Photos

I shall start my series of photos from Sarawak with a photo that I know Alfred and Bill have been keenly awaiting to see. It was taken during a performance in a “living” village not far from Kuching, where the native peoples of Sarawak(Borneo) greet the visitors as they enter the traditionally built wooden/bamboo longhouses and admire the handcrafts, furniture, costumes and observe some daily routines still practiced- like weaving, wood carving, the making of: musical instruments, traditional sweets, beaded body ornaments…
From amongst the many performers, this young lady had all my attention. She had a natural poise, exceptional beauty and grace. At the same time she was reserved and demure. She took part in three different dances, dressed in three different costumes. Here she is attired in the Bidayuh national costume. I shall assume that she is a Bidayuh as the women from this nation are renowned for their beauty. The Bidayuh account for 8.4% of Sarawak’s population. They were formerly known as the Land Dyaks.
The dance she participated in is usually performed after the harvest season as a form of entertainment for guests at the longhouse.
I can only think of Lord Byron’s poem with which to verbally complement her beauty and charm. Yet I cannot but feel a tinge of sadness, as I know too well that her radiant beauty is a transient, fragile thing and that time will do to her what it has done to Helen, Cleopatra and Monica Bellucci before her.

Using a zoom lens had the advantage of getting close but it was difficult to keep the subject in a balanced composition since the dance demanded constant movement. The blurred bit was the hand, an unfortunate blemish.

She Walks in Beauty
by Lord Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.