Artists have a dirty little secret:

Every masterpiece you encounter in a museum was built on top of many failures. And you never see these other works. All that we see is what made the cut. If an artist is a perfectionist, and a ruthless critic of their own work, that means a whole lot gets tossed out.

 I believe this is why so many people think they "can't make art" — they don't see the imperfections, the works-in-progress, the almost-art that must be destroyed along the way to making "Art".

So for my mid-residency exhibition here at USM's Gallery Adiwarna, I decided to highlight the imperfect, the small studies and tests I'm making as I prepare for much larger works.

Cliche-verre Cyanotypes in situ at Adiwarna Gallery, USM

Temple study 1 – Cyanotype Photogram on handmade paper

Some are more crooked than I'd like,

Two Hands – Cyanotype photogram of mehndi stencils

While others are overexposed.

Rolling Terry – Cyanotype contact print on handmade paper. From an artist's e-story project

At times the installation space leaves a bit to be desired,

Shaman's book – Cyanotype contact print on handmade paper, 1/15

But at others, when mounted on a sheet of handmade paper, the final print looks even better than before.

These 27 works in the show were selected from over 100 prints that didn't make the cut. The rest will be recycled into papers for another project. I see a failed print as something to learn from, for a while. I look at the many versions as I work on a series. Afterwards, I get rid of most of them to clear the way for what I make next.

It's never good to have too many failures staring you in the face as you start something new…

To see the artwork up close, stop by the exhibition at Adiwarna Gallery. It will be up until February 2012.

 From the mountains of China to Southeast Asia: a thousand-year-old+ papermaking technique

When I crossed the Mekong to Laos a few years ago, searching for people who made paper, I had no idea of what I'd find. There was nothing written about it in papermaking literature. (Only much later did I find books by anthropologist Jacques LeMoine and scholar Laurent Chazee which briefly mentioned bamboo paper.)

After a chance meeting in a Lao border town, I hitched a ride to the jungle, and was in for a few surprises. Thanks to Andrew Kong for introducing me to the village — and for translating the recipe below. This recipe is excerpted from my upcoming book, Paper Pilgrimage: Bombs, Bandits, and a Vanishing Art in Southeast Asia. 

It was described in detail to me by a woman in a Hmong village at the edge of the jungle in Bokeo, Laos. (The woman pictured above I met later is making paper in the same way–she is from the LenDen hilltribe in Luang NamTha, Laos.)

Find out more about the book here: PaperPilgrimage.com

Hmong Papermaking Recipe 

Ingredients:

* Young bamboo stalks, just before they have leaves: 10-15 feet high

* Ashes from a cooking fire

* Fresh water from a stream

Equipment:

* Mosquito net

* Paper mold (bamboo frame)

* Pans, various sizes (plastic, metal, or other)

* Wooden hammer

* Freshwater stream

* Sunlight

* Wooden table

* Banana leaves

* Bamboo chisel

* Bamboo fork

Serving size:

Enough for the village to use that year for funerals, weddings, sicknesses, ceremonies with visiting shamans. Keep a few extra sheets on hand for family emergencies or in case a neighbor needs to buy or borrow some.

NB: The maximum number of sheets produced every day depends on the number of molds each family has.

Directions:

1. After cutting the bamboo, peel most of the layers off, take out the center pith of the bamboo— the softest part.

2. Dry in the sun 4-5 days

3. After dry, make small bundles of the dried bamboo

4. Boil in a big pan, add ashes from the cooking fire

5. Store and soak for up to 10 days

6. Take to the stream and rinse the bamboo

7. Cut some big banana leaves, wrap up the pulp, and leave somewhere dark inside the house

8. Open the bundle after 6 days. If it has started to smell, that's good, it is rotting and breaking down the fibers. If not, wrap it up again for a day or two

9. Beat the pulp on a table with a wooden hammer

10. Keep adding water and hammer more

11. As it gets well-beaten, scoop the mashed bamboo into a bucket

12. Stir the bucket of pulp and water with a piece of bamboo that's been split (used like a whisk or a fork). This tool lifts out the larger fibers from the pulverized bamboo, and leaves the finer fibers, which are used to make the paper. Wad larger/rough fibers into a ball; these will be re-used in a later batch.

