Petty traders, odd job workers—an ubiquitous feature of tropical Asia—are naturally favourite subjects for Fee Ming. In Yogyakarta,—“that immense village” as it is dubbed, he has made more “portraits without a face”. These portraits are similar by the exuberance of the colours and the dynamism of the composition, yet very different, because of the environment of each of the humble traders. The graphics of Still Hoping, 1998 (page 118) express the difficult life of the becak driver as he waits for a fare. Two parallel arabesques, the line of the roof and the handle of the becak—cross the plane of the picture in a sweeping movement. Decorations made of metallic bars and circles block the view, protecting—or imprisoning the hidden driver. His hand, though, a hand without a single ring and with lots of veins is easily identified: it is a hand that has worked, in the sun and in the rain, fought and gambled perhaps.

By contrast, Fragrance, 1999 (page 119) is a painting of bliss. “It was in Yogya,” explained Fee Ming, “in a part of the central market, a vast area was covered with flowers of all colours. There were these women, rather old; all dressed in flowery sarongs and batik patterns. The perfumes of roses, of kenanga, cempaka, jasmine and of many other flowers mixed thickly in the air. I could not believe my senses!” The colours,—pink, yellow, deep indigo, blue, green, mauve and subdued orange, give an impression as if the flowers and their perfume were spilling over everywhere. It is a perfectly composed vision filled with circles and volutes, an explosion inspired by an overpowering sensation of smell and sight.

A Lucky Day, 1998, sepia ink on paper,
14.2 x 20.5 cm, Pulau Solor, Indonesia
Collection of Mr. Yeap Lam Yang, Singapore

Once, asked if art could play a comforting role in the life of an artist, Fee Ming answered, “Painting flowers is for me a pleasure, a solace in sadness.” Just like the viewers, an artist needs beauty from time to time to rest his weary eye. But an artist solicited by an “ugly” vision cannot decide to censure it. He feels that he must express the range of subject matters (concrete and abstract) that he can grasp. Rembrandt had his carcass. Visiting market places in the north, Fee Ming said that he had apprehensions about showing dogs and monitor lizards offered for food. But hunger looms where people are many and resources few. Why ignore it? Can there be happiness without a price?