Archive for May, 2011

30
May

The soundtrack of recycling glass

By Sue Anne 1 Comment
Categories: Building the China Dream

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The crunch of glass rang through the air. Then the jarring scrap of a shovel dragging against the ground. Followed by the jingling of glass flung together. And again, the resounding crash of glass.

Over and over again, I stood there wincing against the sound as I watched a tan and leathery man scoop crushed glass around him and hurl them toward a giant mound of shattered bits.

Barely five feet away, another man was crouched on the ground, separating large panes of glass and mirror. The criteria was that it had to be whole to be easily recycled. What didn’t pass muster, he tossed into the pile for the first man to scoop. What he approved, he sliced it through the air like a frisbee into another pile.

No masks, no eye glasses. The glass winked against the sun as a gentle wind picked up. I shuddered at the thought of glass powder entering one’s eyes, and stepped further back.

At which point, I bumped into another migrant worker, a woman who was packing up a large plastic sack of beer bottles. She separated a few bottles on the floor with ther feet, picked one to dump into the sack and with the other hand, examined an empty Great Wall wine bottle. I noticed she had taken off her gloves and her hands were red, puffy and had small cuts all over.

With a heave, she flung the bottle into yet another pile which exploded upon impact. She picked up another that once stored French Bordeaux, and said to me, “You want to have a go?” I nodded and flung it as far as a I could. Hearing the loud smash was rather cathartic, but the puffs of glass dust proved too much, and I hurried out of the scrap zone.

May 2011

26
May

House and home for a migrant family

By Sue Anne 4 Comments
Categories: Building the China Dream and The Lives Within

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There was no reason to have entered what looked like a dumpster along Meizhu Lu (篾竹路), north of Wangjiamatou Lu (王家码头路).

Until a small head in pigtails poked out from behind the rusty doors and stared at me with small shiny eyes. I realized that there was no odor, or at least, it wasn’t pungent. As I pushed past the entrance, I found myself in a cavernous warehouse where makeshift rooms lined upon the side, assembled from a variety of wooden doors, corrugated sheets and curtains.

The television was blaring in one room while two young girls were doing their homework. A man was napping next door and I could hear the clatter of mahjong tiles behind a closed door. Nearby,  fresh vegetables were laid out on a table ready for dinner. Across was a small meeting area filled with loose, old furniture.

More than two thirds of the space was filled with vast collections of wooden beams, metal scraps, steel rods, glass panes and bottles and much more.

Where there is major demolition happening, be it residential or old factory spaces, there are scrap collecting operations that follow. Whether it is the lone peasant picking through trash with a pushcart, or the scrap mogul who owned a fleet of rumbling trucks to transport high-valued materials to even large collection centers in Zhejiang or Jiangsu, the scrap business was an important livelihood for many.

As such, temporary migrant enclaves would emerge to make their homes in these very scrap collection zones across Shanghai. For many migrant workers and their children, home was where they could find rent-free or at least cheap rent space, be it in abandoned factories or makeshift rooms in half-demolished homes with minimal amenities and substandard hygiene. As of last count, the “floating population” (流动人口) or migrants that spend less than 6 months each time in Shanghai make up 37% of Shanghai’s 22.2 million population.

The set up of their accommodations took various forms depending on the size of their operations. Men did most of the manual labor of sorting and lifting scrap, women pitched in while having to do laundry and cook meals. Inevitably, they grew into large family operations with relatives, neighbors and friends from nearby hometowns joining in, each with a role to play.

Depending on the state of the buildings, the migrant workers would take ownership of all corners on different levels. I’ve seen rooms demarcated by nothing more than a curtain and mattresses were laid out as beds on the floor. Meals were often cooked in as a large group, a boisterous and crowded affair. As the plumbing had been destroyed and toilets ripped out, one conducted one’s personal business out in the bushes. As the upper levels are progressively stripped for materials to be sold, and hygiene levels deteriorate, people would crowd towards the ground floor (hence the makeshift rooms) until they are forced into another abandoned building.

Outside this particular warehouse, a woman was hanging laundry. The rest of the building had been hollowed out, evidenced by exposed steel rods snaking through the ripped-out walls. The young mother was from Anhui, as were the other families. She had been in Shanghai for nine years, the last few in the very building. Her elder daughter studied in Shanghai while her younger son was back in her hometown.

Was her daughter doing homework in the room? I inquired. She started laughing. No, she was on her way to attend a concert of some Taiwanese pop star. “60 RMB a ticket! So expensive.” she exclaimed, as she pegged a pink shirt to the laundry line. “But she is a good girl and it was the cheapest of tickets. I decided she deserved at least that.”

April 2011

17
May

How street photography can humble you

By Sue Anne 2 Comments
Categories: Take To the Street

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You might enjoy this interview with Elliott Erwitt who recently received the Infinity Award for Lifetime Achievement from the International Center of Photography.

