gregory & angie burns journey

2011-11-08T12:43:00.000-08:00

Prague

The Czech Republic sits beside a very prosperous Germany. Our train across the invisible border soon offers a subtle contrast between the ‘haves’ and the ‘someday may haves’. Though the landscape and graffiti changes little one can feel the drop in GDP. But as we pull into Prague station the smorgasbord of ancient buildings and sights takes one’s attention away from the present and refocuses it on a glorious past. Glaringly apparent is that Prague was once a cultural hotspot. Gothic spires stretch towards the stars while cobblestone streets with intricate patterns combine to embellish everything between heaven and earth.

Walking is the best way to see the city as Prague has more pedestrian streets than any city I have ever explored. Lined with trendy consumer goods stores, modern society rubs shoulders with tower guards dressed in traditional court costumes while stone structures hundreds of years old form an historic blanket.

Arched gateways and windows combine the strength of the male line with the female curve, softening the structures. hundreds of years old form an historic blanket. Overhearing a local guide describe Prague, he informs his eager brew that the best bargains are smoking, drinking and eating. We choose two of the three after long days painting and photographing the Old Town, Charles Bridge and the Prague Castle. We skip the torture chamber and sex machine tour in favor of the view from the Clock Tower in the Old City Center.Despite what must be a challenging economic environment and the onset of a drizzly winter, many locals wear smiles. The Arts seem to be thriving with ballet, music and film all well represented.Despite what must be a challenging economic environment and the onset of a drizzly winter, many locals wear smiles. The Arts seem to be thriving with ballet, music and film all well represented. An ancient musician plays an equally antiquated musical instrument we cannot identify but which creates sound from a past era. Thai massage parlors and Chinese restaurants augment the cacophony of people and races found here. Still a crossroads for pilgrims and businessmen, Prague has something for everyone. But most memorable is the architecture, which seems unchanged since the invention of the wheel. Slipping quietly out of town at dawn, we say goodbye to picturesque Prague on its journey back to a cultural renaissance.

2011-10-19T16:56:00.000-07:00

France

Returning to the Paris I grew up in, much has changed and stayed the same after four decades. The Eiffel Tower remains, but has digital lights. The metro still runs and still has graffiti. Little dogs are still served at tables in restaurants but there are less of the remains on the streets. And one can still walk for hours and barely scratch the surface of this spectacular town.

We are a week on Rue St Paul, within striking distance of numerous museums, scenic destinations and cozy bistros. Our time is spent eating sights and wonderful cuisine. The weather this late in the season cooperates and brings out the best in everybody. Our time in this town remind me of how good I had it here in my youth.

We take the train across French fields that Van Gogh immortalized in striking greens and golds a century ago. The scene has not changed though the machinery has. Tracking like a rocket along steel beams we lean and whiz across the fall landscape.

Without agenda or time constraints, we can just be here and now. We observe all that is around like kids on their first train ride out of town. Muffled whispers combine with the quite whirl of our passage through space and time.

We are not really coming or going anywhere. We move while sitting still. We don’t really know what the next moment will hold. We only have this instant and all its wonder. The color and compositions fill and empty our vision. The sounds and smells come and go. We let go. We ride on rails. We are the falcon on the fence post scanning the horizon.

Arriving in Nice, we head north to Tourrettes Sur Loup, an ancient village perched on top of a granite peak. After hundreds of years it still clings to the slopes defying gravity and the onslaught of tourists. Small enough to wander through in a few hours, the stone steps and buildings slipping us into a fairy tale.

We travel the area to other villages and sights. We visit the coast and swim in the sea where celebrities and fishermen share the bounty. One can feel why the wealthy and Hollywood directors have glamorized this region. There is so much butter in the sauces and such richness in the light.

2011-07-28T23:19:00.000-07:00

Artist in Residence 'MADE IN BALI'
Alila Villas Soori by gregory and angie tan burns. all rights reserved.

Tucked between the mountains and the sea, Alila Villas Soori embraces and inspires. Verdant green fields, ripe and rich with rice, attract swallows and sightseers, feeding on the landscape. Lavender sand beaches stretching beyond view, offer space to roam freely where crashing waves energize the air. All one needs can be found here, nourishment for the body, heart and soul. No reason to leave. Resting here and now, we recharge.
Cloistered in our villa-cum studio, the vistas outside do little to reflect the anguish inside as I try to formulate an approach to painting this utopia. With the sea pounding and the fields swaying, I am vexed with trying to create some harmony out of all the disparate elements. Gradually though, after filling a sketchbook with scribbles, my brush and paint begin to synchronize into something that feels a bit like this oasis.
Like the waves, I hammer away in my studio until slowly, like the sand on the beach, my vision crystallizes while colors and forms begin flowing together. Combining imagery with gestures, I try to create something, which speaks not only of this magical spot, but also of a universal respite we all seek where time and space are abundant and we quietly reconnect with ourselves.

TO VIEW MORE IMAGES AND PAINTINGS, please CLICK ON LINK BELOW

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pckypw77v5A.

2011-05-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

Returning for a second time to feed visually on the magical world of the Maldives, we rediscover white sand trails weaving patterns across the island, connecting the community of secluded bungalows and pristine plunge pools shaded by towering palm trees. We are back to island life where the sky overflows with sunset colored billowing clouds and twinkling stars.

Circled by eagle rays and uplifted by spirited dolphins playing in the waves, the menu of life below the surface of the sea is equally inspiring. Most mere mortals appreciate sea-life with a knife and fork or in an aquarium. But for an hour we are mesmerized, 60 feet under water at the bottom of the atoll, just meters away from six manta rays as they line up like airplanes, waiting for their turn at the cleaning station where sepia and blue fish dart about, cleaning their gills. Like rag dolls fluttering in the wind, we cling to coral as strong shifting currents buffet fish and us about. Ranking at the top of the food chain, we elude the trauma of being eaten alive. We feel so fortunate to be observers here where no barriers separate us from life jostling for position and struggling for survival. Internet is not needed here. We are already in sensory overload.

Welcome to our world.

FOR MORE PAINTINGS AND PHOTOS PLS CLICK THIS LINK BELOW

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=smOaZYwtDi8

2011-03-15T08:59:00.000-07:00

Seabourn Sojourn : Sydney to Bali

As soon as we escape the controlled waters of Sydney harbor our vessel slams into the waves of the Bass Strait like a sledgehammer pounding on dirt. Tossing us side-to-side and front to back, the seas play with us like a child with a rag doll. Creaking and dipping, our suite with 600 thread-count sheets and high definition TV lists as we make our way towards Melbourne. From our fourth floor portal, 60 feet above the waterline, foam from broken waves paints our view white. Our first night at sea and we are deep into the feeling of man’s tentative relationship living upon water even when our capsule is the size of the Empire State Building.

A new day breaks and the seas have laid down with a bright sun shining over all of us. My first art class goes well as I endeavor to polish some budding artists. Several, having come full-circle in their twilight years, create with the sheer pleasure I have observed in children.

Angie and I begin to get a hang of the ship’s layout as our sea legs sprout. Smooth sailing for the day until evening when the winds pick up and again buffet us about. We pass far off shore somewhere between Tasmania and Australia. The horizon curves away and there is only an ocean with a few frigate birds, their wing tips tapping Morris-code on the faces of the waves while they swoop across the surface of the sea. After standing long against the thrust of the wind, it is time to go below and prepare for the night’s black tie dinner.

The following day begins with a whale spouting off port and two dolphins playing in the boat’s wake. A good omen by any standard. Angie and I have settled into our shipboard routines. Up with the sun, Angie goes to stretching and strengthening classes while I ensure the bed doesn’t get made before 9am. Later, while I teach an art class of dedicated students, Angie practices Samba and Waltz moves with the ship’s two svelte Ukrainian instructors. By dinnertime we are ready for a nap before venturing aft to dine in elegance.

In ports of Adelaide and Freemantle, we walk about, feeding on fresh sights and old buildings. We find quaint turn of the last century architecture mixed with ultra modern steel and glass structures. The highlight of shore leave is inevitably the high-speed Internet connection available at Hungry Jack fast food restaurants where we reconnect with the outside world. Returning to our home away from home on the sea, we set sail for Bali.

A cyclone off the north of Australia whips up the seas again as we are pummeled by 40-knot winds and 20 foot seas. Dinner with dancing waiters goes remarkably well while nothing appears to hit the floor despite the pitching seas. However, by dessert luck has run out and a substantial crash emanates from the kitchen, reminding us that behind the manicured veneer, keeping a vessel of 1000 guests and crew operating while in the grip of Poseidon has its challenges. But the staff and the ship respond impeccably as we cruise the Indian Ocean heading towards the equator.

After two weeks on the sea, we anchor off the East coast of Bali and spend a day revisiting local sights and friends. It has been an expansive trip for both our hearts and bellies. We lunch at an open-air wet market on traditional Indonesian food, returning to a more reasonable caloric diet. Our last view of the island is the departure lounge of Bali International Airport, returning to Singapore and life lived on land.

2011-01-15T03:30:00.000-08:00

Sheraton Grande Laguna

Artist in Residence
‘made in Phuket'

Gregory is an accomplished artist who has exhibited in over 15 countries around the world and been featured in international publications
and TV programs such as CNBC, CNA, ESPN, Time magazine and Asia Wall Street Journal.

