Dana Popa

As a single image this photograph is engaging and evokes a strong feeling of despair. It is, however, a clichéd image, seen many times before:
“Sad young woman looks through a window at a cruel world.”
The image is technically accomplished with a simple yet effective use of colours - yellow, blue and grey. The photograph is structurally conventional, obeying the rule of thirds in its positioning of the subject.
The pattern of rain on the young girl’s t-shirt echoes the sadness that is inherent in the image, crying the tears that are beyond the expression on the girl’s face.
The bars on the window give the impression that the girl is imprisoned and fragmented. Furthermore, there are frames within the Frame, reinforcing this impression. The decaying wood suggests a further dreary cliché of gritty moral decay. The low perspective hints that this girl is somehow out of reach and beyond salvation and the photographer somehow conveniently steps aside leaving the 'captured' woman and the viewer in an uncomfortable stand-off situation.
This, however, is not a standalone image. Dana Popa's exhibition (Not Natasha - currently at the Profusion Gallery in Brixton) is a composite entity attempting to document Moldovan sex trafficked women and so none of the images truly stands alone.
The above picture feels posed, as do most of the images in the show and there are no decisive moments. Nothing is spontaneously captured. Nothing simply observed, reported and documented. All is created and posed, to fit with Popa’s pre-conceptions. She has manipulated the situation for her own artistic and commercial gain. (Her book retails at £14.95.)
Her photographic motives are more important than her subjects and she has let these people down by portraying them only as victims. Ironically, she objectifies these women by depicting only part of their story. The photographs, quite deliberately, show a complete absence of hope and joy that is difficult to believe. These women have, after all, survived, yet their strength is nowhere to be seen. Popa has skewed her photographic story too far towards a contrived victimhood and further exploits the exploited

Noodles

The island of Penang is widely acknowledged as one of the finest destinations in Southeast Asia, with outstanding beaches, exotic sites and food that is worthy of Paradise. Malaysia on the whole has an integrated racial culture of indigenous Malays, Chinese and Indians. The muslim Malays hold most of the power and privilege. The Chinese, for the most part, are money oriented. They keep their heads down, work hard and Capitalise and you will not find a more family oriented race than the (predominantly Hindu) Indians who have a traditional system of respect for others that is sometimes detrimental to their own well being.
I am holidaying here in "the Pearl of the Orient." It is the fourth time I have visited in the last sixteen years with my Malaysian-Indian friend and I love it more and more each time. You can truly slow down and relax and with a relatively stable Pound being the equivalent of six Malaysian Ringit it is possible to be a bit splashy with the cash for a short while. The Ringit has almost the same local spending value as our Sterling pound has here.
Of course there is plenty to see, from Thai and Burmese temples with large reclining buddhas, Hindu extravaganzas and time-honoured Chinese festivals to butterfly farms, tropical fruit gardens and ancient Pagodas (tiered religious towers.)
Like any nation, Malaysia has its fair share of crime, not least its part in the international child-traffiking trade, but from my experience on the ground I think its fair to generalise that Malasians are a mild mannered and considerate people who do their best to live in harmony, despite the many differences between the three races here.
They also have a direct and gentle sense of humour. Shortly after I showered yesterday in my hotel, I attempted once again to go online in the reception area. (Internet connection is not one of Malaysia's strong points.) Whilst trying to help me crank-start the computer (using cogs and steam!!) my grinning young chinese accomplice commented: " You funneeee!"
"Why am I funny?" I piqued.
He giggled.
"Yoh hair is like noodles!"