The “wit” in Erwitt is no coincidence. Every street photographer aims to be able to easily capture that fleeting moment of irony and what I refer to as “double-take”. The best of Erwitt’s work is often a trick of the eye, a “misalignment” that aligns perfectly, like his famous works on dogs and human interaction.

When trying to weave stories of disappearing neighborhoods and their residents, the focus and technique are different. The subject is shot from different perspectives, and your job is to draw out the details in the most holistic yet unique manner. Tens of shots later, you invariably have enough to piece together a narrative.

But street photography requires so much more effort. You have one shot, and only one shot, to tell it all.

Erwitt had said, “It’s about finding something interesting in an ordinary place… I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.”

This may come naturally to some with a Roald Dahl-like imagination, but not to others, or definitely not me. The frenetic density of Shanghai can be a double-edged sword in street photography. With human interaction in the city like heated molecules bouncing madly off each other, the excess of activity can often be distracting. At times, I get why some people prefer to photograph nature. They don’t try to sell you fake Gucci bags or cheap roller skates.

Which is why after six hours of meandering from the Bund along Fuzhou Lu (福州路) and an equally listless metro ride home, I ended up with only a handful of usefuls I was satistfied with. Each was merely a snapshot of a time of a day. Put them together, there wasn’t much of a narrative.

I’d ask myself, why bother? Spend all that time walking alone to be jostled and hustled. What do you have to show for at the end of the day?

Again, for his 80 over years old and a lifetime of experience, Erwitt puts it in perspective:

“Photography is not brain surgery. It’s not that complicated. It’s easier now than it was before, but before it wasn’t that hard. It was reasonably easy. It’s not the ease; it’s what you do and how you do it and how you construct your life and your vision.”

So yes, we’re not rocket scientists just because we talk on forums arguing whether rangefinders or DSLRs win out for street photography. But we are out there figuring it out through our lens. It requires a positive outlook before you step out of the door, a dedication to the craft and a steadfastness in spite of mediocre work. On your worst day, street photography is as challenging as it is humbling.

Everywhere in Shanghai, people are waving cellphones, point and shoots and DSLRs. But you can always spot the street photographer. He or she is lingering in corners, sometimes for over an hour, waiting for that “moment”. We’d recognize each other on the streets, nod in acknowledgement and move on.

12
May

The Roving Exhibit: Last stop of the day

By Sue Anne 0 Comments
Categories: The Roving Exhibit

He had a most unusual stand along the street market on Dongyuhang Lu (东余杭路), like a giant pharmacy of traditional Chinese medicine. It sold herbs and accoutrements that belonged to animals I’ve never heard or seen, in whole pieces, in ground powder, in jars, bottles and vacuum packs.

In the winter, he stood out wearing a giant ushanka, a Russian fur hat with ear flaps that can be tied up to the crown of the cap. His prized fox stoles would be laid out on a makeshift bunk stretcher. The head of a winter fox hung sadly off the side, one glassy giving away its pre-death sadness of being wrapped around someone’s neck.

In the fall and spring, deer antlers and horns of unfortunate forest creatures would take front row places, next to boxes of unidentified ginseng floating in jars and boxes of dried herbs. He’d swtich to a cowboy hat.

I’ve known the gentleman for over two years since I began photographing the Tilanqiao (提篮桥) street market. We had taken a photo together when we first met. I returned weeks later with a copy and we would sit and chat every time I walked by. I’d talk about Singapore while he would talk about Northern China where he had moved around most of his life. We were both outsiders in this city.

A Northerner he was, tall and sturdy with ruddy cheeks. He was from Inner Mongolia, worked in Shandong province and now does most of his business in Shanghai. He lived nearby in a tiny room where he paid RMB 500 (USD 77) a month for rent. He would return home to Inner Mongolia in the summers, taking an especially long vacation during the Shanghai Expo last year when local officials shooed most street hawkers away.

Towards the early evening on the day I carried my photo boards for The Roving Exhibit, I decided to take a rest at his stall after setting up in various other spots all afternoon.

He proudly wiped the photo boards down and balanced them on his chairs, tilting the fluorescent light he had hanging over his stall. With the dinner rush at 630pm, in a street market that turns even more lively after dark, it was prime time with a ready audience.

As I sat on the pavement nearby for a drink, he began a one man monologue on photography in the street market to whoever stopped by for a gander.

“Have you had a look at this picture?” he said to a middle-aged woman browsing a pack of tea leaves. She registered no interest and left. “And what about you, sir? What do you think of these photos?” The customer studied the photo and asked about the price of a vacuum packed American ginseng. Two gents from Wenzhou selling leather shoes lingered, poring over each photograph.

