The underbelly

The city was drenched in a pallet of pastels and grays
when I started my daily run along Ao Men road and Suzhou creek. The streets of
Shanghai appear bland as most colors eventually fade in the sun or become
soiled by fumes. The smog smears a film of haze across the sky. Under the
bridge I find the regular drug addict, this morning with a bloody needle in his
hand, waiting for the shot to kick in. When I return some twenty minutes later
he has dozed off to some faraway destination. The man doesn’t seem too scared
about being caught and facing severe punishment, as China is not at all keen on
drugs. I cross the restaurant my friend and I intended to go to the other
night, only to find ourselves heading straight for the door, repelled by the
sight of live ducks in a cage inside. Hypocritical, surely.

Just before I enter my flat again, I look at the
‘massage salon’, right across the street. Supposedly, the hospitality does not
end with a massage and the blue and red neon lights should give away some of
its true nature. The other night some of the masseuses were being transported
to another ‘massage salon’ or someone with a sore knee, let’s say. Their driver
being a very slick and dodgy type, actually inspected one of the girls in the
neck, lifting her hair the way you would lift a horse’s foot. In the van and
off they went.

Supposedly there is a lot of prostitution in Shanghai,
yet more subtle than your average red light district, taking place in the
backrooms of karaoke bars and hairdressers. The girls in the industry look
harsh, talking loud. Not at all the childish elves most women pose to be as
they dangle on the arm of their stern looking men. Even though the cultural
revolution declared equal rights for both men and women, most Chinese women
find themselves in the ‘female’ positions in society, one of which of course
being at home with the child. Rarely management or the more influential
positions. Luckily this situation is, just like the city itself, undergoing a
transformation. Old institutions are slowly giving way to new high-rises with a
broader view.

How many are able to enjoy that view, I don’t know. Following
the standard path of anyone abroad, my outlook on the city has been taking a
dip over the last couple of days, going straight down to the underbelly I
suppose. After the first weeks being full of impressions, time is now slightly
slowing down and becoming omnipresent. Giving me the opportunity to take a
closer look. Online research is hard, as the internet runs slow and much
information is being scanned reportedly by 130,000 employees in government. Foreign
information is thoroughly filtered before surpassing the Great Firewall of
China (or the bamboo curtain, as some put it kindly). This doesn’t hinder the
Chinese from being online however, even though social interaction can only take
place within the safe net of the country’s borders. Facebook is RenRen or
Kaixin001, Twitter is Fanfou and YouTube is Youku. Sharing information, meeting
new people: all under the watchful eye of Chinese government and the websites’
very rich Chinese founders.

Hello socks!

As soon as I entered the pavement a woman yelled at me ‘hello socks!’. I looked down at my feet and didn’t find anything wrong with them. Then she yelled ‘hello watch!’. It took a couple of exclamations before I understood she was trying to sell me the pieces she was addressing. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since Chinese are the most industrious people I have ever met. Lacking a dominant religion (Buddhists are in minority), Chinese agendas are free from moments of prayer or Sabbath, enabling them to engage in a 24-7 economy. From Monday to Sunday, people are working, producing and trading like there is no tomorrow. As I mentioned before, most Chinese are in it for the long run, earning money for their families and children. The flipside to this manic economy is of course the risk of exploitation and lack of safety for laborers. Some students find themselves in a squeeze, forced to choosing a profession that their parents prefer, usually solid moneymaking jobs, like lawyers, doctors or engineers. The artistic professions are considered inferior, and therefore most Chinese students choosing an education in arts, have had to overcome some hurdles in their families first. A battle which not many students win, certainly when they are still financially and emotionally depending on their parents.

 

The ones that do manage are usually very eager to learn. Therefore many art classes pay visits to outside places, like galleries, museums and artist studios. I have met several students by now who are very interested in anything different from what they know already. The other day an entire class entered my studio and what turned out to be their teacher gave his students a long monologue about my work. In Chinese. He pointed out details in my work and the class followed his gestures. I was becoming quite curious what this man had to say about my work. So when he had finally stopped, I asked one of the English speaking students to fill me in. True to his Chinese efficiency, he said: ‘in one word, amazing!’. Very flattering of course, but it didn’t leave me with much insight. To me and my Scottish colleague’s amazement, the class then pulled out their cameras in sync and flashed away.

 

Countering this brilliant experience stand of course some lukewarm receptions as well. One Chinese guide leading German tourists could not help being indignant about my materials. And what is an Anti-Room he asked, was it a place high up in the mountains? A German lady came to the rescue as the conversation, held in German, became increasingly complicated. According to her, an artist does what he feels is right, and the public should just shut up about it and follow his lead. Whether she was annoyed by her guide or she was craving her lunch, the group left not long after her (very German?) remark, leaving me to my work.

 

Being part of the new economy myself, I work in my studio fulltime. This enables me to fully concentrate on my process and gradually prepare my exhibition which will start in two weeks’ time. Following up on some good advice from other artists here in M50, I will start framing my work, which is a first. The other side to the Chinese economy being, that labor and materials are still quite cheap. Obviously a ‘positive’ side effect to the lack of unions and what we would call fair trade. Leaving me wondering still, whether I should participate in this situation or not.

Only for Happiness

If you visit a restaurant in Shanghai you shouldn’t be
surprised to find the owner of the joint completely wasted before the night is
over, serving food in the meantime. In my first restaurant an elderly lady with
cheeks too flushed for excitement draped herself over the table as she took the
orders. When her customers appeared to be too specific for a quick write-down,
she seated herself and ordered a beer in the process. For herself. We just
pointed to the bottle and in came six more. What appeared to be the mother of
the happily gassed one tried to convince her of tea instead. To no avail. We
ate a delicious meal however, while the drunk hostess flaunted around, touching
an elbow and a shoulder here and there. She seemed to have a wonderful time.

The other night, the same group visited a small family
run restaurant where the owner had dubbed himself Elvis. Not only because of
his black hair, but supposedly his vocal capacities had something to do with it
too. Of course we wanted to hear. Elvis belched out a high pitched version of
‘Return to Sender’ using the beer bottle for a microphone. Ending the chorus,
Elvis took another swing of the bottle and toasted: ‘Only for happiness!’. We
wondered what made Elvis happy, and it turned out that Elvis was enjoying his
current job as a restaurant manager very much, and that he had quit his job in
advertising which he hated.

Having quit my job myself before coming here, I
immediately felt a warm sympathy for this man. Not many people can afford it to
follow their heart’s desire and especially in China, many people are obliged to
participate in the 24/7 economy. Especially the less fortunate see themselves
working long days with little time off, being separated from their partners and
children as well, as it is usually too expensive to inhabit an apartment in the
city with the entire family. And so it happens quite often that one of the
partners works in the city and the children are brought up by family elsewhere.
In order to save as much money as possible, some people even sleep in the
street. In the end, their salaries should give their children a better future
and a glimpse of happiness.

According to Confucian tradition, the Chinese keep
their eye on the horizon. Long term prevails over short term, stability and
discipline are key. The ancient philosopher is very popular again, as the
Chinese are revaluing their history, taking different colors from the past and
painting them into a new composition. Confucius is read in school and gains
influence among the Chinese population. His philosophy is quite logical: take
good care of yourself first, then extend your benevolence to your family, your
village, your province and then your nation. This process is supported by good
health and wealth. It is ok to earn money: with the money comes responsibility.
The more you have, the more you can carry out.

Last Monday was mid-autumn festival, a celebration for
the moon. According to one of the legends, a husband lost his wife to eternity,
and she transcended to the moon. Once a year, when the moon is at its fullest,
the man sees the outline of his wife in the moon and he cooks her favorite
dishes to honor her. On this public holiday of legendary separation, the
opposite takes place as the Chinese move back to their homes and their
families, indulging in moon cakes and no doubt, a beer or six: ‘only for
happiness!’.

Love time no see

Recently I bought a Chinese mobile phone so I could contact my new friends without having to fear for my own financial crisis. A small shop at Ao Men road assorted in various models, ranging from the latest Nokio to the latest Nakio to the latest Nioka. I surprised the shopkeeper by opting for the true Chinese brand NEC, this being the cheapest option. The metallic grey device looks like it’s built for children, but it works. And it made me just eleven years younger as the date was fixed on January 23, 2000, obviously the last day it was actually used. For inside I found another bonus: 2 extra contacts already installed in my address book. And if that weren’t enough: the previous owner had also installed a picture of a fading oleander and the William Tell tune run by a Chinese carrousel. I was never happier.

Now there were two options: adding my new friends by their Chinese or their English name. Introducing themselves people would call both their Chinese name, given by birth, and their personally chosen foreign name (mostly English). Chinese names often reflect virtues or nature. Many people are named after the sky, the sun or ‘doing well for others’. The inspiration for English names springs mostly from (western) cities, popular culture or fairytales. Sometimes it is hard to leave the primary association behind, especially when a peevish girl steps up to you and introduces herself as a robust Argentinian writer. Being asked people state that both names reflect their identity just the same. I find it hard to believe: to me their English names are just another way to describe their hobbies or preferences. It has nothing to do with ancestors, family history or national culture. However, the English names are easier to remember. I find it hard to distinguish the Lings from Mengs and Chengs. Yet Brooke, Eco or York are much easier to associate.

