there is a glorious, overwrought repetition that keeps following us around hong kong.
whether the gold leafed screen mounted on the veined marble of the lobby walls:
or the almost lyrical hum of the air conditioners in the tenements, and their dance up the sides of the buildings:
or the suprise of the further chocolates concealed within the chocolate ball,
covered in (suprise!) elaborate pattern:
the tiny glass beads on the outside of a menu at lumiere, on the eggshell tabletops:
the omnipresent (from scaffolding to floral design) rhythm of bamboo in this space:
and the child-like romanticism of their line-work: