Tag Archive for '%e4%b8%8a%e6%b5%b7'

25
Apr

Book Review and Giveaway of “Shanghai Shikumen” (上海里弄文化地图)

By Sue Anne 21 Comments
Categories: Exhibits, Talks and Publications, The Fading Vestige and What I Am Reading

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UPDATE: Congratulations to Patrick, the 10th commentator! Random.org picked you out of 18 commenators. Drop me an email via the contact sheet and I will dispatch the book to you!

Thanks again to everyone who participated! For those who are in Shanghai, remember to pick up a copy! Amazon.cn has it on sale.

** I am giving one free copy to a lucky reader regardless of where you are in the world. Leave a comment below about yourself and why you’d like a copy. Entries close 5 minutes before midnight May 3, Beijing time. I will pick the winner at random. **

(欢迎中文读者！如果想用中文来看博科，可以在右边点下翻译钮 “Blog translated”)。 我会选出一位幸运读者送出《上海里弄文化地图》的一本书。请在博客文章下留下个人发言，介绍自己。比赛5月3日半夜停止。我会随机选择。)

For me, the hardest thing about documenting Shanghai’s ubiquitous lilong (or lanes) residences and shikumen isn’t the tedious amount of time invested in research and photographing them, but surprise, surprise, actually finding the hidden gems.

While there is substantial and organized information on Shanghai’s western architecture thanks to dedicated archivists including Tess Johnston and Paul French, there is no equivalent English directory for the hundreds of Shanghai shikumen and lanes, which is a challenge given their rate of demolition.

As an outsider without initimate knowledge of the city, I depend a great deal on the internet, Google maps and collecting anecdotes from residents to piece together the what, where and whys.

There was one key source I often turned to – a photographer on Flicker and the Chinese equivalent, Douban who went by the name of Gropius (the famous German architect who pioneered the Bauhaus School) or Xi Zi (席子). His work was a treasure trove of beautiful shikumen and lanes that I never knew existed, along with names and addresses, which I would use to guide myself around the city. He was receptive to questions and had a large Shanghainese following online.

A few years ago, while shooting in a heap of what used to be a beautiful structure in Hongkou, I met a man in his late 30s, early 40s doing the same thing. Lo and behold, it was Xi Zi.

We became friends and I’d meet up with him on several occasions to shoot and even interviewed him for the blog. He almost never used a map and knew of hidden spots that even local Shanghainese had no idea existed. He photographed the same places over and over again, mapping a timeline of their demise.

After 5 years of continuous shooting, Xi Zi (whose full name is Xi Wenlei (席闻雷)) and his good friend Jiang Qinggong (姜庆共) (or Lao Jiang as he calls himself, a well-known publisher of history and the arts) have finally put out one of the best photo books on Shanghai shikumen that you’ll ever find. Both authors grew up in shikumens and as Xi Zi once said to me, for the younger generation, the shikumen will be just a concept as many of them have never lived in one.

“Shanghai Shikumen” or more accurately “Shanghai Lilong Culture and Map” (上海里弄文化地图) condenses explanations and diagrams of various shikumen styles, 40 shikumen lilong travel guides, 400 shikumen lilong directories and 120 accompanying images of both the exteriors and interiors of the shikumen.

Interestingly, Xi and Jiang have chosen to emphasize their work in images rather than in text, a departure from traditional Chinese publishing standards. The best part of the book is the litany of maps (both pre-1949 and the present) that help the tracking and identification of shikumen and lilongs more efficiently. All in both English and Chinese.

For the authors, the book is as much a way to reach out to the younger generation of Shanghainese about their history, as it is appealing to foreigners with a deeper curiosity of the Chinese aspect of Old Shanghai.

That this easily accessible shikumen guide has not been published earlier is baffling to me, which is why I recommend readers to pick up a copy and start exploring as some of these neighborhoods may not be around for too long.

