Sometime back I wrote a piece called 'The Ringing of Sacred Chimes' for Danwei (http://www.danwei.org/music/post_24.php) and mentioned a Chinese musicologist by the name of Huang Xiangpeng and his stellar contributions to our understanding of two-pitch bronze bells in China and music temperament. Ever since that article was posted, I’ve been meaning to write a brief biography of Huang. I got round to scribbling something down the other day.
Material from the biographical sketch below comes from a book titled Huang Xiangpeng: Jinian wenji [A Commemorative Anthology in Honour of Huang Xiangpeng], published in 2001 and written by his wife Zhou Chen and other contributors.
Huang is an incredibly important figure in twentieth century Chinese music. Two of the contributors compare Huang’s iron determination and endurance to Prometheus’ heroic feats of snatching fire from Zeus and the Gods for the benefit of mankind. After reading the book, I felt that Huang’s life could be summed up in the Prometheus Society's motto: Ignis Aurum Probat: 'Value is proven in the fire,' or 'Fire tests gold,' part of a quotation from Seneca which reads, 'Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes hominess' ('Fire proves gold, but calamity [proves] strong men').
The story of Huang Xiangpeng (1927-1997) must surely be one of the most extraordinary in the history of twentieth century Chinese music. It is hard to believe that someone of Huang’s intellectual capacity only began writing on music in earnest in his early fifties, and even less plausible, perhaps, that the first article he wrote using his real name only appeared in 1978.
Huang was born in Nanjing on the 26 December 1927. Huang’s birth was difficult and his mother who was twenty at the time died shortly afterwards. Huang was left to the care of his maternal grandmother and grandfather. His grandfather was a soldier in the Taiping Army. Returning to civilian life, he opened a fabric business in Nanjing which did a roaring trade, but by the time Huang was born, the family business had already fallen on hard times.
Huang was a top student. He loved mathematics, physics, chemistry, history, geography, languages, the natural sciences and music. He spent time browsing through second-hand bookstores and was physically active enjoying all kinds of sports, including rowing and mountain climbing.
Huang was ten years old when Nanjing fell to the Japanese imperial army in December 1937. The family fled the city narrowly missing the horrific events and carnage that followed. None of the family witnessed the Nanjing massacre first-hand, but they obviously heard the stories and reports of mass executions of soldiers and the slaughtering and raping of tens of thousands of civilians in the Chinese capital.
When the family returned to Nanjing in the spring of 1938, they knew the worst of the atrocities has passed, but the city was now under Japanese rule. 'The sight of Japanese flags unfurled across the city,' wrote Huang’s cousin, Cheng Jiming, 'was totally humiliating.' Cheng and Huang found strength and courage in patriotic figures from China’s past like the Song dynasty statesman Yue Fei, and the Ming dynasty general Qi Jiguang. The two of them made an oath that they would struggle to the end to liberate the Chinese people and make China strong and prosperous, a plausible sentiment in the winter of 1938.
In the charged milieu of late 1930s and at a time of increasing national crisis, many young Chinese joined the national salvation movement to fight against Japanese imperialism and oppose Jiang Kai-shek’s policy of appeasement towards Japan. Huang was among the many young boys in Nanjing who joined the ranks of the United Salvation Society (Tuanjie Jiuguoshe) and a number of literary and art groups performing plays and operas, writing essays and circulating samizdat material to express their anti-Japanese sentiments. While Huang aligned himself with such progressive cultural groups, his father Huang Qimiao (Huang Kai) was a government official who worked for the new puppet regime inaugurated by the Japanese on January 1 1938.
Chinese collaborators who worked for the Japanese would later be called 'traitors' (hanjian) by the Communist regime. After 1949, Huang's family links would not be an easy legacy to live with. He would be constantly reminded of his father’s past actions and branded with a tarnished and shameful past. In the wake of the Anti-Rightist Campaign in the late 1950s, both Huang and his wife were targets of the crackdown. Zhou was sent to a labour camp on the outskirts of Tianjin and Huang was thrown out of the Communist Party. Many intellectuals branded as 'Rightists' divorced their spouses to protect their children and themselves. A Party official advised Huang that if he divorced his wife (they married in 1954), his party membership would be reinstated.
It’s very possible that Huang did not think of his life as 'his life' but rather a series of random events that had no logical connection. He had graduated with flying colours from the composition department at the Central Conservatory of Music in 1951 and had the opportunity to further his studies in the former Soviet Union the following year, but his less than impeccable family links with the KMT put an end to that. His wife was in a labour camp and he had to look after his two-year old daughter Tianlai. In March 1958 he started work at the Music Research Institute attached to the Chinese Academy of Arts in Beijing. He was thirty years old.
In early 1961 after her release from the labour camp, Zhou found a job in the reference library at the Tianjin Music Conservatory. Zhou and Huang resided in two different cities for the next twenty years seeing each other no more than once or twice a year. Repeated requests to transfer to Beijing to join her husband were denied. Zhou had to wait until 1978 before her political slate could be cleared and Huang the following year to have his party membership fully reinstated. Because of these political misdemeanors in the 1950s, Huang could not publish any of his writings using his real name. He wrote under a number of pseudonyms until the late 1970s.
During the Cultural Revolution, Huang was labeled a 'KMT spy,' subjected to writing numerous self-flagellations about his past ‘errors’. He was incarcerated in a ‘cow shed’ (niupeng), a form of confinement on the grounds of the Music Research Institute, as were other colleagues. From September 1969 to 1975 he spent six years in several ‘re-education’ schools for cadres and intellectuals in Hebei province.
At one of the cadre schools at Tuanbowa located near Tianjin, staff and faculty members from the Music Research Institute were organized into four units or brigades with the task of planting wheat and vegetables. Huang was chosen as the unit leader. He took it upon himself to learn as much as he could on agronomics, investigating the saline and alkaline content of the soil that was detrimental to growing crops, working with pesticides and purchasing all kinds of farm tools. We might expect Huang’s intellect, and finally, his spirit, like so many intellectuals during this period, to be broken by the horrors of the age in which he lived: the purges, the denunciation meetings, the appalling manifestations of politics gone wild, but Huang's way of coping with life was to immerse himself in his research and try to ignore the topsy-turvy world around him.
Many of Huang’s colleagues returned to Beijing in the early 1970s, but Huang was confined at Tuanbowa until 1975. His health had deteriorated and he had now lost most of his teeth making eating unbearably difficult. Huang's incessant smoking, excessive back-bending labour, breathing in pesticides as well as his nocturnal working habits did not help either. From the mid 1970s until his death, Huang was constantly plagued with serious respiratory problems.
In 1977, Huang was among a number of scholars from the Music Research Institute who examined bronze chime bells excavated in Gansu, Shaanxi, Shanxi and Henan. The bronze chime bells yielded a miraculous discovery: some of the bells produced two fully independent pitches, each with its own fundamental and harmonics. Huang published his findings in a paper titled 'Acoustical Material on the Tuning System of Neolithic Bronze Instruments and Questions on the Historical Development of Scales in China.' Doubts, however, lingered on the dual-pitch phenomenon, but it was fully recognized in the summer of 1978 with the discovery of a unitary ensemble of 65 bronze chime bells excavated from the tomb of the Marquis Yi of Zeng in Leigudun, Suixian county Hubei province.
Huang’s research on bronze bells and music temperament gained him international recognition, but he also became virtually synonymous with the expression 'Tradition flows like a continuous river' (Chuantong shi yitiao heliu), taken from the title of his book published in Beijing in October 1990. Tradition, like a river’s mouth and source, remained constant, but it was also in a state of flux, constantly flowing. Huang found cognizance with a similar idea used by the Peking opera actor Mei Lanfang to describe his own art: 'the actor moves on stage, but the pose remains unchanged' (yibu bu huanxing). Huang adamantly rejected that music traditions embodied an idealized image of music styles and standards believed to be inherited from ancient times, especially the Golden Age of the early Zhou which court scribes were trying to recapture in the official standard histories. 'The literati slavishly copied classical commentaries on Chinese music,’ wrote Huang, ’ignoring the musical and artistic practices of their own times, imposing closed, rigid and orthodox standards on traditional music.'
Huang became somewhat of a celebrity in Japan among Japanese music scholars of Chinese music, and especially admired by Shigeo Kishibe and Kenzo Hayashi who had published a number of influential articles on Chinese modes and scales. In 1995 Huang received the Koizumi Fumio Prize for Ethnomusicology for his contributions in historical musicology in China, but Huang was already too ill to personally accept the prize in Japan (he now required an oxygen tube to breathe). Instead a small Japanese delegation visited Beijing in August and presented the prize to Huang in his home.
Huang was hospitalized five times from April 1994 to March 1997. During his hospitalization, he kept a number of notebooks called ‘Notes Taken While Recuperating’ (Yangbingji). His time spent in hospital was anything but a rest. He received a constant stream of visitors and colleagues, not just to wish him a speedy recovery, but also to have a 'class'or 'session' from his bedside. He discussed articles in the pipeline with his colleagues and dissertation queries from his research students. He also wrote and revised a large part of his Musicological Questions (Yuewen), in hospital, a 388 page unfinished manuscript consisting of thirteen chapters edited by Cui Xian and published posthumously in Beijing in June 2000. The book sports a black and white photo of Huang taken in the last decade of his life. A man with a full set of grey hair with strands of a beard he let grow out white in wisps. There is an oxygen tube and of course those inquisitive, eternally youthful eyes.
Huang had been in and out of hospital so many times in the last three years of his life that he perhaps considered another trip from early March in 1997 as just another routine check-up. By March, however, Huang's life hanged in the balance, at times fading away like a candle. He now had enormous trouble stringing together a coherent sentence. By March 3 Huang had fallen into a state of delirium. He turned to Zhou Chen, and in a weak but audible voice said: 'The music of our people…' That unfinished utterance spoke volumes. Was it a final and total surrender to a life devoted to Chinese music or a call to a higher cosmic force that he was too busy to die? These were perhaps not the last words he ever spoke to his wife, two months before he died, but that unfinished statement was the truth of him, not only what he said, but also the fact that he could say it to his wife, who had stuck by him through everything, and say it without apology, without regret.
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Monday, 29 December 2008
New Books
Two new books, one published this year, the other coming out in early February 2009, should be of interest to many readers.
1. The Last of China's Literati: The Music, Poetry and Life of Tsar Teh-yun, Hong Kong University Press, 2008.
Here are two brief reviews from http://www.hkbookcity.com/showbook2.php?serial_no=142733
'In this unassuming biography of a master qin musician, the author (himself a pre-eminent scholar in Chinese musicology) gives a heart-warming portrait of Tsar Teh-yun, who was a living legend in Hong Kong. It is also evocative of a fading world of literary arts in China, which makes this little book even more precious.'– Leo Ou-fan Lee, Professor of Humanities, The Chinese University of Hong Kong.
'Bell Yung's qin teacher, Tsar Teh-yun, was not only a musician but also a poet, calligrapher, and painter, as befitted a woman the author calls 'the last of China's literati.' Yung's moving homage deserves a wide readership for its insights into the complex dimensions of traditional elite culture in a life well lived.' – Evelyn Rawski, University Professor, Department of History, University of Pittsburgh.
2. Lives in Chinese Music, edited by Helen Rees, University of Illinois Press, (February 2009)
For details of the book visit:
http://www.press.uillinois.edu/books/catalog/27wqt9wt9780252033797.html
I'm one of the contributors in this fine collection of essays. My piece is titled 'Gathering A Nation's Music: A Life of Yang Yinliu.'
1. The Last of China's Literati: The Music, Poetry and Life of Tsar Teh-yun, Hong Kong University Press, 2008.
Here are two brief reviews from http://www.hkbookcity.com/showbook2.php?serial_no=142733
'In this unassuming biography of a master qin musician, the author (himself a pre-eminent scholar in Chinese musicology) gives a heart-warming portrait of Tsar Teh-yun, who was a living legend in Hong Kong. It is also evocative of a fading world of literary arts in China, which makes this little book even more precious.'– Leo Ou-fan Lee, Professor of Humanities, The Chinese University of Hong Kong.
'Bell Yung's qin teacher, Tsar Teh-yun, was not only a musician but also a poet, calligrapher, and painter, as befitted a woman the author calls 'the last of China's literati.' Yung's moving homage deserves a wide readership for its insights into the complex dimensions of traditional elite culture in a life well lived.' – Evelyn Rawski, University Professor, Department of History, University of Pittsburgh.
2. Lives in Chinese Music, edited by Helen Rees, University of Illinois Press, (February 2009)
For details of the book visit:
http://www.press.uillinois.edu/books/catalog/27wqt9wt9780252033797.html
I'm one of the contributors in this fine collection of essays. My piece is titled 'Gathering A Nation's Music: A Life of Yang Yinliu.'
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Night Revels of Han Xizai
Several months ago the Forbidden City showcased some of its imperial treasures in the Wuyingdian (Hall of Martial Valor). Included in the exhibit were a number of paintings from the Jin (265-420 C.E.) to the Qing (1644-1911) dynasties, among them, one of the most famous Chinese scroll paintings called Night Revels of Han Xizai by Gu Hongzhong.
Gu was a southern Tang (937-975 C.E.) court painter who was ordered by the emperor Li Yu to record the sumptuous lifestyle of his minister Han Xizai.
Night Revels of Han Xizai is a narrative painting approximately 333.5 cm long and 28.7 cm wide. The painting was intended to admonish Han Xizai, who though an able minister was recalcitrant in his duties, failing to appear on several occasions for his early morning audiences with the emperor. Han was apparently a nocturnal party boy holding lavish banquests in his private apartments and surrounding himself with singsong girls. The emperor, seeking to expose the decadent ways of the minister, assigned Gu to attend the night-long parties as a secret informant and then to receate what he saw with his brush.
Each 'episode' in the painting is separated by partitions or screens, but they can be viewed as one continuous series of events. The protagonist in each is Han.
One wonders if Gu also wrote an accompanying letter to the emperor describing in detail what he saw. How many days did Gu spend on his masterpiece? How did he come to be a guest as this banquet and where did he sketch his first impressions of the painting? Was Gu asked to ‘spy’ on other officials suspected of leading wanton lifestyles and then paint what he saw? Such questions and many others provide the stuff of a best-selling novel.
In March this year, the University of California Press published The Night Entertainments of Han Xizai: A Scroll by Gu Hongzhong by the eminent art historian Michael Sullivan. A description of the book on the University of California Press website reads:
In this beautiful and concisely focused book, eminent art historian Michael Sullivan guides the reader through a single masterwork of Chinese art, The Night Entertainments of Han Xizai. Attributed to the artist Gu Hongzhong, this Five Dynasties handscroll portrays the scandalous private life of Han Xizai, senior minister to three "emperors" of the Southern Tang Dynasty in the mid-tenth century. Writing in the engaging style that has become his hallmark, Sullivan recounts the story of the production of this important painting, memorably evoking the mood of the peaceable kingdom in the years before its conquest by the newly established Song Dynasty in 975, a disaster that Han Xizai did not live to see. As the first scholar to include in his discussion nearly all the known versions of this famous scroll, Sullivan powerfully demonstrates how the life of a great painting has often been extended via copies and reinterpretations in later centuries.
http://www.ucpress.edu/books/pages/10833.php
For musical historians and organologists (those who study musical instruments), Gu's work provides a fascinating visual representation of a pipa and an end-blown flute. I don't have enough time today to provide a detailed discussion of these two instruments and issues that come under the study of musical iconography, but I hope to cover them in a future posting. Meanwhile, for those not familiar with Gu's work, it's the pic that graces the 'front page' of my blog.
Gu was a southern Tang (937-975 C.E.) court painter who was ordered by the emperor Li Yu to record the sumptuous lifestyle of his minister Han Xizai.
Night Revels of Han Xizai is a narrative painting approximately 333.5 cm long and 28.7 cm wide. The painting was intended to admonish Han Xizai, who though an able minister was recalcitrant in his duties, failing to appear on several occasions for his early morning audiences with the emperor. Han was apparently a nocturnal party boy holding lavish banquests in his private apartments and surrounding himself with singsong girls. The emperor, seeking to expose the decadent ways of the minister, assigned Gu to attend the night-long parties as a secret informant and then to receate what he saw with his brush.
Each 'episode' in the painting is separated by partitions or screens, but they can be viewed as one continuous series of events. The protagonist in each is Han.
One wonders if Gu also wrote an accompanying letter to the emperor describing in detail what he saw. How many days did Gu spend on his masterpiece? How did he come to be a guest as this banquet and where did he sketch his first impressions of the painting? Was Gu asked to ‘spy’ on other officials suspected of leading wanton lifestyles and then paint what he saw? Such questions and many others provide the stuff of a best-selling novel.
In March this year, the University of California Press published The Night Entertainments of Han Xizai: A Scroll by Gu Hongzhong by the eminent art historian Michael Sullivan. A description of the book on the University of California Press website reads:
In this beautiful and concisely focused book, eminent art historian Michael Sullivan guides the reader through a single masterwork of Chinese art, The Night Entertainments of Han Xizai. Attributed to the artist Gu Hongzhong, this Five Dynasties handscroll portrays the scandalous private life of Han Xizai, senior minister to three "emperors" of the Southern Tang Dynasty in the mid-tenth century. Writing in the engaging style that has become his hallmark, Sullivan recounts the story of the production of this important painting, memorably evoking the mood of the peaceable kingdom in the years before its conquest by the newly established Song Dynasty in 975, a disaster that Han Xizai did not live to see. As the first scholar to include in his discussion nearly all the known versions of this famous scroll, Sullivan powerfully demonstrates how the life of a great painting has often been extended via copies and reinterpretations in later centuries.
http://www.ucpress.edu/books/pages/10833.php
For musical historians and organologists (those who study musical instruments), Gu's work provides a fascinating visual representation of a pipa and an end-blown flute. I don't have enough time today to provide a detailed discussion of these two instruments and issues that come under the study of musical iconography, but I hope to cover them in a future posting. Meanwhile, for those not familiar with Gu's work, it's the pic that graces the 'front page' of my blog.
Monday, 22 December 2008
Hengdian World Studios And a Forbidden City Replica
The Hengdian World Studios located in Zhejiang province is one of the largest 'artificial' film studios in China. It is run by the privately-owned Hengdian Group. There are a number of theme parks at the Studio including the Emperor Qin's Palace, and replica of imperial palaces of the Ming and Qing dynasties.
For images of these two large studios visit:
http://www.hengdianworld.com/english/park/qwg/
Zhang Yimou had a replica Forbidden City built at the studios when he made the film Curse of the Golden Flower (Mancheng jin gua huangjin jia) in 2006. Zhang also shot his epic film Hero (Yingxiong) at Hengdian in 2002.
For more information on the Hengdian World Studios visit:
http://shanghaiist.com/2007/10/07/hengdian_world.php
For images of these two large studios visit:
http://www.hengdianworld.com/english/park/qwg/
Zhang Yimou had a replica Forbidden City built at the studios when he made the film Curse of the Golden Flower (Mancheng jin gua huangjin jia) in 2006. Zhang also shot his epic film Hero (Yingxiong) at Hengdian in 2002.
For more information on the Hengdian World Studios visit:
http://shanghaiist.com/2007/10/07/hengdian_world.php
The Forbidden City Beyond Time And Space
For those of you who haven't checked out Forbidden City Revealed, a documentary that tells the story of China's Imperial Palace through its architecture and design, its defintely worth a peek. The documentary is produced by Kunhardt-McGee Productions in collaboration with IBM and the Palace Museum in Beijing.
http://www.beyondspaceandtime.org/FCBSTWeb/web/index.html#link=documentary
http://www.beyondspaceandtime.org/FCBSTWeb/web/index.html#link=documentary
Chinese Language Learning Software
Not so long ago I was sitting next to an American executive at 35,000 feet. He was intently studying the Lonely Planet’s Mandarin Phrasebook. It was his first visit to China. He had traveled the world and got an enormous kick by mastering a few stock phrases and words of foreign languages. 'I have several phrases wherever I go. 'Good Day,' 'How are you?' 'Thank-you very much.' 'It’s a pleasure to meet you. It’s rather basic I know, but it’s amazing how these snippets help you to get along.'
There's no shortage of Chinese-language textbooks on the market. A whole industry has grown over the years in China to cater to all kinds of disparate learners. Online Chinese language training courses are also popular. Multi-national executives in particular, are paying a premium for fast, effective training that will equip them with the linguistic competence necessary to engage, and impress their Chinese business associates.
A growing number of interactive Chinese language software systems combine real-life images and the voices of native Chinese Mandarin (putonghua) speakers in 'real time.' These software systems also incorporate photos, spoken phrases and written words, and the language is linked to real-life objects, actions and ideas.
These language software applications bring a new dimension to second language acquisition. They allow for considerable flexibility to suit individual needs and focus on language social interactions which are relevant to you. Now Mandarin (www.nowmandarin.com), based in Beijing, is one of many interactive language programs. Podcast programs such as www.chinapod.com (Shanghai) is also tailored made for the individual, but are more versatile in that you plug them into your MP3 and learn while exercising at the gym or waiting for a bus.
There's an obvious seduction of language computer software that can offer a fast and effective medium to learning a language and redefine the language textbooks. Regardless of whatever medium you choose, your intentions should be clear from the outset: to develop and foster a more participatory role in learning language and not be a mere spectator. Interaction is the key, but should by no means be confined to your computer terminal. I should add, without stating the obvious, for those who are working and living in China, the largest interactive Chinese language classroom is just outside your window.
Nothing like a moment of epiphany to spark your progress in learning a language, when, for instance, you realize you have made an error or that you assumed that words, expressions and ideas in one language have equivalences in another. Some time ago, I wrote a situational Chinese language text with a fictional character called René. He was a foreigner language student studying in Beijing and also working part-time as an intern in a joint-venture market research company. René encountered a number of difficulties in communicating with Chinese and made all kinds of errors along the way. He had breakthroughs when he realized that he expressed himself incorrectly, or that a common expression in English had a very different medium of expression in Chinese.
The knowledge and learning from these language epiphanies is the work of everyday. It doesn’t end in the classroom. Even when you’re off-duty, you’re on-duty. It's relative and cumulative so dive in and discover!
There's no shortage of Chinese-language textbooks on the market. A whole industry has grown over the years in China to cater to all kinds of disparate learners. Online Chinese language training courses are also popular. Multi-national executives in particular, are paying a premium for fast, effective training that will equip them with the linguistic competence necessary to engage, and impress their Chinese business associates.
A growing number of interactive Chinese language software systems combine real-life images and the voices of native Chinese Mandarin (putonghua) speakers in 'real time.' These software systems also incorporate photos, spoken phrases and written words, and the language is linked to real-life objects, actions and ideas.
These language software applications bring a new dimension to second language acquisition. They allow for considerable flexibility to suit individual needs and focus on language social interactions which are relevant to you. Now Mandarin (www.nowmandarin.com), based in Beijing, is one of many interactive language programs. Podcast programs such as www.chinapod.com (Shanghai) is also tailored made for the individual, but are more versatile in that you plug them into your MP3 and learn while exercising at the gym or waiting for a bus.
There's an obvious seduction of language computer software that can offer a fast and effective medium to learning a language and redefine the language textbooks. Regardless of whatever medium you choose, your intentions should be clear from the outset: to develop and foster a more participatory role in learning language and not be a mere spectator. Interaction is the key, but should by no means be confined to your computer terminal. I should add, without stating the obvious, for those who are working and living in China, the largest interactive Chinese language classroom is just outside your window.
Nothing like a moment of epiphany to spark your progress in learning a language, when, for instance, you realize you have made an error or that you assumed that words, expressions and ideas in one language have equivalences in another. Some time ago, I wrote a situational Chinese language text with a fictional character called René. He was a foreigner language student studying in Beijing and also working part-time as an intern in a joint-venture market research company. René encountered a number of difficulties in communicating with Chinese and made all kinds of errors along the way. He had breakthroughs when he realized that he expressed himself incorrectly, or that a common expression in English had a very different medium of expression in Chinese.
The knowledge and learning from these language epiphanies is the work of everyday. It doesn’t end in the classroom. Even when you’re off-duty, you’re on-duty. It's relative and cumulative so dive in and discover!
Hong Xiuquan and Protestant Hymns
Hong Xiuquan (1814-1864), who thought he was the younger brother of Jesus Christ, became exposed to Protestant hymns while in Canton in 1847 seeking instruction in the Bible from I. J. Roberts (1802-1871), a Baptist minister born in Sumner County, Tennessee. Roberts began his work in China in early 1837 as a missionary under the aegis of the Roberts Fund Society.
Much of Hong’s encounters with Christian tracts came through translations of Robert Morrison. In 1866 Augutus F. Lindley wrote that after Hong and his cousin Li Jingfang familiarised themselves with translations of chapters of the Bible by Morrison, they 'administered baptism to each other' and then Hong Xiuquan composed the following ode upon repentance:
When our transgressions high as heaven rise,
How well to trust Jesus’ full atonement;
We follow not the demons, we obey
The holy precepts, worshipping alone
One God, and thus we cultivate our hearts.
The heavenly glories open to our view,
And every being ought to seek thereafter.
I much deplore the miseries of hell.
O turn ye to the fruits of true repentance!
Let not our hearts be led by worldly customs (Lindley, 1866:41)
Hong later adopted the Protestant hymn ‘Old Hundredth’ as his own apocalyptic vision of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. A new text was written for the hymn and renamed ‘Ode Praising the Heavenly Kingdom’ (Tianchao zanmeige):
Praise the Lord
Praise Jesus, the Savior of the World
Praise the Holy Spirit
Praise the Holy Trinity.
While 'Ode to the Heavenly Kingdom was sung at all Taiping rituals and rallies, we know very little about the organisation and structure of their religious observances. In his book The Visions of Hung-siu-tshuen, and Origin of the Kwang-si Insurrection published in Hong Kong in 1854, and republished the following year in London in a slim volume titled The Chinese Rebel Chief, Hung-siu-Tsuen and the Origin of the Insurrection in China, Theodore Hamberg writes:
When the congregation in Kwang-si assembled together for religious worship, male and female worshippers had their seats separated from each other. It was customary to praise God by the singing of a hymn. An address was delivered on either the mercy of God, or the merits of Christ, and the people were exhorted to repent of their sins, to abstain from idolatry, and to serve God with sincerity of heart (1855:54).
Lindley (1866:319-321) provides one of the most detailed accounts in English of how Taiping services were conducted. Each service opened with the Doxology Ode to the Heavenly Kingdom which was followed by the hymn:
The true doctrine is different from the doctrine of the world
It saves men’s souls, and affords the enjoyment of endless bliss.
The wise receive it at once with joyful exultation.
The foolish, when awakened, understand thereby the way to heaven,
Our Heavenly Father, of His infinite and incomparable mercy,
Did not spare His own Son, but sent him down into the world,
To give His life for the redemption of all our transgressions.
When men know this, and repent of their sins, they may go to heaven.
After the singing of this hymn:
The people resume their seats and the minister reads to them a sermon, after which the paper containing it [a prayer] is burnt. During the singing of hymns, the voices are accompanied by the music of very melancholy-sounding horns and hautboys. Upon the conclusion of the sermon the people all rise to their feet and with the full accompaniment of all their plaintive and wild-sounding instruments, render with very great effect the anthem ‘May the King live ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years’...The services are concluded with a hymn of supplication, and then large quantities of incense and firecrackers are burnt.
References
Hamberg, Theodore (1855). The Chinese Rebel Chief, Hung-Siu-Tsuen and the Origin of
the Insurrection in China, London, Walton & Maberly.
Lindley, Augustus F (1866). Ti-ping Tien-Kwoh: The History of the Ti-Ping Revolution, London: Day and Son Lithographers & Publishers.
Much of Hong’s encounters with Christian tracts came through translations of Robert Morrison. In 1866 Augutus F. Lindley wrote that after Hong and his cousin Li Jingfang familiarised themselves with translations of chapters of the Bible by Morrison, they 'administered baptism to each other' and then Hong Xiuquan composed the following ode upon repentance:
When our transgressions high as heaven rise,
How well to trust Jesus’ full atonement;
We follow not the demons, we obey
The holy precepts, worshipping alone
One God, and thus we cultivate our hearts.
The heavenly glories open to our view,
And every being ought to seek thereafter.
I much deplore the miseries of hell.
O turn ye to the fruits of true repentance!
Let not our hearts be led by worldly customs (Lindley, 1866:41)
Hong later adopted the Protestant hymn ‘Old Hundredth’ as his own apocalyptic vision of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. A new text was written for the hymn and renamed ‘Ode Praising the Heavenly Kingdom’ (Tianchao zanmeige):
Praise the Lord
Praise Jesus, the Savior of the World
Praise the Holy Spirit
Praise the Holy Trinity.
While 'Ode to the Heavenly Kingdom was sung at all Taiping rituals and rallies, we know very little about the organisation and structure of their religious observances. In his book The Visions of Hung-siu-tshuen, and Origin of the Kwang-si Insurrection published in Hong Kong in 1854, and republished the following year in London in a slim volume titled The Chinese Rebel Chief, Hung-siu-Tsuen and the Origin of the Insurrection in China, Theodore Hamberg writes:
When the congregation in Kwang-si assembled together for religious worship, male and female worshippers had their seats separated from each other. It was customary to praise God by the singing of a hymn. An address was delivered on either the mercy of God, or the merits of Christ, and the people were exhorted to repent of their sins, to abstain from idolatry, and to serve God with sincerity of heart (1855:54).
Lindley (1866:319-321) provides one of the most detailed accounts in English of how Taiping services were conducted. Each service opened with the Doxology Ode to the Heavenly Kingdom which was followed by the hymn:
The true doctrine is different from the doctrine of the world
It saves men’s souls, and affords the enjoyment of endless bliss.
The wise receive it at once with joyful exultation.
The foolish, when awakened, understand thereby the way to heaven,
Our Heavenly Father, of His infinite and incomparable mercy,
Did not spare His own Son, but sent him down into the world,
To give His life for the redemption of all our transgressions.
When men know this, and repent of their sins, they may go to heaven.
After the singing of this hymn:
The people resume their seats and the minister reads to them a sermon, after which the paper containing it [a prayer] is burnt. During the singing of hymns, the voices are accompanied by the music of very melancholy-sounding horns and hautboys. Upon the conclusion of the sermon the people all rise to their feet and with the full accompaniment of all their plaintive and wild-sounding instruments, render with very great effect the anthem ‘May the King live ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years’...The services are concluded with a hymn of supplication, and then large quantities of incense and firecrackers are burnt.
References
Hamberg, Theodore (1855). The Chinese Rebel Chief, Hung-Siu-Tsuen and the Origin of
the Insurrection in China, London, Walton & Maberly.
Lindley, Augustus F (1866). Ti-ping Tien-Kwoh: The History of the Ti-Ping Revolution, London: Day and Son Lithographers & Publishers.
A Brief Note on Nestorian Hymns in China
Musical contributions and influences of foreign Christian missionaries in China can be dated, as nearly as any significant event can be, to 700 C.E. when the earliest Nestorian Christians went to China. Nestorianism enjoyed considerable patronage under Tai Zong and Gao Zong during the early Tang dynasty, but their religious activities suffered a huge blow after an interdiction issued by Wu Zong in 845 C.E.
Nestorian missions soon vanished, but they left behind, among other things, documents, numerous relics including a monument erected in 781 C.E. and three Christian hymns. One of these hymns, Daqin jingjiao sanwei meng du zan, was discovered by Professor Paul Pelliot in 1907-1908 in the Qianfodong (Thousand Buddha Caves) in Dunhuang ‘contained in a little roll, torn into three pieces, yet complete.’
The authorship of this hymn is attributed to two figures—a Bishop Cyriacus, head of an Nestorian Mission that went to China in 732 C.E. and a monk called Jing Jing. The two other hymns were Daqin jingjiao dasheng tongzhen guifa zan and the Jiu jie zhengdao jingzhou.
The text of all three hymns in China can be found Tao Yabing's A Draft History of Sino-Western Musical Exchange (1994:16-18).
I will be writing a much longer piece on Chinese hymnology, including the cycle of eight hymns penned by the Jesuit Matteo Ricci in a forthcoming post in the new year.
Nestorian missions soon vanished, but they left behind, among other things, documents, numerous relics including a monument erected in 781 C.E. and three Christian hymns. One of these hymns, Daqin jingjiao sanwei meng du zan, was discovered by Professor Paul Pelliot in 1907-1908 in the Qianfodong (Thousand Buddha Caves) in Dunhuang ‘contained in a little roll, torn into three pieces, yet complete.’
The authorship of this hymn is attributed to two figures—a Bishop Cyriacus, head of an Nestorian Mission that went to China in 732 C.E. and a monk called Jing Jing. The two other hymns were Daqin jingjiao dasheng tongzhen guifa zan and the Jiu jie zhengdao jingzhou.
The text of all three hymns in China can be found Tao Yabing's A Draft History of Sino-Western Musical Exchange (1994:16-18).
I will be writing a much longer piece on Chinese hymnology, including the cycle of eight hymns penned by the Jesuit Matteo Ricci in a forthcoming post in the new year.
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Where is the Manchu?
Yesterday while taking a group around sections of the Forbidden City, one sharp-eyed observer noticed that the signs on the three main ceremonial halls in the outer court: The Hall of Supreme Harmony, The Hall of Complete (Middle) Harmony, The Hall of Preserving Harmony, as well as major gates such as the Meridan Gate (Wumen) have signs only in Chinese.
The absence of Manchu on many of the signs, particularly in the Outer Court, raises all kinds of questions and is a delicious topic for a future posting. In the meantime, for those who are interested in some possible leads, check out Jeremiah Jenne's article 'The Mystery of the Missing Manchu: Monolingual Signage at the Forbidden City,' at his blog 'Jottings from the Granite Studio' http://granitestudio.org/2008/11/14/wheres-the-manchu-script/
The absence of Manchu on many of the signs, particularly in the Outer Court, raises all kinds of questions and is a delicious topic for a future posting. In the meantime, for those who are interested in some possible leads, check out Jeremiah Jenne's article 'The Mystery of the Missing Manchu: Monolingual Signage at the Forbidden City,' at his blog 'Jottings from the Granite Studio' http://granitestudio.org/2008/11/14/wheres-the-manchu-script/
Saturday, 20 December 2008
The Emperor's Harem in Late Imperial China
The private life of the emperor and his harem is the stuff of a Hollywood blockbuster or best-selling biography. We might look at the emperor's sex life as repetitive, mechanical, his palace women little more than toys to play with until a son appeared. After all, the Son of Heaven had to produce celestial sons.
Despite the lack of motion pictures and television way back in late imperial China, the details of the emperor's boudoir did not go unrecorded. Eunuchs carried concubines wrapped up in rugs into the emperor's bedchamber. His most intimate retainers, standing only a few metres away, would shout something to the effect that the emperor should preserve his imperial body while he made love to his palace ladies. The word eunuch is of Greek origin--eunoukhos derived from eunē ('bed') and okhos ('to keep'). A eunuch therefore guarded the bed chamber of women.
All the details were minutely recorded by the retainers. Court astrologers were also consulted to determine the best time that the emperor should be intimate with his ladies, the theory being that a particular time would be conducive to producing a little dragon. We know however, that the emperors had lots of daughters as well as sons. If the emperor lacked energy or his intrinsic vital essence was disturbed--primordial qi as it is called in traditional Chinese medicine--an imperial physician was consulted. His doctor might prescribed some traditional aphrodisiacs to supplement his meals like shark fin's soup or generous servings of sea cucumber.
There is a Czech saying that a house without a woman is like meadow without dew, but Chinese emperors kept thousands of them in the 'rear palace.' Maintaining such a large pool of potential mates, as Patricia Buckley Ebrey points out, was a costly business. A couple of hundred would surely have been sufficient. Beautiful women, however, were needed to furnish the palaces. Consider the huge and vast ceremonial halls in the outer court. These young women were, for all intents and purposes, decorative furniture pieces. The first emperor of China, Qin Shihuangdi, is said to have filled his palace with beautiful women and musical instruments he had taken from his vanquished enemies. Ebrey argues that as the most important man in China, the emperor was the ultimate he-man, his sexual prowess reinforced by an unlimited pool of young virgins.
Kang Xi, the third emperor of China's last imperial dynasty had three empresses and nineteen concubines. The fourth emperor Qianlong kept two empresses and twenty-nine concubines. The second last reigning emperor Guang Xu, in contrast, had only one empress and two concubines. Guangxu's favourite concubine Zhen Fei, known as the Pearl Concubine, had a privileged position among other concubines in the palace. Concubines were carried in when summoned by the emperors--they were literally carried on the back of eunuchs. Pearl Concubine, however, was able to walk into the imperial boudoir. She became the envy of other palace women, including the empress dowager Cixi. The dowager ordered her eunuchs to throw her into a well tucked away in the labyrinth of courtyards in the inner court.
The Palace of Heavenly Purity, the first of these rear halls in the inner court of the Forbidden City, was the living quarters of the Ming emperors. It is also the place where a failed attempt by a group of palace women to do away with one of the Ming emperors took place in 1542. One of the emperor concubines led a group of more than a dozen women to strangle the emperor while he was asleep, but the knot in the noose slipped. The women were rounded up, their throats cut and the flesh of the limbs sliced off.
If we comb the historical records, we might discover that a Chinese Philip Marlowe was called in to piece together the crime. The emperor Jiajing took a while to recover from the incident. In fact, he decided to cloister himself away for the next twenty years cultivating his mind in a palace which is now the headquarters of China's government elite, Zhongnanhai ('Central Southern Seas').
Historians are not supposed to cross lines into fiction, but they can scarcely survive if the stories they tell are not compelling. If you were to ask the imperial harem in the Forbidden City 'tell me about your adventures,' it might reply, 'talk to the maidservants, the concubines, the eunuchs, the emperors,' and listen to their stories. It's a palatial playground rich in stories and tales to be spun by firelight on cold, winter nights.
Despite the lack of motion pictures and television way back in late imperial China, the details of the emperor's boudoir did not go unrecorded. Eunuchs carried concubines wrapped up in rugs into the emperor's bedchamber. His most intimate retainers, standing only a few metres away, would shout something to the effect that the emperor should preserve his imperial body while he made love to his palace ladies. The word eunuch is of Greek origin--eunoukhos derived from eunē ('bed') and okhos ('to keep'). A eunuch therefore guarded the bed chamber of women.
All the details were minutely recorded by the retainers. Court astrologers were also consulted to determine the best time that the emperor should be intimate with his ladies, the theory being that a particular time would be conducive to producing a little dragon. We know however, that the emperors had lots of daughters as well as sons. If the emperor lacked energy or his intrinsic vital essence was disturbed--primordial qi as it is called in traditional Chinese medicine--an imperial physician was consulted. His doctor might prescribed some traditional aphrodisiacs to supplement his meals like shark fin's soup or generous servings of sea cucumber.
There is a Czech saying that a house without a woman is like meadow without dew, but Chinese emperors kept thousands of them in the 'rear palace.' Maintaining such a large pool of potential mates, as Patricia Buckley Ebrey points out, was a costly business. A couple of hundred would surely have been sufficient. Beautiful women, however, were needed to furnish the palaces. Consider the huge and vast ceremonial halls in the outer court. These young women were, for all intents and purposes, decorative furniture pieces. The first emperor of China, Qin Shihuangdi, is said to have filled his palace with beautiful women and musical instruments he had taken from his vanquished enemies. Ebrey argues that as the most important man in China, the emperor was the ultimate he-man, his sexual prowess reinforced by an unlimited pool of young virgins.
Kang Xi, the third emperor of China's last imperial dynasty had three empresses and nineteen concubines. The fourth emperor Qianlong kept two empresses and twenty-nine concubines. The second last reigning emperor Guang Xu, in contrast, had only one empress and two concubines. Guangxu's favourite concubine Zhen Fei, known as the Pearl Concubine, had a privileged position among other concubines in the palace. Concubines were carried in when summoned by the emperors--they were literally carried on the back of eunuchs. Pearl Concubine, however, was able to walk into the imperial boudoir. She became the envy of other palace women, including the empress dowager Cixi. The dowager ordered her eunuchs to throw her into a well tucked away in the labyrinth of courtyards in the inner court.
The Palace of Heavenly Purity, the first of these rear halls in the inner court of the Forbidden City, was the living quarters of the Ming emperors. It is also the place where a failed attempt by a group of palace women to do away with one of the Ming emperors took place in 1542. One of the emperor concubines led a group of more than a dozen women to strangle the emperor while he was asleep, but the knot in the noose slipped. The women were rounded up, their throats cut and the flesh of the limbs sliced off.
If we comb the historical records, we might discover that a Chinese Philip Marlowe was called in to piece together the crime. The emperor Jiajing took a while to recover from the incident. In fact, he decided to cloister himself away for the next twenty years cultivating his mind in a palace which is now the headquarters of China's government elite, Zhongnanhai ('Central Southern Seas').
Historians are not supposed to cross lines into fiction, but they can scarcely survive if the stories they tell are not compelling. If you were to ask the imperial harem in the Forbidden City 'tell me about your adventures,' it might reply, 'talk to the maidservants, the concubines, the eunuchs, the emperors,' and listen to their stories. It's a palatial playground rich in stories and tales to be spun by firelight on cold, winter nights.
Friday, 19 December 2008
The Imperial Tutor: Reginald Johnston
Reginald Johnston was born in Edinburgh in 1874. His father Robert was a lawyer, and his mother Isabella Irving, was a daughter of an Irish minister. Johnston studied at the University of Edinburgh, Scotland, but in 1894 he discontinued his studies and moved to Magdalen College, Oxford, to study modern history. After graduation, he received offers for a Hong Kong cadetship and a London-based posting in the Home Civil Service. He took the Hong Kong cadetship and set sail for Hong Kong on November 17 1898.
Arriving in Hong Kong, the British government provided him with books, teachers and modest living quarters, receiving a generous annual stipend. By the 1890s, the British colony was a bustling commercial port and a stronghold of British imperial trade. It provided all the creature comforts for the British expat: recreational and social clubs, a racecourse, excellent shops, churches, and comfortable housing. Johnston quickly ingratiated himself with the movers and shakers of British society in Hong Kong. Within two days of his arrival, he became a member of the colony's premier club, the Hong Kong Club.
In 1906 Johnston was transferred to the British leased territory Weihaiwei to work as a civil administrator under the direct supervision of its appointed commissioner James Stewart Lockhart. Located on the coast of the Shandong Peninsula, Weihaiwei was formerly a fortified Chinese naval base. The Japanese took control of it in February 1895 until naval base became a British concession in May 1898. Weihaiwei was also the summer air force base for the British China Squadron. In 1903 Lockhart made a trip to Qufu, the birthplace of Confucius. He met with a duke who was one of the direct descendants of Confucius. During his visit, Lockhart promised to present a portrait of the British monarch Edward VII when he returned to Weihaiwei. The task of presenting the monarch's portrait, a large photograph with a 'magnificent carved gilt frame,' contained in a 'carved box impressed with the royal monogram,' was assigned to Johnston. He arrived in Qufu, 'dressed in top hat and frock coat,' in late August 1904. Johnston and the monarch's portrait were carried through the city's streets in a 'scarlet sedan chair,' and greeted at the gates of the duke's palace 'with an artillery salute.'
After some fifteen years in China, Johnston had traveled extensively. He developed a genuine interest in Buddhism visiting some of the most sacred Buddhist sites in the country and wrote a book titled Lion and Dragon in Northern China. On returning to London in October 1913, he found the city 'depressing and gloomy.' He didn't fit in any longer. 'I felt overwhelmed by all sorts of conflicting feelings', he wrote. 'I shut my eyes and the fifteen years of life in China vanished like a dream.'
It is no surprise that Johnston was eager to return to China. He eventually returned to Weihaiwei and resumed administration duties working again with Lockhart, who was now in poor health. During a trip to Shanghai in November 1918, Johnston was made the fortuitous offer to become the English-speaking tutor to the emperor Puyi. The offer was too good to refuse. The salary alone was four times as much as he received from his duties as a civil administrator. Through luck and circumstance, Johnston was to become an imperial tutor to the last emperor, a position that was beyond the dreams of any English-speaking foreigner living in China at the time.
Johnston met Pu Yi for the first time in early March 1919. The last emperor was only thirteen years old. Johnston was 'dressed in top hat and tails,' and Pu Yi and his entourage 'were dressed in imperial costume. ' Pu Yi later wrote of his first meeting with Johnston in his autobiography From Emperor to Citizen:
I found that Johnson was not frightening at all. His Chinese was very fluent…He must have been at least forty at the time…but his movements were still deft and skilful…It was his blue eyes and graying fair hair in particular that made me feel uneasy.
Johnston developed a very close bond with the young emperor and was deeply concerned about his future. He saw his life in the Forbidden City as 'highly artificial,' and 'detrimental to his health, physical, intellectual and moral.' Johnston was convinced that the best thing for Henry (the English name Johnston conferred on Pu Yi) would be to further his education by taking a trip to Europe. Plans were discussed, but Pu Yi never left China.
The bond between Johnston and Pu Yi was like father and son. The relationship extended to Johnston being conferred with the title of Mandarin of the Second Rank with a Coral Button. The honor came replete with a sable robe. Johnston was also a constant source of advice and support. When the Palace of Established Happiness (Jianfugong) was burnt to the ground in 1923—the worst fire to engulf the Forbidden City in modern times—a tennis court was built on grounds at Johnston's recommendation.
Puyi was evicted from the Forbidden City in early November 1924. Two years later, Johnston served as Secretary to the British China Indemnity Commission. He was appointed commissioner at Weihaiwei in 1927 which he ran until it was returned to the Republic of China, October 1, 1930. The territory was renamed Weihai in 1945.
Johnston returned to Britain en route from Shanghai. He was engaged to the historian Eileen Power and had applied for the Chair of Chinese at the School of Oriental Studies in London. He procrastinated over the union with Power and Power called off the engagement in 1932. His appointment as Chair of Chinese was prestigious position, but Johnston was not made for academic administration let alone regular teaching duties. The relationship was by all accounts a disaster.
Twilight in the Forbidden City was published in 1934 and dedicated to Pu Yi. The book brought Johnston considerable fame and gave him enough money to acquire a small island of Eilean Righ in Loch Craignish, Scotland. It was this book that was extensively used for the screenplay for Bernardo Bertolucci's film The Last Emperor (1987). Johnston made one last trip to China to visit Puyi in the summer of 1934, returning to Eilean Righ in the summer of 1936.Johnston had several amorous relationships throughout his life, but never married. He almost married Eileen Power, and was close to author Stella Benson. He met Elizabeth Sparshott in 1934. She spent the last four years with Johnston who died in Edinburgh in March 1938 after complications from a kidney stone operation. His ashes were scattered on the island of Eilean Righ and surrounding Loch.
For reasons that will never be crystal clear, Sparshott did her best to eradicate the memory of Johnston by destroying all his papers and manuscripts. Within five months of Johnston's death, his house was 'emptied of its contents,' his estates sold, and furniture 'dispersed through salesrooms.'
Reference
Reginald Johnston: Chinese Mandarin, by Shiona Airlie, NMS Publishing Limited, National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh, 2001.
Arriving in Hong Kong, the British government provided him with books, teachers and modest living quarters, receiving a generous annual stipend. By the 1890s, the British colony was a bustling commercial port and a stronghold of British imperial trade. It provided all the creature comforts for the British expat: recreational and social clubs, a racecourse, excellent shops, churches, and comfortable housing. Johnston quickly ingratiated himself with the movers and shakers of British society in Hong Kong. Within two days of his arrival, he became a member of the colony's premier club, the Hong Kong Club.
