Another year, another Christmas message. Hello, 2014, just as you are ending.

I looked at last year's post and was amused to see that I wasn't sure how many Christmas posts I'd made, but I called it the fourth. Let us then assume that this is the fifth. Like many things in life that we can count, there is no real meaning to the number. There are better things to talk about.

Last year, I talked about you, dear reader, and I was very happy to see that I had been very thankful and appreciative of the people in my life. I still am. I was also happy to see that I stopped writing the post at the end to go and have an adventure with a little black kitten. The kitten is now a cat but we are still roaming the house in search of jinks, both high and low. She is a good companion for a tired corsair, home from the sea.

I have struggled with this year's post, throwing it backwards and forwards to try and find something genuine and useful in it but, most of the time, just finding words from a privileged viewpoint that can never quite say what it wants to. I hope I've found something worth sharing, now.

I want to talk about the things we value in our life, if we have things to value, and how many of those come from people and the experiences we've had from them. So many precious things are no more than cheap plaster and paint, with value overlaid from the people who gave them to us, the place we found them or the intertwining of memories with gimcrack to produce something that we can't seem to leave behind.

Our animals define themselves in our world through our interactions with them. It's not enough just to be cute, it's the love that bonds us with the animals in our lives. They don't need a good idea to bind us because they're no more things than any person you love. But so many of the other things you'll find in a house that aren't people or animals? Gee-gaws. Silvered plastic and paste jewels. Kitsch. But no less valuable because of the people or animals that they bring back to us.

Most of my words are gimcrack, dime-store coat hooks, cheap and showy rather than elegant and beautiful, designed to be a place that you can hang a thought for a while, rather than something to display for itself. But they are my words and they give me a place to hang my ideas out to dry and, from your feedback, I know that some of you have been reached by them. This isn't to speak to the beauty of the words but the strength of the idea that supports it. Anyone who says "Yeah, that made me think" and then puts something out in their own words has built upon the knick-knack I threw together and, over time, we can build something beautiful and strong. But that's 'we' as in 'you and me'. Or 'you and me and you and you'. People.

It's always people. People are important. Things are only things. Things only get meaning when people value them. Important ideas are only remembered when people talk enough about them and share them widely so that the deep waters of time don't wash them away.

So, what we actually value is the truly valuable: our interaction, our memories, our loves, our people. It's important to remember that sharing this makes it last, brings it out to the world and inspires other people.

I don't think we need darkness to appreciate light. I think that's what cruel and ugly people tell us to justify why they've stolen our light. Talking about your ideas and your visions is sharing your light, much in the same way that sharing bigotry, prejudice and hatred is sharing the darkness.

What do I believe? I believe that hope is not lost, that we can be better, that we will overcome the evil influences that are abroad in the world today and that it is only by good people sharing their ideas, reaching out, connecting and communicating that we can truly show the strength of a more constructive approach. I believe in love, I believe in us being better together than alone and I believe that we will see serious positive change in my lifetime.

What to do next? Start by not "liking" this post. Don't just react to it. Create something. If you really liked this, find something you want to share with the world and post it somewhere for everyone to read. I've just put a hook into the wall. Hang something from it but in a way that makes it yours. If going "full public" is too much, post something to a small community. If that's too much, write it down somewhere where you won't forget it. But write something like "Credo" or "I believe this to be true:" above it and make the statement to yourself.

I hope that you and all of the people and animals in your life have a great festive season, whichever approach to that time you choose. I'll be having a great Christmas in a very silly hat around a giant tree with family, friends and, of course, some cats. Look after yourselves and each other.

Steerage to Bethlehem

Mary and Joseph took standby seats to Jerusalem.
Young, and in love, they concealed Mary's condition and grabbed the commuter to Bethlehem.
There, their luck ran out
and the last minute booking fell through.
AirBNB failed them.
They munched on a cold burger,
left over from a McDonald's half a day away,
and Joseph took more and more of Mary's gear
as they trudged
from hotel to hotel.
At the last hotel in Bethlehem,
the owner sized up Moonbeam and Granola,
dirty and stinking from the road,
and threw them the key to the parking garage.

The saviour was born next to the Coke machine and the ice dispenser,
on top of sheets stored for other seasons and other customers.
All the car alarms went off at once,
the fluorescent lights flashed.
The Three Kings arrived in a Dodge Minivan,
having carpooled for the long trip.
Mary received their gifts of a Walmart voucher, Brut 33 and Vaseline.

History restarted next to the Coke machine
and across from the open guest laundry,
where a weary man from Topeka
washed his underwear
and thought of his children.

Unexpected Performance Art Appreciation - Sha Tin, New Territories, Hong Kong

It is not often that you are exposed to art that truly changes your life, especially as a critic. It is the classic mistake to see art as portraying something that exists, an image cast in amber, when it is, in reality, a different way of seeing - a diorama and a lens connected in a way that the viewer can often change. A new perspective opens us up to entirely new ways of thinking and this is the essence of true art.