Where to buy

“Shanghai Shikumen” (上海里弄文化地图), 162 pages, March 2012, Tongji University Press (RMB 42)

1. Dukou Bookshop(s) (上海渡口书店)

- 828 Julu Lu, near Fumin Lu, Jingan District 静安区巨鹿路828号, 近富民路

- 245 Madang Lu, B1, Xintiandi Style Mall, 卢湾区马当路245号新天地时尚B1楼

- Online bookstore

2. Link Shanghai Gallery in Tianzifang (搭界)

- No. 5 Lane 248 Taikang Lu, Shanghai 上海市泰康路248弄5号

12
Mar

The Many Lives of an Old Shanghai Villa

By Sue Anne 1 Comment
Categories: The Fading Vestige and The Lives Within

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Update: The Atlantic has published “The Elegant History of Shanghai’s Rundown Communal Villas” which I wrote based on this post. But I had the luxury of adding more context of villas serving as public housing, and discovering more interesting facets of this villa on Beijing West Lu. Such as, it served as a foreigners-only dormitory known as Henley Home prior to belonging to the Shanghai Huiming Flashlight Company. (The post will be remain sticky for a day.)

Even from a distance, the former residence of Wu Tingfang* (伍廷芳) tucked in along Beijing West Lu (北京西路) looked huge. The red brick so common in Queen Anne architecture in Shanghai seemed to burn under the sun at half-noon. Under the main porch, mumbled voices mingling with the clattering of tiles as a cluster of middle-aged to ancient residents played a lazy game of mahjong. Nobody batted an eyelash to a stranger in their midst as they were used to visitors with cameras.

I entered through two sets of aged wooden doors flung open in welcome and adjusted my eyes to the dim hallway. It opened up into an airy space and a magnificent stairwell bathed in sunlight. The first thing one noticed was how aged the interior looked. Dust was lodged in every crevice of the intricate woodwork along the side of the banisters. Sunrays colored by glass windows illuminated European-styled arcs and moldings against tired and stained walls.

The floors creaked underfoot as I run my fingers along the sides walls where electrical switches on each floor controlled the over 50 households in the house. On the second floor, I could hear the hiss of wet vegetables against a smoking wok coming from the common kitchen. Next door, someone flushed a toilet and I later discover them to be in their original state. The suspended wooden stall doors gave little privacy to a human squatting atop the hole in the floor. It was rudimentary and uncomfortable.

A pair of middle-aged women was gossiping excitedly in Shanghainese as I continued upstairs. They giggled when I guessed them to be sisters and later shared with me a few tidbits of the history of the villa. As did many other passing residents, including an older man in a leather Mao flat cap, a heavily wrinkled woman stroking her cat and a middle-aged man wheeling his bike out. Everyone gave a different anecdote that seemed to map the many points of history of this house and they were similarly proud of its heritage.

The villa was built in 1910 and first served as the residence of Wu Tingfang (伍廷芳), a learned Mandarin official who also acted as an Envoy for the Qing Government in the United States, Spain and Peru. In America, Wu promoted Chinese culture and advocated efforts to mitigate discrimination against Chinese emigrants working in the country. Under Sun Yat-sen, Wu served as foreign minister to the Republic of China and even as acting president in Sun’s absence. He later passed away in 1922 in Guangdong.

(As past lives would intertwine, I later discovered that Wu had lived in beautiful Romanesque Revival style house* (now a boring looking apartment block) on Q Street in Washington DC, a block from my old apartment when I lived in the district.)

The villa in Shanghai was later taken over as a factory and dormitory by the Daxing Tobacco Company (大新香烟厂) and subsequently sold to the boss of Shanghai Huiming Tochlight Company (汇明电筒厂) named Ding Xiongzhao (丁熊照).

