Today (Friday) we left Xizhou and the Linden Centre and began our journey into the foothills of the southern Himalayas. We arrived in the town of Shaxi about midday, as the weekly market was in full swing. There were lots of grannies for me to photograph and smile at! Most of the time, I stand at a little distance and try to catch them going about their normal routine; I really don't want them to be aware of me. Sometimes, though, I come up to them and ask if I can take their picture. The response rate is about 60/40 no/yes. There is no religious reason for their refusal, unlike some cultures where picture-taking is seen as stealing someone's soul. Rather it seems to be typical human shyness and the self-consciousness that many people have about their looks. It is kind of sad, really, that they don't realize how wonderful they are.
We experienced this at the Linden Centre with one of the young staff members, Xiao Tao. She was a real sweetie with an interesting face and huge round glasses. Several of us were with her one evening and someone asked if he could take her picture. She said no. We said we just wanted to have it to remember her, but she countered that we would have to remember her without a picture. The others' attention then turned to something else, so I had a chance to ask Xiao Tao why she didn't want her picture taken. She replied that she was embarrassed whenever she saw a picture of herself, that she didn't like the way she looked. I told her that I couldn't see why that would be the case because "We think you are beautiful!" Her eyebrows shot up and she paused for a moment. Then she replied, "Thank you for saying that to me. I am not considered beautiful by Chinese standards." I told her that by God's standards she was beautiful.
It would please me greatly if, at those moments in the future when she is experiencing self-doubt, she might also entertain the notion that she is, indeed, beautiful.
I would post a picture of Xiao Tao here, but...
Friday, February 28, 2014
Twice as Good
I came here with space in my suitcases to bring home loot, but I have been a shopping failure. I find that I can either take photos or shop - I can't do both. My eyes are constantly scanning the people, looking for a granny or grandpa to photograph; merchandise isn't on my radar at all. Finally today (Thursday) I put aside the camera for an hour and went on a hunt. I had some success, and was heading to our rendezvous spot when I spotted a really cool watchamacallit. You know, one of those doohickeys with three legs and a handle. Okay, I admit I had no idea what it was, but I HAD to have it. I picked it up from the table and went inside to ask how much it was. The shopkeeper went outside and got the other one that was just like it, set the two next to each other and said it was 500 ($82) for both. I set one aside, pointed to the remaining one, said "One" in Chinese and then asked how much it was. He said 350. We negotiated for a while until we arrived at 240 ($39) - still too expensive, but I really loved the piece. (Not a good bargaining position; I was not going to walk away). Deal!
The shopkeeper then proceeded to wrap up both of them for me.
I guess the lesson here is that you should never break up a pair of thingamabobs.
The shopkeeper then proceeded to wrap up both of them for me.
I guess the lesson here is that you should never break up a pair of thingamabobs.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Cue the "Rocky" Theme Song
Yesterday we spent much of the day on Weibao Shan, a mountain that is considered to be sacred by the Taoists. There are 22 temples on the mountain. We visited three. It took a while to get to each because we were, after all, covering vertical terrain, with lots of steps. The first was a very impressive structure with many ornate altars. The second had a beautiful pond in the courtyard. The third almost killed me. To get to it, we headed down the mountain. It was a long walk down which, of course, meant there would be a long walk back up. Several times along the way I thought about turning back, but our guide kept saying that it really wasn't much farther and I decided it would be a shame to stop when I had come so far. Boy, did I regret that decision!
As many of you know, I had open heart surgery 4 months ago to repair a bad valve. I have been going to cardiac rehab, and the therapists have been helping me toward my goal of being in good enough shape to make this trip to China, but nothing I did in rehab was even close to climbing many hundreds of stairs at an altitude of 6500 feet, covering a vertical distance of 1000 feet in less than a mile!
After we looked around the lower temple, I steeled myself for the upwards journey. I fixed my eyes on a step that was a reasonable distance up ahead of me and started walking. When I reached that step, I sat until my breathing returned to normal, usually less than a minute. Then I would stand up and locate my next goal. Walk. Gasp. SIt. Breathe. Repeat. In this manner I was able to make it to the top in a reasonable amount of time. After resting at the top for a few minutes, I realized that I felt GREAT! I was amazing, a champion, a world-class climber. Nothing could stop me! (Cue the music).
Today we were on a different mountain visiting a tea plantation. At one point our guide suggested a little side trip up to a small waterfall. I joined the group that was going up and we started on our way. We had not gotten very far when I looked up ahead and saw quite a lot of steps. It appears that I am neither world-class nor unstoppable; this 'champion' spent the next hour sitting in a rocking chair on the terrace. It was lovely and I didn't get out of breath once!
We will be heading into more remote villages starting tomorrow, and I don't know if I will have Internet access there. I will keep writing these posts and publish them when I am able.
As many of you know, I had open heart surgery 4 months ago to repair a bad valve. I have been going to cardiac rehab, and the therapists have been helping me toward my goal of being in good enough shape to make this trip to China, but nothing I did in rehab was even close to climbing many hundreds of stairs at an altitude of 6500 feet, covering a vertical distance of 1000 feet in less than a mile!
After we looked around the lower temple, I steeled myself for the upwards journey. I fixed my eyes on a step that was a reasonable distance up ahead of me and started walking. When I reached that step, I sat until my breathing returned to normal, usually less than a minute. Then I would stand up and locate my next goal. Walk. Gasp. SIt. Breathe. Repeat. In this manner I was able to make it to the top in a reasonable amount of time. After resting at the top for a few minutes, I realized that I felt GREAT! I was amazing, a champion, a world-class climber. Nothing could stop me! (Cue the music).
Today we were on a different mountain visiting a tea plantation. At one point our guide suggested a little side trip up to a small waterfall. I joined the group that was going up and we started on our way. We had not gotten very far when I looked up ahead and saw quite a lot of steps. It appears that I am neither world-class nor unstoppable; this 'champion' spent the next hour sitting in a rocking chair on the terrace. It was lovely and I didn't get out of breath once!
We will be heading into more remote villages starting tomorrow, and I don't know if I will have Internet access there. I will keep writing these posts and publish them when I am able.
Auntie Bliss
We visited a village that is known for its tie dyed cloth. It is not like the swirly, colorful patterns that we think of in the states. The end product here looks more like batik and it has beautiful, complex designs: butterflies, flowers, fish. One of our favorites, though, was a simple pattern: all it has is one very large leaf right in the middle of the cloth. We all got a kick out of it because it looks like a huge marijuana leaf. I think we need to grow up.
Traditionally, this village used only a rich blue dye made from a plant, so they are most famous for their blue and white designs.
When we came into the courtyard of one of the families that makes and sells the cloth, there were three aunties (or grannies, as I often call them) sitting in the center on low stools, bent over their work and chatting with one another. The Lindens have a relationship with this family, so they were very welcoming, all smiles, gracious enough to let us snap endless photos.
In this process, a design is transferred to the white cloth through a stencil. The aunties then fold and stitch the cloth in very precise ways, using a running stitch and leaving long thread ends. Next, they pull on those thread ends to gather each design tightly. Lastly, they wrap the thread around each little section until the cloth is covered with tiny, tightly- bound peaks. A 4x4 foot piece of cloth could be as small as 1x1 foot by the time it is all gathered and tied.
The cloth is placed into water over a fire and heated until it reaches just the right temperature (which they determine just by looking at it - no thermometer necessary). The dye is poured in and the cloth pieces stirred around for a while. They remove the cloth and hang it to dry. You can imagine that it takes quite a while with so much of the cloth being tightly bound, but maybe not as long as you would think since it is very sunny and extremely dry here.
I had the chance to make a little tie dye piece of my own. Boy, did that increase my appreciation of what the aunties were doing! The cloth is a little hard to pierce, the needles are well-used and catch a little on the fabric, and the thread, because it has to be very strong, has a lot of drag on it. After finishing the fold-and-stitch stage, I started gathering and wrapping. Clearly it was going to take me a month to finish this project! Cloth in hand, I went over to the aunties and one of them graciously set down her work and tackled mine.
Oh the bliss of getting to sit close and watch her work! Her hands were strong and nimble, and tough as leather after doing this work for more than 50 years. She could look away from her work regularly, doing it by feel as much as by sight. In no time, she had finished. (I was impressed, but disappointed, by her speed; I wanted to sit there and bask in the glow of the aunties a little longer)!
The village is trying to maintain this traditional art. They begin teaching the girls at around age 8, but the prognosis is not good. Very few young people practice it because they find it to be too tedious and boring.
Every day I feel that I am seeing things that are in the process of disappearing. Even in the six years since I have been here, things have become more modern. Some of that is good, as they are finding easier ways to do their daily tasks, but much of it is simply a result of greater access to outside influences; globalization is leading to homogenization.
So, while I can, I am going to soak up the auntie bliss.
Traditionally, this village used only a rich blue dye made from a plant, so they are most famous for their blue and white designs.
When we came into the courtyard of one of the families that makes and sells the cloth, there were three aunties (or grannies, as I often call them) sitting in the center on low stools, bent over their work and chatting with one another. The Lindens have a relationship with this family, so they were very welcoming, all smiles, gracious enough to let us snap endless photos.
In this process, a design is transferred to the white cloth through a stencil. The aunties then fold and stitch the cloth in very precise ways, using a running stitch and leaving long thread ends. Next, they pull on those thread ends to gather each design tightly. Lastly, they wrap the thread around each little section until the cloth is covered with tiny, tightly- bound peaks. A 4x4 foot piece of cloth could be as small as 1x1 foot by the time it is all gathered and tied.
The cloth is placed into water over a fire and heated until it reaches just the right temperature (which they determine just by looking at it - no thermometer necessary). The dye is poured in and the cloth pieces stirred around for a while. They remove the cloth and hang it to dry. You can imagine that it takes quite a while with so much of the cloth being tightly bound, but maybe not as long as you would think since it is very sunny and extremely dry here.
I had the chance to make a little tie dye piece of my own. Boy, did that increase my appreciation of what the aunties were doing! The cloth is a little hard to pierce, the needles are well-used and catch a little on the fabric, and the thread, because it has to be very strong, has a lot of drag on it. After finishing the fold-and-stitch stage, I started gathering and wrapping. Clearly it was going to take me a month to finish this project! Cloth in hand, I went over to the aunties and one of them graciously set down her work and tackled mine.
Oh the bliss of getting to sit close and watch her work! Her hands were strong and nimble, and tough as leather after doing this work for more than 50 years. She could look away from her work regularly, doing it by feel as much as by sight. In no time, she had finished. (I was impressed, but disappointed, by her speed; I wanted to sit there and bask in the glow of the aunties a little longer)!
The village is trying to maintain this traditional art. They begin teaching the girls at around age 8, but the prognosis is not good. Very few young people practice it because they find it to be too tedious and boring.
Every day I feel that I am seeing things that are in the process of disappearing. Even in the six years since I have been here, things have become more modern. Some of that is good, as they are finding easier ways to do their daily tasks, but much of it is simply a result of greater access to outside influences; globalization is leading to homogenization.
So, while I can, I am going to soak up the auntie bliss.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
A Slice of Community Life
We had a fascinating experience today. Brian Linden, owner of the Linden Centre, invited us to attend part of the funeral of his good friend's father-in-law. He had spoken with the family who assured him that they would be pleased if we would come and that it would perfectly fine if we took photographs. I think we all felt a little odd, but we trust Brian's guidance.
It was the last day of a week of events. We got there at about 9:45 am. There was no organized ceremony. Instead, the courtyard of the family's home was filled with people sitting at little tables or standing around. There was lots of activity, talking, live music, laughter, men smoking (in fact there was a tray of cigarettes for the taking right inside the door), women cooking. People were basically just hanging out.
At the entrance to the courtyard, people would stop at a table and make a donation to the family. This was carefully recorded. If, in the future, the family attended someone else's funeral, they would know exactly how much to donate to that family. No more, no less.
There was an altar at one end with a picture of the deceased above it and incense burning In front of it. Guests would go up whenever they wanted, get on their knees and kowtow three times to show respect for the deceased, then they would turn toward the family who was standing nearby and give a little bow towards them with their hands clasped in front of their hearts. Brian encouraged us to do so as well; it would bring honor to the man's family. We took turns kowtowing, and our style must have been really bad because each time one of us did it, there were ripples of good-natured laughter among the crowd. When I was doing it, I just said a prayer for the man and his family.
We hung out for a while, taking pictures, smiling at people, chatting. It was surprisingly comfortable being there. At some point they started putting plastic on the tables and bringing out food. They might feed hundreds of people at a funeral, so you can see why the monetary donations are helpful. While I have absolutely loved the food here (it is light and full of fresh vegetables), this meal was a little different. There were eight dishes, and they were, according to funeral tradition, heavy on the meat. Two of them were pure animal fat, another was a spicy liver. Some of the others were more palatable, and there were a few vegetables. We had eaten breakfast before we came, so we didn't make much of a dent in what was served. Jeanee, Brian's wife, was at my table and she joked that we would have to take home whatever we didn't finish. A few minutes later, though, I learned that she wasn't joking; they brought a bunch of small plastic bags for us to put the food in! Fortunately, the Linden Center staff would enjoy eating it and we wouldn't have to see it again.
We left to make room for the people who continued to arrive. Later that day they would all process with the coffin through the town to the burial ground in the mountains.
Things like this are the reason I love traveling with the Lindens. They are part of the community and have built strong connections. These relationships open doors to seeing parts of life in China that just aren't available to the average tourist. I may never see the Great Wall, but I have been to a funeral!
It was the last day of a week of events. We got there at about 9:45 am. There was no organized ceremony. Instead, the courtyard of the family's home was filled with people sitting at little tables or standing around. There was lots of activity, talking, live music, laughter, men smoking (in fact there was a tray of cigarettes for the taking right inside the door), women cooking. People were basically just hanging out.
At the entrance to the courtyard, people would stop at a table and make a donation to the family. This was carefully recorded. If, in the future, the family attended someone else's funeral, they would know exactly how much to donate to that family. No more, no less.
There was an altar at one end with a picture of the deceased above it and incense burning In front of it. Guests would go up whenever they wanted, get on their knees and kowtow three times to show respect for the deceased, then they would turn toward the family who was standing nearby and give a little bow towards them with their hands clasped in front of their hearts. Brian encouraged us to do so as well; it would bring honor to the man's family. We took turns kowtowing, and our style must have been really bad because each time one of us did it, there were ripples of good-natured laughter among the crowd. When I was doing it, I just said a prayer for the man and his family.
We hung out for a while, taking pictures, smiling at people, chatting. It was surprisingly comfortable being there. At some point they started putting plastic on the tables and bringing out food. They might feed hundreds of people at a funeral, so you can see why the monetary donations are helpful. While I have absolutely loved the food here (it is light and full of fresh vegetables), this meal was a little different. There were eight dishes, and they were, according to funeral tradition, heavy on the meat. Two of them were pure animal fat, another was a spicy liver. Some of the others were more palatable, and there were a few vegetables. We had eaten breakfast before we came, so we didn't make much of a dent in what was served. Jeanee, Brian's wife, was at my table and she joked that we would have to take home whatever we didn't finish. A few minutes later, though, I learned that she wasn't joking; they brought a bunch of small plastic bags for us to put the food in! Fortunately, the Linden Center staff would enjoy eating it and we wouldn't have to see it again.
We left to make room for the people who continued to arrive. Later that day they would all process with the coffin through the town to the burial ground in the mountains.
Things like this are the reason I love traveling with the Lindens. They are part of the community and have built strong connections. These relationships open doors to seeing parts of life in China that just aren't available to the average tourist. I may never see the Great Wall, but I have been to a funeral!
Not Exactly Accurate
On my first trip to China, we spent most of our time in small villages that are still very traditional in dress and customs, at least among the older generation. I just love the colorful grannies and the weathered old men.
Today (Sunday) we spent time in Dali Old Town. Near it is the new part of Dali, which is rapidly becoming a modern city. Much of Old Town is a shopping district, attracting a lot of Chinese tourists, though it retains the beauty of the old architecture and lovely streets. Much of the crowd was young and very stylish. After wandering for several hours, I stopped to rest. I started reviewing the photos I had taken and came to the realization that if someone were to rely on my photos to give them a sense of what Dali is like, they would have to conclude that it is entirely populated by older people in traditional dress. I have developed a finely-tuned radar that picks up any granny within a two block radius!
Today (Sunday) we spent time in Dali Old Town. Near it is the new part of Dali, which is rapidly becoming a modern city. Much of Old Town is a shopping district, attracting a lot of Chinese tourists, though it retains the beauty of the old architecture and lovely streets. Much of the crowd was young and very stylish. After wandering for several hours, I stopped to rest. I started reviewing the photos I had taken and came to the realization that if someone were to rely on my photos to give them a sense of what Dali is like, they would have to conclude that it is entirely populated by older people in traditional dress. I have developed a finely-tuned radar that picks up any granny within a two block radius!
Six Years
Read no further! You must go read the post from my last trip titled "An Amazing Day" that was posted on April 12, 2008.
Finished? Good. Let's pick up where that story left off.
I did a small painting of Mr. Yang, which the Lindens delivered to him in the fall of 2008.
Fast forward to today (Saturday). Some of us were walking in town when I saw my calligrapher. I recognized him instantly; I have painted him several times so I know that face. He was carrying a stack of photos in one hand and his camera in the other. Upon seeing this group of Americans, he started taking pictures of us. (I thought that was ironic given his adamance about not having his picture taken on the street). We gestured that we wanted to take his picture and he let us, even posing a little. He seemed to be in a good mood.
I must insert a little information here about Mr. Yang. He is a character and, um, given to a bit of the drink. One can't be sure what to expect with him, nor how clearly he might be thinking at any given moment.
He started talking very animatedly. Fortunately, Jeanee was with us to translate. We didn't say anything about who I was (still trying to gauge his state of mind) and there was no reason he would recognize me after 6 years. Besides, I was wearing a hat, so I would have looked different.
He insisted we come to his home. We did, and after we had been there for a minute or two, Jeanee asked him if he remembered an artist that he had met and who had done a painting of him. He didn't answer. He immediately got a little agitated and reached into his breast pocket, from which he pulled out a packet of business cards. He began to hurriedly thumb through them, muttering as he did so. I finally picked up what he was saying: " Pu Suzan, Pu Suzan." (The Chinese version of Susan Ploughe). I took off my hat and said, "Yes! Pu Suzan!" He looked me hard in the face and then he switched his attention to the stack of photos he had been carrying when we met him on the street. He started going through them, clearly desperate to find something. Suddenly, he cried out with glee and held up a photo of the two of us together. "Pu Suzan!" Joyous mayhem ensued.
I am astonished that he remembered my name, and can hardly fathom that he has been carrying my picture for 6 years.
Mr. Yang seems to carry the stack of pictures as evidence that he is important and that he has friends. I think people dismiss him and even avoid him because he can be a handful at times. My suspicions were confirmed when he told Jeanee that I was special to him because "the others were all too busy; Pu Suzan spent time with me." Back in 2008 I thought that I was the one who had experienced an amazing day; I am thrilled to know that it was special for Mr. Yang as well.
Finished? Good. Let's pick up where that story left off.
I did a small painting of Mr. Yang, which the Lindens delivered to him in the fall of 2008.
Fast forward to today (Saturday). Some of us were walking in town when I saw my calligrapher. I recognized him instantly; I have painted him several times so I know that face. He was carrying a stack of photos in one hand and his camera in the other. Upon seeing this group of Americans, he started taking pictures of us. (I thought that was ironic given his adamance about not having his picture taken on the street). We gestured that we wanted to take his picture and he let us, even posing a little. He seemed to be in a good mood.
I must insert a little information here about Mr. Yang. He is a character and, um, given to a bit of the drink. One can't be sure what to expect with him, nor how clearly he might be thinking at any given moment.
He started talking very animatedly. Fortunately, Jeanee was with us to translate. We didn't say anything about who I was (still trying to gauge his state of mind) and there was no reason he would recognize me after 6 years. Besides, I was wearing a hat, so I would have looked different.
He insisted we come to his home. We did, and after we had been there for a minute or two, Jeanee asked him if he remembered an artist that he had met and who had done a painting of him. He didn't answer. He immediately got a little agitated and reached into his breast pocket, from which he pulled out a packet of business cards. He began to hurriedly thumb through them, muttering as he did so. I finally picked up what he was saying: " Pu Suzan, Pu Suzan." (The Chinese version of Susan Ploughe). I took off my hat and said, "Yes! Pu Suzan!" He looked me hard in the face and then he switched his attention to the stack of photos he had been carrying when we met him on the street. He started going through them, clearly desperate to find something. Suddenly, he cried out with glee and held up a photo of the two of us together. "Pu Suzan!" Joyous mayhem ensued.
I am astonished that he remembered my name, and can hardly fathom that he has been carrying my picture for 6 years.
Mr. Yang seems to carry the stack of pictures as evidence that he is important and that he has friends. I think people dismiss him and even avoid him because he can be a handful at times. My suspicions were confirmed when he told Jeanee that I was special to him because "the others were all too busy; Pu Suzan spent time with me." Back in 2008 I thought that I was the one who had experienced an amazing day; I am thrilled to know that it was special for Mr. Yang as well.
Monday, February 24, 2014
The Art of Photography
Our group spends some time each evening sharing our work and talking about picture making. These discussions are not particularly technical; Doug is more concerned with finding and expressing your vision, whatever that takes. The concepts are ones my painter friends and I discuss, but they don't translate to what I am doing here with my camera. The photographers are actually producing their art here and now. My photography has a completely different purpose: I am hunting and gathering information in order to make my art when I return home to my studio.
In the end, though, we face the same decisions:
I have great respect for what the photographers must do to get a good image. They must make decisions quickly and they must work with what is in front of them. They can't move trees or increase the height of a doorway. Though editing tools are available, it seems that most of the photographers in our group would not use them in this way; rather these tools are used to enhance or tweak an already solid image. Several of them are shooting film, which almost forces a slower, more thoughtful approach; in the time that they have set up a good shot, I might have fired off 20 shots with the expectation that only a few of them might be good. Digital is cheap, and my photos don't have to be perfect. I will have the luxury of time to design and complete my artwork.
A good photographer understands what his camera can do and knows how to make it do what he wants. He knows the limits and possibilities when it comes to developing and editing and printing. A good painter knows what her paints can do and how to use them to accomplish her vision. Without a sure grasp of the basics of a medium, there is a greater struggle to achieve the desired image. I don't have the know-how to take a good photo, so I must rely on the accidental success. I do know how to make a good painting, so my successes are more frequent. (Great paintings, unfortunately, are more elusive; my best works are a combination of clear vision, confident know-how and a liberal dash of some much-appreciated accidental magic)!
As we share our images each night, I can see how far beyond me the photographers are. They are making art.
In the end, though, we face the same decisions:
- The selection of our subject matter. What moves us to choose something?
