Goodbye to tradition.4

Author: Lü Shengzhong
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-05-01
Features: Preface These articles are mostly written over ten years ago and were published sporadically in various magazines. Some were also included in the 1996 collection "Soul-Seeking Chronicle." One day, I picked up these writings and felt as if I had returned to the rural areas where I had conducted field research a decade ago. In memory, the sky was purer than now, the earth cleaner, people more simple, and I myself was indeed younger. With eyes full of youth and ignorance, what could I possibly discern from a background of purity, cleanliness, and simplicity? It must have been shallow and lacking depth. Since that field research, I have continuously lived in the countryside, never expecting the word "farewell," once dreaming that tradition would accompany me. Over ten years have passed. Looking through my field research notes and photos, and rereading these writings, I suddenly realized: every time I went to the countryside, it was a "farewell," and every time I left, it was also a "farewell." What accompanied me was actually the hasty footsteps of modern people striving for a "prosperous life." Ah, I regret that every glance I cast was not enough, and every word I listened to was not subtle enough. From these old writings, I attempt to extract more of the scenes from that time. Today, traditional folk and rural culture have become fashionable, and more young people yearn to understand it further. However, the rural areas of China today have moved from the land permeated with tradition during my research to a "modernized" setting over the past decade. The former earthen walls are either empty or have been transformed into bustling tourist attractions. Thus, I prefer to reveal my shallowness and allow today's people to experience more of the traditional landscapes of rural China.
Initially, I referred to the inheritors of folk art as "mothers of art," seeing them as my own mothers—mothers nurturing their children, and my art had gradually matured under the nourishment of folk art. My mother, Jiang Yongzhen, was a skilled rural woman, but during her lifetime, I did not actively seek the nourishment of folk art from her. Therefore, the greater nourishment in my art came from more "mothers of art." I once lived closely with these mothers, but now most of them have passed away. They are: Wang Lanpan, Zhang Linzhao, Cao Diangang, Qi Xiumei, Duan Yueying, and Kusulan. I will always remember their names, and I will set up a eternal altar in my heart for them. In truth, these mothers of art do not belong to me; they are the last inheritors of traditional folk culture, representing rural China that has passed down its cultural heritage accumulated over millennia to the modern era. Modern, you should be moved, shouldn't you? Hurry and say to them: Mother, you can rest assured. Then gently take this heritage.
These mothers of art do not belong to me; they are the last inheritors of folk culture, representing rural China that has passed down its cultural heritage accumulated over millennia to the modern era. After sighing for a long time, I no longer sigh, because what these mothers of art left behind for future generations is not just a flower pasted on a window, not just a soul-calling hairpin doll, or a flower-shaped offering placed on an altar. What it contains is the quintessence and spirit of our ancient nation's creativity and aesthetics. Since that field research, I have continuously lived in the countryside, never expecting the word "farewell," once dreaming that tradition would accompany me. Over ten years have passed. Looking through my field research notes and photos, and rereading these writings, I suddenly realized: every time I went to the countryside, it was a "farewell," and every time I left, it was also a "farewell." What accompanied me was actually the hasty footsteps of modern people striving for a "prosperous life."