Ding had started his company in 1925 and grew to become the “King of Batteries”. He was unlikely to have stayed in Shanghai after the Communists came to power in 1949 as he had amassed significant wealth and businesses in the US and Europe. Records showed him settling and later passing away in Hong Kong in 1976. The house continued to serve as a dormitory for workers of the former Shanghai Huiming, whose descendants still live in the house till this day.

The current state of the villa – individual cramped quarters with backward communal amenities, facades in need of better upgrades and conservation – is still a common sight in Shanghai’s many old neighborhoods. So much so that the villa was deemed perfectly authentic to serve as a location set for a 2009 television series called  ”Dwelling Narrowness” or “wo ju” (蜗居). It literally translates into “snail house” but “humble abode” is a less awkward translation.

The TV series revolved around two sisters who struggled with life in a fictional city that strongly resembled present-day Shanghai. The plot focused on the sacrifices the sisters undertook to afford a home in the city - the younger sister becoming a mistress to a married politician while the other lived in a small room in the very villa with her husband as they scrimped to save money for a future together.

The show highlighted the conflicts arising from the widening gap between rich and poor, political corruption and an erosion of traditional Chinese family values. In particular, against the background of a real estate bubble in China and rising inflation, “Dwelling Narrowness” hit a chord with many viewers, especially in Shanghai, who saw themselves ball-chained for decades to burdensome mortgages like “house slaves” (房奴).

A resident told me that he appeared as an extra in the TV series and conveyed a mixed sense of pride and exasperation about the villa. “Everything is very much in its original form,” he said as he pointed out the sealed up fireplace, subtle moldings and wooden carvings, “That’s why the TV crew wanted to film here. They clearly appreciate the house, and I hope that the government does too. I certainly don’t want to leave.”

And with that, he wheeled his bicycle through the dim hallway and into the bright outdoors, his body cutting a sharp silhouette. My hand still on the banister, I decided to head up for another tour of the villa.

August 2011

* Photos of Wu Tingfang and his Washington DC residence are from Wikipedia Commons.

29
Feb

Hunger pangs at Da Fu Gui (大富贵)

By Sue Anne 1 Comment
Categories: Street Stories, The Lives Within and To Market, To Market

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The discovery of Shanghainese snackhouse/ restaurant Da Fu Gui (大富贵) was an accidental delight. As adverse I am to crowds, hungry hordes are hard to ignore when delicious (hence popular) food was involved.

Outside, long lines clustered for takeaways of golden roast meats and steaming buns and dumplings. Upon entering, the entire restaurant was a din of loud chatter and slurping noises. The smell of pork celebrated through frying and steaming, drifted and seduced.

The interior of Da Fu Gui is set up like a cafeteria with neatly aligned formica tables and welded down chairs. Patrons lined up as they do in Shanghai by pressing closely behind one and another while waving their money madly to catch the cashier’s attention. With a small ticket, everyone shuffles along to their desired snack and stock up.

Patrons clutched their trays of dumpling soups, paigu niangao (排骨年糕), steaming plates of xiaolongbao (小笼包) and pan-fried shengjianbao (生煎包) and looked frantically for seating. The food simply had to be consumed immediately, like right now.

Next to me, a woman dived into her plate of shengjianbao (生煎包). Peeling open the sweet steamed bun pan-fried to a deep brown on the bottom, a steaming morsel of pork flecked with seasoning and spring onions was revealed. To my left, a man slurped down a giant bowl of wontons swimming in broth. Across the room, I noticed two middle-aged ladies concentrated on demolishing xiaolongbao (小笼包) by the dozens. At RMB3-8 a dish (above and a little over USD1), dining was a cheap and cheerful affair.

Suddenly, the camera seemed a little heavy and I concluded a spot of nourishment would do the trick. I melted into the frantic lines of patrons and without thinking, walked away with 3 shengjianbaos (RMB 3) in a thin, oil-soaked paperbag. I had wanted to share it with my partner at home and suddenly realized, I had put an end to shooting for the day.