Gregory has setup his painting studio at our ‘Sala Gazebo’ (on the left hand side as you descend the main stairs from Loy Krathong lounge)
He will be around the resort painting several of the exceptional features of Sheraton Grande Laguna Phuket. You are welcome to observe him.

Drawing classes are available on a daily basis (at 10AM and 2PM) – 1-day Advance bookings are required for these 90 minute sessions
which are available for 120USD (3,600 THB) per person (inclusive of required art supplies) – Classes are open to anyone aged 10 and above.

Nearing the end of his residency, from the 21st of January, Gregory will also be exhibiting and selling his works – all are welcome to
witness this open air art gallery at the ‘market place’ near our lily pond sala, until the 26th of January.’.

2010-12-25T20:05:00.000-08:00

'made in maldives'

villingili artist in residence
photos by: angie tan burns text and paintings by: gregory burns (all rights reserved)

Following several weeks feeding visually on the sea world of the Maldives, the tide washes up an intimate series of Gregory Burns’ paintings that reflect the aquatic life found in Shangri-La Villingili’s island oasis.

Circled by mating manta rays and astounded by lumbering whale sharks, the menu of life below the surface of the waves is extensive. In strong currents teeming with darting fish, the artist turned diver sketches on an underwater drawing slate while eye to fin with colorful creatures and coral reefs.

Retreating to his studio, the painter appropriates references from these sketches, compelled to create art that captures glimpses of a world so contrary to our habituated life in air and gravity.

While under the sea, frolicking with creatures of the deep, humans may well recall their connection with ancient ancestors who shed gills eons ago and took to the land, and wonder why they left? Diving under, momentarily, life is primordial and immediate, as we reconnect again with the sea and our soul.

It is inspiring painting in these giant blocks of blue.

2010-11-03T19:14:00.000-07:00

Gregory Burns Joint Painting Exhibition
Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall
Taipei, Taiwan, R.O.C (All Rights Reserved)

2010-11-01T19:26:00.000-07:00

halloween @ Tait Avenue

Tait Avenue's annual Halloween celebration in Los Gatos, California is happening! The Downtown Los Gatos neighbors decorate their homes for Halloween every year. All photos were taken on or near Tait and Massol Avenues. Trick or Treat!

2010-10-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

Travelogues angie & gregory's joint exhibition . 25th Oct to 27 Dec 2010 . presented by Santa Cruz County Bank
Special Event

Santa Cruz County Bank Arts Collaborative & on
Facebook!

Photos & Video by angie tan burns Text & Painting by gregory burns (all rights reserved)

Travelogues, featuring paintings by Gregory Burns and photography by Angie Tan Burns, documents a decade of travels in pixels and paint and a cross-section of their nomadic journey through Morocco, Italy, California, China, Indonesia and Thailand. Additionally, new works by Gregory Burns, which have not yet been shown, will have their debut in Travelogues. One time Santa Cruz resident, Gregory Burns began part of his journey into becoming an artist at Cabrillo College under the tutelage of Tom Allen and Tom McGuire amongst other fine local instructors. Gregory was awarded the Tom Allen Award and a scholarship to the San Francisco Art Institute. Twenty-five years on, Gregory?s recent works focus on his various travels between and from his homes in Singapore and California. Angie Tan Burns, the daughter of one of Singapore?s pioneering contemporary artists, captures images through photography, and then works on the photographs with multiple layers of acrylic paint. Because of her deep connection to painting and enjoyment of texture, she often prints or mounts her photographs on canvas creating a painterly finish and feel to provoke the viewer?s attention.

2010-10-09T21:48:00.000-07:00

GOING GREEN
Shangri-la's Mactan Resort & Spa

cebu, Philip

pines

Two decades ago when first visiting Cebu, I was taken back at the sight of huge ships turned over like turtles on their backs, still tethered to the jetty. Hurricane Ofa had recently crashed into the islands and left a sea of destruction. Then as now, I was amazed at the resilience of the locals who seem able to take all in stride and continue singing.

This trip to Cebu was to speak at a Green Day Conference organized at the Shangri-La Mactan resort. With a panel of distinguished speakers, all experts in the fields of ecology and conservation, I felt markedly under qualified. The message I tried to convey was one of stewardship and that we can all be positive role models. Translating this into action however, proves a bit more daunting a task. Using less and recycling more would be a start. I recalled my first college apartment in which I made it my mission to turn of lights after people left rooms. Sadly, the owner of the lease did not like this attempt of mine to save the planet and I was asked to find other accommodations. We cannot always be popular when trying to do good.

Cebu is blessed with some of the planet’s most abundant reefs; the diversity of life is astounding. Yet this is all threatened by man’s unconscious attempts to feed himself. Through pollution or fishing methods, the area is an example of how the Garden of Eden is loosing its garden status. Plastics alone are one of the main culprits. I referenced studies provided by Plastic Oceans at www.plasticoceans.net, a foundation set up to help clean up the seas of this deadly intruder. Scuba diving in the area offered a stark reminder of what dynamite fishing can do to coral reefs. Thankfully, there is now an ocean refuge where fishermen are discouraged from destroying what is clawing itself back to life under the sea.

We can all do our part to use less and recycle more. It is just common sense but one way we can make our tenure and impact on the planet gentler.

2010-10-01T02:20:00.000-07:00

artist in residence . Made in MuTianYu .

Photos & Video by angie tan burns Text & painting by gregory burns
(all rights reserved)

Hunkered down in Grandma’s House at The Schoolhouse at MuTianYu has been invigorating. The grounding influences of village life mixed with the intriguing vistas of the Great Wall have fueled and filled my creative spirit. Hawks and pine trees pepper the skyline while we hike the Wall and country roads.

My studio is the converted Schoolhouse art room. Left to my own devices I have transformed a perfectly clean and respectable space into a splatter-filled chamber filled with paintings in various states of disarray and hungry mosquitoes seeking foreign investments.

After working through dozens of sketches and small paintings created while traipsing through the Wall and the surrounding neighborhood, I begin working up some canvases. Thickened with images of the Wall and old village homes, I try to make some sense of our residence for the month. Returning day after day to the same menu, slowly the digested images begin to take shape on the canvas. The first brooding colors are replaced by some optimism. The details of turrets and portals dissolve and are replaced with gestures and colors.

In the end, nothing survives except the fleeting glimpses of a magnificent month of painting in and around one of China’s unique natural and man-made wonders.
PLEASE CLICK LINK BELOW FOR VIDEO
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85ik_81lRfY

2010-08-28T19:16:00.000-07:00

A COLOURFUL SEDUCTION . joint exhibition . (all rights reserved)
Angie's Water Lilies:
In our overly stimulated world, for Angie Tan-Burns, Lilies offer a welcomed respite for the soul. Their calming influence informs Angie's photos while only their beauty matches the resilience these flowers embody. Reflecting on these natural works of art one is reminded how capable and creative Mother Nature can be.

Gregory's Figures:
At the impressionable age of 18, Gregory enrolled in a freshman Figure Drawing class at a small college in the Amish territory of Pennsylvania. On the first day of class, along with 20 other new students, Gregory took a seat in the circle around a small raised podium. With little introduction, the instructor invited a young lady wearing a white robe to take the stage. As the terry-cloth garment fell to the ground, and everybody began vigorously scribbling away with their pencils, Gregory knew that he had found his right place in the universe.

Over the past 30 years Gregory has continued his affair with the female figure. His most recent series of mixed media works on paper combines bold sketching with muted painted backgrounds. These emotional glimpses of the figure are meant to celebrate the joys of seeking and feeling through pencil and brush.

VIDEO LINKS:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPcfHiXDtSs or http://dl.dropbox.com/u/8834700/A%20Colourful%20Seduction%20Art%20Exhibition%20Opening%20by%20Angie%20%26%20Gregory%20Burns_Med.m4v

2010-08-28T19:09:00.000-07:00

UN'ESTATE A GARESSIO/
A Summer in Garessio

Angie and Gregory's . JOINT EXHIBITION . Aug 6th 2010 . (all rights reserved)
Again we return to our little village in the Maritime Alps of Italy, tucked up against the hills and surrounded by green trees and clean rushing streams. This trip was more about sharing what Angie and I created last year than creating new works. We opened our joint exhibition at the best and only real restaurant in our neighborhood. We were pleased that the local folks made a point to attend and view the work we had created last year while wandering their cobblestone streets.

Garessio remains a quiet little haven, where summertime can be spent sipping coffee in the square or wine at the pizzerias. Hiking the ‘salt road’ where once goods were carried from the Mediterranean Sea inland, one wanders through forests peppered with ancient stone walls covered with moss and intertwined with tree roots. This is a land of old earth and a place to return to a rich and simple life.
PLEASE CLICK LINK BELOW FOR VIDEO
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmOEhkJOwxM

2010-06-16T09:04:00.000-07:00

Fervent Global Love of Lives Medal (all rights reserved)

Last week in Taiwan, I had the honor of accepting the, "Fervent Global Love of Lives Medal" along with a dozen other individuals who also received this award. Listening to their stories brought with it the realization that my life is rather small and meaningless in comparison. I heard of several women who continue to suffer from multiple cancers, loosing significant parts of their bodies during the fight, yet carry on with meaningful and important community work. One of them remarked that, 'during adversity, one should be calm and peaceful in heart, and step forward with hope'. There was also the mild-mannered blind burn victim who teaches healing practices and administers to the sick. And then there was a Canadian woman who had abandoned here multi-million dollar marketing business and had started an outreach program in Africa bringing hope to orphans resulting from the AIDs epidemic. My life slipped further into insignificance.