13. Find an elevated spot – in the fields, away from the village because it makes a mess. Prop up the paper mold so it's not on the ground (i.e. on bamboo stakes)

14. Take a small bowl and pour the bamboo pulp onto the netting. Be sure to go back and forth evenly, in lines

15. After the water has soaked through the mosquito net completely, place the mold vertically against a wall and let dry in the sun – about one day

16. When dry, make a bamboo scraper with a sharp end, pry between the sheet and the paper's edges, and slowly peel off

More about the book – and how you can help make the Special Edition a reality – here: PaperPilgrimage.com

A cliche-verre is an image made with a drawn or painted negative.

For one of my two series in Penang, I'm making cliche-verre negatives.

I designed one with an ink sketch like this,

Then painted translucent acrylic like this,

Combined it with a photo negative and prepared paper like this:

And ended up with images like this:

Cliche-verre Cyanotype test print for the upcoming series, "Beyond George Town: Visions of Penang"

Some have said these images remind them of the devastation they witnessed in Phnom Penh many years ago. Others see the ghosts of someone they once knew.

For me, I'm intrigued by how our language limits and expands our thinking. We wear it like a set of clothes. It shapes us in ways we often forget. We are made of the words we use.

The final works – large-scale prints on cotton, referencing Malaysia's long batik tradition – will be shown in January 2012 at ChinaHouse Artspace in George Town, Penang.

Wherever I live, I pick up potential printing materials and test them.

I can guess what something will look like, but every potential printing object is a wild card. You never know quite how it will look, once sandwiched between iron salts and perspex.

Here in Penang, there are festivals year-round, and plenty of paper to decorate or to burn for Chinese celebrations. Like this one:

Once printed, it looks like a doily from my Grandmother’s table. The stripe effect comes from my varied printing times: about 5 minutes for each exposure. This is to determine the ideal printing time for each object.

Another eye-catching paper design is this one, in red and gold:

Printed and folded, the layers give an illusion of depth. I’m going to play with this one a lot in coming weeks:

The printed characters and features come through, particularly in more exposed areas:

A test with paper cut-outs combined with Mehndi stencils (from Little India in George Town, Penang). Varying exposure times combined with gradation of water added make for a complicated image.

Three Mehndi stencils are made of various plastics, so reflect light and print differently:

With a long exposure (nearly 30 mins), ink on this Chinese paper begins to print beautifully:

This sharp print on cheap paper

becomes much softer in blue and white:

And the details of this Muslim cloth are incredibly sharp.

This week I will take these materials, and others – elaborate fly-swatters, children’s knit caps – and begin to make something from them.

Something inspired by Penang.

More images coming soon.

Lunchtime Lecture: How to Fund-Raise for Creative Projects

(A talk I gave at USM on Friday 21st October 2011)

The internet is an important tool for reaching a wider audience with your art, and also for finding funding for your projects.

This can be an alternative to – or a supplement to – applying for artist grants, whether for travel, materials, or equipment.

Successful Online Fund-Raising projects have several things in common:

* They are appealing to people outside your field, i.e. the project and language they use is simple, clearly written

* Good for niches where people have a passion and will invest in it

* The goals are apparent and appealing

* Funding options range from small to large dollar amounts, and provide a good value for funders

* It is somehow bigger than the person/organization who is asking for money (it's not 'Me, Me, Me')

* They are easy to share online (YouTube, Facebook, Email, Twitter, Blog, Website)

* Giving money makes donors feel good

* The person asking for money has already completed other projects (a good track record)

What to think about:

* How is this project going to help others?

* What will it bring to the world / allow to happen, that couldn't happen any other way?