But priorities, priorities. Following a quick douse of vinegar to the already soaked bag, I hopped into a cab bound for home 5 minutes away.

Rarely has a photography expedition been so rudely interrupted by food. But sometimes, it can be worth it, especially if you have someone to share it with.

Addresss: Da Fu Gui (大富贵), 1409 Zhonghua Road 中华路1409号 (close to Fuxing Road East 复兴东路)

Febrauary 2012

22
Feb

Winter walking

By Sue Anne 0 Comments
Categories: Street Stories and Take To the Street

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It was only a few weeks ago, the cold and dampness of Shanghai’s winter had gotten to me in the worst possible way.

Hibernation swiftly took over and I stubbornly refused to get out of bed on the weekends. One Saturday afternoon, I woke up groggy, my heart and bones felt heavy as if trying to break out of a funk. I stared out of my window to see overcast skies and a dull fog. Grey seemed to constantly plague my weekends. I crawled back into bed.

I have often thought to myself that there was simply no excuse for bad weather to get in the way of shooting. We are reflecting society as is, and bad weather, warts and all, are exactly that. I knew deep down the most amazing pictures would come out of people fighting rain and cold. Nature versus man! Authenticity! I thought, yet laughing at the absurdity of my city-mindset. I lived in Shanghai, for pete’s sake.

And so it went for days, then weeks.

Then suddenly, there was a buzz around me. Sunshine this coming weekend! A colleague clutched my arm to exclaim. strawberries picking! Window shopping! Hot coffees in the streets! Picnicking!

Satuday came and it was half of what had been promised. Sunshine bathed busy streets. Frowns and hunched backs turned briefly into easy smiles and relaxed postures. I counted on two hands, youngsters snacking on ice-creams even when their breath was visible as they spoke.

In my first hour of walking, the camera felt unwieldy, almost alien in my palm. Still, it felt good to be get my rhythm back, measuring people and distance on my 35mm. Children were screaming as they played thieves and robbers in alleys. Shopkeepers joked back and forth. Loud conversations and the clattering of mahjong tiles drifted out of open windows.

By the 2nd hour, I pressed deeper into alleys and emerging in equally quiet streets where the temperature fell from the absence of bustling human bodies. The soundtrack of the warm afternoon had dimmed. My cheeks were pinched pink from the brisk air and my fingers felt slightly numb even in my gloves.

Adjectives failed me. I was freezing. As the sun slipped back behind clouds and the proverbial mountain, the evening chill forced bodies indoors, leaving only those out with a purpose. Places to go, bellies to be filled.

Bodies began to hunch again and layers piled on you only see eyes and red noses. Another 12 more hours and good weather will be upon all of us again. I was waiting. For Sunday promised to be as brisk but infinitely cheery.

February 2012

17
Jan

And the dragons come aflutter …

By Sue Anne 5 Comments
Categories: Street Stories and To Market, To Market

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The din of nearby crowds rivaled the incessant car honking as I alighted by the main road. Mustering great vigor, I dove into the busy pedestrian area around the Fuyou Lu Wholesale Market (福佑批发市场) near Yuyuan (豫园). My mission was to acquire some decorations to bring home to Singapore to alert our neighbors that yes, Chinese New Year is coming and this time, the Dragon will breathe fire into the new year while the Rabbit scampers away, never to return until 11 years later.

The smell of street snacks mingled with loud bargaining by hawkers and customers alike. Festivities don’t officially get underway until next Sunday but the buzz and cheer of the most important holiday for many Chinese all over the world are already in full swing.

The street was awashed in swaths of red cloth and paper laced in glittering bits of gold. The endless paraphernalia associated with celebrating Chinese New Year never fails to amaze me. Last year’s shiny posters of gold-detailed rabbits have been replaced by dragons that reflect every mood: cute, regal, tacky, fierce and prosperous. The Year of the Dragon is deemed a good one – for babies, for businesses, for weddings and anyone who believes in the auspicious symbolism it embodies.

In the background, Chinese New Year songs blared at every corner, ranging from the traditional gongs and songs to sped-up techno, none of which did anything to sooth the tic developing in the corner of my eye.

Besides the dragon, the other traditional symbols of prosperity and wealth sold well among shoppers: hanging mobiles of fish, ancient Chinese ingots, firecrackers, all 12 zodiac animals bundled together and lanterns. I found myself tangled with two other matrons trying to pay for my Dragon posters, so overwhelmingly massive, the God of Wealth would be blind to miss my home. Next to me, an older gentleman amused himself with a stuffed toy hammer shaped like a dragon that irritatingly parroted “Gongxi Facai! 恭喜发财!Gongxi Facai! 恭喜发财!” over and over again as you bashed it on its head.

I imagined nimble hands all over the province of Guangdong working at blinding speeds through December and early January, churning out all these .. things … to satiate the depthless appetites of heady consumers.

Chinese New Year is not complete just with decorations. Grandmothers swarmed candy stores to stock up on sweet bites for expected visitors during the new year, migrant parents perused toys to bring home, and children took advantage of the festive atmosphere to wrangle presents. Almost everyone was seeking something new to wear or adorn themselves with. I watched a woman, hands red and puffy from excessive dish washing, stroking a gold bracelet lustfully as her daughter tugged her arm for a snack.

Not to be outdone by the shops, entrepreneurial mobile hawkers lined up in the middle of the pedestrian street to peddle even more (if at all possible!) knick knacks. A tall striking man displayed his wares by layering himself with multiple  flutes on strings, enticing passers-by with a lyrical tune. Another cheery man wore a winter hat shaped like a panda and helped children try on similarly shaped hats. Adorable, wind-pinched cheeks peered out under their furry hats at parents unable to resist their innocent glee.

And just like last year, I emerged slightly rumpled but triumphant with my procured decorations. Each January, I vowed never to throw myself at the mercy of Fuyou Lu at this time of the year. But I cave each time for it has become a festive ritual, and if you’re in town, I encourage you to do the same.

Just remember, hands tucked in on the sides, stiffen the spine and dive headfirst into the crowd.

January 2012

12
Jan

Grappling with Street Photography

By Sue Anne 2 Comments
Categories: Take To the Street

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I’ve been sitting on this series for a while. Well, not just this, there are a dozen others, but let’s talk a little about this one in particular.

There isn’t a specific or exciting story to tell. It was a thoroughly enjoyable day-long amble on a Saturday in Hongkou district (虹口区) which I ended with cramped feet but a happy heart. Everything came together: cool weather, sufficient light, optimal crowd density and diversity of characters. It was days like this that reinforced my affection for Shanghai.

Yet when I reviewed my work the next day, I felt uninspired, almost disappointed. I found some perspectives unoriginal and compositions lackluster, a bit of a waste given the pleasant circumstances. Where was the motion, flow and wit? One photo seemed like a variation of another barely a month ago.

It took weeks to filter a dozen shots I could live with, another several days to do another cull. I remain undecided, deleting another as I write this post.

So what of it then, you ask? It was an exercise for my own gratification, a weighing of one’s minor accomplishments. But really, it is a reminder of how difficult the process of street photography can be for some.

Many photographers consider street photography to be challenging, perhaps the most difficult of genres within photography. The random and often uncontrollable elements in composition and people’s growing sensitivities about privacy are just some examples. Ironically, these are also the reasons that drive some to embrace street photography.

Personally, I’ve had little trouble with photographing people in Shanghai’s streets, something I’ve discussed at length before. Where I find constantly challenged is in creativity, sustainability and speed, especially when detecting and assembling an interesting composition quickly.  The process is easily suceptible to weather conditions as it can by your emotional state. Often times, it can be both relaxing and frustrating.

