I’m very lucky my wife knows that I love her, and by the end of this post, you may just understand why.

Rarely do I write with so little knowledge of where a post will take me.

Today will be different, for I have to write about her. Until I do, there is nothing else to say.

Recently, I shared with you my adoration for Wong Kar Wai’s Chungking Express.

The movie is told in two chapters. My previous post looked at Chapter 1. This is on Chapter 2.

Chapter 1 left me in awe, yet it was wholly forgettable within minutes of the start of Chapter 2.

The reason? Faye Wong.

From the moment, the moment, Wong takes the screen in Chungking Express, it is magic. One is reminded of the studio executive who once urged that Liv Tyler never be allowed an acting lesson, so pure and intuitive was that first impression.

Liv has never been my ideal, and many would equate Wong far more with Bjork, and that natural something makes this comparison apropos.

Like Bjork, Wong is mostly known for her superstar status as a singer. Like Bjork, Wong has, when she chooses too, found success with acting as well.

Not an actress, but every bit a muse, Wong owns every scene in which she appears. That she is paired with, and dwarfs, one of the gods of Asian cinema –  Tony Chiu-Wai Leung – is only all the more fitting.

I was always bound to adore Faye Wong (pun unintended). My first encounter with her led to my second novel. (Really, it actually did.)

Her elfish looks and her mischievous depth… She is not to be owned. She is not to be understood.

This is the meaning of a muse.

As she departs, the artist, dumbfounded, can only create glimpses of what he thinks he just experienced.

Yet, so ethereal is the subject, so many were her faces, that the artist must try and try and try again…

The end is never success, though it often becomes a body of work.

May we all know such inspiration… and have wives who are as understanding as my own.

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