 

In return they would have liked me to have an English name as well, as Jochem is hard to pronounce without their primary reaction of spitting on the floor. Yet how ridiculous this may seem, there are several European artists working in China who found that it served their income if they adopted a Chinese identity. For Chinese art collectors primarily purchase Chinese art. Being a French artist in China, it makes you wonder. As did Alexandre. I ran into him on the opening night of a gallery on Thursday night, then finding him hosting his own opening on Saturday night as Tao Hongjing. Both names make the same art. Smart or schizophrenic? Assuming that your cultural baggage and personal history work their way into your art, not only the place where you currently live. Alexandre couldn’t care less, as he tells anyone listening. He makes his work, and in the end it is just another seal that is attached to it.

 

Greeting Alexandre on his opening night, I called out ‘love time no see’, a phrase I had picked up in a shop where it stood on a baseball cap. Chinglish: that’s what they call misspellings in translations from Chinese to English. And there are quite enough to deserve their own category. The text on an Abercromble and Fritz shirt read ‘See you springtime’, leaving me puzzled whether people would address seasons personally, as part of the Tai Chi ritual?

 

Maybe I was just being old-fashioned, is it not truly about the name giving and the language, but more about the actual person or piece of art. Are names merely a tag to distinguish their owners and their work, more than a means to refer to their family lines or places of birth. Is language just a way to express one’s intention, conveyed with and without the misspellings just the same.

Unfinished work

Being away from home makes me reflect on my own
identity and the nature of my work. I started working with tape when I was
still in art school and I wanted to make a large mural installation. I applied
a large piece of tape to the wall and realized that it was just another way to
draw or paint. Feeling sad for the loss of my art works as I couldn’t take the
walls with me, I started using cardboard as a canvas. That’s 2.5 years ago now
and much has happened since. I developed my own handwriting and started to
explore a broader color pallet. I feel the material suits me: it is
unconventional, no-nonsense and new. Still, it is all experiment, part of my
artistic research. I have no clue where this will take me. Neither was I
prepared for people’s reactions here to my work.

 

The first day two girls entered the gallery. Seeing my
work, one started giggling, asking me if it was finished yet. The other wanted
to know if I had had some education at all. When I explained I had a degree in
visual arts, they suddenly brightened up. It turned out they were art students
in their second year. My work was obviously new to them and it probably made
them realize the endless possibilities artists can explore. They took pictures
and off they went.

 

The second day an entire class entered the gallery.
Seeing me work, they stopped and stared. Then one asked cautiously if they
could take pictures. I nodded and as I wanted to step aside I found myself
suddenly surrounded by a few dozen fifteen year olds: girls hooking their arms
in mine, guys tapping my shoulder and making V-signs. They didn’t care about
the work, they wanted to be in the picture with the bearded artist in the wild.
Then there was a Chinese man who I couldn’t understand, but he kept yelling
‘NICE! NICE!’. So frequently and loud that I started to wonder whether I was
missing out on some ritual that I had to respond to.

 

Many visitors pass by and with some I talk about my
work, art in general and the possibilities of artists in China. Although I have
met several people quite a few times before, they hardly open up just yet.
While visiting exhibitions with some of my new friends, instead of giving a
conceptual interpretation of art, they describe the process of the making. When
I ask them what they think the artist wanted to convey, they stick to
generalities like ‘loneliness’ or ‘beauty’. Political work is interpreted in
esthetical terms. Maybe in time we will have some more profound discussions
about art. Until then, I will continue my (other) unfinished work here.

The artist’s luxury

Mrs Liang, my former best friend at the tape factory,
was probably deported for showing support to a visual artist from the
Netherlands. Either that or she is on a long vacation. I saw myself obliged however
to visit Fuzhou road and gather my materials myself. The commercial store for
arts is literally stacked with floors of small art suppliers. And there is
always someone around who does speak English. I show the swatches of tape and
cardboard I brought and follow a small lady through the forest of canvases, easels,
paper rolls and Chinese vendors. My guide yells something in Chinese and out
comes a small man with something that is indeed cardboard, but not suitable for
my work. Being here is good for one’s improvisation, for I question myself the
entire day about my artistic process: why not try other materials; what shall I
use if I don’t find my usual stuff; will this tape survive in such humidity? I
show the friendly man my swatch of cardboard and he shakes his head. Maybe in
the next corridor. Then I find a little shop by Polar Bear, the next best thing
in tape. Stacks and stacks of tape in more colours than I have ever seen. I am
in paradise! My Austrian travel companion urges to take a picture of me in my
oasis. The Polar Bear lady seems a bit embarrassed – so much upheaval for her
tape supply. I give her my business card, pointing at the website and the image
on the back, showing a detail of my work. She shakes her head and reddens. I
feel a bit sorry for her and wonder what stories she will tell over dinner
tonight. Then by some miracle I find the cardboard I am looking for. We call a
cab: the 14RMB (1 Euro) is not worth the suicide attempt, which partaking in
Chinese traffic truly is. Green light gives you no guarantees whatsoever. On
zebra crossings, chances are you might get run over by a lorry or a Volkswagen
(old habits die hard).  Arriving in my
studio I have the feeling I can finally begin.