My partner often teases me about being too hard on myself, and how little of my work I share (ironic given that I have a blog) but I discover this to be surprisingly common among some photographers. It’s not a vanity thing but rather about skill and expectations.

Last September, as part of organizing the exhibit “The Living Streets of Shanghai and The Hague”, I spoke at length with photographer Lu Yuanmin (陆元敏) who was the event’s guest speaker.

Lu 老师’s (or Teacher ‘Laoshi’ Lu as most call him out of respect) street photography, largely shot in black and white film, is concentrated in his hometown of Shanghai. Pushed by high contrast and heavy grain of the film, his photos exude a dreamlike feel (also a recurring theme in interviews). His inspiration “comes from visual memory; the moment of collision of memory and reality.” It is as if one is drifting through Shanghai with an invisible cloak, peering intimately (and fleetingly) into people’s souls.

When I asked him if he encountered much difficulty shooting in the streets, he acknowledged how angry some people can be and it has grown more difficult of late. Being exceedingly shy in public, Lu is adverse to conflict.

“When I notice an argument in the street, I tend to walk away rather than towards it.” he said once in an interview. All of this has shaped his stealthy approach in street photography.  Before, the Lomo camera used to be one of his many weapons of choice. Of late, he has switched to a toy camera which hung like a small key chain no bigger than his thumb.

Once, I blurted out that despite practice, I find myself with no more than 8 good shots after a long day of shooting.

“So many?” Teacher Lu remarked in surprise. “That’s quite good already. I usually have just one or two,” he laughed. My face reddened and I slunk deep into my chair. That only made me feel worse. Clearly, my bar of excellence wasn’t very high.

When shooting film, Lu insists on developing all of it himself, fearing others might see his “mediocre” work if he sent it off to professionals. There was nothing militant about his approach to photography, he really was that humble. Perhaps with fame comes growing expectations, and you can be your own worst critic. Despite decades of experience, even veterans still grapple with the process. But it is Lu’s passion for street photography that presses him on. Nothing was too trivial. Nothing was to be passed up.

And so, the weekend is coming. Another day-long amble is expected and the frustrating process of shoot and review will reoccur.

But I never said I’d stop. Did I?

04
Jan

A review of 2011 (part three)

By Sue Anne 2 Comments
Categories: Exhibits, Talks and Publications, Off the Streets of Shanghai and Street Stories

This is the third installment of my review of 2011. Picking a favorite story from each month is difficult. All posts take time, including research, photo editing and writing and re-writing each paragraph to the best effect. It can sometimes be tiresome, especially when I would linger on a post for weeks, to the point of it remaining stubbornly unpublished. And believe me, there are quite a few. I sometimes have to revisit the place to jog the memory of the details, smells and sounds.

Yet there are moments which pass you by as quickly as they come. A look, a body movement or a sound can trigger an entire composition never to be recreated ever again.

July: I published a piece on exploring the port architecture of Shantou in Guangdong, where the Old Quarters, while crumbling miserably, is a beautiful place worth visiting. The city is home to Teochews, a dialect group, of which the overseas disapora number over 30 million.

Another favorite is “Reflections at high noon”, a photo essay on the most unknowing inspiration for street photography.

August: I’ve often feature the Chinese street photography collective Zaijietou.com (在街头) as an example of the popularity of street photography among a select few in China. Here, an interview of Chinese and German perspectives on street photography in China.

September: In lieu of blogging, my September was packed with activities. My biggest event was  “The Living Streets of Shanghai and the Hague”, a video exhibit by Shanghai and the Hague’s best street photographers. I co-organized it with  Five Spices, a Dutch design company, and the exhibit was held in Shanghai and subsequently in the Hague.

One of the featured photographers of the above exhibit was Tan Tien Yun, whom I interviewed. Working in the one of the countless factories in Minhang, Tien Yun took the time to take in the the more rural aspects of Shanghai’s suburbs including the local migrant communities.