In 1906 Johnston was transferred to the British leased territory Weihaiwei to work as a civil administrator under the direct supervision of its appointed commissioner James Stewart Lockhart. Located on the coast of the Shandong Peninsula, Weihaiwei was formerly a fortified Chinese naval base. The Japanese took control of it in February 1895 until naval base became a British concession in May 1898. Weihaiwei was also the summer air force base for the British China Squadron. In 1903 Lockhart made a trip to Qufu, the birthplace of Confucius. He met with a duke who was one of the direct descendants of Confucius. During his visit, Lockhart promised to present a portrait of the British monarch Edward VII when he returned to Weihaiwei. The task of presenting the monarch's portrait, a large photograph with a 'magnificent carved gilt frame,' contained in a 'carved box impressed with the royal monogram,' was assigned to Johnston. He arrived in Qufu, 'dressed in top hat and frock coat,' in late August 1904. Johnston and the monarch's portrait were carried through the city's streets in a 'scarlet sedan chair,' and greeted at the gates of the duke's palace 'with an artillery salute.'
After some fifteen years in China, Johnston had traveled extensively. He developed a genuine interest in Buddhism visiting some of the most sacred Buddhist sites in the country and wrote a book titled Lion and Dragon in Northern China. On returning to London in October 1913, he found the city 'depressing and gloomy.' He didn't fit in any longer. 'I felt overwhelmed by all sorts of conflicting feelings', he wrote. 'I shut my eyes and the fifteen years of life in China vanished like a dream.'
It is no surprise that Johnston was eager to return to China. He eventually returned to Weihaiwei and resumed administration duties working again with Lockhart, who was now in poor health. During a trip to Shanghai in November 1918, Johnston was made the fortuitous offer to become the English-speaking tutor to the emperor Puyi. The offer was too good to refuse. The salary alone was four times as much as he received from his duties as a civil administrator. Through luck and circumstance, Johnston was to become an imperial tutor to the last emperor, a position that was beyond the dreams of any English-speaking foreigner living in China at the time.
Johnston met Pu Yi for the first time in early March 1919. The last emperor was only thirteen years old. Johnston was 'dressed in top hat and tails,' and Pu Yi and his entourage 'were dressed in imperial costume. ' Pu Yi later wrote of his first meeting with Johnston in his autobiography From Emperor to Citizen:
I found that Johnson was not frightening at all. His Chinese was very fluent…He must have been at least forty at the time…but his movements were still deft and skilful…It was his blue eyes and graying fair hair in particular that made me feel uneasy.
Johnston developed a very close bond with the young emperor and was deeply concerned about his future. He saw his life in the Forbidden City as 'highly artificial,' and 'detrimental to his health, physical, intellectual and moral.' Johnston was convinced that the best thing for Henry (the English name Johnston conferred on Pu Yi) would be to further his education by taking a trip to Europe. Plans were discussed, but Pu Yi never left China.
The bond between Johnston and Pu Yi was like father and son. The relationship extended to Johnston being conferred with the title of Mandarin of the Second Rank with a Coral Button. The honor came replete with a sable robe. Johnston was also a constant source of advice and support. When the Palace of Established Happiness (Jianfugong) was burnt to the ground in 1923—the worst fire to engulf the Forbidden City in modern times—a tennis court was built on grounds at Johnston's recommendation.
Puyi was evicted from the Forbidden City in early November 1924. Two years later, Johnston served as Secretary to the British China Indemnity Commission. He was appointed commissioner at Weihaiwei in 1927 which he ran until it was returned to the Republic of China, October 1, 1930. The territory was renamed Weihai in 1945.
Johnston returned to Britain en route from Shanghai. He was engaged to the historian Eileen Power and had applied for the Chair of Chinese at the School of Oriental Studies in London. He procrastinated over the union with Power and Power called off the engagement in 1932. His appointment as Chair of Chinese was prestigious position, but Johnston was not made for academic administration let alone regular teaching duties. The relationship was by all accounts a disaster.
Twilight in the Forbidden City was published in 1934 and dedicated to Pu Yi. The book brought Johnston considerable fame and gave him enough money to acquire a small island of Eilean Righ in Loch Craignish, Scotland. It was this book that was extensively used for the screenplay for Bernardo Bertolucci's film The Last Emperor (1987). Johnston made one last trip to China to visit Puyi in the summer of 1934, returning to Eilean Righ in the summer of 1936.Johnston had several amorous relationships throughout his life, but never married. He almost married Eileen Power, and was close to author Stella Benson. He met Elizabeth Sparshott in 1934. She spent the last four years with Johnston who died in Edinburgh in March 1938 after complications from a kidney stone operation. His ashes were scattered on the island of Eilean Righ and surrounding Loch.
For reasons that will never be crystal clear, Sparshott did her best to eradicate the memory of Johnston by destroying all his papers and manuscripts. Within five months of Johnston's death, his house was 'emptied of its contents,' his estates sold, and furniture 'dispersed through salesrooms.'
Reference
Reginald Johnston: Chinese Mandarin, by Shiona Airlie, NMS Publishing Limited, National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh, 2001.
An Interview With Ellen Kaplowitz
What does photography mean to you?
Without photographing I would not be fulfilled. It is my chance to investigate and be a part of different lives all over the world.
What is its priority in your life?
It is the major priority in my life. I am constantly thinking of where to go next, a place that is not totally touristy.
How did your relationship with photography start?
It all started when I was a little girl with my first Brownie Hawkeye camera. We always had family photographs and my mother was great about keeping photographic albums. Much better than I. Later on in life I went to study filmmaking at NYU and wanted very much to make documentaries. I did one brief doc on Papua New Guinea but switched to still photography when a museum in the US asked me to do an exhibition of my images from Tibet.
I've always wondered why some people are photogenic and others are not? Can you explain?
I don't think it is the people who are photogenic or not but rather how the photographer approaches the subject in making them feel comfortable. That all comes out in the photograph.
What's your work flow process on a photo job?
I'm up early in the morning to catch the light and then continue till the end of the day when at around 5 the other golden glow lighting is dominant. Mid-day is when I might photograph indoors or in narrow alleyways where the sun isn't so prevalent.
What is your favorite piece of equipment?
I'm still shooting film with my Canon cameras. I guess I would say my 20-30mm lens is my favorite because it allows you to get in close to the subject.
When did you first shoot photographs for others?
Around 17 yrs ago. When did you first earn from photography or got a commission? Around that same time.
What are your sources of inspiration?
My inspiration comes from just being in a new place or one that I have been in before where I love the landscape and the people.
What moves you?
Incredible landscapes and the humility and beauty of people who don't realize they are beautiful. Their naturalness is what makes the photo wonderful. In all these years working as a photographer, what are the most famous people that you have 'snapped?' I don't generally photograph celebraties. So I'd say the most famous and the unknowns.
What was the most fun work that you have done as a photographer?
So much of it is fun but I think photographing festivals of dance, for example in Ghana during the celebration of the new King was so colorful. The music and dance combined was inspiring.
How do you prepare yourself mentally and physically for a photography session?
I am psyched right away because I know it will be a totally new adventure. Some of it will be positive and some negative. As for physically I try to get to bed early to rise early for the light. Staying in shape year round is the key.
You travel worldwide to get your images. Any favorite places you like to get back to often?
I have so many favorites that I have returned to after seeing the first set of images. What comes to mind is all those years in Vietnam which lead to my book [World Of Decent Dreams: Vietnam Images, 2003]. Also, the areas of Tibet I have gone to are incredibly beautiful. Any locations that you haven't been to yet? Many places especially in Africa. But I have to feel that the conditions are safe for me and although I can rough it I do know my limitations.
What would you say was the hardest place you ever had to get to and photograph?
The area parallel to the base camp of Mt. Everest.
If, and when, you ever do slow down from making all of your worldwide trips, do you have any other 'creative' interests that you would pursue?
I hope not to slow down but what would be creative is to revisit all my slides and put them together either for an exhibition or book.
For more information on Ellen and her breathtaking photography, visit her website: ellenkaplowitzphotography.com
Without photographing I would not be fulfilled. It is my chance to investigate and be a part of different lives all over the world.
What is its priority in your life?
It is the major priority in my life. I am constantly thinking of where to go next, a place that is not totally touristy.
How did your relationship with photography start?
It all started when I was a little girl with my first Brownie Hawkeye camera. We always had family photographs and my mother was great about keeping photographic albums. Much better than I. Later on in life I went to study filmmaking at NYU and wanted very much to make documentaries. I did one brief doc on Papua New Guinea but switched to still photography when a museum in the US asked me to do an exhibition of my images from Tibet.
I've always wondered why some people are photogenic and others are not? Can you explain?
I don't think it is the people who are photogenic or not but rather how the photographer approaches the subject in making them feel comfortable. That all comes out in the photograph.
What's your work flow process on a photo job?
I'm up early in the morning to catch the light and then continue till the end of the day when at around 5 the other golden glow lighting is dominant. Mid-day is when I might photograph indoors or in narrow alleyways where the sun isn't so prevalent.
What is your favorite piece of equipment?
I'm still shooting film with my Canon cameras. I guess I would say my 20-30mm lens is my favorite because it allows you to get in close to the subject.
When did you first shoot photographs for others?
Around 17 yrs ago. When did you first earn from photography or got a commission? Around that same time.
What are your sources of inspiration?
My inspiration comes from just being in a new place or one that I have been in before where I love the landscape and the people.
What moves you?
Incredible landscapes and the humility and beauty of people who don't realize they are beautiful. Their naturalness is what makes the photo wonderful. In all these years working as a photographer, what are the most famous people that you have 'snapped?' I don't generally photograph celebraties. So I'd say the most famous and the unknowns.
What was the most fun work that you have done as a photographer?
So much of it is fun but I think photographing festivals of dance, for example in Ghana during the celebration of the new King was so colorful. The music and dance combined was inspiring.
How do you prepare yourself mentally and physically for a photography session?
I am psyched right away because I know it will be a totally new adventure. Some of it will be positive and some negative. As for physically I try to get to bed early to rise early for the light. Staying in shape year round is the key.
You travel worldwide to get your images. Any favorite places you like to get back to often?
I have so many favorites that I have returned to after seeing the first set of images. What comes to mind is all those years in Vietnam which lead to my book [World Of Decent Dreams: Vietnam Images, 2003]. Also, the areas of Tibet I have gone to are incredibly beautiful. Any locations that you haven't been to yet? Many places especially in Africa. But I have to feel that the conditions are safe for me and although I can rough it I do know my limitations.
What would you say was the hardest place you ever had to get to and photograph?
The area parallel to the base camp of Mt. Everest.
If, and when, you ever do slow down from making all of your worldwide trips, do you have any other 'creative' interests that you would pursue?
I hope not to slow down but what would be creative is to revisit all my slides and put them together either for an exhibition or book.
For more information on Ellen and her breathtaking photography, visit her website: ellenkaplowitzphotography.com
An Interview With Dennis K. Law
How did a retired doctor get into producing musicals?
During my medical career, I was also always interested in the performing arts and I devoted time and resources supporting the opera companies, the ballet etc. I became fascinated by classical Chinese dance in 2001 in Beijing and started questioning why I had not previously been exposed to such movement virtuosity before. Since I felt comfortable with both western and Chinese culture, I saw a void where I could package Chinese performing arts to a new standard of international excellence. By creating shows that uniquely feature all sorts of visually stunning Chinese action as a backbone, I can bypass language barriers and make my “Action-Musicals” appeal to people of all backgrounds. Therefore, in my musicals, the story is told through movement and all songs are sung as a narrative by a 'muse' or a separate observer on the side of the proscenium.
Can you briefly talk about how you came to choose the subject matter for the three musicals?
Since the occasion of the Beijing Olympic Games provided a good timing for me to showcase the new phenomenon of Action-Musicals, I chose three of my seven shows for the following reasons:
Tang Concubines opened the festival in July because it is the only Chinese show ever to win international 'Broadway-type' show awards in the West. By winning 2 Dora Awards in Toronto in 2006, Tang Concubines proved that it could stand by the very best of 'Broadway'. It has made history for Chinese performing arts abroad. Monkey King was selected to open right with the Olympics because it is the most ambitious project to date for our company. It will also be a world premiere and presented truly as China’s first Rock-Musical. As the director, I am satisfied that the unique elements put in place will truly be a refreshingly new entertainment experience for all audiences. Terracotta Warriors bookends the festival because it is our most performed show to date and it has the biggest impact on the world market as an 'Action-Musical'.
In Tang Concubines where did the idea come to have two drummers in the pit to accompany the recorded music? That really added a strong visual and aural component to the performance.
Because of the scope of the show, the musical score involved more than 60 artists to create the musical sound landscape. As such, it would be impossible to tour the show with that many musicians. Therefore, I added two percussionists to both give the “action” more potency as well as to provide a beneficial live' element to the music.
How was the production of the music for Tang Concubines initiated?
I used composer Hao Weiya again for Tang Concubines. He has previously written the score for Terracotta Warriors for me. The music is the backbone and template for all musicals. After my script was written, I had to go over each scene laboriously with the composer, translating from the English script word by word. All composers need to know the story-telling requirements as directed by the director.
What differences are there putting on a musical in China and back in Canada?
The audiences are very different. In North America, audiences come to shows because they are culturally attuned to them and they appreciate the genre right from the start. In China, the phenomenon of a 'musical' is still relatively new. An 'Action-Musical' about a
Chinese subject matter is even more shocking. Therefore, in China, the work of cultivating an audience is even more important.
What is the most anxious moment for you during a live performance?
I am always anxious about a new stage crew making bad mistakes during set changes. Our shows are ambitious and require changing sets about twenty times during each performance.
How did you conceive to turn the classic Monkey King story into a rock musical?
I wanted to do a new 'Action-Musical' designed for a family audience and yet I wanted to do something vastly different from what has been done to the Monkey King legend so many times before. Since tempo is important for the flow of 'Action-Musicals', I decided that a new 'Rock n’ Roll' element would be both shocking and workable. From what I have seen so far, I am really pleased with the mixture of this new Chinese fusion Rock music and the surrealistic art direction for the whole show.
Can you talk about your collaboration with Zhou Jiaojiao? When and where did it start?
I met Jiao Jiao in 2006. She was introduced to me by her older sister, Cindy (who was a pianist for one of my shows). I quickly recognized her to be a specially gifted young composer with a special interest in both 'rock music' as well as traditional Chinese music. She was very interested in pursuing a project that was non-traditional, and that was indeed 'music to my ears'. Even before the world premiere (as I speak now), I am confident that I made the right choice for music composition. The work is an astounding example of fusion music --- it is both new and entertaining.
The Monkey King is rebellious and mischievous. What side of the Sun Wukong’s personality did you want to convey to audiences in the musical?
The rebellious and mischievous qualities are always a given. I too have chosen not to deviate from this. However, our art direction in portraying this character is quite different from the traditional. I hope it will be a refreshing change. In addition, the 'action' element of our Monkey King is unusually strong --- since action is our forte.
What is the most difficult thing about staging a musical?
Staging anything 'live' is difficult because every element can be unpredictable. This is especially true of our productions that involve about 90 artists on stage. So many things can go wrong. Besides, so many artists doing amazing physical feats always have me on the edge of my seat.
What do you think the job of a good musical director is?
A good director for a musical is much like a good director for film and theater. There has to be a vision, a vision to do something new, different and entertaining. There also has to be a desire to avoid imitating the old and repeating the past. With all that, there needs to be fortitude in staying the course against all odds. At times, the director’s chair is a lonely seat indeed.
What skills as a doctor have helped you thrive in the world of producing and directing musicals?
Not much. In the operating room as a surgeon, I was always singularly in charge. I succeeded or failed as a surgeon solely based on my own skill and intuition. In the world of theatrical entertainment, the producer/director is faced with far more factors that are out of his control. In fact, he is constantly challenged by management difficulties that are monumental, especially when the project is large in scope.
How do you define success?
Success is having the personal satisfaction that I have accomplished something worthwhile.