As awardees, we were asked to speak at several schools and a children's cancer ward in a major hospital. Upon arrival and seeing whom we were to address, again I felt inadequate. The 14-year-old girl who had lost her hair and one leg to cancer was sitting quietly in a wheel chair with an intravenous drip hanging close by. What of my blessed life could I possibly share with her that would be of any use?

But then I thought about what I had seen exhibited by the other award recipients. I saw in them that we are all handicapped and challenged in our lives and we all need to work bravely with the hand life has dealt us. So each of us needs to soldier on with our own unique challenges and be accountable to ourselves. With this in mind, it is easier to see that though we are all tested in different ways, we all have something exceptional to share, which can help to uplift the whole.

2010-02-02T15:59:00.000-08:00

ANANTARA PHUKET - A Sanctuary

In ancient times, the Thai nobility built temples and protective walls of deep red earthen bricks; the rich color still penetrating centuries later. Entering the Anantara resort presents the guest with a similar sensation of walking into a peaceful and protected enclave. We immediately felt at home.

Our residency came as a welcome follow-up to our stint scuba diving in the Similan Islands to the north.

Villa 40 became our refuge and the resort our landscape which Angie and I immediately began recording in pixels and paint.

Like a village of villas surrounding ponds and waterways, the property envelopes visitors and the outside world disappears.

Pool and pond side restaurants as well as the Tree House Bar offered us panoramic views to indulge in.

By the beach, the Infinity Bar was the place for sunsets. Sinking into over-sized lounge chairs, we absorbed while the sky turned from peach to pink and the egrets and ducks made their ways home for the night.

A day of painting and photographing complete, we only needed to choose where to eat.

After several weeks living and working in this charming environment, it was time to put a period at the end of our experience and install the exhibition at the Sea, Fire, Salt restaurant.

With the Andaman Sea as backdrop, Angie floated paintings on both internal and external walls to create an indoor and outdoor gallery. We presented a slideshow of her photos and tried to sum up our experience in this contemporary sanctuary beside the sea which we found so incredibly hard to leave.

2009-12-31T01:23:00.000-08:00

GOLDEN TRIANGLE Anantara
Photo by angie tan burns Text & painting by gregory burns (All rights reserved)

From 35,000 feet, Thailand’s northern border with Burma and Laos is nothing to write home about - a

fairly flat pancake affair with some shallow hills of auburn dirt. A sea of vegetation sprawls from the jungles to envelope that which has not been cultivated. Several rivers divide up the landscape here and there but again, from the air, the landscape is nothing spectacular.

It’s when you get onto the ground and into the life of the Golden Triangle that things get interesting. Our residency at the Anantara Resort began quietly as we entered their lavish gardens. When an elephant with a mahout (elephant trainer) strode past our car, we thought we had mistakenly veered onto a movie set. It all seemed so natural yet a bit surreal. This would be our home for the holidays and a unique chance for Angie and I to explore the elephant world and the sacred Buddhist sites that pepper the area.
The resort has a serious thing for elephants. Some three-dozen reside in and roam around the plain beyond the manicured resort grounds. Many of the animals were rescued from the tourist trade of Bangkok or have been retired from the logging industry. Each elephant requires a minder and the Mahout takes care of the needs and controls the wanderings of the beasts. Gentle giants though they are; if permitted, they wander across borders and create international havoc.

Angie takes the two-day, ‘Mahout Training Course’, learning to feed, mount, ride and bathe the animals. Besides eating 10% of their weight, their daily rituals include a soap-less bath in the river. Man and mammal enter the water and nobody can be sure of who will exit riding on top of whom. Being in intimate contact with these giant yet sensitive animals is a treat, my only fear being that Angie will want to bring one home with us.
Buddhism, the national religion, spread throughout Thailand long ago. The remains of temples and chedis pop up on hillsides and in tranquil forest settings. In active temples, golden-ochre robed monks sit peacefully, reminding me of the strong spiritual path which pervades this land and people.

After a period of painting and picture taking, Angie prepares an exhibition of my works in the hotel’s grand entryway along with a slide show that highlights our experience. We are grateful for the warm reception we have received and find it hard to

tear ourselves away. But fortunately, we leave before Angie tries to adopt a 700-pound baby.

2009-08-31T11:32:00.001-07:00

Garessio Italy

An old iron green bell gongs from the tower jutting above the church across the cobblestone street from our third floor apartment. On the hour, and dramatically during Catholic festivities, bells sounds from all around. Dating back a thousand years, there are four churches in this village of 3,000 residents. Either there was much to be repentant for or this is a very special spot. I choose to believe it is the later as the town of Garessio, nestled into the Maritime Alps of Western Italy,casts a spell on all who visit.

The water is good here. So good, that the St. Bernardo water bottling company pulls its liquids from the nearby spring. But the factory is about the only modern structure around. The rest of the town consists of medieval stone buildings, some almost as old as God herself. A single narrow cobblestone road runs between the three and four story row houses, channeling people through this historic village.Romans, Moroccans, Germans and tourists all descended upon this village at some point, looking for something. They found kind country people and buildings of stone and plaster steeped with time and history.

As an important relay station for salt and provisions between the bustling Albenga port 35 kilometers to the south and the Italian interior, the town was once home to ten thousand people. Where once stone forts commanded the highest points on the surrounding mountaintops, today Vodafone telephone relay towers control and command the best views.Now, with little industry and left only with an abundance of clean air, water and the Alps at your doorstep, the town is loosing its locals. Of those left behind, the median age seems to be around 70 years old. Young Italian townspeople leave for big cities to find work. The elders remain to grow old with friends. In the midst of this transition, artists, writers, skiers, hikers, mountain bikers and lovers of a natural tranquility have discovered Garessio and are reinventing the place.

Angie and I are here for more than the beautiful views. Our friend Julia has started a program where she will invite other artists and interested seekers to visit the village for a Residency Program. Eventually we will offer classes in drawing, painting, screen-printing and photography. It will be open to those who seek a quiet ancient place where history and nature can inspire art. Interested parties should log onto www.juliamontforte.com. We plan to spend more time here as we draw nearer to the median age of the village. Maybe someday along the mountain trails or on a journey through this inspiring ancient village we will meet you here.

2009-07-12T18:35:00.000-07:00

Fishing Village: Cha-am Thailand

Photos by: angie tan burns Text by: Gregory burns (All rights reserved)

On a languishing stretch of lazy white sand beach, sits the fishing village of Cha-am. Multi-colored boats laden with crab cages or fishing nets neatly tucked beside the banks of the small river that empties into the Gulf of Siam.

Active around the clock, the boats and boys constantly coming or going, feeding the stomach’s of Bangkok’s millions.

Ice is at a premium as boats fill their bellies to keep the nights catch cool until it reaches port and is immediately offloaded into the gaping mouths of waiting cargo trucks.

It’s not necessarily a friendly place, but then sailors have never been noted for their interpersonal communication skills.

But after a few days the locals warm up and seem to all know about the couple with the man on crutches and the woman with the camera. The village has everything one could need from the markets, provision shops, seafood restaurants to the open doors in front of which sit pretty young girls giggling and plucking their eyebrows.

It’s a colorful and active place where even the abandoned cats and dogs dine well on the stray fish that don’t make it to market.

And as long as the sea continues to fill these ships with fish and crab, this village will never know of the economic crisis and stimulus packages that could breach ten Titanics.

2008-10-20T16:17:00.000-07:00

Ta Gong - Tibet
Text by: gregory burns . . .Photos by: angie tan (all rights reserved)
Three bumpy days drive from Chengdu (China) and we finally stop in Ta Gong. At 3700 meters, one can be excused if breathless after 100 paces. And with mostly local Tibetans in this tiny town surrounding the Monastery, one can forgive the place for not having internet. But what it lacks in oxygen and modernity, the place more than makes up for with its culture and natural beauty.
This is the place God invented clouds which tower over the five holy mountains that ring this village. We watch mesmerized as the green pastures beam bright green then muted olive as the sun plays hide and seek behind giant cumulous clouds. In the distance, a young girl armed with a few rocks and twigs corals and persuades a dozen frisky yaks to head home across the cold rushing river. A burgundy wrapped monk makes his way high up the mountainside towards the bountiful strands of prayer flags fluttering in the evening breeze. On the single main street lined with little provision shops, a few pool halls and restaurants, the local boys and monks ride their motorcycles and buy apples from ladies with bulging sacks of fruit. Around the Monastery devoted Tibetans circumambulate and spin the many prayer wheels. Mangy dogs sleep wherever, covered with years of life without a brushing.

Ancient wrinkled men and women with wooden faces and hands head home after a long day walking, talking, collecting firewood and praying. This is the Tibetan Autonomous region and is thick with Tibetans and lean on Han Chinese except the dozens of police vehicles and goods trucks passing through town keeping everything stable and under control.