When it was completely dark, I decided to head home. He helped me wrap up my photo boards and gave me a sample of herbs which he said was good for … I forgot. He’d generously given me so many things which I have no idea how to cook.

My last stop of the day was perhaps the best part of the day. I collapsed in a cab and fell asleep all the way home.

December 2010

Introducing the Roving Exhibit

The Roving Exhibit: Where it has been

10
May

Shanghai’s Future Real Estate Developers?

By Sue Anne 2 Comments
Categories: Building the China Dream and Street Stories

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The boys were on a mission.

Focused and resolute, the objective was to build a faux irrigation ditch to channel the trickling stream of water cutting across the dusty road along Wanyu Street (万裕街).

Demolition has stepped up considerably north of Wangjiamatou Lu (王家码头路) to give way to the third phase of the current luxury estate called Bund House* which faces the Cool Docks.

The two young leaders of the operation were unsuccessfully digging the ditch with a stick. Sweat beaded around their foreheads as they furiously prodded and pushed the soil. In the background stood a stately old house with beautiful fixtures, quivering on its last leg of life.

“We need more water!” the tall lanky one shouted. Two smaller boys ran toward a filthy lake, created after a heavy rainful, and began scooping water with whatever they could find. One cleverly used abandoned styrofoam bowls construction workers used for takeaway. Another filled up empty soda bottles.

As I watched them dip their hands into the brownish and muddy liquid, my hand automatically began scratching an imaginary itch on my ankle. Fleas and bacteria are rampant in demolition sites, the humid summer is like a Mardi Gras party for them.

Amongst the team stood a small boy of maybe 5 years old, bereft of tools and creativity. I told him that I had seen a pile of empty bowls dumped in the next street over. I had not mentioned that they looked like they were breeding mosquitoes for the last few days. He sprinted furiously in his dusty slippers, and emerged minutes later waving the styrofoam bowls triumphantly in the air.

By then, the spectacle attracted a few construction workers who squatted and smoked, amused by the childrens’ antics. I crouched next to them and joked, “It looks like they are mimicking you.”

One of them laughed, a mouth full of bad teeth, and responded, “Who would want to grow up to be laborers like us! If they study hard, they can be rich real estate developers to hire laborers to do that.”

*The Bund House was formerly known as the Dongjiadu Project, and its first phase apartments fetched an average price of more than RMB 16 million (US 2.3 million).

May 2011

02
May

Behind the Camera: Ishi Mak on photographing Shanghai’s architectural heritage

By Sue Anne 6 Comments
Categories: Behind the Camera Interviews and The Fading Vestige

Main entrance of Shikumen. Zhabei District.

Ishi Mak (麦宇斯) is a dedicated photographer of Shanghai’s architectural heritage with a style reminiscent of Japanese minimalism. Widely known on Flickr as シャッターBUG, he captures what remains of Shanghai’s vanishing heritage structures, showcasing their beauty and elegance as deserved. Ishi’s attention to the photographic process and reverence for his subject detail are reflected in his tightly edited and timeless work.

Websites: ishimak.com and flickr

SA: Tell us a little about what your photography focuses on in Shanghai. (i.e. can you address why only architecture and design, no humans) Why is it a specific interest of yours?

IM: The series in question, “fragments of Old Shanghai” are the visual confluence of my interests in history, architecture and photography. By employing compositions with only architecture and design (without the presence of socioeconomic elements i.e people), I hope to draw attention to new perspectives of seeing architectural elements that together and form the architectural style of their heritage.

As a singular entity, these architectural elements illustrate their connection with history and culture. On their own, every piece has its story and purpose. When they disappear, a part of local history is lost.

It’s hard not to feel the residual energy of history in places that I venture to. Hence, the notion of lingering shadows comes to mind as I work on “fragments of Old Shanghai.” It’s impossible for shadows to linger after the object is gone forever. The only way for shadows to linger so to speak is via photography. We document the moment that was.

SA: Your black and white photography reflects a very minimalist and austere style, and you mentioned how light and shadows are key themes for you. Why is it about this particular aesthetic that appeals to you?

IM: Yes, I do subscribe to a minimalist approach when composing a frame; I will quote Hans Hofmann to reflect my vision and thoughts on this: “eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak.”

When I think of light and shadows, I think of visual poetry. Why it is so appealing to me? It’s because it defines our existence.

上海南市, within the Old City

SA:  I notice you have an expressed love for Old China through the intricate details of houses you photograph, such as the carvings in doors, ceiling beams, boundary stones etc. Do you have a particular period of architecture that you favor?

IM: I am very fond of architecture from the Tang and Song dynasty. Unfortunately, I believe there is not an authentic piece of it in Shanghai unless you venture south to Songjiang. Continue reading ‘Behind the Camera: Ishi Mak on photographing Shanghai’s architectural heritage’

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