this is quite likely my last post written in china. with just over a week remaining until we hit US soil, the list of things left undone remains long—manageable, but not possible without dedication and persistence. thankfully, andy and i both feel pretty accomplished about our trip to beijing so far, and our leftover plans are certainly exciting, so i will do my best to recount the former and not carve too much out from the latter by writing this post.
i would love to describe the first few days in beijing in detail, as we celebrated andy's twenty-first birthday on july fourth by visiting a new art exhibition (and being complimented by strangers on our "gorgeous" appearance) and an open bar; spent a few days with maggie (and another grinnellian, austin) snarfing up excellent food and city sights; avoided the foreigners staying at our first hostel (who seemed only to be in china for the bar streets); struggled with internet in talking to lee and friends and family far more than in shanghai; attempted to reconstruct the "food perimeter," wherein andy and i walk for about an hour prior to each meal trying to find a place that has pictures and/or english menus; took several wild taxi rides at night after the buses and metro stopped; resolved the luggage storage crisis as we switched gears to visit the pottery factory; and successfully attempted our first use of the bus system. all these events (among many more) contributed to an eventful first week in the capital.
but these aren't the true highlights of our time here, at least compared to visiting the art districts of beijing, the pottery factory at yuzhou, meeting with sun xun at his pi animation studio, and hiking around on the great wall of china at mutianyu. due to time constraints, i'm going to have to compromise my writing about the pottery factory far more than i'd like—it was a whirlwind trip, but i've only so much time.
the first gallery area we visited was 798, which is the most commercialized district we've been to—several blocks of dense galleries where numerous factories used to produce speakers for tiananmen square, missile components, and radio electronics during the mao era. some highlights include a thousand kisses deep, a painting show at UCCA with an accompanying short film by song kun, an oil painter whose work over two years featured somewhat emo scenes of sex, jellyfish, and traditional chinese instruments; the artificially-rendered digital photographs of pausing virtual images by sun lve at 798 photo gallery; and—surprisingly—the somewhat traditional scroll landscape paintings mountain lore by wang tianxuan at beijing art seasons, which had a delightfully dark sense of humor. knowing how tourist-heavy the district is, andy and i approached it with caution, and while there is plenty of generic work there, the good shows were definitely worth finding our way around the hordes for. (we also saw two contemporary french films at UCCA, both of which began cheerily and ended either with a major holocaust reminder or family tragedy, respectively. i doubt we'll watch a third...) we'll return there once more for an opening, and to finish up the final major shows.
on the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of crowds, our visit to the songzhuang art district not only took a long bus ride to get to, but at that point was also the most rural feel we'd encountered by that point; upon exiting the bus, we were immediately stared and hollered at by construction workers nearby—one of them literally squealed when he saw us—and pretty much everyone else we walked by looked at us as we passed. to add to the inherent eeriness of being the most obvious of strangers, the sun was bright red as it tried desperately to shine through the pollution, so the whole flat distance we could see (everything is much more spread out and built low on the outskirts) was bathed in a hot, dirty pink glow. in addition, the sounds of construction there were particularly bizarre and reverberated across the wide streets. we visited just two galleries before they closed up—we had attempted to see a performance art opening but arrived far too late due to gross miscalculations—and both had some fascinating works. at the art center, a painter whose name was shrouded (for us) in chinese characters painted surreal portraits of distorted, sliced-up athletes in the sky. at g-dot art space, the remnants of a gathering of street artists invited from around the world and china were on display, including toast (switzerland) and noe two (france). we had dinner there and walked along a lake to the bus stop, and returned to the city as the sun set.
a five-hour train ride and a two-hour bus ride on tuesday, july tenth put us west of shanghai in the henan district, at yuzhou, china. the 200,000 person "town" was absolutely smaller feeling than where we left from, but it felt far more foreign for its people, who all looked at the three white visitors with surprise, admiration, or confusion to varying degrees. (needless to say, none of us enjoyed being undeserving celebrities, but we accepted it and remained respectful.) the first night there we spent getting fuller than i thought possible at a banquet our host, the pottery master ren, took us to in hospitality. (we also got drunk off the alcohol he toasted numerous times with, which was precisely his intention, as he announced before the food even arrived!) the banquet followed the traditional chinese model of a diverse number of dishes being served one after another, with everyone using a lazy susan-type object to pick at what they wanted. we tried and loved every single dish. they put us up in a hotel that not only cost less than our first beijing hostel, but was also far nicer. we spent the next day touring the town, getting foot massages (also awkward but fun nonetheless), eating tons of dumplings and hot pot, and touring the factory, which is both a private studio and a commercial business. what makes the factory special (and a destination for maggie as a ceramics student) is the secret glaze and wood-firing technique master ren has perfected and received national and international attention for. the town was built on the raw materials used in glaze making, and this factory uses it in the most artistic, beautiful way. the final morning was spent eating more food, receiving incredibly generous gifts from the factory, misunderstanding the bus schedule and having to take an insane taxi ride to get to the train station, and saying farewell to maggie. she not only made this trip possible, but also helped finance it and coordinate it to a level we'd never have asked her if we had to. she volunteered so much for us. i do hope we can pay her back in full one day, when we meet again.