2008-10-20T13:46:00.000-07:00

Beijing Games 2008

Text by: gregory burns
Photos by: angie tan - all rights reserved
In celebration of the 2008 Olympic and Paralympic Games in Beijing, I felt it fitting to produce a series of paintings that salute the athletes and their efforts.
The series seeks to capture and encapsulate the essence of the athletic experience in individual and team sports. I put forth these paintings in a parallel effort with all the athletes who push their limits during the summer of 2008. For over a month we are ensconced in the Beijing Games. The first course is of course the Olympics, which go off without a hitch.
Rave reviews for everything from the opening ceremonies to the venues. Creating modern iconic structures such as the Cube and the Bird’s Nest juxtaposed with the Forbidden City lying on the same meridian line directly south of the Olympic Green, China has produced a new legacy that goes beyond sports.
The country has showcased its determination to succeed. The Olympics gave us numerous world records, but only one eight-medal sweep by Michael Phelps. With strikingly few doping offences, happily the Games clawed back some of their original Olympic luster.
In no way less exciting were the Paralympic Games, where hundreds of world records also fell as did athletes in contact sports such as murder ball and wheelchair basketball.
Spectators and China suddenly realized that the disabled can be heroes. With daily extensive TV coverage on multiple channels, an entire nation (a quarter of the world’s population) has been primed to see people with disabilities in an entirely new and inspiring light.

Sitting in a small Beijing restaurant, we listened as workers spoke with genuine respect and pride about their fellow country men competing in the pool without arms. With President Hu Jin Tao in attendance at the opening and closing for both Games, the post Sichuan earthquake China is one where Head’s of State are connected with the people. Impressive as the Games and positive messaging has been, one only hopes that China, which the West once demonized, will continue to show itself as a truly caring and capable community. The Games have opened a door for a new China.

2008-07-07T10:31:00.000-07:00

Moroccan Medley Text by: gregory burns Photos by: angie tan - All rights reserved

We transit from Singapore at Dubai en-route to Casablanca. The packed international airport like Disneyland for a United Nations of shoppers and it’s barely six in the morning. Women wrapped from head to toe wearing Christian Dior bumblebee sunglasses browse for gold and electronic goods.

Landing into a toasted Casablanca we transit to the train that will take us north to Marrakech. Not knowing any better, we take 2nd class seats for the 3 hours of roasting across a parched and barren landscape of scrubby cactus pocked with walled Kasbahs. The country feels like a cross between Mexico and France with its pink-tan stucco walls and ‘sortie’ signs. A thankful breeze occasionally interrupts the punishing sun, which broils all below the sheltering sky.

Dehydrated but jubilant we arrive in Marrakech and begin our stay at the Angsana Riads in the Medina. The friendly shopkeepers and neighborhood children do not fit the guarded descriptions we expected from our guidebook. We feel welcomed and at home wandering the maze of alleyways carved between pastel colored buildings.

High walls and decorative doors protecting inner sanctuaries from harsh sunlight and outsiders while an army of cats keep all rats at bay.

part 2

Angie and I survey six Riads in the Angsana Collection and find each unique and appealing. The word ‘Riad’ means “inside garden” or “courtyard” which traditionally must include the elements of water and foliage .

The configurations of these inner courts, surrounded by walls and rooms create intimate cocoons where we feel at ease and cloistered yet connected to nature with the open sky above filled with azure blues, chirping birds and twinkling stars at night. The Riad is a contained swatch of nature where humans connect with the earth and themselves.

The narrow alleyways that squirrel between and connect these enclosed compounds are a labyrinth easily to be lost in. Peach, pink, ochre and mauve walls jut up all around you as bicycles; donkey carts and humans vie for a section of path to navigate home on.

Everything is intimate. In the Medina one is confronted with sensory overload until you open the unique and intricate door to your courtyard and leave all of that behind.

Recharging inside for tomorrow’s next onslaught.

We have been given Riad Dar Zaouia for my painting studio. Blessed with an open-air courtyard in which to paint, I begin to make sense of the dozens of sketches I have created in our first few weeks scrambling around. I try to connect with this feeling of protection, which the Riads provide, juxtaposed to the somewhat controlled mayhem of that which is outside the door.

Doors and walls figure prominently in this discourse. Each offering a lifetime of experiences as the river of humanity ebbs and flows throughout.

While I paint this internal world, Angie photographs the spectrum of life that abounds beyond the portals.

We are up at dawn to see the kittens nipping at the plastic bags of garbage left outside each door.

Angie looks for the light as it paints the walls with earth tones and pastel pinks. Respectful not to photograph locals unless given permission, she focuses the cornucopia of life that swirls around us.

Looking down from roof gardens, like a loving sniper she shoots the exotic costumes and commerce of those in Jemaa El Fna- a market of trade with seductive merchants.

We have seen both sides of these emotional people with their hand holding and warm embraces. The codling of children and respect for cats warms the heart and yet without notice, a conversation between a mother and son or boy and girl can turn into a slap up with wailing and shouting. We see there is equal passion for connecting and rejecting.

Venturing out of the Medina we finally head towards the dessert to see sand. Lots of hot sand and a few patches of green. The green oasis spots cling to any minor water source.

The lifeblood leached from a begrudging sandy plain in order to color the landscape with olive and ochre. Around these lush spaces are stone homes of mud and sand. Eking a living from the land the Berber natives live with this blast furnace of an environment, which we tourists stumble through in a heated daze.

I am fascinated with the sanctuary of the oasis. Surrounded by nothing but baked scorched sand. Like the Riad these compounds provide shelter and a retreat from heat and dessert harshness.

We ride camels and reach our Berber tents before sunset and just in time do experience a real live sand storm. Minute graduals blanket everything and even make their way into every tooth and zipper. At 10pm we turn in but it is still 40 degrees Celsius and the wind has died and we are not far behind. We languish on mats outside our tents but can’t sleep in this endless dessert oven.

Having eaten enough Sahara sand, we return to Marrakech to hold my exhibition at the Riad Si Said.

To showcase the series, Angie orchestrates the paintings to greet guests at the Riad's entrance and then punctuates a pathway to the rooftop where the body of paintings looks remarkable set off by the pastel colored walls and traditional carpets of the terrace.

Our season here draws to a close. We prepare to depart this oasis in the dessert full of colors and images that combine a relaxed form of Islam with encroaching modernity.

Our senses filled to overflowing we leave laden with photos and paintings that hopefully attest to the dynamic mix of old and new, man and nature, God and all that lies below heaven and the sheltering sky.

2008-06-01T00:48:00.000-07:00

The Temples of Shaolin

Text & Photos by Gregory Burns (all rights reserved)

Though the ancient structures were impressive, I felt frustrated Visiting Shaolin Temple. I had hoped to meditate with the monks and paint them while they practiced their martial arts. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the commercialization of the place and the realization that the kung fu they still do is usually for international promotion tours or movie directors. For centuries, rulers of China have tried to subdue the powerful Temple with its famous martial arts monks. This was never an easy task and the Temple maintained its religious principals and military prowess. Today however, the Temple threatens nobody. Instead, it is permitted to rake in hundreds of millions of Yuan a year, tithing a good chunk to the local government. But what I did find satisfactory in the Shaolin area were the 72 other temples that are more peaceful and natural, lacking the tour groups with red hats and little flags.
Yong Tai Temple, the oldest nunnery in the region, is a contemplative place with female martial arts students and vegetarian meals. It has few guests but lots of years. Finding a quiet corner to sketch I was able to sink into the sanctity that is why we go to temples. For the next few days I toured around other temples offering up the ancient China that fuels my connection with that which has weathered time and adversity. The Shaolin area has developed a major industry teaching classes in martial arts. Though I did not have to enroll I was allowed to sketch and paint several authentic practitioners while performing their routines. I chose to capture their dramatic gestures and postures while trying to express inner strength and poise. While they practiced kung-fu, I did mine, hoping the spirit of the spaces and movements would fill my pages with energy.
Later, the monk who was showing me around posed for several hours as I man-handled a 5x20foot canvas, rolling it out and painting it on the ground below a 1,500 year old stupa. After I had finished painting and laughing with the locals, the 70 year old caretaker of the compound kindly invited me to stay with him in the Guan Yin temple which doubled as his home. Recalling the toilet at my cheap hotel which kept unseating every time I used it, I would have happily accepted had I been staying on. But it was time to return to the bustling city of Shanghai where temples and monks are hard to find and one rarely hears the rustling of leaves in the trees and the sounds of happy birds.

2008-05-31T23:40:00.000-07:00

Hwang Shan Again
Text & Photos by Gregory Burns (all rights reserved)

In a Buick through a tunnel I go back in time to a mountain I climbed half a life ago. Hwang Shan, in China’s Anhui Province, waits at the end of the freeway as I return to a spot where I struggled to become a whole person after loosing love and innocence. A time of fog and stone stairs leading I knew not where but only up more into the clouds where the peaks poked out. Now the bamboo leans off the mountain towards me as a different man returns to see and paint stone. Last time I vomited on the local bus. This time a driver with toll roads. Before I had a strong body and weak heart.

