Ceci n'est pas un conte de Lilith

The frame shop on Sand Island is located in the grittiest (and that is kind) part of Honolulu. It puts the warehouse in warehouse district; the streets are flat and hot; battered mattresses and rusted metal, old buses and motorcycles seem flung down like dice. Go down an alley, ring a bell and you're ushered into a windowless space that's quiet except for the yapping of a small dog. It's like stepping into a bunker. One of two or three women give you a mask before you enter. There's a large table to the left where they measure photographs and paintings for frames. The last time I was there, the large table was nearly completely covered by a canvas that exploded into the dull room, awash in bright colors. "What's that?" I asked, startled. "That's a David Hockney; someone just bought the painting at an auction." RIP