- Composition - how the elements that make up the picture are placed in the frame in relationship to each other and to the edge of the frame
- What is in focus and detailed vs. out of focus
- Color - strong or delicate, saturated or greyed, or maybe none at all
- Point of view; looking up or down or straight at our subject
- Close up vs. panoramic view
- The size and shape of the photo or painting
I have great respect for what the photographers must do to get a good image. They must make decisions quickly and they must work with what is in front of them. They can't move trees or increase the height of a doorway. Though editing tools are available, it seems that most of the photographers in our group would not use them in this way; rather these tools are used to enhance or tweak an already solid image. Several of them are shooting film, which almost forces a slower, more thoughtful approach; in the time that they have set up a good shot, I might have fired off 20 shots with the expectation that only a few of them might be good. Digital is cheap, and my photos don't have to be perfect. I will have the luxury of time to design and complete my artwork.
A good photographer understands what his camera can do and knows how to make it do what he wants. He knows the limits and possibilities when it comes to developing and editing and printing. A good painter knows what her paints can do and how to use them to accomplish her vision. Without a sure grasp of the basics of a medium, there is a greater struggle to achieve the desired image. I don't have the know-how to take a good photo, so I must rely on the accidental success. I do know how to make a good painting, so my successes are more frequent. (Great paintings, unfortunately, are more elusive; my best works are a combination of clear vision, confident know-how and a liberal dash of some much-appreciated accidental magic)!
As we share our images each night, I can see how far beyond me the photographers are. They are making art.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Why I Am Here
I just realized that many of you have no idea what I am doing in China. I came here in 2008 with a group of painters. We spent three weeks painting and photographing in small villages all over southern China. At the time, I was primarily a landscape painter. When we returned home, we had four months to produce up to six paintings to be included in an exhibition at two galleries in Door County, WI: Linden Gallery in Ellison Bay and Barnsite Gallery in Kewaunee. To my own surprise, every piece I painted was of the people I had encountered! This was the beginning of a distinct shift in my focus, and while I still enjoy landscapes and other subjects, my sweet spot is painting people.
I have painted and sold many China-inspired works in the last six years (you can see them on my website). In the spring of 2013 I was preparing new works to send to Linden Gallery and I realized that I was running out of reference material that excited me; this "landscape painter" had not taken nearly enough photos of people on her first trip! I simply came back for more.
I am on a photo tour sponsored by the Linden Centre and led by photographer Doug Beasley. I did not bring my oils with me, just some tubes of gouache and some small boards to paint on. There is a chance that I may not paint at all while I am here, and that's okay.
(Pssst, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. When I learned about this trip, I did not publicize it to other artists. I loved the artists I went with in 2008 and made some good friends, BUT we were all in the same places, taking essentially the same photos and, therefore, painting many of the same paintings - each in our own unique style, but still... I realized this was a problem when another artist and I each placed disturbingly similar images in the same issue of a national art magazine. Hence, I am the only painter on this trip)!
I have painted and sold many China-inspired works in the last six years (you can see them on my website). In the spring of 2013 I was preparing new works to send to Linden Gallery and I realized that I was running out of reference material that excited me; this "landscape painter" had not taken nearly enough photos of people on her first trip! I simply came back for more.
I am on a photo tour sponsored by the Linden Centre and led by photographer Doug Beasley. I did not bring my oils with me, just some tubes of gouache and some small boards to paint on. There is a chance that I may not paint at all while I am here, and that's okay.
(Pssst, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. When I learned about this trip, I did not publicize it to other artists. I loved the artists I went with in 2008 and made some good friends, BUT we were all in the same places, taking essentially the same photos and, therefore, painting many of the same paintings - each in our own unique style, but still... I realized this was a problem when another artist and I each placed disturbingly similar images in the same issue of a national art magazine. Hence, I am the only painter on this trip)!
We Finally Arrive!
Today we left the city and headed to our final destination. The 6 hour drive took us through beautiful mountainous areas, dotted with small towns and villages. I continue to be amazed at how they farm all but the steepest mountains. If a piece of land can be terraced and planted, it is. One of the most abundant and noticeable crops in this area is rapeseed, from which canola oil is made. The fields are covered with masses of vibrant yellow flowers.