Today this is reversed. But I still have the greed to see what nature breeds. “Life is precious- follow traffic rules” repeats fresh green signs along the road. Life is this precious moment and fully appreciating all the ones we experience makes for a life well lived. Now, on top of Hwang Shan (Yellow Mountain), I sit in a chair with a stone railing for a table and paint the view of where I climbed two decades ago on this steep expanse of rock. Others now hike up to the tops of the peaks while I sit down below capturing the effort needed to go up against the odds. To push up from below with strength fueled by an almost blind quest to go higher. To touch the tops of all we are. Later, all is anything but quiet on the Western front.
Eating in the Yu Ping Lo canteen, I am surrounded by loud drinking hikers and I can not hear myself write. Smoke fills my nose as I finish my tofu and eggs. But I am not fazed as I once was. I think I have changed. I see we are all the same- seeking pleasure and avoiding pain. Even while painting in a crowd today I talked and laughed with them and it was all a good game.
But sleeping in a dorm room with six strangers is not a good idea and my enthusiasm dissipated as the man next to me snored until it was time to clear his throat and watch the sunrise at 5am. I had slept not a minute and wanted to leave but little did I know my status on the mountain would soon change. A reporter from the Hwang Shan Daily had arrived to interview me. As soon as the hotel manager heard that there was a Paralympian on his watch, the first to ever climb the mountain, I was treated like royalty. A lavish lunch was spread before us as I was handed keys to the VIP suite.
Suddenly the world is upside down and that night I was between clean starched sheets with a view of the mountains to die for. The wheels of life had turned, merging Yin with Yang, and the universe was again laughing. In my suite I paint views and feelings from a new vantage point. With swallows darting in and out of the vista I stretch towards the distant finger-like peaks. These stones so slender and strong- not unlike my fingers. The hands that walk, paint and live for me resemble the stone spires that reach towards the heavens. Returning to these mountains brings me full circle. From my initial excursions as a stranger into a developing China to this place where I am treated with respect by these curious and industrious people who begin taking their baby steps towards a future world that will be determined very much by their actions. I feel fortunate to be ‘in’ with the soon to be ‘in crowd’.

2008-01-06T00:10:00.000-08:00

Connection Shanghai 2007
text & paintings: gregoryburns
photos: angietan, 2008 copyright all rights reserved.
The series “Connection Shanghai” concludes with a fitting scene of the Bund on a background of towering skyscrapers all painted upon a giant map of China titled, ‘No More Concessions’, drawing to a close sixty days of painting frenzy.
Stretching back to tickle memories of trips through China decades ago, I have now reconciled with myself and the country that there has been and always will be far too much more to record or express about this gigantic land. Kidding myself that I could resurrect old art created when life was far simpler and bring it into a contemporary drama only gave me a jumping-off point as I launched into a bottomless pool of culture and inspiration.

China and I changed since the 1980’s and we are no longer quaint. We have attitude and command respect for our accomplishments. Hard work and sacrifice define these changes and growth and with it comes the confidence that sets the trajectory for new dreams and destinations that were launched years ago and now proceed towards the heavens. Connecting the dots of past, present and future into art for today has been my command.
Having achieved some element of satisfaction, it is now time to let all go and move forward. Like the student upon graduation, the clearing after the typhoon, the country around which I have circulated for twenty years and I now head boldly into the future with some sense of completion. With this comes poise and hopefully a level of grace that will empower us to raise water levels so that all boats can drift free of the entangling reeds of ignorance and discontent. We must all paddle on.

Connecting Random Thots:
I see the old man with the bags searching garbage cans for plastic bottles and I realize that I am just the same as he – collecting sketches and experiences to later use and fuel my life. Not so different really.
Angie and I photograph and sketch our way back to where and when eunuchs and concubines entertained important men who gave thumbs up or down to the lives of many people.
I realize that the Great Wall psychologically and physically kept out invaders until a human being opened the gates and let them in. so in the end the wall kept nobody out forever because no matter what men make – others will compromise it out of greed.
Our date with Shanghai grows to a close for now. Having mounted this major show with extended legs of potential – I settle back into seat 37G bound for Singapore. Weary but content it is time to revisit a healthy lifestyle and breathe fresh air. I am grateful for this chance to return and to complete the circle. Half a century on this planet and over two decades in Asia, I feel blessed that I have been privileged enough to see so much. My palette brims with layers and shades of the rainbow, beaming with life and the excitement of exploration.
On canvas I funnel the hues this life has granted me and spreading wings trust that I will be able to continue on this great adventure.

2008-01-06T00:02:00.000-08:00

Singapore 70.3 Ironman

text & paintings: gregoryburns photos: angietan, 2008 copyright all rights reserved.

A month training in Bali at the Four Seasons pool and gym may not have been an ideal regiment to satisfy the needs of a half Ironman, but it was the best I could manage at the time. Building on a maintenance base that had been holding steady for months helped, but I was not able to ride my bike or race in my chair until the morning of September 3 when the gun went off. Fortunately, the swim in the sea was painless and besides colliding with a styrofoam cooler at the half way point, the swim was uneventful and I exited the sea five minutes after the professionals who had started at the same time as the ten PC athletes.

Change channels and it was onto the bike and down the East Coast Road, my usual training ground. With none of the usual Sunday drivers to dodge, the openness greeted me like a cool wind and I peddled towards the City. Over the bridge and through the woods to the first of four loops around town I cruised. The sun hadn’t begun to scorch us and the temperature was not yet sweltering so things progressed well. Other athletes pasted me on their bikes as we all criss-crossed town. A fitting 30km per hour ride had me finishing the 90kms in just over three hours and it was time to slip into my racing wheelchair.

A bit light headed when transferring into my chair I pondered pausing. But recalling the mistake of sitting around for too long between legs of the Korea Ironman, I opted to push on immediately and let my head clear on the course. But after just two minutes I flipped over backwards while making a turn and smacked my cranium on the pavement. Fortunately, the cement and I suffered no injury and I pushed on. The course was windy and bumpy so my time suffered. But I completed the 21km distance in 1:40 which had me over the finish line in a total time of around 5:40 since I managed to miss the finishers’ shoot and over shot the ribbon on my first approach.

No sooner had I crossed the tape than the sky opened up and showered all of us with gentle rain and a reminder that the day had given us everything we needed to put in a good performance. Certainly not first, but rather somewhere near the front half of the pack, this respectable time made me consider if training in Bali at the Four Seasons should remain my game plan for future races…

2007-10-10T01:11:00.000-07:00

Four Seasons Sayan Bali

Joint Exhibition

It may sound hollow, but painting in 5-star luxury is challenging. Room service brings breakfast and I leave to my studio above the raging Ayung River. The lavender palm trees rise up from the jungle floor beyond the swimming pool. The gym and restaurant are both first class. So one wonders why it took us so long to find our bearings in the No. 1 Best of The Best, CondeNast Traveler Readers' Choice Awards, October 2006. I suppose it has to do with energy and expectations. The valley spirits were here first. We must honor and respect nature in order to begin to express it in paint or film. And then our own expectations of what we think we should do get in the way of what comes naturally from living and working in this special spot. And finally it takes time to get to a place where one can stop trying to be creative and allow paintings and photos to emerge not to mention that this would be Angie and my first joint exhibit.

Fortunately, the friendly resort staff was always there to assist us along the way. Angie focused her camera on the cultural and personal aspects of life in Ubud with all its ceremonies and festivals. She attended weddings,burials and performances seeking to catch a glimpse of what is so strong in these people that even after decades of external bombardment they still hold tight to their identity and roots. I on the other hand, choseto paint the nature and the religious imagery found in this deeply spiritual valley. So after two weeks, the river begins to flow through our work and we no longer need to struggle up stream to see what is around the next bend. All is now within us as we bounce along our journey as artists seeking to do justice to the wonder and magic that envelops Ubud and Bali.

Then suddenly I knew all was as it should be when upon moving one of my paintings in my studio I discovered that a small brown snake had made its home entangled in the painting's stretcher bars. I moved the painting close to the door and asked him to go back to nature before I returned the next day.

Communicating with nature is where and when magic and art begin to flow.

2007-07-26T03:51:00.000-07:00

Yellowstones and Tetons

Ten days in the Yellowstone and Teton National Parks would be our first family sojourn in as many years. Our crew flew into Jackson Hole,Wyoming and drove north to the geysers of Yellowstone. Yellowstone, two million acres of parkland coined from the Native Indian’s word for the area, is the world’s oldest national park. Famous for the geyser called ‘Old Faithful’ that belches buckets of water and silica on cue, the park also offers lakes the size of countries and meadows filled with bison and elk. It is a thunderous landscape of mountains and meadows where bald eagles and osprey command the skies and feed on chipmunks and fish below.We head to the northern reaches of the park with vistas of steep gorges where emerald green streams gurgle and thunder through narrow canyons before falling over ledges and into pools hundreds of feet below.
The blond ochre and salmon peach colored embankments dotted with pine trees and topped with verdant forests offer spectacular views into thevalleys. Trails wander along the fringes of the cliffs where winds and swallows whisk up from the depths of these deep narrow passages. We hike through forest trails, weaving our way from mighty waterfalls to tranquil lakes. Leaving Yellowstone we drive south and into the Teton Mountain range which dwarfs the pancake flat plains that butt up against the steep gray rock walls. Snow tipped peaks like knife blades carving open acobalt blue sky are peppered with lodge pole pines creeping their wayup from the valley below. Moose, elk and bear comb the forests and sip from the rushing mountain streams that feed into Jackson Lake below. We boat across the lake and climb into the hills, crossing streams searching for views of Hidden Falls and a lookout called Inspiration Point. With Angie off photographing wild moose, I descend on a path less traveled and hike through dense forest with plenty of brush and wild berries. The nearby snapping of a tree branch tells me that something bigger than a squirrel is nearby. Soon a baby black bear bounces out of the brush and bounds across the hillside above me. So as not to meet an overly protective mother who undoubtedly is nearby, I too scamper down the mountain trail.