During my medical career, I was also always interested in the performing arts and I devoted time and resources supporting the opera companies, the ballet etc. I became fascinated by classical Chinese dance in 2001 in Beijing and started questioning why I had not previously been exposed to such movement virtuosity before. Since I felt comfortable with both western and Chinese culture, I saw a void where I could package Chinese performing arts to a new standard of international excellence. By creating shows that uniquely feature all sorts of visually stunning Chinese action as a backbone, I can bypass language barriers and make my “Action-Musicals” appeal to people of all backgrounds. Therefore, in my musicals, the story is told through movement and all songs are sung as a narrative by a 'muse' or a separate observer on the side of the proscenium.
Can you briefly talk about how you came to choose the subject matter for the three musicals?
Since the occasion of the Beijing Olympic Games provided a good timing for me to showcase the new phenomenon of Action-Musicals, I chose three of my seven shows for the following reasons:
Tang Concubines opened the festival in July because it is the only Chinese show ever to win international 'Broadway-type' show awards in the West. By winning 2 Dora Awards in Toronto in 2006, Tang Concubines proved that it could stand by the very best of 'Broadway'. It has made history for Chinese performing arts abroad. Monkey King was selected to open right with the Olympics because it is the most ambitious project to date for our company. It will also be a world premiere and presented truly as China’s first Rock-Musical. As the director, I am satisfied that the unique elements put in place will truly be a refreshingly new entertainment experience for all audiences. Terracotta Warriors bookends the festival because it is our most performed show to date and it has the biggest impact on the world market as an 'Action-Musical'.
In Tang Concubines where did the idea come to have two drummers in the pit to accompany the recorded music? That really added a strong visual and aural component to the performance.
Because of the scope of the show, the musical score involved more than 60 artists to create the musical sound landscape. As such, it would be impossible to tour the show with that many musicians. Therefore, I added two percussionists to both give the “action” more potency as well as to provide a beneficial live' element to the music.
How was the production of the music for Tang Concubines initiated?
I used composer Hao Weiya again for Tang Concubines. He has previously written the score for Terracotta Warriors for me. The music is the backbone and template for all musicals. After my script was written, I had to go over each scene laboriously with the composer, translating from the English script word by word. All composers need to know the story-telling requirements as directed by the director.
What differences are there putting on a musical in China and back in Canada?
The audiences are very different. In North America, audiences come to shows because they are culturally attuned to them and they appreciate the genre right from the start. In China, the phenomenon of a 'musical' is still relatively new. An 'Action-Musical' about a
Chinese subject matter is even more shocking. Therefore, in China, the work of cultivating an audience is even more important.
What is the most anxious moment for you during a live performance?
I am always anxious about a new stage crew making bad mistakes during set changes. Our shows are ambitious and require changing sets about twenty times during each performance.
How did you conceive to turn the classic Monkey King story into a rock musical?
I wanted to do a new 'Action-Musical' designed for a family audience and yet I wanted to do something vastly different from what has been done to the Monkey King legend so many times before. Since tempo is important for the flow of 'Action-Musicals', I decided that a new 'Rock n’ Roll' element would be both shocking and workable. From what I have seen so far, I am really pleased with the mixture of this new Chinese fusion Rock music and the surrealistic art direction for the whole show.
Can you talk about your collaboration with Zhou Jiaojiao? When and where did it start?
I met Jiao Jiao in 2006. She was introduced to me by her older sister, Cindy (who was a pianist for one of my shows). I quickly recognized her to be a specially gifted young composer with a special interest in both 'rock music' as well as traditional Chinese music. She was very interested in pursuing a project that was non-traditional, and that was indeed 'music to my ears'. Even before the world premiere (as I speak now), I am confident that I made the right choice for music composition. The work is an astounding example of fusion music --- it is both new and entertaining.
The Monkey King is rebellious and mischievous. What side of the Sun Wukong’s personality did you want to convey to audiences in the musical?
The rebellious and mischievous qualities are always a given. I too have chosen not to deviate from this. However, our art direction in portraying this character is quite different from the traditional. I hope it will be a refreshing change. In addition, the 'action' element of our Monkey King is unusually strong --- since action is our forte.
What is the most difficult thing about staging a musical?
Staging anything 'live' is difficult because every element can be unpredictable. This is especially true of our productions that involve about 90 artists on stage. So many things can go wrong. Besides, so many artists doing amazing physical feats always have me on the edge of my seat.
What do you think the job of a good musical director is?
A good director for a musical is much like a good director for film and theater. There has to be a vision, a vision to do something new, different and entertaining. There also has to be a desire to avoid imitating the old and repeating the past. With all that, there needs to be fortitude in staying the course against all odds. At times, the director’s chair is a lonely seat indeed.
What skills as a doctor have helped you thrive in the world of producing and directing musicals?
Not much. In the operating room as a surgeon, I was always singularly in charge. I succeeded or failed as a surgeon solely based on my own skill and intuition. In the world of theatrical entertainment, the producer/director is faced with far more factors that are out of his control. In fact, he is constantly challenged by management difficulties that are monumental, especially when the project is large in scope.
How do you define success?
Success is having the personal satisfaction that I have accomplished something worthwhile.
An Interview With Grant Kien
Grant Kien is an assistant professor and Graduate Program Director, Dept. of Communication, California State University East Bay.
Grant, it's a pleasure to speak with you. Can you tell us a little about yourself?
The pleasure is mine. I lead a double life. I spent ten years working in the music industry in Toronto before deciding to become an academic, and now I'm a faculty member in the Department of Communication at California State University East Bay, in the San Francisco Bay Area. So by day I'm a communications scholar specializing in media studies, and I'm the director of our department's Graduate Program in Communication. I lead a covert life after dark in community leadership, which has brought me a different sort of satisfaction from my day job. I remember calling my first meeting to organize a club at recess when I was in second grade, I had an agenda and everything, and I've been organizing meetings of one type or another ever since. Somehow I was recently chosen to be Vice President of the Operations team for the Silicon Valley chapter of the University of Illinois Alumni Association, my alma mater. I didn't realize it at the time, but we have over 19,000 alumni in the Silicon Valley area, so it's a real thrill to represent the interests of such a talented population! Immediately after getting the title I delegated everything to my team members and left for China. They're still looking for me. (laughs)
Can you briefly describe a day in the life of an associate professor of new media?
There are a couple of different seasons in academia… the teaching season, which never has a quiet day, and the researching season. During teaching season, I start my day with a cup of coffee and research, reviewing academic literature, posting online articles to my Facebook account for future reference. Then I usually head to my office to meet with students and deal with administrative issues. I meet with my assistants and delegate work, and if I have any lecture preparation left over from the night before I take care of that. Then of course I lecture. I usually schedule my lectures in the afternoons, so in the evening I can do some writing and more reading. All told I usually work around twelve or more hours a day. Days between teaching are jam packed with meetings. And then there's the research season, which we’re in right now. I have a lot more flexibility with my schedule, but it's also the time to do the research projects designed during teaching season, so there are a lot of daily chores. And there is also some administration to take care of because of my position.
What are some of the major challenges in your job?
Student issues, their personal crisis, and finding ways to help students deal with the system so they can get the best benefit from their studies. There's no end to the unique challenges students face. In this type of job you have to respect that, but you also can't let it consume you, because it never ends. I've seen some people get hardened to it, but I always try to remember that I was once in their position too, and some nice professors helped me get where I am today.
What projects are you working on currently?
I just completed a book called Global Technography, which is a study of mobility in the context of globalization. It'll be out in the fall in the US. I also have a handful of other academic writings in press. My current research project is about intercultural communication, on the meeting of Western and Chinese cultures in new Shanghai. My most recent work for business is a talk for leaders and trainers on inspiration and achievement, about how to get people on a path to excellence based on my experiences working with students.
How do you go about branding yourself in the workplace? Is there much difference between branding your image in the world of academia and business?
Great question. There's definitely a difference. What is considered adding value is much different, and so is the measure of achievement, although the principles remain constant. Excellence is always excellence, and that's born out of an attitude you carry with you. Academics look for excellence in scholarship, and everyone who becomes a tenure-track professor is excellent, so you need to have expertise that's unique in your field. And to do that, you genuinely have to be that. So in academia, I'm a Global Technographer, which is taken from the title of the book I mentioned earlier. It's a new ethnographic methodology I invented. Achievement is recognized mainly through peer-reviewed publication, and the process from research to published article can take years. This would be unheard of in business, which demands results immediately and mainly values what contributes directly to the bottom line. So in business I market what I actually practice every day as an educator, which is how to work with people to achieve a mindset of excellence that will drive up productivity in an organization's human capital.
If you were to teach a course in communications at a university in China, what would you talk about in the first ten minutes of your first lecture?
It would depend on who the audience is. For a media studies course I would raise a discussion on virtual environment and identity management, which I've been researching back in California. The San Francisco Bay Area really is the world's incubator for tech innovation, and there are a lot of interesting projects going on there that blur the line between virtual reality and physical reality. So I'd talk about how that's changing ideas about privacy and property. For a business communications crowd, I'd get right to the point about effective messaging in inter-cultural environments, how the same message doesn't always mean the same thing to people from different cultural backgrounds and how to deal with that. For a strictly Chinese business audience, a course on 'How to Listen to Foreigners' would be useful, since there are so many courses on how to TALK to foreigners but not much on how to interpret the subtleties of what they're actually saying, as in reading between the lines.
What kinds of people are best suited to take on the role of communication managers in multi-national companies in China? What core skills should they have?
A core skill set as anywhere has to cover the interplay of the main communications functions: Sender, message, channel, and audience. Communications managers are translators who craft messages and deliver them through the most effective channels to whoever the intended audience is, and that function doesn't change radically from one company to another. What does change is the range of available channels, and who the intended audience is. So most important for any communications manager is to understand who the audience is that they are messaging for, and how to reach them. So, for example, Instant Messenger is an accepted form of internal communication in China because it reaches the intended audience, but in the US there's a lot of resistance to the idea that an instant message carries any authority at all. I would think a multi-national would want a manager that is familiar with these subtle cultural differences.
What qualities are you looking for if you were to hire someone for a job as a communication strategist for a large multi-national company?
That would depend a lot on the type of business, product lines and the history of the company in the region. China is like ten countries all jammed together with a lot of regional variance, so you'd need to be careful not to pick someone who thinks too generically in terms of a national strategy. And the role of communication strategy is different here than in the West too, since the mass media system isn't as strategically playable in terms of an integrated marketing strategy. Public relations are extremely important for brand identity, and you'd need a strategist here who knows how to reach the general public with localized messaging through means other than the traditional mass media. Basically, I'd want me (joking).
If scrolling through a person's iPod or scanning their bookshelf can tell us more about that individual, what does your table in your departmental office reveal about aspects of your personality?
I guess that I read a lot, and read widely. And I'm fun! I have a sense of humor about myself. I purposely keep an old copy of George Boole's "The Laws of Thought" on my desk right beside my laptop, because I love the idea that the very same calculus he invented in that writing is what makes my computer work. I have stacks and stacks of trade papers from all areas of business, supply chain, wireless industry reports, video-making magazines, you name it. Apart from that, I'm pretty influenced by German philosophers--Heidegger, Hegel, Marx, Leibniz, the Frankfurt school. Lot's of French postmodern theory and the Toronto school of communication (McLuhan and Innis). Musically, I listen to everything from classical to Latin Jazz to contemporary punk. Lately I can't quit listening to the band Muse. I think they just may have saved rock 'n' roll.
Do you enjoy the process of writing or do you prefer to stand up in front of a crowd and talk?
Writing is actually painful. Truthfully, even though I do it well and often, I hate it. I struggle over every word and it's pretty lonely work. I definitely prefer talking. I'm a people person, love being in front of people and working the crowd. My mother had me on stage doing public speaking since I was six or seven years old, so it feels pretty natural for me. People tell me I'm good at it. I don't really know, but I've never been asked to leave a stage. Although there is that one time someone threw a glass at me, but that's some kind of Irish expression of appreciation, isn't it? (smiles)
What does Grant do when he is not working?
I tried that once. Didn't like it much.
Grant, it's a pleasure to speak with you. Can you tell us a little about yourself?
The pleasure is mine. I lead a double life. I spent ten years working in the music industry in Toronto before deciding to become an academic, and now I'm a faculty member in the Department of Communication at California State University East Bay, in the San Francisco Bay Area. So by day I'm a communications scholar specializing in media studies, and I'm the director of our department's Graduate Program in Communication. I lead a covert life after dark in community leadership, which has brought me a different sort of satisfaction from my day job. I remember calling my first meeting to organize a club at recess when I was in second grade, I had an agenda and everything, and I've been organizing meetings of one type or another ever since. Somehow I was recently chosen to be Vice President of the Operations team for the Silicon Valley chapter of the University of Illinois Alumni Association, my alma mater. I didn't realize it at the time, but we have over 19,000 alumni in the Silicon Valley area, so it's a real thrill to represent the interests of such a talented population! Immediately after getting the title I delegated everything to my team members and left for China. They're still looking for me. (laughs)
Can you briefly describe a day in the life of an associate professor of new media?
There are a couple of different seasons in academia… the teaching season, which never has a quiet day, and the researching season. During teaching season, I start my day with a cup of coffee and research, reviewing academic literature, posting online articles to my Facebook account for future reference. Then I usually head to my office to meet with students and deal with administrative issues. I meet with my assistants and delegate work, and if I have any lecture preparation left over from the night before I take care of that. Then of course I lecture. I usually schedule my lectures in the afternoons, so in the evening I can do some writing and more reading. All told I usually work around twelve or more hours a day. Days between teaching are jam packed with meetings. And then there's the research season, which we’re in right now. I have a lot more flexibility with my schedule, but it's also the time to do the research projects designed during teaching season, so there are a lot of daily chores. And there is also some administration to take care of because of my position.
What are some of the major challenges in your job?
Student issues, their personal crisis, and finding ways to help students deal with the system so they can get the best benefit from their studies. There's no end to the unique challenges students face. In this type of job you have to respect that, but you also can't let it consume you, because it never ends. I've seen some people get hardened to it, but I always try to remember that I was once in their position too, and some nice professors helped me get where I am today.
What projects are you working on currently?
I just completed a book called Global Technography, which is a study of mobility in the context of globalization. It'll be out in the fall in the US. I also have a handful of other academic writings in press. My current research project is about intercultural communication, on the meeting of Western and Chinese cultures in new Shanghai. My most recent work for business is a talk for leaders and trainers on inspiration and achievement, about how to get people on a path to excellence based on my experiences working with students.
How do you go about branding yourself in the workplace? Is there much difference between branding your image in the world of academia and business?
Great question. There's definitely a difference. What is considered adding value is much different, and so is the measure of achievement, although the principles remain constant. Excellence is always excellence, and that's born out of an attitude you carry with you. Academics look for excellence in scholarship, and everyone who becomes a tenure-track professor is excellent, so you need to have expertise that's unique in your field. And to do that, you genuinely have to be that. So in academia, I'm a Global Technographer, which is taken from the title of the book I mentioned earlier. It's a new ethnographic methodology I invented. Achievement is recognized mainly through peer-reviewed publication, and the process from research to published article can take years. This would be unheard of in business, which demands results immediately and mainly values what contributes directly to the bottom line. So in business I market what I actually practice every day as an educator, which is how to work with people to achieve a mindset of excellence that will drive up productivity in an organization's human capital.
If you were to teach a course in communications at a university in China, what would you talk about in the first ten minutes of your first lecture?
It would depend on who the audience is. For a media studies course I would raise a discussion on virtual environment and identity management, which I've been researching back in California. The San Francisco Bay Area really is the world's incubator for tech innovation, and there are a lot of interesting projects going on there that blur the line between virtual reality and physical reality. So I'd talk about how that's changing ideas about privacy and property. For a business communications crowd, I'd get right to the point about effective messaging in inter-cultural environments, how the same message doesn't always mean the same thing to people from different cultural backgrounds and how to deal with that. For a strictly Chinese business audience, a course on 'How to Listen to Foreigners' would be useful, since there are so many courses on how to TALK to foreigners but not much on how to interpret the subtleties of what they're actually saying, as in reading between the lines.
What kinds of people are best suited to take on the role of communication managers in multi-national companies in China? What core skills should they have?