It was thus a very pleasant surprise to be involved in a performance piece this morning that started with a wordless discussion of the tension in a predator-prey ecosystem, forced the audience to question the past, present and future of Hong Kong, and made scathing comment on the wastefulness of Western Industrialisation, even as it offered new avenues of thought about how we regard objects as 'bespoke' or 'crafted'.

The performance started without any announcement, which I have always favoured. When performers walk on and start to declaim in faux-conversational tones pitched for maximum carry, it always reminds of that dreadful anticipation between the curtain going up on an American musical and the first utterance of the word "Swell". At that point, the audience has now committed to two to three acts of forced bonhomie posing as social critique, accompanied by enough pancake and glitter to paint the Sydney Mardi Gras 10 times over. Rather than painting themselves blue, descending from the ceiling dressed as bugs or springing out from shadows and striking mime poses from the Garden of Unearthly Delights, these performers had already been placed when I entered the area.

As I sat at my table, a young woman rose to move to the part of the room where the bread buffet was stored. She reached a point roughly a metre from the table and then circled, keeping her distance, once, twice, three times. During this time, she didn't reach out for anything, she looked into the centre, where a food attendant (an accomplice dressed as a food attendant) stood, moving items around. The circling caused some nervousness and the attendant, the prey in this circle, moved the cutlery in a more agitated manner until, at the end of the third circle, she pushed a plate back, dislodging a large glass vase full of layered and coloured sand. 

I was struck by the symbolism in this piece. As one of the Special Administrative Regions, Hong Kong has an interesting relationship with China and, despite having one person/one vote to elect the next Chief Executive, such a vote has to be approved by the People's Government back in Beijing. Thus, despite its wealth and willingness to serve (using bread symbolically in the classic mode of the 'bread basket'), Hong Kong is still circled by someone keeping a fixed distance. Yet, this is unnerving and in the collapse of coloured sand we see a reference to the main source of Hong Kong's territorial expansion, land reclamation combined with an influx of foreign labour, now dominated by Mainland China itself. It would not take much to reduce Hong Kong's influence and this opening act forces us to think about the Hong Kong of old and its transition to the now, but also to ask "what of Hong Kong in 2017" and what would happen if the circling agent did not keep that vital distance. In a telling conjecture on the future, the glass vase was replaced but this time it was filled with rice rather than sand. The future of Hong Kong is, from well-established symbolist tradition, projected to be one of fertility, luck and wealth, with a continuation of a culture that has already lasted 3,000 years. But these are still uncertain times for an SAR, so the provision of rice as the link between Heaven and Earth is as much a prayer as it is an optimistic gesture.

The labour of the replacement, sand from the floor, glass from the sand (a masterful allusion), and the rice also reminded us of the alien nature of the uncreative labour associated with many industrial processes. The attendant performer, trapped behind the counter, could not ask the intimidating force to clean up, especially as it was a most invisible hand that had led to the collapse, but still had to stoically endure additional labour, on top of the ongoing performance of sawing off bread slices. This slice-drudge-labour-nexus resisted further analysis but provided an acoustic accompaniment for the remainder of the performance.

Having reminded us of early Marxist Humanist theory, the female performer started interacting with the audience. I had risen to put some cereal in my bowl and she moved expertly to place herself so that, wherever I was, there she was as well. Harking back to Tantalus, I, as a participatory figure representing the steadily diminishing post-colonial ex-pat community, was required to look upon the riches that I could not access. The stewed fruit, infused with herbs and displaying great affluence, were inspected by the woman - not once, but twice, as she moved from side to side, shadowing me without looking at me. 

At this stage, I realised that I was participating in a recreation of a Chinese New Year banquet, to announce that the calling of fortune and thanksgiving for events past could take place at any time Thus the fruits in front of me, where I had danced briefly with the performer, symbolised togetherness and, in the case of the peaches, immortality. Engage with Hong Kong and learn its rhythm, prosper together, forever. Around me sat the rest of the audience, in small groups and at separate tables, but we were all at separate tables together, a cohabitation of the temporal amid the semi-proximal.

I was slightly more confused by the next act, which took place in front of the dried cereals. A spoon was picked up and then, across 8 jars, the performer opened the jar, stirred the contents, and then replaced the lid. Then she repeated the process. While I understand that 8 is lucky and is a vital part of the New Year banquet, I can only assume that this was another reference to good fortune, as I am unaware of the Chinese symbolism of Coco Pops.

Finally the performer filled her bowl from the first jar and moved to the milk, where she turned each tag around several times as if to question their meaning. This is a good question - what exactly do we mean by "soy bean milk"? If we "skim milk", recognising the right of this adjective to express its dual nature as agent, have we justified the decision to deprive a calf of its nourishing goodness? Can any substance in this imperfect world ever be said to be truly "whole"? Who decides when the fat is low enough or are we strait-jacketing ourselves with constraints that have no meaning? In questioning the labels, she asked us to consider if our need for phenomenal labels coincides, in any way, with the labels that we should apply to the real and unknowable world. We had moved from a simple discussion of Hong Kong to one of fundamental being as an observer and the nature of truth of observation. What is the fragrance of the harbour, when we discuss Hong Kong? Who are we to even express the concept of "smell" and, indeed, what is "we"?