Jackson Hole Airport departure lounge windows feature amazing views of the mighty Teton Range. Speckled with dying glaciers, the peaks jut into a baby blue sky where soon our plane will fly. Reflecting on ourreturn to back country trails, I sigh with relief from the reformatting our adventure has done to my urbanized brain. Open spaces and viewing animals in nature quenches a thirsty spirit. Time between trees reminds us that we don’t need more things to be content. Our minds quieted, we feel again the importance and wonder of our loved ones.

2007-06-15T16:58:00.000-07:00

Bintan Triathlon 2007

Tribob, the organizers of the Bintan Triathlon 2007, invited me to speak and compete in this year’s event which attracted 1,000 athletes. Agreeing, I prepared my body and talk for what lay ahead which included an Olympic distance Triathlon meaning 1.5km ocean swim, then a 40km bike ride followed by a 10km run. Angie and I bundled up all my equipment and her cameras and ferried over to the island.

Weather looked promising at the start of the swim and the mass of bodies plowed their way into the sea and waves. Starting in the water as I did, I was surprised to be passed by the pro athletes almost immediately. They buzzed by and a small pack caught up with me soon after. Weaving my way through the swimmers avoiding the occasional thrasher, I made fair time and finished the swim in under 25 minutes, coming out of the water in 40th place.

With the support of two seconded local firemen swept me off the beach and back to transition.

From here we headed into the bike ride which thankfully had only a handful of steep inclines. Mother Nature decided to challenge us a bit more and brought thunder, lightening, wind and monsoon rains for us to battle.
Despite the water and hills, I managed to finish the bike in 100 minutes. Ben Munroe, our good friend and the editor of our book ‘Painted Journey’, put in a heroic swim and bike, passing me just prior to transition oblivious of his broken finger which he’d suffered in training the week before.

Then my real challenge loomed before me.

The run through the golf course along the buggy path offered four major inclines with grades of up to 12%. My racing wheelchair, being very good on flat roads, reared up and complained that the steep windy path was less than manageable. Moving slowly through the course, I managed to navigate the mud and sand but the combination of this and the leftover rain made the run very trying and somewhat dangerous as I could not manage to control the chair on the downhills and at one time veered off of the path and into the golf course and bounced off a tree.

Thankfully, our buddy Doctor Low was there to survey the damage and confirmed that the tree was worse off than my bruised back. With the help of several tired runners, I was poured back into my chair and continued.

Soon however, due to the steepness of the inclines, I was forced to turn my chair around and creep backwards up the slopes. This took much extra time but at least I could reach the top. After cresting the final hill, the front tire of my chair exploded while trying to slow down. Heading to the transition area to change the tire, my right tire blew up as well. Fortunately I did have one of each with me. Then after spending half an hour trying to fix them, I discovered much to my dismay that both spares were faulty. Left with no other choice, I thought to complete the second 5kms of the run on my crutches and braces. But all this was far away in our room and I had no key. With the cut off time for the final lap approaching, I jumped onto my bike and was given permission by the race organizers to carry on. I sped off for the final loop. But on the first hill, my chain derailed. Fortunately, this was the final cock up for the day and I crossed the finish line in just a tad over four hours. My body held out and after the trauma of the Ironman event, this seemed rather tame. Looking forward, I set my sights on the 70.3 Half Ironman race in Singapore later this year. See you then.

2007-04-30T23:27:00.000-07:00

Screening our boxes upon arrival at Immigration was a chirpy young Muslim woman wearing a veil asking what was inside. Canvas paintings I replied. We will have to open the box and look inside she said and so we did. Pulling out one of my already primed backgrounds with colors and maps, she gave it a look and said, “My younger daughter can do that”.

And so we began our residency in this paradise of islands surrounded by protective coral reefs and inviting warm waters teeming with fish.
In fact, looking out across any one of the numerous atolls that make up this country, there is not much to see in the Maldives. The horizon offers only a few distractions in the form of little islands with thin lines of white sand that separate the green of the palm trees above from the Prussian blue of the sea below. Even up close, these tiny dots of sand offer only patches of tropical trees with a few huts peppered in between. But it really isn’t what is above the sea that people come to the Maldives to see. It is the abundant life below the waterline that is huge.

Angie and my goal was to produce a series of paintings and photos that explored the beauty of Ihuru and Vabbinfaru, the tiny islands, each no bigger than a football pitch, which are homes for the Angsana and Banyan Tree Resorts respectively. Each offered a wooden jetty reaching out to greet guests arriving by boat. The day after we arrived a pod of dolphins swam past us, an obvious sign that plenty of diving was required for an intimate view of what wonders were to be found below the ocean’s surface.
So Angie with her camera and I with my drawing slate began diving in earnest and were greeted on our first dive by dancing manta rays. We were paralyzed in awe as four acrobats came swooping in, around, above and below us within inches of our outstretched fingertips- like giant kites gently sailing though space while clinging cleaner fish removed parasites from their milk-white undersides. Clown-fish, Trigger-fish and countless other players participated in the drama, adding color and activity to this giant blue sea stage. It was just another Monday morning in the Maldives.
The Sunset Jetty on Vabbinfaru became my studio while we resided on Ihuru. Each morning my commute consisted of a boat trip by Dhoni, a local inner island vessel, across the sparkling blue sea with fish darting below followed by a walk of 100 meters across the diameter of the island from the Sunrise to the Sunset Jetty.

My studio for the month was a table from the banquet department tucked below a thatched roof set upon a wooden jetty protruding into the sea where I attempted to bring the Indian Ocean to bear on my canvases.

Angie on the other hand had a studio stretching the entire length of the atoll with everything inside fair game. Above and below the sea she documented the colors and lives of the local inhabitants be they land or sea creatures.
Besides our work, we began making friends and acquaintances with a truly global audience of fellow guests/travelers. We were surprised and pleased to meet again Jan and Kitty who we knew from our very first residency eight years ago in Lombok. We met a dear couple originally from East Germany, another from Istanbul as well as newlyweds from Australia and we were quickly in good company.

In addition, the staff at both Angsana and Banyan Tree bent over backwards to make our stay productive and enjoyable.
Following some glorious weeks of sun drenched days, the monsoon rains finally arrived and it became obvious that these little islands sprinkled across the massive Indian Ocean are not much bigger than the boats crossing the seas, enduring the walloping winds and rains of nature. Were the island sands not packed above ancient coral reefs we too would have been adrift at sea, blown here and there by the storms that blanket the horizon with rich grey skies.

Once my collection of paintings was complete, ‘Maldives: Above and Below the Sea’ opened at the Banyan Tree Resort. Opening a show on a tropical island has little of the pomp and circumstance of gallery openings in cities. But we are having no problem getting accustomed to this simpler style of living.

Sitting on an island smaller than a parking lot at Wal-Mart, our perspectives and expectations have shrunk and become more condensed as the essentials began floating to the surface. Sometimes it takes less to feel more while the smile of a Moorish Idol can make your day

2007-02-21T05:24:00.000-08:00

Wild Dolphin Diving

Texts: gregory burns
Photos: angie tan

Invited to Perth, Australia to speak for HP at their annual conference gave Angie and I the unique opportunity to do something we had both wanted to do for years: dive with dolphins.
Upon wrapping up the meetings, we set sail with a group of HP folks in search of frolicking dolphins off the nearby coast.
After some sightings, we finally found a slow moving pod and launched a few teams of wet-suited individuals into the waters to observe the antics of these huge mammals.
Floating face down on the surface of the icy water, trying to contain our excitement, we caught sight the dolphins spin and swim just below us in the blue-green waters as they jetted about, playing sea-tag. The clicking sounds of their communications completed the total sensual experience. But moments after darting just beyond our fingertips, they vanished, their high speed departure leaving us floating alone in the sea. Scrambling back onto the boat and away again to find another pod we raced.
Soon a group of females were spotted and another string of humans was spat out the back of the boat and into the sea to observe the sleekgrey creatures.
Friendly and playful, the dolphins seemed to enjoy the attention we gave them no matter how silly we all looked clinging together while hovering over them like over-stuffed bolsters in ourthick black wetsuits. Though our attire was anything but flattering, our international contingent had something else in common, we were exhilarated with our proximity to nature and the intimate connection we had enjoyed with these marvelous creatures and the sea.

2006-09-26T01:34:00.000-07:00

artists in residence
Lijiang and Shangri-la, China

text by gregory burns
photos by angie tan

Climbing the two flights of steep, wheelchair inaccessible stairs up into the bowels of the China Embassy in Singapore to retrieve Angie and my passports with visas, I am reminded of the challenges that lie ahead as we prepare to reenter the Center Kingdom. With a growing number of disabled people equal to the entire population of Thailand, one might think that China would understand the need for accessibility. But then again, this would be China….