A core skill set as anywhere has to cover the interplay of the main communications functions: Sender, message, channel, and audience. Communications managers are translators who craft messages and deliver them through the most effective channels to whoever the intended audience is, and that function doesn't change radically from one company to another. What does change is the range of available channels, and who the intended audience is. So most important for any communications manager is to understand who the audience is that they are messaging for, and how to reach them. So, for example, Instant Messenger is an accepted form of internal communication in China because it reaches the intended audience, but in the US there's a lot of resistance to the idea that an instant message carries any authority at all. I would think a multi-national would want a manager that is familiar with these subtle cultural differences.
What qualities are you looking for if you were to hire someone for a job as a communication strategist for a large multi-national company?
That would depend a lot on the type of business, product lines and the history of the company in the region. China is like ten countries all jammed together with a lot of regional variance, so you'd need to be careful not to pick someone who thinks too generically in terms of a national strategy. And the role of communication strategy is different here than in the West too, since the mass media system isn't as strategically playable in terms of an integrated marketing strategy. Public relations are extremely important for brand identity, and you'd need a strategist here who knows how to reach the general public with localized messaging through means other than the traditional mass media. Basically, I'd want me (joking).
If scrolling through a person's iPod or scanning their bookshelf can tell us more about that individual, what does your table in your departmental office reveal about aspects of your personality?
I guess that I read a lot, and read widely. And I'm fun! I have a sense of humor about myself. I purposely keep an old copy of George Boole's "The Laws of Thought" on my desk right beside my laptop, because I love the idea that the very same calculus he invented in that writing is what makes my computer work. I have stacks and stacks of trade papers from all areas of business, supply chain, wireless industry reports, video-making magazines, you name it. Apart from that, I'm pretty influenced by German philosophers--Heidegger, Hegel, Marx, Leibniz, the Frankfurt school. Lot's of French postmodern theory and the Toronto school of communication (McLuhan and Innis). Musically, I listen to everything from classical to Latin Jazz to contemporary punk. Lately I can't quit listening to the band Muse. I think they just may have saved rock 'n' roll.
Do you enjoy the process of writing or do you prefer to stand up in front of a crowd and talk?
Writing is actually painful. Truthfully, even though I do it well and often, I hate it. I struggle over every word and it's pretty lonely work. I definitely prefer talking. I'm a people person, love being in front of people and working the crowd. My mother had me on stage doing public speaking since I was six or seven years old, so it feels pretty natural for me. People tell me I'm good at it. I don't really know, but I've never been asked to leave a stage. Although there is that one time someone threw a glass at me, but that's some kind of Irish expression of appreciation, isn't it? (smiles)
What does Grant do when he is not working?
I tried that once. Didn't like it much.
Flavors of the Capital
I scan a menu of snacks on the wall of a roadside eatery like a telephone directory. Here the local delicacy is douzhi, fermented mung bean milk. Douzhi has a distinct pungent smell and its grey colour may turn many weak stomachs. It's made from fermented green mung beans boiled and then strained. It is best served, piping hot. You 'drink it' with spicy pickles. I'm an omnivore and will try anything, at least once. Judging from the steady stream of customers, the place does a roaring trade.
There's lots of talk these days of the gradual disappearance of local Beijing food culture that has not become homogenize in food streets or courts around the city. And while such roadside food is an endangered species, it is not going extinct. You will still find small eateries serving up snacks of bygone days and street vendors selling roasted chestnuts, toffee hawthorns, as halal (qingzhen) dishes and snacks. Halal cuisine has lots of beef and lamb and became an indelible part of the capital's cuisine in the early twentieth century. Lamb dishes include lamb tripe in sauce (baodu), fried-lamb with shallots (congbao yangrou), lamb head's meat (yangtou rou), stewed in a large cauldron under tender, and lamb's spine called lamb scorpion (yang xiezi) because the spine resembles the tail of a scorpion.
In days of yore, head of lambs were not usually sold in restaurants, but by vendors whose calls could be heard along the capital's alleyways. Street peddlers could be heard hollering their wares and food all the year around. Samuel Victor Constant's wonderful book Calls, Sounds and Merchandise of the Peking Street Peddlers (1936) captures a past that has long disappeared. One poem from another book titled An Ode to Small Snacks in the Capital provides a wonderful snapshot of the lamb vendor:
In the tenth lunar month, the north wind is piercingly cold in Beijing
But the smell of lamb's head is everywhere.
Salt is sprinked on the lamb like flakes of snow
The meat cut thinly like paper.
There's lots of talk these days of the gradual disappearance of local Beijing food culture that has not become homogenize in food streets or courts around the city. And while such roadside food is an endangered species, it is not going extinct. You will still find small eateries serving up snacks of bygone days and street vendors selling roasted chestnuts, toffee hawthorns, as halal (qingzhen) dishes and snacks. Halal cuisine has lots of beef and lamb and became an indelible part of the capital's cuisine in the early twentieth century. Lamb dishes include lamb tripe in sauce (baodu), fried-lamb with shallots (congbao yangrou), lamb head's meat (yangtou rou), stewed in a large cauldron under tender, and lamb's spine called lamb scorpion (yang xiezi) because the spine resembles the tail of a scorpion.
In days of yore, head of lambs were not usually sold in restaurants, but by vendors whose calls could be heard along the capital's alleyways. Street peddlers could be heard hollering their wares and food all the year around. Samuel Victor Constant's wonderful book Calls, Sounds and Merchandise of the Peking Street Peddlers (1936) captures a past that has long disappeared. One poem from another book titled An Ode to Small Snacks in the Capital provides a wonderful snapshot of the lamb vendor:
In the tenth lunar month, the north wind is piercingly cold in Beijing
But the smell of lamb's head is everywhere.
Salt is sprinked on the lamb like flakes of snow
The meat cut thinly like paper.
An Interview With Alison M. Friedman
What was the spark that first made you interested in dance?
Tap dance was my entry level drug to the world of dance. I started when I was 10 years old and it was the first after-school activity I didn’t quit. From there, I started modern dance and in highschool and college I became very involved in West African dance, travelling to Mali to study traditional dance and drumming. What I loved about all of the forms from the beginning was how they required both physical and mental attention in class, and in rehearsal/performance also emotional investment. Dance was the first thing I found to be completely all-encompassing of my being. I never feel more alive than when I’m dancing.
When people ask you what you do, how do you generally respond?
Depends on what project I’m working on! Choreographer, producer, manager, translator, director, performer… My current occupation as General Manager of Parnassus Productions, the production company for composer/conductor Tan Dun, is the first full-time job I’ve had. I was technically full-time at Beijing Modern Dance Company as their International Director, but I was able to balance that with many of my own independent (though related) projects. So I’m adjusting to having a simple answer to that question for the first time in my life.
Can you describe a typical working day?
That is very difficult. It depends on what project I’m working on (before my own projects, now Tan Dun’s projects) and what stage of the progress we are in. Since I’m almost always working with organizations in different time zones, my day could start with a dance class in the morning and end with a conference call with New York or Amsterdam at 10 or 11pm. In between, a combination of rehearsals, meetings, meals that may or may not be work-related (usually are) and hopefully a massage snuck in somewhere.
What kind of work is involved in putting together a major dance festival in Beijing?
Among many other things, logistics of What, When and Where. You decide what your content is, what you will showcase and why it is relevant to Beijing audiences at this time. And you apply for the permit for that content. You decide what time of year you have the festival so that it doesn’t conflict with a national holiday, another organization’s festival, or anything else that will hurt ticket sales. (You then also start the push and pull across the cultural divide between international dance companies who plan their touring seasons six months to a year in advance, and the China side who plans/decides everything tomorrow/never/after the fact.) And you apply for the permit for that time period. You decide what venue(s) you will hold the festival – government theatre? Private venue? How many seats? Will you need separate rehearsal space for the dance companies to rehearse when the technicians are setting up? And you apply for the permit to use that theatre. Oh, and also, did I mention you need to apply for a permit?
What is the most challenging part of your job?
Putting up with divas.
Do you have a favorite quote that you live by?
Jodi Kaplan, the US producer of the “booking DANCE FESTIVAL beijing 2008” actually said something that I think has to be the motto for working in the arts – or really anything – in China: “I’m not a masochist, I’m an optimist!”
Can you briefly talk about your work with the Beijing Modern Dance Company?
I worked as their International Director from 2005-2008. I booked and organized their international tours, and arranged for international artists to come to Beijing and work with them. I took company class with the dancers in the morning and emailed Norway in the afternoon. We toured almost 30% of the year in Europe, Asia, Central America…It was incredible to be part of this family with a shared vision and feel like together we were building something here in China.
How important is your Chinese language in your job? Do you ever get tired of interpreting or translating when you are not working officially?
Chinese language is crucial as I work in Chinese organizations and often act as the diplomat between the Chinese artists/organizations and the foreign entities. It’s a fun responsibility to be the ‘gate keeper’ of understanding between two groups or individuals who could not communicate without my assistance, but power trips aside, I’m so thankful I have the language to allow me to get closer to friends here and gain a deeper understanding of the culture and paradigms.That said, it can get quite exhausting at times because you can start to feel you lose your own voice and only become a mouthpiece for the two parties. When I used to tour with the Beijing Modern Dance Company, even my ‘off’ time when I would go site seeing or shopping with the dancers I’d still have to be ‘on’ as interpreter. There were afternoons where I had to stop talking and the dancers knew they couldn’t ask me to translate “Are these G-Star Raw jeans on sale?” anymore.
You have participated in all kinds of cultural interactions as an interpreter. Can you tell me one of your most "colorful" interactions?
In 2005 I associate produced a project between Stanford University’s Martin Luther King Research and Education Institute, and the National Theatre Company of China. We staged a Chinese-language play about the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. The cast was all Chinese from the National Theatre and we brought in five gospel singers from the US to sing songs from the Civil Rights Movement. I had to be very careful about how I translated some of the things the Chinese hosts would say to the first group of Black people they had ever met, let alone ever worked with. Everyone was very friendly and welcoming, but certain turns of phrase that may be common in Chinese -- Huanying women hei ren pengyou! Wa, ni zhen hei! – don’t come across as comfortably in English.
What is the most frustrating part about living and working in China?
The most frustrating part about living in Beijing is still the pollution and traffic. The most frustrating part about working here is coming up against people who just don’t feel like doing their jobs. I once worked with a theater lighting technician who told me he didn’t want to move the lights in the theatre according to the light plot for our performance because it was “tai mafan.” [For those of you who don’t work in theater, the only job a theatre lighting technician has is to move the lights to the position specified on the performing company’s the light plot.]
Where do you see yourself in five years from now?
I hate this question. What are you, my father?
What are you reading at the moment?
Harvard Business Review “Managing Your Boss.”
When you want to "switch off" and chill out, where would that be?
The 'Ou Jiang Health Spa' in the basement of 3.3 mall. A strange place for a relaxing Chinese medicine retreat, but by far the best Chinese massages I’ve had in this town in six years.
Tap dance was my entry level drug to the world of dance. I started when I was 10 years old and it was the first after-school activity I didn’t quit. From there, I started modern dance and in highschool and college I became very involved in West African dance, travelling to Mali to study traditional dance and drumming. What I loved about all of the forms from the beginning was how they required both physical and mental attention in class, and in rehearsal/performance also emotional investment. Dance was the first thing I found to be completely all-encompassing of my being. I never feel more alive than when I’m dancing.
When people ask you what you do, how do you generally respond?
Depends on what project I’m working on! Choreographer, producer, manager, translator, director, performer… My current occupation as General Manager of Parnassus Productions, the production company for composer/conductor Tan Dun, is the first full-time job I’ve had. I was technically full-time at Beijing Modern Dance Company as their International Director, but I was able to balance that with many of my own independent (though related) projects. So I’m adjusting to having a simple answer to that question for the first time in my life.
Can you describe a typical working day?
That is very difficult. It depends on what project I’m working on (before my own projects, now Tan Dun’s projects) and what stage of the progress we are in. Since I’m almost always working with organizations in different time zones, my day could start with a dance class in the morning and end with a conference call with New York or Amsterdam at 10 or 11pm. In between, a combination of rehearsals, meetings, meals that may or may not be work-related (usually are) and hopefully a massage snuck in somewhere.
What kind of work is involved in putting together a major dance festival in Beijing?
Among many other things, logistics of What, When and Where. You decide what your content is, what you will showcase and why it is relevant to Beijing audiences at this time. And you apply for the permit for that content. You decide what time of year you have the festival so that it doesn’t conflict with a national holiday, another organization’s festival, or anything else that will hurt ticket sales. (You then also start the push and pull across the cultural divide between international dance companies who plan their touring seasons six months to a year in advance, and the China side who plans/decides everything tomorrow/never/after the fact.) And you apply for the permit for that time period. You decide what venue(s) you will hold the festival – government theatre? Private venue? How many seats? Will you need separate rehearsal space for the dance companies to rehearse when the technicians are setting up? And you apply for the permit to use that theatre. Oh, and also, did I mention you need to apply for a permit?
What is the most challenging part of your job?
Putting up with divas.
Do you have a favorite quote that you live by?
Jodi Kaplan, the US producer of the “booking DANCE FESTIVAL beijing 2008” actually said something that I think has to be the motto for working in the arts – or really anything – in China: “I’m not a masochist, I’m an optimist!”
Can you briefly talk about your work with the Beijing Modern Dance Company?
I worked as their International Director from 2005-2008. I booked and organized their international tours, and arranged for international artists to come to Beijing and work with them. I took company class with the dancers in the morning and emailed Norway in the afternoon. We toured almost 30% of the year in Europe, Asia, Central America…It was incredible to be part of this family with a shared vision and feel like together we were building something here in China.
How important is your Chinese language in your job? Do you ever get tired of interpreting or translating when you are not working officially?
Chinese language is crucial as I work in Chinese organizations and often act as the diplomat between the Chinese artists/organizations and the foreign entities. It’s a fun responsibility to be the ‘gate keeper’ of understanding between two groups or individuals who could not communicate without my assistance, but power trips aside, I’m so thankful I have the language to allow me to get closer to friends here and gain a deeper understanding of the culture and paradigms.That said, it can get quite exhausting at times because you can start to feel you lose your own voice and only become a mouthpiece for the two parties. When I used to tour with the Beijing Modern Dance Company, even my ‘off’ time when I would go site seeing or shopping with the dancers I’d still have to be ‘on’ as interpreter. There were afternoons where I had to stop talking and the dancers knew they couldn’t ask me to translate “Are these G-Star Raw jeans on sale?” anymore.
You have participated in all kinds of cultural interactions as an interpreter. Can you tell me one of your most "colorful" interactions?
In 2005 I associate produced a project between Stanford University’s Martin Luther King Research and Education Institute, and the National Theatre Company of China. We staged a Chinese-language play about the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. The cast was all Chinese from the National Theatre and we brought in five gospel singers from the US to sing songs from the Civil Rights Movement. I had to be very careful about how I translated some of the things the Chinese hosts would say to the first group of Black people they had ever met, let alone ever worked with. Everyone was very friendly and welcoming, but certain turns of phrase that may be common in Chinese -- Huanying women hei ren pengyou! Wa, ni zhen hei! – don’t come across as comfortably in English.
What is the most frustrating part about living and working in China?
The most frustrating part about living in Beijing is still the pollution and traffic. The most frustrating part about working here is coming up against people who just don’t feel like doing their jobs. I once worked with a theater lighting technician who told me he didn’t want to move the lights in the theatre according to the light plot for our performance because it was “tai mafan.” [For those of you who don’t work in theater, the only job a theatre lighting technician has is to move the lights to the position specified on the performing company’s the light plot.]
Where do you see yourself in five years from now?
I hate this question. What are you, my father?
What are you reading at the moment?
Harvard Business Review “Managing Your Boss.”
When you want to "switch off" and chill out, where would that be?
The 'Ou Jiang Health Spa' in the basement of 3.3 mall. A strange place for a relaxing Chinese medicine retreat, but by far the best Chinese massages I’ve had in this town in six years.