We stopped at a small village along the way and wandered a few of its streets. We came to a small town square where some men were playing cards and women were working on some food preparation. One of the men had his small child with him, and he was pleased when we started taking her picture. (The child was a little less pleased). I have noted before in my travels that parents are always proud when you notice their children. This becomes a great tool for getting pictures of the parent or grandparent. They think I am photographing their little one, when often it is they who have peaked my interest and my shots are mostly about them! (sneaky photo tip #1)
There was beautiful music being broadcast in the square. As several of us walked up one of the side streets, we realized that it was being played by a man on his front porch. He had a small amplifier attached to his erhu, a two stringed musical instrument that is played with a bow. We applauded and began to take photos. At that point he gestured for us to come up on the porch with him and he gathered little stools for us to sit on. As he began to play for us, his wife came out with a pitcher and cups to offer us a drink. Beautiful hospitality towards strangers. I have found this to be common Chinese behavior.
We arrived at the Linden Centre in the small town of Xizhou (See-joe) by mid afternoon and had the thrill of being finished with traveling for a while. Unpacking was incredibly satisfying! Here are a couple of pictures of the centre. You can see that we are roughing it. The second photo is my view as I am writing this. The entrance to my room is on the left:
We stopped at a small village along the way and wandered a few of its streets. We came to a small town square where some men were playing cards and women were working on some food preparation. One of the men had his small child with him, and he was pleased when we started taking her picture. (The child was a little less pleased). I have noted before in my travels that parents are always proud when you notice their children. This becomes a great tool for getting pictures of the parent or grandparent. They think I am photographing their little one, when often it is they who have peaked my interest and my shots are mostly about them! (sneaky photo tip #1)
There was beautiful music being broadcast in the square. As several of us walked up one of the side streets, we realized that it was being played by a man on his front porch. He had a small amplifier attached to his erhu, a two stringed musical instrument that is played with a bow. We applauded and began to take photos. At that point he gestured for us to come up on the porch with him and he gathered little stools for us to sit on. As he began to play for us, his wife came out with a pitcher and cups to offer us a drink. Beautiful hospitality towards strangers. I have found this to be common Chinese behavior.
We arrived at the Linden Centre in the small town of Xizhou (See-joe) by mid afternoon and had the thrill of being finished with traveling for a while. Unpacking was incredibly satisfying! Here are a couple of pictures of the centre. You can see that we are roughing it. The second photo is my view as I am writing this. The entrance to my room is on the left:
Blocked
Our first stop in China was a very large city, Kunming. Millions of people, cars, motorcycles, cell phones, billboards, lots of new construction, skyscrapers, wi-fi, endless stores, high fashion. Very modern and, in many ways, familiar. In the midst of their modernization and greater openness, though, the government retains tight control. I experienced it personally when I tried to update this blog. In China, online access to Facebook and Blogspot are blocked. As a result, I am emailing these posts to my husband (and all-round terrific guy), Steve, who is putting them on the blog. I'm a little behind, so there will probably be multiple posts as I get caught up.
The Late Show
At 4:30 am Chicago time, I really should be asleep in my seat in the upper level of one of those huge new planes that are an engineering marvel... except when it comes to designing for any degree of comfort. Instead, I am watching the movie "Gravity." I am utterly transfixed. After all, they have clearly based the screenplay on my current situation: Sandra Bullock's character, Dr. Stone, is from Lake Zurich; I'm from Lake Zurich. She is traveling far above the surface of the earth; I'm traveling far above the surface of the earth. Dr. Stone is convinced that she will spend the rest of her life in space; I'm convinced that I will spend the rest of my life on this plane. She is risking catastrophe and death at every moment; I'm tired and uncomfortable and my neck hurts and my seat won't recline properly. Oh well, they always get something wrong in these screenplays.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
2014 Trip
I won't write much tonight because it would consist mainly of... whining! I left my house 12 and a half hours ago and I have only gotten as far as L.A. I have another 25 hours of travel before we arrive in Kunming, but I am going to say nothing more on the matter because a person who gets to travel to China has no right to complain! Let me just say that I am glad to have left this behind:
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