TG 612 brings us into Kunming as we enter the backside of the country. Yunnan opened her doors to me almost a decade ago when traveling with fellow artists from Singapore. Now I return with a determination to paint a modern version of this ancient land. Yet, I have little idea of what will transpire. I can only trust that my previous sense of this place will combine with some contemporary view to produce something beyond the surface of clay tiled roofs and stone bridges. We travel like rock stars on tour, looting locations of inspiration in order to feed the urge to create and once again recreate something memorable while passing through. As we glide into the old part of a new China, we disembark with few clues as to what will happen but filled with anticipation and promise. So far, the ride has been smooth. But then again, we haven’t crossed the border yet.

But then this is China and the calm was soon to change. Clearing customs without a hitch I am then reacquainted with amongst other things, the spitting and smoking, which take place in the toilets. We whisk through baggage claim and up the elevator to check in to our China Eastern flight to Lijiang. The cavernous Kunming airport is filled with stands and stalls selling everything from tea to sunflower seeds. The sign above line 22 indicates that this is where ‘disabled passengers’ without baggage check-in. After the handicapped friendly elevator and bathrooms in the arrival hall, I am impressed with the accessibility of this new China. But my enthusiasm for open-mindedness soon fades. We are informed that the baggage allowance is only 20kg per person and we are over by 24kgs. So we must pay over weight fees in Yuan (local cash currency), which we have none of. And the market of an airport sells everything but cash. The ATM machines reject my cards. Nobody will change US$ or Singapore Dollars for Chinese currency. This seems crazy as just a decade ago swarms of locals would accost any foreigner tourist and ask them to ‘change money?’ But not in today’s China.

Our flight and our bags leave in 20mins. I race around the airport pleading with strangers to change money. Finally in desperation we return to the airline counter and explain that my clean crisp US$20 bill would equal the fee we need to pay. They call a supervisor to get an okay for this high finance while the clock is ticking away. Finally, exasperated, the crew that has assembled waves us on and doesn't even take our cash. Thus ends what we consider a rather pathetic moment in airline history but we are on our way. Or at least we think we are. The security line is packed with hundreds of locals with bags of bags. I see a VIP counter and duck in. Surprisingly, they let us in and we put our bags on the conveyer belt. We go through and are ready to race to the plane, which leaves in 3 minutes when the security guard decides to take me into a private room for a near strip search. He rolls up my pants legs and bangs on my braces, looking for Bin Laden. We are about to leave when he questions our 2 bottles of red wine. I am about to explode when suddenly the planets align and he waves us on. We are the last ones to board and the plane doors close behind us. Welcome to the Kingdom.

And just like all travel, the opposites switch places and the sunshine returns. In Lijiang we are whisked away to the Banyan Tree where the nightly turn down service is much more than a bedside chocolate. Here, we will photograph and paint for the next three weeks before doing the same at Banyan Tree Ringha in Tibet. This oasis reminds us that our travels are always filled with both Yin and Yang and getting attached to either is pointless.

This is Angie’s first trip to Yunnan and Tibet. She clicks away several hundred shots a day featuring old buildings, local folks, means of conveyance and the natural setting that surrounds this valley ringed by steep mountain peaks. We spend several days between painting sessions wandering the old towns and mountain areas.

Joining a fellow photographer Felix and his producer Jamie, we take the cable car to 4,600 meters and into the snowy mountains and craggy glaciers. Struck by the beauty and the amount of Chinese tourists we soon realize that we will never understand the priorities of those who seem to travel to distant places hell-bent on having their pictures taken in some angelic pose. I sketch and the others snap pictures before we descend and head to the market square. Our local meal comes complete with wandering minstrels singing Chinese rock into portable amplifiers that clear the outdoor eatery of customers while we tuck into our first course.

The town of Lijiang has morphed since I was here a decade ago. Now, shops selling tourist trinkets flank all the narrow stone streets and alleys. I prefer my memory but realize that China has not sat still and the whole country is racing head first into consumerism and capitalism.

After a week of languishing in the old and new towns with my mixed feelings about combining the ancient and the contemporary, I finally make a minor break through on day 14. I have managed to merge imagery of the crusty old with bold strokes of the vibrant new in a soup of local reds and mauves. I realize that it takes time being in a place before we can internalize all that lies below the surface. The rhythmic patterns of the tiled roofs juxtaposed with the rippling streams that meander through the towns and provide life to the inhabitants have become part of me. The massive mountains that ring this bountiful valley which once kept out strangers no longer bar entry. Foreigners venture from afar and make up less than one percent of the patrons at the KFC outside the old town gate. But the majority of tourists hail from inside the Center Kingdom and have a passion for travel and sightseeing that will consume the world.

How can we forget the saying and the image of the 'starving artist'? We envision Van Gogh struggling with his canvas and Beethoven at war with his notes. Behind these scenarios is the understanding that they, like other artists, lived troubled lives. Whether poor or tormented, suffering health problems or battling society and circumstances, it seems the artist is meant to struggle. If not on the outside then all the more on the inside.

It is a stretch to intimate that we are in any way struggling here at this five-star resort where room service and housekeeping provide for our needs. Yet, in my art and in Angie’s photos, there must be some challenge. And if there seems to be no external friction to feed the work, then one can be sure that an internal dialogue is raging; where the outcome and concept never seem to connect or the feeling can not be made concrete. As artists, we do starve, we run out of energy and inspiration. We must constantly wake ourselves from our slumber and complacency to keep pushing beyond what has been done before.

A decade ago when I painted Lijiang, I felt an immediacy and passion that fueled my paintings. Today, it is different. There is time and distance from that place and person I was a decade ago and it is fruitless to attempt a retreat to things that once worked. If we are to progress and make anything of merit, we must continue to search the obscure landscapes in our lives for that new spark which can again ignite a passion for creation and our place in it. Pushing forward from this point of wonder, we continue on our journey as artists. All this makes me hungry; and I wonder if the in-room-dining menu is beside the jacuzzi?

An hour of bumpy driving by jeep from the Banyan Tree is the village of Wen Hai. The road, constructed just recently is paved for the first 10%. After that we are on our own and climb high above Lijiang. Tucked into a mountain fringed valley, we are staring the clouds in the face as they sputter and flutter over the nearby peaks. This hamlet of eleven families we are told has seen little of the outside world. The architecture though similar to that of Su Hu and Bai Sa, the feeling here is more quiet.
Remote as it is, there is still a TV dish in the courtyard of the first home we stop in front of. At first, it seems that the village is deserted. It is silent except the sound of the wind in the trees. Then slowly as I draw and Angie takes pictures, children emerge. Old ladies with baskets on their backs walk past. A dog comes out of the shadows. Soon, we are in the middle of village life and communicating with the locals. Angie snaps away and I draw the homes from which these people have surfaced. There is the 63 year old grandmother of the 12 year old who only says “I don’t know” and who is not the boyfriend of the 13 year old who carries a child on her back. After a few hours we take our leave but not before trying unsuccessfully to share our picnic lunch with some reluctant connoisseurs.

Driving back out of the village, we see a building with some banners. Angie reads that they are announcing a survey for local disabled people and the message seems to be encouraging for the disabled. Even here in this small village we see a wheelchair. Back in Lijiang we notice special bumpy tiles on the pavement which allow the blind to navigate city streets. The handicapped are also exempt from the entry fees to parks and tourist sites. I am beginning to think that China has not only progressed with its tourism industry, but with disability awareness as well.

Leaving Lijiang again, we travel to Tiger Leaping Gorge, which resembles a parking lot at Wal-Mart, on our way to the Banyan Tree Ringha. Climbing to 3,300 meters above sea level we soon leave behind much of the clutter of China. We enter a quiet kingdom on the fringes of the Center Kingdom. Far from any town, down a potted mud road, past fields and over streams, we feel removed. The remoteness is pleasing and we easily slide into the calming dusk. We have arrived, half way through our journey, in Shangri-la. The villages surrounding the Resort are dotted with stockade type homes, built of local materials. The structures, mostly two-stories taper towards the top with roofs made of wooden planks. No more tiles. The orange-green valley is pock-marked with black and white yaks. The sun cuts almost horizontal in the late afternoon, lending a crisp light to all it touches. The sky, so vast and strewn with clouds of multiple colors and forms, as significant as the landscape below. Stupas and prayer flags signal the presence of Buddhists and the peace is warming.

Early on our third morning we walked up to Da Bao Monastery on the nearby hill and spent half the day just being there. Angie taking pictures and me sketching. The old man caretaker showed us around. The monk came out of his hovel and chanted. The goats kept the pigs out of the courtyard as the chickens crowed for all to rise and look inside.
The forest around the complex is layered with prayer flags, fluttering blue, red, green and yellow in the wind- taking sentiments to heaven. The sky turned blue today as the clouds finally decided to roll away. The light is crisp as we wander through the village of Tibetan homes. Like the light, the homes resemble Swiss chalets in the mountains except for the yaks that live on the ground floor. We step down a gear and begin to recall what the locals already know- that being content is the way to go.