An Interview With Neville Mars
Neville Mars started his career working for the architectural firm OMA in Rotterdam. Since 2004 he has been the creative director of the Dynamic City Foundation (DCF), a small, Beijing-based research and design institute focusing on the rapid transformation of China's urban landscape.
The Chinese Dream is an amazing accomplishment. Can you briefly talk about how the book evolved?
In the summer of 2003, I came across a small article on the internet from the Chinese minister of Civil Affairs about a big mission. He stated China should build 400 new cities by the year 2020. That struck me as such a bizarre statement I set it do a research project investigating urbanization in China. After a year we had a full team of researchers, designers and planners and the money to set up the foundation and go to China to do the project. The results have just been published as The Chinese Dream - a society under construction. We set out to do one in-depth research at each scale running from the level of national policies, to the region, the city, the block to the level of the individual citizen. After each research we produced a design proposal that responds to the findings; a business-as-usual scenario versus a dream scenario if you will.
What exactly is the Chinese Dream? Whose dream?
The Chinese Dream is the aspiration of a new urban consumer-driven society. The underlying forces are increased prosperity and the mass-migration of over four hundred million farmers to the urban regions. Like the American Dream of the fifties individualization and a flight to the suburbs are shaping urbanization. Only in China this occurs at unseen scale and speed and it happens at a time when the West has come to terms with the drawbacks of this form of development. It produces socially segregated neighborhoods, congested cities and a fuel-dependent lifestyle. Unlike sustainable visions mainly based on reduction, China has to find a way to channel its growth along an entirely new path before the building boom and the construction of roughly the same amount of buildings as the European Union has been completed.
What role are you playing in the construction of the dream?
Our first objective has been to take the time to analyze the current urbanization trends and then to consider. As growth is happening under so much market pressure no one is taking the time to conceive long-term strategies or even to consider what the consumer might desire tomorrow. This has been our privilege, to seek real solutions freed from acute profit-driven motives and to imagine ideal living China could aim for.
Since 2004 you have been the creative director of the Dynamic City Foundation (DCF). Can you describe a typical working day?
Well, now the project is finished we no-longer apply for funding to do new research. Instead our work now consists of half time lecturing to explain our theories both in China and in the West. The other half we are working hard to realize our concepts in practical architectural and planning projects for the Chinese market. Currently we are working on a green master plan for the CBD of Tianjin and a pavilion for the Shanghai Expo 2010.
Beijing is a modern city with a past. I like to compare the erasing of structures in the capital and the building of new ones to a palimpsest. What new image or vision is Beijing and China trying to offer?
I feel the analogy of a palimpsest is still too forgiving. The relentlessness of Beijing's overhaul has erased all traces of cities past. There is still a small historic center (though still corroding) and renovation and restoration projects have also emerged (though maybe not with a Western sense of authenticity). The problem is that urban renewal is so pervasive and immediate no traces of any urban intelligence remain. We argue the city needs is the result of an evolutionary process. It reinvents itself and updates to new requirements by trial and error, bit by bit building on the experience of the past. China has little affection for its recent history. Even a old metropolis as big as Beijing is perceived as a tabula rasa ready to be cleared. The new cities planned on top are of different breed; slick cities that look and feel smooth, but do not perform smoothly. The term over-planning describes a form of urbanization that burns clean the pre-existing and replaces it with inflexible mega-structures set in a sterile landscape.
Beijing has a number of modern signature structures which stand out in stark contrast to other 'lesser' structures in the city. What are some of your favourite structures?
From my apartment I look straight onto the new CCTV Tower and it's very impressive. It too contributes to these urban and social problems such as congestion and forced relocation. But it also elevates the mind-set of a young nation to a level far beyond what we could have imagined to be possible only a few years ago. Then of course the Watercube is impressive, how it - like CCTV - is able to radically break with architectural convention.
Who are the movers and shakers in Beijing's urban planning and development?
Unfortunately, this is a fairly easy question to answer. The dominant players in Beijing's real-estate market are still the government and the developers, and their roles are often difficult to distinguish. If China is indeed ready to build a 'harmonious' society it will have to include the wishes of the individual, particularly the growing group of urban home-owners. This in turn requires developers to give more to the architects and designers, which can stimulate architectural diversity that can adhere to rapidly changing demographics and offer more specific, more local design solutions. Without loosing momentum - typical of the slow Western planning debacles -these four groups, government, developer, designer and resident will have to conceive the new cities together.
Many parts of the 'old Beijing' have been razed and relegated to a kind of memory palace. What role are foreigners playing in the preservation and conservation of the city's cultural past?
Foreigners are amongst the most vocal advocates of preservation of courtyards and hutongs in Beijing. They are also well organized making them a formidable force looking at the center on a plot by plot bases. At the same time the hutongs are arguable most valuable as biotope for a traditional urban lifestyle and culture. The reality is many of the best courtyards are owned or occupied by foreigners or wealthy foreign Chinese. The hutongs are rapidly gentrifying.
The character 'chai' ('tear down') branded on old buildings, shop fronts and other dilapidated structures across China not only vividly depicts an ever-changing landscape, but serves as a metaphor for changing mentalities. What changes have you observed among the Chinese people since you have been in China?
Only the changes of Chinese society outpace the urban transformation. The emergence of a new Chinese mentality is faster and more profound than we often realize. Within years, young farmers turned first time urbanites adapt to a new life and new future in the city. In one generation, factory workers shrug off their collective past as producers to become a global force of consumers. Brand-unconscious and passionately looking for new identities, the population of Chinese society is also a tabula rasa.
What will Beijing look like in ten years time?
With the Olympics the city had its major growth spurt. The icons and main infrastructure have been put in place. Now the residential and commercial areas and the leisure industry will take hold over the development. This will define an increasingly suburban environment with sub-centers aimed to take pressure of the core. No doubt the city will have impressive moments, but they will be hard to reach as you are most likely stuck in traffic.
What will Neville Mars be doing in five years time?
I'll be in China (possible no-longer in Beijing) and hopefully we will have realized a green urban plan and few green buildings that could inspire people what is possible.
The Chinese Dream is an amazing accomplishment. Can you briefly talk about how the book evolved?
In the summer of 2003, I came across a small article on the internet from the Chinese minister of Civil Affairs about a big mission. He stated China should build 400 new cities by the year 2020. That struck me as such a bizarre statement I set it do a research project investigating urbanization in China. After a year we had a full team of researchers, designers and planners and the money to set up the foundation and go to China to do the project. The results have just been published as The Chinese Dream - a society under construction. We set out to do one in-depth research at each scale running from the level of national policies, to the region, the city, the block to the level of the individual citizen. After each research we produced a design proposal that responds to the findings; a business-as-usual scenario versus a dream scenario if you will.
What exactly is the Chinese Dream? Whose dream?
The Chinese Dream is the aspiration of a new urban consumer-driven society. The underlying forces are increased prosperity and the mass-migration of over four hundred million farmers to the urban regions. Like the American Dream of the fifties individualization and a flight to the suburbs are shaping urbanization. Only in China this occurs at unseen scale and speed and it happens at a time when the West has come to terms with the drawbacks of this form of development. It produces socially segregated neighborhoods, congested cities and a fuel-dependent lifestyle. Unlike sustainable visions mainly based on reduction, China has to find a way to channel its growth along an entirely new path before the building boom and the construction of roughly the same amount of buildings as the European Union has been completed.
What role are you playing in the construction of the dream?
Our first objective has been to take the time to analyze the current urbanization trends and then to consider. As growth is happening under so much market pressure no one is taking the time to conceive long-term strategies or even to consider what the consumer might desire tomorrow. This has been our privilege, to seek real solutions freed from acute profit-driven motives and to imagine ideal living China could aim for.
Since 2004 you have been the creative director of the Dynamic City Foundation (DCF). Can you describe a typical working day?
Well, now the project is finished we no-longer apply for funding to do new research. Instead our work now consists of half time lecturing to explain our theories both in China and in the West. The other half we are working hard to realize our concepts in practical architectural and planning projects for the Chinese market. Currently we are working on a green master plan for the CBD of Tianjin and a pavilion for the Shanghai Expo 2010.
Beijing is a modern city with a past. I like to compare the erasing of structures in the capital and the building of new ones to a palimpsest. What new image or vision is Beijing and China trying to offer?
I feel the analogy of a palimpsest is still too forgiving. The relentlessness of Beijing's overhaul has erased all traces of cities past. There is still a small historic center (though still corroding) and renovation and restoration projects have also emerged (though maybe not with a Western sense of authenticity). The problem is that urban renewal is so pervasive and immediate no traces of any urban intelligence remain. We argue the city needs is the result of an evolutionary process. It reinvents itself and updates to new requirements by trial and error, bit by bit building on the experience of the past. China has little affection for its recent history. Even a old metropolis as big as Beijing is perceived as a tabula rasa ready to be cleared. The new cities planned on top are of different breed; slick cities that look and feel smooth, but do not perform smoothly. The term over-planning describes a form of urbanization that burns clean the pre-existing and replaces it with inflexible mega-structures set in a sterile landscape.
Beijing has a number of modern signature structures which stand out in stark contrast to other 'lesser' structures in the city. What are some of your favourite structures?
From my apartment I look straight onto the new CCTV Tower and it's very impressive. It too contributes to these urban and social problems such as congestion and forced relocation. But it also elevates the mind-set of a young nation to a level far beyond what we could have imagined to be possible only a few years ago. Then of course the Watercube is impressive, how it - like CCTV - is able to radically break with architectural convention.
Who are the movers and shakers in Beijing's urban planning and development?
Unfortunately, this is a fairly easy question to answer. The dominant players in Beijing's real-estate market are still the government and the developers, and their roles are often difficult to distinguish. If China is indeed ready to build a 'harmonious' society it will have to include the wishes of the individual, particularly the growing group of urban home-owners. This in turn requires developers to give more to the architects and designers, which can stimulate architectural diversity that can adhere to rapidly changing demographics and offer more specific, more local design solutions. Without loosing momentum - typical of the slow Western planning debacles -these four groups, government, developer, designer and resident will have to conceive the new cities together.
Many parts of the 'old Beijing' have been razed and relegated to a kind of memory palace. What role are foreigners playing in the preservation and conservation of the city's cultural past?
Foreigners are amongst the most vocal advocates of preservation of courtyards and hutongs in Beijing. They are also well organized making them a formidable force looking at the center on a plot by plot bases. At the same time the hutongs are arguable most valuable as biotope for a traditional urban lifestyle and culture. The reality is many of the best courtyards are owned or occupied by foreigners or wealthy foreign Chinese. The hutongs are rapidly gentrifying.
The character 'chai' ('tear down') branded on old buildings, shop fronts and other dilapidated structures across China not only vividly depicts an ever-changing landscape, but serves as a metaphor for changing mentalities. What changes have you observed among the Chinese people since you have been in China?
Only the changes of Chinese society outpace the urban transformation. The emergence of a new Chinese mentality is faster and more profound than we often realize. Within years, young farmers turned first time urbanites adapt to a new life and new future in the city. In one generation, factory workers shrug off their collective past as producers to become a global force of consumers. Brand-unconscious and passionately looking for new identities, the population of Chinese society is also a tabula rasa.
What will Beijing look like in ten years time?
With the Olympics the city had its major growth spurt. The icons and main infrastructure have been put in place. Now the residential and commercial areas and the leisure industry will take hold over the development. This will define an increasingly suburban environment with sub-centers aimed to take pressure of the core. No doubt the city will have impressive moments, but they will be hard to reach as you are most likely stuck in traffic.
What will Neville Mars be doing in five years time?
I'll be in China (possible no-longer in Beijing) and hopefully we will have realized a green urban plan and few green buildings that could inspire people what is possible.
An Interview With Tom Parker
When did you become interested in China?
I come from a large family and in the late 1970s one of my elder sisters married into a Bruneian Chinese family, which had extensive network of relatives throughout Melbourne. As a result, we were invited to Chinese New Year celebrations, weddings and yum cha. So in a way, it was food, family and festivals that first drew me to China. I was lucky enough to attend a high school that taught Mandarin, and starting learning it in 1987 and found that I really enjoyed discovering the deep cultural roots embedded in such a complex language. It wasn’t until 1992, during my first visit to Beijing that it became clear that China would play a central part in my future career.
When people ask you what you do, how do you generally respond?
I tell them I am a cultural broker helping to reduce conflict and producing change through training and advocacy. If they are still listening, I mention that I provide access, understanding and influence for Australian businesses hoping to benefit from China’s decade long double digit economic growth.
How have your perceptions of China changed over the years?
When I first started studying in Shanghai in the 1990s, I naively wanted to achieve absolute fluency, and somehow become Chinese. I realized pretty quickly that learning Chinese and understanding is a constant journey with no fixed end point and this certainly changed my perception. China is also constantly changing, and is so diverse that it is hard to make accurate generalizations but witnessing major events in China’s recent modern history gives you an insight that can only be achieved through experience. One of the greatest joys in my job is watching people reassess their preconceived perceptions about China once they’ve spent some time here.
You have coordinated countless business, educational and cultural tours to China. Can you share with us one of your most challenging tours?
I think this relates back to perception. I find a closed mind the most challenging aspect of any interaction, and this is amplified on any China mission, where people look for evidence to prove their views or opinions on how they assume China operates. I had people lose passports on the Great Wall in the middle of winter with connecting flights to Shanghai the next day, I’ve dealt with over efficient provincial police at 4am in the morning in dimly lit karaoke joints, and people trying to cope the next day after too much food or baijiu. People who are not open to China’s vast history, culture, and hospitality and all its contradictions remain the most challenging participant on any tour.
How do you define a cultural facilitator/broker?
A cultural broker helps bridge cultural gaps by actively providing a different point of view or understanding and acting as a go-between for two different cultures. I guess it really means, understanding the Chinese perspective and then translating it into an Australian context, and vice versa. Obvious areas of miscommunication between Australian and Chinese business partners relate to how each culture views or values time and hierarchy.
How important are your Chinese language skills in your job?
Very important. My language has deteriorated since leaving China in 2003 but I find it comes back after about a week in-country. I still use an interpreter for high level meetings to make sure that the nuance of the negotiation is not missed due to my limited vocabulary but for logistics and to coordinate a mission it is crucial. I also wouldn’t be able to understand the underlying cultural assumptions that guide most Chinese if I didn’t invest in learning the language.
What sustains your long-life passion with China? How much of China and contact with Chinese people has enriched your own life?
My life and who I am would be very different if China wasn’t such a central theme to it. I met my wife (also from Melbourne) in Beijing, our daughter Sylvie was actually born on 08/08/06 at 8am and all our Chinese friends call her our ‘fuwa’ – and as a result, we gave her a Chinese middle name (mei) blossom. My visits to China and my time spent living in Beijing and Shanghai have deepened my own cultural understanding of what it means to be an Australian and given me the tools to become a cultural broker. My Chinese friends have acted as my guides and educators and I appreciate their humor, which keeps me interested in China. I enjoy watching how China absorbs and adapts to different foreign trends and ideas, and this keeps my life long passion sustained, as well as realizing that this is a journey and there is so many facets of Chinese life, art, culture and food to explore that I won’t even scratch the surface in my lifetime.
What other professional connections to you have outside of your work with China?
Although I am regarded as a China specialist, I also work with the other BRIC economies and continue my own professional development through a network of trainers, public speakers and authors called Thought Leaders, which helps creative people become commercially successful and I am also interested in the role sport can play in building bridges and so have been heavily involved in helping Australian sporting bodies better understand and interact with China.
When you want to disappear from the world and relax, where would we most likely find you?
It sounds clichéd but at home with my family. We have a little two year old girl, who is just discovering her voice and learning about her surroundings. It’s so much fun seeing her explore her immediate world and tell us all about it – it is very hard to stay stressed and focused on work, when you have a toddler telling you to eat.
The Imperial Household Department
The Imperial Household Department (Neiwufu) was responsible for the costly task of provisioning the Forbidden City. It was not only in charge of managing the emperor's household affairs, court ceremonies, recruiting and employing maidservants and eunuchs, performing diplomatic duties, managing the imperial printing bureau, supervised the trade of ginseng, pearls, salt and coin copper, but also the daily upkeep of the Palace: heating, lighting, cleaning, maintenance, food and other daily provisions.