* How can I convince people that I am trustworthy (i.e. that I'll follow through with the rewards and the project)

Here are eight creatives who have raised funds online:

1. Sarah Lacy is a student who has attended workshops in France, after successfully raising thousands of dollars online. Find out more on her fundraising page.

She gives 3 ways to donate:

1. Buying artwork

2. $20 to sign up for 6 months of exclusive updates: a way to "hit the road" with her virtually

3. "Want to send me more than $20 but don’t want to buy any artwork? Rock on. The button below is the one you need."

Why she's successful:

* She gives 5% back to charity – and the charity helps promote her artwork

* She's posts flattering photos of herself and her artwork. This makes her message more personal and appealing.

* She uses social media – a LOT!

* Builds up her mailing list — and uses it

—-

2. Another artist who funds her projects in creative ways is Movana Chen.

In April 2012, she will work on her project Travelling Bookshelf at my studio residency, Studio Sicilia. She is writing to airlines to sponsor her plane ticket from Hong Kong to Sicily.

—–

For international creatives like us, a good way to raise funds is the website, IndieGogo.com

Here's what you need to set it up:

* Website for project (or blog)

** Twitter

** Facebook page

** Paypal — Here's how to open an account in Malaysia.

—————

3. Labour of Love and Hate

This is a great project on Southeast Asian punk. Why?

* They have incentives for companies and musicians: "You can make a donation on behalf of yourself, your company or your band."

* They give credentials for their project: "We are supported by ALS TDI of North America and the MND Association of Great Britain."

But: They could use more affordable rewards. Small donations of US $5 to $50 can really add up. Most people using IndieGoGo are from North America or Europe. Because we live outside these zones, it's a good idea to have electronic rewards like e-books and other downloads available for smaller rewards, then inter-continental postage is not such a factor.

Another good project: 4. STATELESS: A film about Vietnamese refugees in the Philippines Watch the video here.

Why is this project likely to succeed?

* The video is well put together. Lots of tension. You want to know what happens to the refugees featured in the film.

* The US has a large Vietnamese-American community in California which will be invested in the story, which the director has already tapped into for past films.

* The director has already worked on previous, documented projects

* An excellent reward for just $20 — A copy of "Stateless" work in progress (people really like to feel involved in the production of a work)

5. Successful fundraising story: Villiers Quartet: Haydn & Beyond

Why did they succeed?

* A short video with their goals stated clearly (a simple but effective video!)

* Very good rewards, particularly the $500 sponsorship – excellent idea for a business to be able to advertise

* Very reasonable goal for project

* Philanthropists in this field are typically generous

6. Successful project: "Road to Hong Kong" – Travel expenses for a filmmaker to go to HK

Why did it succeed?

* Engaging writing

* No video but a fantastic photo of the filmmaker that really showed his personality:

* He had already done the legwork and gotten accommodation covered, had lots of contacts to meet, etc.

* Had a track record of success with other projects

7. Success: Painting Kyrgyzstan – An Incredible Journey

Goal: $1,600. Raised: $2,252

Why did it succeed?

* This project appeals to a wide variety of interests (face-painting, murals)

* She gives quick, easy-to-read information about Kyrgyzstan and why it's a good place for project

* LOTS of updates

* Very reasonably-priced rewards

* She was investing in the project, too: fundraising was just for plane ticket, not all travel expenses and supplies

This is why I would have funded the project, had I found it sooner: " There are plenty of artists in the largest cities in the world, but not many who are traveling to places that really need and want it. "

8. Masala Collage:

One to learn from. It had a great concept, with

* An engaging video (if somewhat low-res)

* Excellent visuals featuring rewards

But:

* perhaps the artist didn't follow through enough with social media

* didn't give enough explanation of what the project's goals were

* should have sought out an English-language proofreader (his English was unclear for online audiences)

* Could have gone bilingual to tap into Spanish-speaking audiences

I'll introduce my online fundraising project, as soon as it goes live.