A review of 2011 (part one) (part two) (part three)

31
Dec

Happy New Year! and 2011 in review (part one)

By Sue Anne 2 Comments
Categories: Exhibits, Talks and Publications, Off the Streets of Shanghai, Portraits of Strangers, Street Stories, Suburbs of Shanghai and The Fading Vestige

In the tradition of pensive reflection of the past year, I present to you the blog’s ”2011 in Review”. Below is the first of four installments rounding up my favorite stories each month. Hopefully this will keep you entertained over the long weekend. You can also read my review for 2010 here.

The pace of old housing demolition in Shanghai has slowed a little in comparison to the frenzied activity prior to the Shanghai World Expo in 2010.  This might be related to the Chinese government’s strict property tightening measures to scale back the real estate bubble, and the general malaise of the global financial crisis. On a positive note, on a recent visit to a half-flattened longtang, residents tell me they are now protected by laws to prevent forcible removal from their properties until all negotiations are complete. While not universally enforced, I am hearted by the small development.

2011 for me has been a significant amount of traveling to new cities and countries. In addition to revisiting Berlin, London and of course, home in Singapore, I visited for the first time Dubai, Seoul (and a very exciting jaunt to the North Korea border!), Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and Vietnam. It was a year of new boundaries and new friends and I expect 2012 to be more of the same.

I want to thank regular readers, faithful commentators (you know who you are!) and occassional passers-by for visiting the blog. I occupy a small sliver of space in the vast Internet but work hard to piece together the stories and photos for our mutual pleasure. As always, I welcome your suggestions on how to improve my photography and writing.

My best wishes of good health and happiness to you for the New Year! I leave you with one of my favorite quotes, something I remind myself daily and find very apt for fresh starts in general.

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

January: Meeting Mr Cai (photo above) in Shanghai’s suburbs, whom I have designated “The Happiest Man in Shanghai”, was a fortuitous affair. I am reminded of his cheery optimisim at his old age which warms my heart each time I have a nasty encounter in Shanghai.

February: I was very glad to have documented the beautiful mosaic-tiled public service posters in Ruihua Lane (瑞华坊) which preached good manners and respect amongst the neighborhood’s residents. Unfortunately, the lane has emptied out in anticipation of razing.

On another note, my trip to the very sunny and excessively opulant Dubai.

March: One of my favorite photo essays on discovering life and color in dying neighborhoods undergoing demolishment. This one was in northern Jingan district, which I had rarely visited. Beauty often lies in character, and Shanghai’s old lanes are filled with them. Everytime you pass by an unassuming lane, make it a point to poke your head in.

A special mention of my contribution as co-author (along with Old Shanghai establishments including Tess Johnston) of the book “Still More Shanghai Walks” which we presented at the Shanghai Literary Festival and our booklaunch at the beautiful and quaint Old China Hand Cafe, where it is still available. I covered the former Jewish Ghetto and street markets of Tilanqiao.

A review of 2011 (part two) (part three) (part four)

14
Dec

Light and Fury in the Night

By Sue Anne 0 Comments
Categories: Street Stories

Standing on the roof under the darkened sky, I felt the wind knife through me, chilling me right to the core. At that moment, the lunar eclipse was taking place. From my 27th floor, the moon looked as if it was being slowly eaten up by a menacing black cloud.

I willed my icy palm to clench and unclench lest it go completely numb. The temperature had dipped to around zero. Cold was too mild an adjective to describe my already fatigued state.

I wasn’t there to photograph the eclipse. Nor was I enamoured by the spectacular view of the Pudong skyline to my east.

Rather, peering westward, I marvelled at the pulsating lava of light and fury stretching through a major artery of Shanghai, against the twinkling of the cookie cutter buildings that sprawled endlessly into the distance.

Oddly enough, this view defined Shanghai’s urbanisation, but not its unique characteristics. It could be any major other city in China, or even the world.

The soundtrack of such a nightscape was soothing. Incessant car honks and whirring engines blended together into a symphony which was muffled by the cold dense air.