Formerly located in the southwestern part of the Forbidden City, it was founded in 1661 and run by bondservants attached to the Manchu banners who replaced the eunuchs who had managed the imperial household. The bondservants supervised a veritable army of personnel. Under the Kangxi emperor (r. 1662-1722), the size of the Imperial Household grew steadily from 402 officials in 1662 to 999 in 1722 and 1,623 in 1796.
The large number of workman and artisans who entered the Forbidden City wore belt tallies issued by The Imperial Household. In 1773, the Department issued 3,668 belt tallies that were valid for a three-year period. Apart from the workman and artisans, there were also laborers called sula in Manchu. They performed a number of jobs from moving furniture, sweeping floors, maintaining gardens and clearing snow.
A high-ranking official from the Imperial Household presided over the imperial kitchen. By the late eighteenth century, there were over three hundred chefs employed in the Forbidden City. Surviving menus reveal that imperial tastes were not purely Manchu but borrowed from cuisines across the country. Foods included chicken, venison, pork, soups, and dairy products such as butter, milk cakes and koumiss—fermented mare or camel's milk. The high-quality rice that the emperor and his family ate was not 'tribute rice,' but rice grown on imperial estates near the capital.The imperial kitchens were based in two locations. One was located outside Jingyunmen (The Gate of Flourishing). The other imperial kitchen was located south of the Hall of Mental Cultivation (Yangxindian) which served as the emperor's imperial kitchen.
The entire cooking process from the food selected and ingredients to whether it was chopped, sliced, and marinated and finally making contact with the oil in woks was closely supervised by an Imperial Household representative. One chef selected and washed the food and chose the ingredients before submitting them for approval by the Imperial Household. Another chef would then prepare the food which went through the same process. Only then would a third chef appear and start cooking under the watchful presence of an official from the Imperial Household. The food was then placed inside lacquered boxes, wrapped in satin napkins with dragon and cloud motifs and 'carried by a procession of eunuchs into the imperial presence.'
Every dish came with a strip of silver to ensure against any traces of poison. Just in case the strip of silver was not foolproof, a eunuch tasted every dish before it was eaten by the emperor and his family. Palace regulations forbade the emperor to have more than two servings of any one dish in case his preferences provided clues for anyone who wanted to poison him.
The charcoal used for cooking was also used to heat the palace. The huge bronze and iron vats found throughout the Forbidden City were filled with water drawn from the River of Golden Water. During the cold winter months, eunuchs wrapped these large vats with cotton padded covers and placed charcoal braziers underneath them to prevent the water from freezing. The charcoal used to heat the residential and ceremonial halls in the Forbidden City and for cooking was made from hard-grained wood produced in Yizhou prefecture in Zhili (present-day Hebei province). It was of such high quality that it gave strong fires with very little smoke. You may have noticed there are no chimney stacks in the Forbidden City.
The charcoal was delivered to a government office in the west of the capital called Hongluochang. It was cut into specified lengths packed into small round wicker baskets painted red before being sent to the Palace. The charcoal was called hongluotan (lit: 'red basket charcoal.') Palace records from the Qianlong period (1736-1795) provide detailed records in reference to the daily quota of charcoal which was issued according to rank--empress dowager, empress, imperial consort, consort, princess, prince, and imperial grandson.
So what was the daily quota for emperors like Qianlong? Perhaps there was no quota. After all, he was the emperor.
References
Lillian M Li, Alison J. Dray-Novey, Haili Kong, 'The Forbidden City and the Qing Emperors,' in Beijing: From Imperial Capital to Olympic City, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007:57-61.
Holdsworth, May, 'Good Housekeeping: Domestic Matters in the Forbidden City,' The Forbidden City, Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1998: 60-71.
Don J. Cohn & Zhang Jingqing, Beijing Walks, New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1992:60-61.
Formerly located in the southwestern part of the Forbidden City, it was founded in 1661 and run by bondservants attached to the Manchu banners who replaced the eunuchs who had managed the imperial household. The bondservants supervised a veritable army of personnel. Under the Kangxi emperor (r. 1662-1722), the size of the Imperial Household grew steadily from 402 officials in 1662 to 999 in 1722 and 1,623 in 1796.
The large number of workman and artisans who entered the Forbidden City wore belt tallies issued by The Imperial Household. In 1773, the Department issued 3,668 belt tallies that were valid for a three-year period. Apart from the workman and artisans, there were also laborers called sula in Manchu. They performed a number of jobs from moving furniture, sweeping floors, maintaining gardens and clearing snow.
A high-ranking official from the Imperial Household presided over the imperial kitchen. By the late eighteenth century, there were over three hundred chefs employed in the Forbidden City. Surviving menus reveal that imperial tastes were not purely Manchu but borrowed from cuisines across the country. Foods included chicken, venison, pork, soups, and dairy products such as butter, milk cakes and koumiss—fermented mare or camel's milk. The high-quality rice that the emperor and his family ate was not 'tribute rice,' but rice grown on imperial estates near the capital.The imperial kitchens were based in two locations. One was located outside Jingyunmen (The Gate of Flourishing). The other imperial kitchen was located south of the Hall of Mental Cultivation (Yangxindian) which served as the emperor's imperial kitchen.
The entire cooking process from the food selected and ingredients to whether it was chopped, sliced, and marinated and finally making contact with the oil in woks was closely supervised by an Imperial Household representative. One chef selected and washed the food and chose the ingredients before submitting them for approval by the Imperial Household. Another chef would then prepare the food which went through the same process. Only then would a third chef appear and start cooking under the watchful presence of an official from the Imperial Household. The food was then placed inside lacquered boxes, wrapped in satin napkins with dragon and cloud motifs and 'carried by a procession of eunuchs into the imperial presence.'
Every dish came with a strip of silver to ensure against any traces of poison. Just in case the strip of silver was not foolproof, a eunuch tasted every dish before it was eaten by the emperor and his family. Palace regulations forbade the emperor to have more than two servings of any one dish in case his preferences provided clues for anyone who wanted to poison him.
The charcoal used for cooking was also used to heat the palace. The huge bronze and iron vats found throughout the Forbidden City were filled with water drawn from the River of Golden Water. During the cold winter months, eunuchs wrapped these large vats with cotton padded covers and placed charcoal braziers underneath them to prevent the water from freezing. The charcoal used to heat the residential and ceremonial halls in the Forbidden City and for cooking was made from hard-grained wood produced in Yizhou prefecture in Zhili (present-day Hebei province). It was of such high quality that it gave strong fires with very little smoke. You may have noticed there are no chimney stacks in the Forbidden City.
The charcoal was delivered to a government office in the west of the capital called Hongluochang. It was cut into specified lengths packed into small round wicker baskets painted red before being sent to the Palace. The charcoal was called hongluotan (lit: 'red basket charcoal.') Palace records from the Qianlong period (1736-1795) provide detailed records in reference to the daily quota of charcoal which was issued according to rank--empress dowager, empress, imperial consort, consort, princess, prince, and imperial grandson.
So what was the daily quota for emperors like Qianlong? Perhaps there was no quota. After all, he was the emperor.
References
Lillian M Li, Alison J. Dray-Novey, Haili Kong, 'The Forbidden City and the Qing Emperors,' in Beijing: From Imperial Capital to Olympic City, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007:57-61.
Holdsworth, May, 'Good Housekeeping: Domestic Matters in the Forbidden City,' The Forbidden City, Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1998: 60-71.
Don J. Cohn & Zhang Jingqing, Beijing Walks, New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1992:60-61.
Lamb Mongolian Style
When you find yourself ushered into a yurt on the high steppes of Inner Mongolia, chances are a lamb is being slaughtered to mark your arrival. Herdsman and their families crave for conversation with a traveler from afar. Most of the time, they see more sheep, goats and cattle than humans. Mongolians make milk tea infused with boiling water and some salt. Dairy products are served: dried milk curds and dried cheese. Did I forget to mention the spirits?
A solitary Mongolian horseback wanders the grasslands carrying little more than a leg of mutton. He is greeted by another Mongolian who invites him in to his yurt. The guest eats and drinks through the night. As he is ready to depart the next day, the host has already packed a fresh leg of mutton for him to take on his way. A Mongolian never arrives home or leaves his host empty handed. He may be plied with other provisions, but you can be assured that he'll leave with some part of a lamb, fresh or frozen.
Mongolians are extremely good and slaughtering sheep. No sharp knife or meat cleaver, a small pocketknife will do the job. An entire sheep is stripped bare with this small knife. Nothing is wasted. The skin becomes clothing. The sheep's blood and its entrails are fed to the dogs.
A large bone of mutton is boiled in water then eaten with the hands. The mutton is dipped into a bowl of salt. Mongolians eat every last bit of meat off the bone. The remaining bone is sometimes used to make a lamb noodle soup. Dried noodles are bought in huge quantities and when migrations occur, you'll see mile on mile of sheep and cattle like ant-trails if you watched them from afar. Mongolians take all of their possessions with them including the dried noodles.
Back in the yurt, you're about to carve your way into a lamb that has been boiled for less than an hour. There are parts of the lamb considered especially tasty such as the shoulder and the head. Be prepared to see blood as you cut into the tender flesh. 'Don't mind the blood', says your host. 'Just keep eating.'
A solitary Mongolian horseback wanders the grasslands carrying little more than a leg of mutton. He is greeted by another Mongolian who invites him in to his yurt. The guest eats and drinks through the night. As he is ready to depart the next day, the host has already packed a fresh leg of mutton for him to take on his way. A Mongolian never arrives home or leaves his host empty handed. He may be plied with other provisions, but you can be assured that he'll leave with some part of a lamb, fresh or frozen.
Mongolians are extremely good and slaughtering sheep. No sharp knife or meat cleaver, a small pocketknife will do the job. An entire sheep is stripped bare with this small knife. Nothing is wasted. The skin becomes clothing. The sheep's blood and its entrails are fed to the dogs.
A large bone of mutton is boiled in water then eaten with the hands. The mutton is dipped into a bowl of salt. Mongolians eat every last bit of meat off the bone. The remaining bone is sometimes used to make a lamb noodle soup. Dried noodles are bought in huge quantities and when migrations occur, you'll see mile on mile of sheep and cattle like ant-trails if you watched them from afar. Mongolians take all of their possessions with them including the dried noodles.
Back in the yurt, you're about to carve your way into a lamb that has been boiled for less than an hour. There are parts of the lamb considered especially tasty such as the shoulder and the head. Be prepared to see blood as you cut into the tender flesh. 'Don't mind the blood', says your host. 'Just keep eating.'
Pigeon Whistles
Many years ago I watched movies set in Beijing intrigued to what sounded like faint, distant whistles as hawkers sold their wares in old winding alleyways. I only learnt later that these faint sounds were pigeons with whistles attached to their tails. As a child, the scholar Wang Shixiang raised crickets, trained falcons to catch rabbits and dogs to catch badgers. He especially loved pigeons because it was a pastime he could pursue all year long, not restricted by the change of seasons. Wang bought hundreds of gourds on which he engraved designs with a hot needle and also engraved designs on pigeon whistles.
The earliest textual sources on pigeon whistles (geshao) are found in the standard history of the Song where they were used in military operations. During a military campaign in the northern Song to quash the kingdom of Western Xia in the northwest, pigeons with whistles attached to their tails ultimately guided Xia troops to surround and annihilate the Song general and his army. The pigeons were released from large silver-guilded lacquer boxes found along a roadside by the Song general's commander-in-chief Ren Fu.
Pigeon whistles became widespread by the southern Song dynasty (1127-1278 A.D.), but it is not until the late Qing that we find detailed accounts of pigeon whistles in the imperial capital. In the Yanjing Suishiji by Fucha Dunchong, written during the reign of the Emperor Guangxu (1875-1904), it is recorded: 'When it is time to release pigeons from captivity, bamboo whistles must be attached to their tails. These whistles are called gourd or hulu (gourd) or shaozi. The sweet, melodious sounds permeate the heavens when the pigeons encircle the sky and make you feel happy and content.' Foreign observers also wrote on the subject. An article 'Chinese Pigeon Whistles' appeared in National Geographic in June 1913 and H.P. Hoose published his book Peking Pigeons and Pigeon Flutes in 1938.
There are two distinct types of whistles: those consisting of bamboo tubes placed side by side and tubes attached to a gourd. The bamboo tubular whistles have two, three or five tubes arranged in a row of ascending height. Some of these bamboo tubular whistles are also raised on a platform. They are extremely light, each weighing only a few grams and are tied to the tails of young pigeons (pigeons usually have twelve quills in their tails) with fine copper wire or good quality cotton or silk thread. In Beijing slang this is referred to as 'sewing on the tail' (feng shaoyi). When the pigeons fly in a flock (either long distance flights referred to as 'straight flying' (zou tangzi), or flocks flying in circles above residential apartments and houses, referred to as 'encircling the flock' (feipan), wind flows through the apertures tuned to various pitches. 'As the flock soar and swoop, they meet the wind's resistance at different angles, and thus produce pitches that distinctly change in tone and volume.' One of the most well-known collectors of pigeon whistles, Wang Xixian (1899-1986), owned a pair of gourds with three-partitioned slits that could produce the shang, gong and jiao pitches from the left, centre and right chambers respectively.
Raising pigeons and attaching whistles to their tails is not the kind of hobby or pastime that readily comes to mind, but it's certainly a hobby that is pursued and cultivated with a passion among many elderly men in the capital and reminds us that hobbies, customs and habits accumulated in daily life are perhaps the last to vanish by the trends of change.
The earliest textual sources on pigeon whistles (geshao) are found in the standard history of the Song where they were used in military operations. During a military campaign in the northern Song to quash the kingdom of Western Xia in the northwest, pigeons with whistles attached to their tails ultimately guided Xia troops to surround and annihilate the Song general and his army. The pigeons were released from large silver-guilded lacquer boxes found along a roadside by the Song general's commander-in-chief Ren Fu.
Pigeon whistles became widespread by the southern Song dynasty (1127-1278 A.D.), but it is not until the late Qing that we find detailed accounts of pigeon whistles in the imperial capital. In the Yanjing Suishiji by Fucha Dunchong, written during the reign of the Emperor Guangxu (1875-1904), it is recorded: 'When it is time to release pigeons from captivity, bamboo whistles must be attached to their tails. These whistles are called gourd or hulu (gourd) or shaozi. The sweet, melodious sounds permeate the heavens when the pigeons encircle the sky and make you feel happy and content.' Foreign observers also wrote on the subject. An article 'Chinese Pigeon Whistles' appeared in National Geographic in June 1913 and H.P. Hoose published his book Peking Pigeons and Pigeon Flutes in 1938.
There are two distinct types of whistles: those consisting of bamboo tubes placed side by side and tubes attached to a gourd. The bamboo tubular whistles have two, three or five tubes arranged in a row of ascending height. Some of these bamboo tubular whistles are also raised on a platform. They are extremely light, each weighing only a few grams and are tied to the tails of young pigeons (pigeons usually have twelve quills in their tails) with fine copper wire or good quality cotton or silk thread. In Beijing slang this is referred to as 'sewing on the tail' (feng shaoyi). When the pigeons fly in a flock (either long distance flights referred to as 'straight flying' (zou tangzi), or flocks flying in circles above residential apartments and houses, referred to as 'encircling the flock' (feipan), wind flows through the apertures tuned to various pitches. 'As the flock soar and swoop, they meet the wind's resistance at different angles, and thus produce pitches that distinctly change in tone and volume.' One of the most well-known collectors of pigeon whistles, Wang Xixian (1899-1986), owned a pair of gourds with three-partitioned slits that could produce the shang, gong and jiao pitches from the left, centre and right chambers respectively.
Raising pigeons and attaching whistles to their tails is not the kind of hobby or pastime that readily comes to mind, but it's certainly a hobby that is pursued and cultivated with a passion among many elderly men in the capital and reminds us that hobbies, customs and habits accumulated in daily life are perhaps the last to vanish by the trends of change.
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