Here's a preview:

First there was paper drying in the darkroom after I painted it (with Cyanotype chemicals):

Then there were two students, who were polite but curious as I set up the printmaking studio with a few dozen examples of my Cyanotype work, including a copy of H is for Hong Kong.

And a few more students trickled in, until…

there were many!

At the back wearing a black T-shirt is Saiful, an artist who managed to get us some perspex (plexiglass) just in time for the workshop.

On offer were all sorts of materials for printing I’d found in various Indian and Chinese stores in George Town, Penang: festive papers for funerals, mehndi templates for weddings, paper money to be burned for good fortune.

Here are the last of the prints, baking in the late afternoon sun:

We’d run out of prepared papers by the time this student showed up, but he’ll hopefully make it to the next workshop:

Rinsing prints has an element of magic, as the image appears under the water:

Final prints: Chinese cut papers, Indian stencils, greenery from the studio grounds:

And this was one of the last to go out the door:

You never know what you'll stumble on here in Penang:

Like this block of ice at the morning market on Penang Road, George Town

This is part of what keeps me in motion: the surprises, the unfamiliar tastes and sensations and languages.

Still, to accomplish anything, an artist has to stay put once in awhile. My work at the Universiti Sains Malaysia is a great excuse to stay put for 3 months and make some work.

This week I'm holding an Intro to Cyanotypes workshop at the university's Terap Ulang printmaking studio, which is considered to be the best-equipped in Malaysia. See a few photos of the studio here.

This is a rickety hotel in Penang, Malaysia:

It's a temporary home.

And this is why I'm here (updated tomorrow): an Artists-in-Residence program

It's an opportunity that's been in the works for a year, since I participated in a Printmaking exhibition at USM, a University in Penang.

The confirmation of a 3-month fellowship here couldn't have come at a better time – and at a Malaysian pace: just a few days before arrival.

News, photos, and projects all coming soon.

Hemingway was right:

Quote from recent exhibition at the BACC Bangkok

A first draft is always shit.

Particularly when writing about something that's shaken you up.

First drafts aren't fit for public consumption. There is no perspective, no shaping of thoughts and experiences into what we call analysis. But in ephemeral, 'real-time' communication like IM and Twitter, there is often little time between events and their dissemination.

This can have profound consequences, particularly when the topic is inflammatory, in a country where one doesn't belong (and when one has just been reminded one doesn't belong there).

After our recent incident in Bangkok, we returned home from the emergency room and the police station, and I wrote about it on Twitter:

I wrote what I knew. It was after midnight. My skin burned and my mind was weighted with fatigue, sitting next to a partner whose eyes were swollen shut and damaged, who could no longer tolerate the light from my computer in a dark room. I didn't know what we would be told tomorrow by an opthamologist. I knew only what we already knew before the emergency room doctor told us that something vile had been sprayed at me and into the eyes of the man I love.

And I knew what I had seen.

The lighted steps where it happened wouldn't leave my mind, nor would the sensations of liquid falling on my head, then the burning that came after.

And most of all, the fear of someone standing above me.

I couldn't imagine walking underneath Bangkok's Skytrain ever again.

(but of course I have since)

Where it happened. Photo taken several days later

I did not censor my words. Had I written a second draft later on, I would have moderated them. I might have written "claimed" instead of "says". Or specified "ER doctor" instead of "Bumrungrad", which insinuated that an official hospital spokesperson had told us this was the 3rd they'd seen lately. 

But I was shaken and in pain and I did not try to sound like a journalist (which I am not).

I sounded like what I was – someone thrown off-balance by the unexpected.

Acquaintances in Asia were still awake, and word spread fast.

But we had to be up in 4 hours – and had no idea of what we would find out tomorrow – so I had no time to try to fit the experience into 140 characters or less.

The next morning, the opthamologist was thorough. He prescribed a batch of medications and we were to come back every day until further notice. 

When we returned to our low-rise neighborhood, I wrote my account of what happened. I wrote with everything still fresh in my mind, as my husband lay in bed upstairs all day, barely able to open his eyes. We knew by then he still had all his vision – the main concern was to ensure there was no infection, which could lead to vision problems later on. 