Heralded as the minor cousin of the Potola Palace in Lhasa, Songzanlin Monastery rests on the side of a hill outside the town of Zhongdian. Monks and tourists roam the courtyards and halls, seeking visions. The wall murals, sculptures and Tonka paintings offer clues into a religion shrouded in burgundy robes. Prominently displayed throughout the temples and alcoves are photos of the Beijing installed Lama meant to replace the Dalai Lama in the hearts of the Tibetans. Behind a secondary alter I found one dusty photo of his Holiness, set next to a shiny portrait of the 'imported’ Lama. In the hall outside for sale one can find images of the ‘new’ Lama with what appear to be beams of light emanating from his head. Though the structures and trappings are authentic, I do not sense the same religious fervor that I experienced in Lhasa or even in the little Da Bao Monastery.

Angie finally managed to extract me from my makeshift studio below our villa and we traveled by foot and horse to visit the nomads who live high in the mountains behind the Banyan Tree Resort. Along with a German TV crew and a team of local Tibetans, we ventured into the beautiful landscape of deep orange, reds and multiple greens. After a few hours we reached the high meadow where the nomads live during the summer with their yaks. A lonely existence, these hardy folk survive on yak butter, grains and fresh air and seem content. After some filming and lunch we descended by a different route. The trail doubles as a logging track where yaks drag denuded trees out of the mountains and down to the villages. While only Tibetans are allowed to log, these huge trees become homes someday and parents give them to their children as a kind of dowry. One of the best parts of the whole adventure was the opportunity to interact with the locals and to begin to understand their lives.

I watched in awe how seven small men managed to bundle logs 5 meters in length and almost a meter thick, into an open sided truck. They first constructed a ramp system to roll the timber downhill before man-handling it the remaining distance up a makeshift ramp and onto the growing pile of logs. At any moment, a man could loose a hand, leg or life were one of the unwieldy trees to get loose. From a distance, I understood that a man without the use of his legs in this environment would be severely hindered and would need to find something to do in order to offset his inability to fell trees or corral yaks. Perhaps this is why when passing by, the locals look at me with saddened faces. In their world, a handicap means game over.

Our last adventure included a long day's bumpy drive to and from Mei Li Snow Mountain, a towering mass of rock and snow along the road to Lhasa. The Gods smiled upon us, allowing for a clear view of the usually cloud shrouded peaks. Along this 'road in progres' we watched teenagers spreading basket-loads of dirt and rubble onto the surface of the gravel road. Traveling overland in China is never easy, but making roads is no picnic.

Preparing to leave Shangri-la, leads me to reflect upon the simple life the locals live. Though it is not romantic to get up everyday at 7am to milk your yaks, it must be done. Unlike myself, with so many options, I doubt if the Tibetan farmers think much about it. They do what they have done for centuries. Long after our buildings and machines have gone, these folks will still be up everyday at dawn to milk their yaks. There is a constancy here that settles the soul and reminds us of the magnificence found in the little things in life.

2006-08-30T19:17:00.000-07:00

Ironman
Korea-Jeju
2006

text by: gregory burns
photos by: angie tan

Eight months ago, the idea of completing an Ironman competition entered my consciousness. Not in the way that so many other far fetched ideas have come and gone. This time the concept stuck. Given the green light by the race’s title sponsor, Standard Chartered Bank, I began cobbling together the items and stamina I suspected I would need to do something once thought impossible.

So it began. My maintenance training routine expanded to weights and more swimming. I needed to get a hand-cycle and a racing wheelchair (for the run). I researched and decided upon the Sunrise Shark bike and their XL racing chair. I visited their factory in Germany for a fitting. Finally, after getting a racing wetsuit, I had most of the tools in place.

After training in flat Singapore, I returned to California for a summer of biking mountains. I enlisted the support of Scott, a biker friend, and he introduced me to Monte Bello Road near my home. Noted as the steepest in the Bay Area, I would climb it a dozen times over the summer along with a thousand miles of other hilly roads. With a 3.8km swim, 180km ride and a 42km run, I concentrated on the bike section as this would be my Achilles Heal and my biggest challenge. So it was a biking summer.

The new wetsuit was also useful for surfing so when I could, I entered the sea to swim and body-board while getting reacquainted with the ocean waves and currents which training in swimming pools doesn’t provide. Though I had not been in a racing wheelchair for two decades, I entered the Wharf to Wharf 10km race in Santa Cruz thanks to the generosity of my sister Roberta who gave me her runner’s number. I completed the race in 33 minutes.

Just getting to the starting line of any race is one of the biggest challenges. Manhandling all my equipment and Angie’s photography needs from SFO to Seoul was only the beginning. Once in Seoul and when transferring to the domestic flight to Cheju, the airline insisted that I put my bike and chair in boxes. So we needed to find a ‘box-maker’ in a hurry. Fortunately, Mr. Kim downstairs managed to construct boxes the size of Kansas and we were on our way.
Finally in the Shilla Hotel on the beach of Cheju Island, we settled in for the pre-race mayhem. Putting my new racing wheels onto my wheelchair was a shock. They were too big and rubbed on the underside of the wheelchair. I was baffled. Angie suggested we get a hammer and pummel the metal tubing of the chair into submission. Not overly optimistic, we called the concierge and shortly after a man with a hammer arrived. After a bit of sign language he went to work beating the metal underside of my chair. In half an hour, my wheels fit again and I was back in business.

The days before the race were hot and humid with the sea calm and the wind strong. However, rising at 5am on Sunday august 27 for the start of the race, the sky was brooding and spitting lightening. At the starting line everybody was making final preparations. By now, I had a small support team in the form of Chris, Nick, Angie and others who would constantly support me throughout the day. Suited up, we headed down to the beach for the start of the race. At 7am, the officials called for a delay. At 7:10am they canceled the swim due to lightening.

Disappointed, I re-focused on the bike and at 8:05am I began the Korea Ironman. Within two minutes, my chain tried to fall off the sprocket. The road was deep with water as the rain poured down. Visibility was low as my sunglasses kept fogging up and I had no windshield wipers. But the ride began to get better as we caressed the coastal roads. For the first 80km the course was fairly flat and I averaged close to 30km per hour which was unheard of for me. Then we headed inland and into the mountains and also the wind. Rounding a turn, I saw the steep hill that everybody had been talking about. I could make out the riders inching their way up it, some now walking their bikes. But Monte Bello had prepared me for this and I started the long slow slog to the top. Inch by inch I cranked my way up and over the 500 meter-high peak that would prove to be the second hardest part of the race.

For another hour I traveled through the hills. Finally at the 130km mark the course flattened out and I could see the descent ahead. I put my arms into neutral and swept down the slopes for 10kms at close to 60kms per hour. It was glorious and I savored the calm as I knew the next hill was just ahead. And it did arrive, and this time at the 155km point I was exhausted. But I was only 25 kms from my goal and I was still doing okay on my speed. Slowly I managed to heave myself up the last hill and again I was gliding towards the finish line. One of the numerous camera vans shadowing me throughout the race positioned itself in front of me as I descended, the camera man filming out the back of the van. “Go, Go, Go!” I bellowed as I almost crawled up his tail pipe. But the race was winding down and I was heading for the transition. I completed the bike in 8:23:28 according to the clock though my watch said 8:15. But either way, I had finished the 180kms in less than the 9 hours I had hoped for. My team and the media gathered round me and I rested and got ready for the marathon.

I spent 40 minutes recharging before moving out onto the 14km loop that I would need to complete three times. Though the bike route was hilly, in relative terms the run was worse. The course was anything but flat. I found myself dazed and amazed at how long the hills stretched on in front of me. My heavy camel bag with my fluids and extra tires proved of no use as I could not manage to get anything out of the mouthpiece. Dragging myself onwards I managed to reach the end of the first loop and headed back. Now fortunately, it was a mostly downhill. After 90 minutes I reached the stadium and the end of the first loop. My team fed me and stripped me of my useless bag. I was back on course and feeling better and lighter. I pushed into a rhythm and managed to get my speed up. But by now I had been racing for 10 hours and my body was beginning to spit back at me. My stomach was queasy from all the different training gels and fluids I had consumed. I found that leaning over to push the chair, though efficient, made me feel sick as it squashed my heart and stomach. I alternated between sitting upright and leaning forward as I carried on. After another 70 minutes I reached my support team again and I had just one loop to go.

By now it was dark and some runners were starting to wobble. I had to be extra careful not to collide with someone on the course. Nick had given me a whistle which I blew when flying downhill and past runners who were often too dazed to care. With just half a lap to go I kicked up the pace a bit as the end was getting near.

At 9:30pm I crossed the finish line and into the crowd of well-wishers who showered me with congratulations. I had completed the Ironman in 13:21:29 and felt great. For the next hour I had photos taken with dozens of supporters and friends. Finally we managed to get my clothes and equipment sorted out and me onto my feet. We headed to the hotel but it became obvious that I needed medical attention. At the hospital a few hours later they told me that my salt and fluid levels were dangerously low. I lay shaking and trembling on the gurney as my body reacted to all that I had and hadn’t eaten and done over the past 14 hours.

But as is always the case, I survived and have lived to tell the tale which is in fact what I had set out to do 8 months earlier. Though I was not competing and only wished to complete the course, coming in 680th out of 1,015 is encouraging. Surprisingly, upon waking today, I had just one thought, “what’s next?”