if you recall from my second post, the first artwork to catch my eye was an animation film by sun xun and his pi animation studios in beijing. by the time we were situated in the capital, i had emailed an address that seemed to relate to the studio enough (it was all i found online anyways); by the time we were preparing to leave for yuzhou, jing—sun xun's assistant—had responded very warmly, inviting us to visit whenever we could. we proposed saturday, and arrived by bus to the village area they were located in. while not as far out as songzhuang, we were definitely in the urban countryside, and had trouble navigating for a bit without english signage. but we found the studio (an old factory space) eventually, and drew a "pi" symbol for some folks (who turned out to be animators themselves) to ensure we made it. jing met us, and while her accent was almost too thick to discern, she did her best to explain how the studio ran, as she took us to each room. there were three animating studios, a library, a painting studio (for backgrounds), a 3D workshop, a screening room, and the director's office. each animating room had from five to a dozen artists—all apparently chosen for each specific film based on the medium and aesthetic sun xun strives to work with and achieve—meticulously producing each frame in what appeared to be in assembly line fashion. it was jaw-dropping to see the drawings and paintings they were working on for an hour-long film (their longest yet) using ink paintings, projected to be finished in several years. along the walls were the actual stills from two of their best films, the woodcut short that we saw, and "21 K," an animation that brought them important international acclaim. intricate crayon-on-black-paper drawings displayed the animators' skills at blending and light control, and the size of many of the woodcuts were incredibly surprising—much larger than i would have expected considering how many were made for an eleven minute film. we were invited to watch several films, including the two above, in their theatre, which was not only exactly what i'd hoped for but also an experience that hasn't been matched yet in china. the technical detail, imagery, emotional quality, and music soundtracks all made for a dizzying viewing. afterward, jing came and asked if we'd like to speak to sun xun himself, who we'd seen walking some other foreigners around but not expected to have a chance to meet ourselves; we of course accepted the invitation and visited him in his workspace. his english was a bit better—he's been all over the world showing films at festivals—but our inexperience at interviewing people still made it a bit awkward. (it's been interesting to see how difficult and intimidating it can be to ask an artist questions no matter how chill they appear or how interested you are in their work.) in any case, he talked about "cheap art" and how easy it can be if you don't worry about the money; the "spirit" of art and how he strives only to question, not answer; and how his deep friendship with the artist jin chan—who soundtracks sun xun's films—allows the films to be completed silently, and then added to with complete trust. i left satisfied and thoughtful of my project in light of what we'd seen.
and here we arrive at my account of the visit to the greatest of walls. the mutianyu section of the great wall of china—there are many sections, rather than a continuous wall, in case you didn't know, like myself, moving on—was recommended both for its lack of tourists and its landscape beauty, and for the german-designed toboggan ride down the mountain for a speedy exit. we missed the first tourist bus there and instead took the later two-and-a-half-hour ride with some foreign assholes (there's a story) and chinese teenagers. once there we scurried up past the vendors and bought tickets, and hiked up the long stairway to the wall itself. apparently some trees around there range from one to three hundred years old, and is a favorite spot for "great wall in mist" photography enthusiasts. perhaps unfortunately, it was a gorgeous day with great visibility and hot-but-not-deathly sunshine. it was quite weird to stand upon it the first few moments: neither andy or i ever really expected we'd have the opportunity to see, much less hike around on, this global icon of humanness. we began hiking up towards the northwest portion, up and down the steep steps and sharp slopes, between each tower, looking out at the valleys, mountains, and foliage. it was sweaty-going, and it felt great to exercise for a change, especially considering this was the closest to backpacking i'd been in several summers. we hit a point—halfway through the most intimidating (and tourist-free) part of the wall—where we separated to pursue different paces: andy shot more photos, i hiked to the end of the renovated wall, and then onto the crumbling parts overcome by vegetation. it was the first solitude i'd had since arriving—i really felt all by my lonesome, and it was grand to be in such a phenomenal place for that. unfortunately i had to double back rather quickly, so i met up with andy down the wall and we rushed to the slide to catch the final four o'clock bus back to beijing. we took showers and slept quite well that night after skyping with lee, ready to take on the final nine days in the people's republic of china.
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