The Art of Mia

Tired and slightly ill, but never one to cry over spilled milk, I faced the fact that yes, I did somehow end up in China and no, there was nothing that would stop me from having some fun. Speaking to Chanel, I discovered some luscious little area called District 798. Based in a number of blocks that housed factories in Maoist times, this is where all art in Beijing, China and Asia at large really happens. And when I spot a happening, I come to the conclusion that someone out there needs to make it happen a bit more, and that person is invariably me.

Yes, in Asia they don’t walk, but if there’s one thing I like to do is mix with the common and see how they leave. Taking taxis can be awfully tiring, especially when you need to mimic your way to a swinger’s party and you end up at the zoo – zoophilia being one of those few areas I have yet to conquer. So I took my subways and buses and saw the nit and grit of the city – until I came to the conclusion that grit is all Beijing has to offer.

Arriving there I was faced with a pleasant surprise – Asian art, for all the repression imposed in the people, is pretty out there. I know you may seem surprised my dear darling, but us Duchesses of the world are not made of diamonds alone. Our Swiss boarding school taught us more than how to sniff the perfect line, It taught us the world of politics and art, sciences and languages. I forgot most of it by now, true. But not art, never art – an aesthete at heart, I know green from red, and if together even better.

These images filled gallery after gallery, and in between one would be faced with sculptures of a crucified Christ in the foreground, an industrial chimney on the background; fat bodies made out of copper, gigantic baby Buddhas in shockingly bright red. My favourite of all was a black encaged angel on his knees, begging with his hands for redemption. The male body sported a booshy lower part with no prominence coming out of it. Looking at this fallen, begging angel I couldn’t but find a hint of myself in its lost eyes.


Then I turned around and walked away and fuck that, my wings can still fly. If not my wings, Emirates will. After a tiresome day viewing art, I returned to Chanel’s pad. Since this girl has taken up to working, it seems no fun comes out of her pores. After a few hours of her complaining about how much work she had to do and not getting any done, we finally set off for some dinner and whatnot. The waitress came to our table and asked us something in Chinese. Chanel kept her eyes on her before snapping at the poor thing, “Are you speaking in Chinese with me? Are you having a laugh?” Bless her socks dear thing.

Some people joined us for dinner later on, nothing of note – particularly no cock of note. Drinks yadda dada, nothing to report. If there’s at least not one finger introduced in my vagina by the end of the night, we may as well not even talk about it.