My entry was raw. I wrote it as a way to process the unfathomable.

A journalist wrote to me on Twitter, asking for an interview. I gave them my phone number and email, saying I was still shaken up and had my birthday to 'celebrate', and could they call tomorrow instead. The journalist said that was fine.

But no one called. 

The following morning, I woke to find the Bangkok Post had written an article about our incident. As no one has interviewed either of us, this article was based only on the tweets above, and my account here on my blog. 

The article was subsequently posted on an English-language website about Thailand. It quickly garnered dozens of comments - I am not sure how many, as I have never read them. I am told many were unflattering, which is not uncommon in a place where a fair number of bitter 'expats' have free time on their hands, and few prospects back home. 

As a creative, I practice self-censorship: the only people whose criticism I pay attention to are those who have earned it.

The strangers who slammed my integrity and called for photos of my husband's injuries to be posted on the internet, have not earned it. Those who wrote me insulting emails via my webpage are not worthy of my consideration. I once met their like in bars all over Southeast Asia, before I learned to ignore them entirely. 

But I believe there is a place for self-censorship. Below is one of the few times I've practiced it, a message I posted several days afterwards:

I have been requested not to discuss details while the investigation is going on. I have not been given updates of its progress, but will check in before I leave for an upcoming residency. 

However, I do not condone censorship of others. Ever.

That website was asked – not by me – to close the thread where our incident was being discussed. "They're saying terrible things about you," I was told by someone involved in it. "It's gone to over seven pages." 

I don't care that people were saying horrible things about me. That's their prerogative, not mine. I know I have nothing to gain from talking about this. One doesn't sell books or artwork by being a victim — at least I don't– (I'm no Tracey Emin). I wanted to share what happened, after we were told this was not an isolated incident. 

But this is not my country, things work differently here, and I am only a guest in Thailand. A temporary one. 

But not for much longer.

Here's a hint at where I'll be going next, starting in a week — a project that's been in the works for over a year:

Painting by Aimrom Yunu, at the BACC

Times like these, you want to remember what brought you to a place, and what's kept you there awhile.

So after everything had settled down a week later, I spent a day in my favorite escape from Bangkok, Sri Racha. 

For the first time, I took the train there.

A third-class commuter train, the fixtures are vintage, and the traveling vendors have delicious sausages on a stick, fried fish, and Thai desserts.

Chair at a Sri Rachan noodle shop

Fellow traveler on the ride back

Once I got back to town, it was time to lead another Art Stalkers, this one in conjunction with Lub D Hostel, an innovative place for travelers to stay. Their locations are modern and fun, yet they organize events to remain in touch with Thai culture.

Bangkok is a creative city, its designs rank top in the region for innovation and appeal. 

You never know what you'll run into around the corner:

Like this interactive trash bin at BACC's IceDea Cafe. When you throw away your rubbish, the little guy down below catches it – or it bounces off his head

Thai inhalers by Pan Pan

Some excellent creatives have made Bangkok their home base, like Tom Vater and his wife Aroon. Some time in the coming months I'll post a video of them talking about their new book, Sacred Skin: Thailand's Spirit Tattoos. – once I've learned how to edit video! In the meantime, pick up a copy of the book here. 

Unexpected creativity at the grocery store: meat rosettes at Siam Paragon

Since the incident, I have been asked: "Do you think of Thailand any differently now?" No, of course not. Every country has its dark aspects. 

Thailand's are just hidden under more gilt than most.

UPDATE 19-9-11:

* Now the Thai police are thoroughly investigating our incident (we reported it to them the night it happened). I will update further only when given the go-ahead by them.

* An article about our incident appeared the following day in the Bangkok Post. I was not interviewed for this article, and I never contacted them (in fact, I've not even read the article). One of their journalists contacted me online but we never spoke. I posted two tweets and this blog post, and that was their source material. 