 

On my first day in the studio I am suddenly
interrupted by a lady with a broom and a basket. She and her colleagues are
appointed by the owner and landlord of M50 to keep things safe and clean. At
first I am a bit annoyed, when she stands within eyesight between me and my
work on the wall. Then she bends over and starts to collect the strands of
paper and bits of tape that I dropped there in the process. Before I know it
she has cleaned the floor around me and hurries out the door again. This
scenario repeats itself three more times, despite my pointing at myself and the
floor, telling her not to worry, I am a Dutch artist, I can clean up after
myself. The lady turns out not only to be a very disciplined cleaner, but also
very curious. During a Skype meeting I have later on, I suddenly see my
conversation partner looking at the new face that has just appeared in his
screen. As I turn around I stare into the big smile of the cleaning lady
leaning over my shoulder, looking at the computer screen. We  tell her to join the conversation, but to no
avail.

 

Of course, being a foreign artist in China is an
exceptional situation. Most artists here don’t even have the luxury to express
themselves properly. One other artist compound like M50 closed down recently,
for one of the artists, a photographer, created politically critical work. The
freedom I have to express my point of view and my ideas is something I would
want my Chinese colleagues to have as well. During several talks with some
Chinese artists, I find they are reluctant to talk about their more personal
beliefs and viewpoints. Understandable, yet very frustrating and unbelievable.
I hope in time I will learn and understand a bit more as to how a visual artist
in China deals with his own personal expression, for it is a true luxury not
having to care about it.

Crazy customer

Being here makes me realize how important good
infrastructure is: knowing whom to consult and where to go. As I couldn’t reach
Ms. Liang, my new best friend in the tape factory, I went out on a search for
materials and supplies. I went to People’s Square and landed on Fuzhou Road,
where art suppliers fill entire blocks. To my surprise, art supplies like paint
and canvases are shelved next to readymade awards and trophies. Whether it’s
ambition or shortage of shelf space, I don’t know. After some good searching, I
found one dusted shelf with tons of tape. Probably put there by someone who got
fired for ordering such a large quantity. To his amazement and relief, I asked
the store keeper to charge the whole lot. Due to lack of Chinese on my behalf,
I didn’t understand what he was saying. He sounded happy bordering hysterical
and a lady who looked like his mother came to witness the situation. The man
showed me the price tags on the tape rolls as he wrote the prices down. I
mistook this gesture for politeness, him
warning the crazy customer about the height of the billed amount. But that
still being a tenth of what I usually pay, I just smiled and totally lost the
opportunity to bargain and get a better price, or so my gallerist told me.

Packed with tons of tape and plastics I headed back,
on foot, which is not a good idea under these weather conditions. I stopped near
the river in a park to get some fresh air. Not soon after I had sat down, I saw
a young couple approaching, asking ‘hellohowareyouwhereyoufrom?’. They didn’t
seem to be pickpockets or hustlers, so I answered politely about my
whereabouts, yet having lost them completely after the second sentence. We
stared at each other and I just bowed, which I do a lot here, hoping to show
courtesy that way. Walking back I promised myself to at least learn some basic
phrases.

As I watched the Chinese characters on shop windows,
buses, newspapers, I realized that by missing the context, the characters had become
merely esthetic to me: communicating in form only. The large part of the messages
that are carried out are lost on me, whether it is commercial crap,
governmental regulations or Chinese chit-chat. This form of isolation could
make one feel lonely after a while, yet it is strangely enough very relaxing in
a way, not having to take part in endless streams of communication.  My mind becomes my own again, not disturbed by
tempting commercials or imposing directions. In communicating with locals I
have to use all my senses to understand them and make my intentions clear (not
always successfully I admit). However, it does make you realize how easily we
rely on words and wordy interaction. A place where this is slightly changing however is in social media, where images are often used to
replace text. Unfortunately, Chinese government has banned these channels
completely, which means that my means of communication have become limited in
that area as well.