The performer then returned to her seat, handing over to the other two participants, who moved the discussion further away from Hong Kong and out toward the world. Hong Kong's role as a crossroads and financial centre means that any discussion of Hong Kong in isolation is a flawed approach, much as considering it outside the context of 21st Century China. 

The first male performer walked around the room with a coffee pot and was notable because, despite circling the room constantly, the lid of the coffee pot was always open, signifying that there was no coffee. Every so often, another man walked behind him, carrying a coffee pot that contained coffee. This small scale recreation of the Comedy/Drama pairing essential to dramatic art was so understated as to be awe-inspiring. For the duration of the performance, "no coffee" man continued to appear from one side with his empty pot and disappear again. "Coffee" man was less predictable as his ongoing interaction with the audience required him to break away from his scripted actions and ad lib the service of coffee. At one point, the two met going in opposite directions and "coffee" man offered his pot to "no coffee" man. By this stage I was on the edge of my seat because this discussion of the impact of climate change on luxury goods would be defined by the interaction - would "no coffee" man, representing the coffee-producing countries affected by climate change, accept the coffee that "coffee" man had almost certainly obtained from him originally? And at what cost? Was this still just about coffee or were we venturing into financial artefacts such as futures and bonds? It was a moment of tension, heightened by the delivery of a milk jug on the table behind them.

And then, with a shake of his head, "no coffee" man declined the assistance of his richer cousin. Whatever the price they had silently negotiated in the space beyond the performance, it was too high. "No coffee" man wasn't prepared to trade his culture for his coffee.

Having discussed that high point, it only remains to address the final pair of performers, located at a table and sitting to one side. The male performer had walked up to the fruit counter and had put out his hands to lift up the entire platter of watermelon. The attendant behind the counter (the same performer as before) stopped him.

And at this point, we must ask 'Why?' Our culture is full of conflicting messages - not the least of which is "Help yourself", whether expressed as a sign or as the presence of abundance, when we quite clearly do not mean it. We mean "take an amount that you should have the cultural capital to be able to estimate." The watermelon platter was heaving with watermelon but there was another, cling wrapped and ready, visible behind it. "Watermelon" man was asking a very simple question of the buffet staff: how much of this buffet is truly mine and how much of it is merely here to tantalise me?

This thematic linkage to the tantalising dance of the stewed fruit entranced me. How deep were we going to go?

Rebuffed, and reminded that "all you can eat" is really "all that is socially acceptable for you to eat" (I think all of us felt a deep resonance with the fat shaming that we see in so much of the media, making this commentary exceedingly timely), "Watermelon" man moved to his next stage position and took up a large plate. He then, defiantly, proceeded to load the plate with all of the watermelon. One piece at a time. And a piece. And another. Until he had emptied the platter.

The attendant stood back, bluff called, as without the contract implicit in the transaction of the platter, each individual action was not one that could be stopped and hence "Watermelon"'s stratagem had allowed him to subvert the controlled access of the less privileged to the heavily constrained (yet ample) resources that we enjoy in industrialised and advanced countries.

And this moved us to one of the final points of the performance: when is it the same watermelon? As soon as "Watermelon" finished and moved away, the platter was replaced with another, identical in all respects and once again heaving with fruit. It is difficult to discern individual pieces of watermelon, mostly due to the lack of fingerprints or hair, and "Watermelon"'s simple thesis was now exposed in all of its glory - if there is enough watermelon, and we cannot tell it from the other plate, then why could he not have ALL of the watermelon?

Traditionally, crafted goods were distinguishable because of the hand of the crafter, the time, and the nature of the materials used. After industrialisation, uniformity of mass produced objects made them effectively fungible but we could not reproduce the crafted good, in all of its individual glory. As we develop 3D printing techniques and move to the nanoscale, we find that we now have the power to build a crafted good but in as many ways as we like - we can now mass produce craftsmanship. And this is what I believe the watermelon stood for, where by questioning if we really cared about difference, "Watermelon" made us think about the fungibility of goods and what would happen if we did open access to our privileged resources. Can we even conceive a world where the crafted and unique are defined by an interrupted or immature production process, rather than idiosyncrasy and nervous reaction?

The production finished on an ecological note as "Watermelon" returned to his table. His co-performer sat there and watched as he ate each piece of watermelon in a fixed pattern. Stab with fork, lift to mouth, bite once, bite twice and then gone. After every third or fourth piece, she would reach out and dab his mouth, to allow him to keep his imitation of an industrial eating machine uninterrupted. "You see", he is saying to the Watermelon Guardian, "As you can make it, we can consume it. We can produce for the masses but in a way that supports and sustains - ultimately, sustainability is our goal."

Overall, an absolutely masterful performance and highly recommended. This has changed the way that I think about prunes - and I think that there's something in that for all of us. Sadly, the true joy of this event was in its spontaneity and it is hard to tell if or when it will be performed again. 

However, if you have the chance to attend the Breakfast Buffet at the Hyatt Regency Sha Tin, I suspect you won't be disappointed. 5 Stars.