We have taken the 30-minute ferry ride across waters that threaten to turn choppy, but stay short of it and have landed on Peng Chau Island. It is a world away from the glass-bedecked, high-rise-studded mainland of Hong Kong. This tiny island seems lost in time. Narrow winding lanes with makeshift shops on either side lead us on, and we follow obediently. We are headed to a typical local restaurant with aluminium top tables and plastic chairs for a local style lunch. But, before that, we have been promised an adventure, which unfolds as we enter the tiny garage style workshop: Shop 7, G/F Wing Hing Street, Peng Chau, Hong Kong is the address. Inside, a picture-perfect elderly woman sits working on a rough wooden table.
The pieces of painted porcelain on the table open up a new world. Dragons arch their scaly backs threateningly, cats stretch, roosters stand tall. Flowers and fish are in great numbers. Colours range from brick reds to pastels, some rich and luscious; others dewy and dreamy in their apparition-like softness. The painter speaks no English. But her brush is eloquent. And so are the pots of paint that she waves her hand over, inviting us to sit.
The adventure unveils itself. We are to paint a plate each.
As if at a restaurant, plates are placed before us. One pristine white porcelain plate per person. Round, clean, virginal in its purity.
We are quickly taught the rudiments. The paints are to be mixed in the medium that pools in the centre of each paint-bearing bowl. The brushes are one for each colour, two types... thick and the thinner ones for outlines. And we can use any of the paper samples placed on the table for inspiration.
One look at the drawings on the sheets, and I reject them instantly. My experience of drawing stopped when the drawing teacher fled school after trying very hard to teach a class of wooden-handed students to sketch.
But I believe in trying. And I start. Blue for sky, aqua green for water, and a bunch of tick marks for birds. It is beginning to look pretty. Emboldened, I continue, filling in the white spaces of sea and sky. Beside me the young couple work seriously. He is a writer, and lives in Bombay. She works in Dubai. They are in love, engaged, and fiercely competitive. She likes his flowers, he tells her that her creation is pretty. Aah, but she is unhappy. And she cleans her plate and starts again.
I have learnt that peace is earned by not looking at others’ plates. I paint one more bird, in violet this time. Slowly but surely, my plate is getting full.
Our hostess looks on, disinterestedly. Her dextrous hands have created marvels beyond our capabilities. We are like children playing with paints, and she has seen many like us, many times over.
Finally, we are done. In a flourish, the girl beside me has painted her fiancé’s name on the plate... adding a line that declares that he is her flower! They decide to gift their creations to each other.
I stand back and review my handiwork. Amazing! So many years after I left school, I can still keep the exact same standard I had reached in drawing when in class four! My drawing teacher... She might even be pleased!
When my plate, complete with flying birds, and calm sea, and a brown tree with flowing roots (because the paint ran thin) comes fired and shiny, all the way from Peng Chau island to me in Bombay, five weeks from now... I will do myself the honour of eating off it. A plate I painted all by my own self! Even Noritake cannot match that!
