! You-know-who got in a pair of albino peacocks for her wedding reception brunch to flitter in the garden. Just a matter of logistics that people have to deal with."

When told that the Moscow circus have sent animals and their trainers for private viewing for less than HK$3,000 per hour, her eyes sparkle brighter than her jewels.

One of the staff arrive with a fax that had concurrently been sent to her spouse. The grand total of her recent expenditure had reached Imelda Marcosian proportions. This didn't include her elephantine expedition which would be another HK$200,000 (the elephant itself cost a mere HK$35,000). How did it reach him so quickly, she near-frowned, as the tax-month always made him gratuitously cranky?

A shadow slides across the carpet and it dawns on her who sent the grand tabulation of $3,466,426 to her husband: "Ah, the butler did it."

*Names have been changed to protect the decadent. 

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler. 

Shy & Mighty: Rebecca Woo: Profile in Hong Kong Tatler

The seemingly reserved Rebecca Woo is full of surprises - and opinions. P.Ramakrishnan writes. 

As her mother is renowned artist Nancy Chu Woo, there lies circumstantial expectation that from that gene pool, droplets of creative distinction would have dribbled down to daughter Rebecca Woo. 

Just as we are making our introductions, a friend who happens to be present brings out her one endeavour with the paintbrush. The large acrylic canvas leaves the most verbose a bit speechless. Well, it's colourful, and clearly Rebecca can move paint from palette to paper, but her attempts at Art Jam have not wowed friends or family. 

"My parents were not entirely supportive of this attempt of mine. So a few friends and I did a switch with one of my mother's paintings in the dining room before they hosted a dinner party. She didn't notice till everyone was seated," says Rebecca with a shy grin. "Taking the humour in stride, my mother laughed. One of the guests apparently even remarked on her change in style!" 

Fortunately, her current job in equity sales at a top US investment bank does not require fine arts credentials. She more than makes up for any lack of direct artistic ability with interest and admiration for the arts. 

"What appeals to me is the fusion of almost traditional brushwork with a modern, often abstract, aesthetic; the 17th century Buddhist monk artist Bada Shanren, or 'master of the lotus garden,' is one of my all-time favourites," Woo explains. "When I worked in the US, his retrospective at Yale really struck a chord with me. The art was very Zen, very simple and highly expressive. His usage of blank or negative space was very distinctive." 

Her disparate interests reflects the person behind the banker persona. A staunch supporter of the arts, and not just because of her lineage (even her doctor father plays the violin), Woo is known to be low-key, and chances of finding her at a swanky party or club are slimmer than she is. How many number-crunchers would prefer to substitute the cocktail circuit with an art fair in Europe? 

 "Last year, I was at the Basel Art Fair, which must be one of the world's premier gatherings to showcase modern art in all forms. It was particularly encouraging to see a growing representation of Asian art galleries and artists," she continues. "It was incredible, just incredible, to see all this in one space over a few days. Almost an aesthetic overload!" 

Surrounded by paintings and sculpture that set the mood of the living and dining rooms of her parents' home, she points out three large scrolls by her mother - a nude triptych - done simply, using black Chinese ink. Her intentions to home them at her residence was, she says "gazzumped" by her father. But other works by her mother and bought at exhibitions as well as sculptures she's seen around the world have found spots chez Woo. 

 "Strong lines draw me in, whether in a painting, or the lines in classic Chinese furniture or any type of sculpture. Simple, understated, expressive, having the ability to transcend time - that's what I look out for," she says, demarcating her preference and style. Perhaps the same words could reverberate when describing her wardrobe, as her finely cut Akira Isagawa summer dress seems to murmur understated simplicity. 

As the photographer adjusts the lights, moves some of the furniture around and throws assorted instructions, she remains nonplussed, even blocking out the din of her boisterous friends and remaining persistently focused. 

Woo reflects, "When we were young, my brother and I were taken to museums and exhibitions, and my mother always made it fun for us. She would send us on a search mission, be it for the number of blue flowers in a ceramic pieces or count the number of particular figures that appear repeatedly in various paintings. She made it a game and we were quiet, concentrating and didn't trouble anyone for hours." 

It is this ability to focus that has persisted over the years as a child, student and beyond. She did her undergrad at Harvard, earning a bachelor's degree in East Asian studies, and followed it with a Master's at London University in the same field. While others mouth lofty ambitions to sail the seven seas and stomp across the globe, Woo systemically plans her exotic trips and hits the road. 

"At the end of the year, some friends and I are hopefully going to the Silk road for a couple of weeks, which I am really looking forward to. I went to Patagonia two years ago, which is a beautiful, untouched part of southern Chile. I've gone trekking in Bhutan, canoed through the Okavango Delta....." 

A voice from the background exclaims: "She's always doing 10 things at a time! She does yoga, karate, plays tennis, runs, is always suggesting a concert of sorts, wanting to take up language lessons, cooking something exotic." 

In conclusive agreement, she says, "There is so much of the world to explore and experience, always something new to learn." 

Credits: Image Seated nude ink & gouache on rice paper, by Nancy Choo Woo.

Update: 

Wow, this was over a decade ago. The interview was fun and Rebecca was great chat  - but what I remember from that day, the art director and photographer getting into an argument mid shoot and mid interview. The first and last time I worked with him - I can't even remember his name. 

May 2021