For the next few minutes, I shared a quiet moment with the city, marvelling at its energy. Until the wind picked up again, forcing me to steal indoors for much needed warmth and back to the party.

December 2011

02
Dec

Confessions in Desheng Lane (德生里)

By Sue Anne 2 Comments
Categories: Portraits of Strangers, Street Stories and The Fading Vestige

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The entrance into De Sheng Lane (德生里) was like a door into nothingness. Surveying the vast sea of fallen brick and mortar, bleached by the blazing sun, I began treading slowly across the rocky terrain.

De Sheng Lane hugged the corner of Huimin Lu (惠民路) (formerly known as Baikal Road) and Dalian Lu (大连路)(formerly known as Dalny Road). After much reearch, I’ve theorised that it might have been named after Lian Desheng (连德生) (1893一1935) who was the bodyguard of a covert dual agent for the Chinese Communist Party, Yang Dengying (杨登瀛), who spied on the Kuomintang Party. Lian Desheng had previously worked for the British Tram Company located along Huimin Lu, not far from the lane, which leads one to assume he used to live in the area. Unfortunately, I had no one to confirm this with as all of the original residents have left.

While weather-beaten, the lane entrance was beautifully engraved by Qing Shannong (青山农) (1880~1969), a famous writer, painter and calligrapher. The few remaining structures in the longtang (弄堂) appeared to have been well-preserved even before demolition. The reddish brick hues and white outlines were clean and distinct, which made it a bigger shame to see them hollowed out.

Gingerly, I hopped from brick to beam to wood, watching for rusty nails and potential cave-ins. I knew I must have been a silly sight to behold, like an ant lost in a mess of dirt. But I was not alone.

In the distance, an elder woman in her 50s appeared to be sorting bricks. She waved upon seeing me, I could have sworn I saw the briefiest glimmer of her gold tooth reflected in the sun. Or perhaps it was from the brass buttons on her cheery sweater.

From Kaixin, Chongqing, Mrs Wu’s son-in-law owned the rights to the area of Desheng Lane for demolition and cleaning up. I’ve noted over the years that many people in this particular business were from Chongqing, drawing in many relatives and hometown friends to Shanghai, where they’d live and work together. Mrs Wu readily confirmed with a vigorous nod.

“I’m retired and just passing the time, you know,” she added as she deftly picked and separated piles of bricks, often used to refurbish old houses. “Look here, you see? The bricks are very good quality.” She pulled out a sturdy red brick, marked with “1934″ – the year the longtang was built, others were marked ”C.S.”, the manufacturer of the bricks.

At RMB 0.30 a brick redemption (RMB 0.25 for the smaller grey slates), it was quite a lucrative retirement. I joked about pitching in to split profits. She laughed, infectious and hearty, and continued chattering when I asked her if she goes home often. Not since she moved to Shanghai to join her children 9 years ago, she said.

“Although, I was there a few months ago to bury my daughter.”

I stopped, unsure how to respond. I was thrown off by her easy admission, of how her 31-year old second daughter had passed on due to a white blood cell-related disease. She waved her hands to excuse my murmured apologies, as if having sought closure a long time ago. She paused, her smile wavered ever so slightly, and resumed jabbering on about Kaixin, Shanghai, life and everything else in between.  Her husband, Mr Wu, and another neighbor later joined us, and minutes became an hour of folksy tales and shared photographs.

I noticed that some people that I have met in Shanghai, especially those far from their hometowns, shared details of their lives very easily. There were always stories of children left behind, mouths to feed, mortgages to pay and family members who were ill or even missing. They bury the stress on a daily basis, which forms a tightness in their chest that swells and gush forth at the slightest probe, which lasts as long as you had the patience to listen.

For a country where people are so distrustful of each other, confessions to strangers may be the catharsis they seek in a large and lonely city like Shanghai.

November 2011

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