Every country offers an intimate relationship with those who travel and live in them. It can be infuriating and exhilarating – often both at once. At times this keeps the traveler on guard, at others, even the most jaded hearts are conquered. Sometimes, they'll eat you up – or spit you out.

Printing test Cyanotypes on my studio rooftop, Bangkok 2011

Dear Thailand,

We have quite a history, you and I. 

I married a handsome Englishman with you, I have enjoyed your food and your art and your company when I visit, for eight years now. You're even featured in a new book about handmade paper that I've – almost – finished.

We never had an exclusive thing, but you were always there for me when I needed a place to recover from your next-door neighbor (my real Southeast Asian love), Cambodia.  Your beaches and hill towns and tourist infrastructure are second-to-none, and the garlands that are sold from your street corners and hang from your taxi mirrors and shrines never fail to lighten a humid afternoon.

I never much cared for your famous smiles though. They always felt more polite than genuine, more about 'face' than contact. So ours was a relationship more of convenience than of passion, a mutual consumption rather than exchange – much like many of those I see on Sukhumvit road.

Printing orchid Cyanotypes for wrapping paper designs, Bangkok 2010

Speaking of Sukhumvit, I was enjoying a walk there with my husband last night. It was our weekly grocery run. We marvelled at how open the area appears, now the construction barriers around Terminal 21 have been removed. It was nearly 9:30. I struggled to keep up with him in a pair of cheap shoes on cracked asphalt and concrete. 

As we passed the Asoke Skytrain exit near Robinson, we were showered with clear liquid. It was too heavy to be from a bat or a bird, too brief to be rain. Where had it come from? The trees above my head? The stairs next to us, or the walkway beyond to Nana? 

I thought someone had peed down on us from the steps as a practical joke, and scanned them, but they were empty. Then Roy called out: "My eyes – they're burning – they're  fucked – get some water." As if in response, my scalp began to burn. Could a Skytrain cleaner have dumped extra chemicals onto us? I looked up – no cleaning buckets or employees in sight. Just the usual assortment of Skytrain passengers: middle-class Thais and foreigners. My eyes darted from Roy – crouched over, his hand over his eyes – to look for someone, anyone, who might have done this. The left side of my face and neck had been splashed by whatever-it-was, and the pain inflamed my panic.

This was no accident.

"Stay here," I shouted, and ran to street stalls, looking for water to flush his eyes. No luck. I dashed into McDonald's and rushed out again with a bottle. He flushed his eyes as I hailed a taxi. 

Do you know how it feels to watch a loved one's eyes melt? Not metaphorically. But to watch them disintegrate. As our taxi driver kept up a bilingual patter about the fastest route to the hospital, Roy's eyes began to shed their outer membrane like jelly. It hung there like frozen tears.

"Don't rub your eyes!" I warned, but of course (he's the scientist), he knew exactly what was happening.

As I waited outside Bumrungrad Hospital's emergency room, I thought of a friend who'd lost her partner in Cambodia last week. Of how short all our lives are. Of how we deny death and forget to cherish our good health while we have it.

"It's acid or industrial cleaning fluid that caused the burns," the doctor said. "He's lost some of the conjunctiva in both eyes, but he's retained his vision. Come back tomorrow morning and see the opthamologist." He told Roy this is the third attack of this kind recently. Did the other two involve foreigners? We didn't ask. We don't really want to know.

A late dinner down the soi in Little Dubai, surrounded by Uzbek prostitutes who tossed incredibly thick hair that brushed their backsides. They compared their Cleopatra-like eyes and polyester outfits, guarded by their pimp at the door – the girls have been trafficked for the Middle Eastern clientele who stay nearby.

The Man and I called Thai tourist police and headed to Lumpini police station to file a report. Our experience became a statistic, if nothing else. 

Cyanotype test print from Desires and Desperation, 2010-2011

Thailand, I have spent lots of time with you because you have been an ideal part-time base, if not a home. You have always been reliable – a charming artist, a great cook, and an even better value for my ever-sinking US dollars. You smile and greet me with polite phrases in English (with some not-so-polite talk in Thai that you think I don't understand) because I haven't asked too much of you, nor you of me. I hand over my money every time I arrive, we have a good time, and I don't ask too many questions. But like anyone who spends time here, I know there's a lot more to your story. You have many worlds, and I only exist in one or two of them.

But last night, a couple of them collided. The person who tossed that liquid at us aimed straight at Roy's eyes: that is where most of the chemicals landed. Whomever-it-was didn't see us as people, but as the incarnation of something s/he resented. Who knows what sparked it – maybe Roy reminded this person of another foreigner who took away a girlfriend, or is sleeping with a girlfriend, or the chemicals could have been a prelude to a quick mugging, in which case we were nothing more than a walking wallet. (A sentiment familiar to many male tourists here.) Thailand is a complex country with many tensions. It is a feudal society, its class system more rigid and ruthless than that of England.

The bottom line? We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens. And for most western travelers, it happens less often here than it does in the capital cities of our home countries like London and Washington DC. Which brings me to a few things I've been grateful for since the incident:

* I'm grateful that whomever-it-was didn't use the kind of corrosive acid used in other attacks around the world that leaves its victims horribly deformed

* I'm grateful for Bangkok's top-notch Skytrain and Underground systems, which has eased pressure on the city's traffic, and enabled us to get to our second-choice hospital with relative ease

* I'm happy we're currently working on preparations for our next step (Beijing) from home, not working in a Bangkok office

* I'm glad our neighborhood is like an urban village, where everyone in the surrounding sois knows who we are when we're in town — and that we're people, not foreign objects.

* I'm relieved we stay a low-rise part of Bangkok, because the idea of being anywhere with a skybridge above me right now is terrifying

In a few weeks or a few months I'll be leaving you, Thailand. (Not because of this incident, but because China's contemporary art and its fringe cultures turn me on in a way that nowhere else's does right now.)  When I do leave you, while my man may have some damage to his eyes, we will have no scars or regrets – because I never loved you anyway.

We had a good time together, but we both knew it wouldn't last forever.

——

UPDATE 17-9-2011: Thanks to everyone for your messages. I am physically fine now – my skin was irritated but I didn't get any in my eyes. After doing research and speaking with the opthamologist, we suspect it was an alkaline not an acid chemical – alkalai burns are actually more damaging than acid. Roy's (temporarily) lost part of the conjunctiva due to his ocular burn, and the skin surrounding his eyes was burned, and remains quite inflamed.  The main concern now is to ensure his eyes don't become infected because he's (temporarily!) lost the natural protection we have surrounding our eyes. This was a random event, and we appreciate Thailand – and particularly its wonderful medical facilities – as much as ever.

NB: I will not be posting pictures of my husband's burns, as has been suggested by strangers who have emailed me. He is not a sideshow act. I have nothing to gain from posting our experience – in fact it detracts from my work. But we were concerned when the doctor indicated there had been '2 similar incidents recently'.

——

Update 19-9-11: Discussions about our incident (and perhaps others) and the article are topics on message boards, including – unfortunately – those of anti-Muslim websites. 

* There is much more going on in this country than Muslim vs Buddhist conflicts. Asoke is a neighborhood filled with many nationalities and motivations. I'm not interested in speculating about who did this, or why. It happened, a random incident. It could have been much worse. Violence happens in cities everywhere.

——

Update 20-9-11: 

* After further insult-laden emails begging for even more unsavory details, I will say this: the mucous membrane (called the conjunctiva) on top of his eyes was burned and, like a blister – LITERALLY – the top layer or 2 fell off. It hung, wet, like jelly from his eyelashes. It was clear and thick, as mucous membranes are. Yes, it looked like his eyes were melting. No, they were not punctured or blasted open. The doctor removed the excess that had burned off and was hanging down from his eyes. A portion of the top layers remained, as well as the bottom layer. No blood, no suppurating wounds. Our eyes are remarkably resilient.