Old Shanghai

Author: Wu Liang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-06-01
Features: Even if you live in a city for a long time, you are still an outsider. Because before and after you, the city remains the same as ever, as if it had never had you. Not to mention, even in your lifetime, what you have experienced, seen, and heard is truly limited. Though we are residents of Shanghai, we are like passing travelers. When we check into a hotel, we first need to find a map, open up recent news papers, look up a few phone numbers of acquaintances, and then gradually familiarize ourselves with the surrounding neighborhoods: supermarkets, restaurants, bookstores, and cinemas. Shanghai is simply unfathomable; it always reveals fragments of itself in a cryptic manner. When we think we can navigate it with ease, we are still outsiders—because we are often surprised by the new things we see, the things we just discover, or even the people and events we once thought were familiar, with unexpected details and dramatic twists. And surprise, precisely, indicates that we were outsiders just a moment before. How could I be any different? When I, like you, immerse myself in this collection of old Shanghai photographs, "surprise" is my feeling (though there are also "familiar faces"). The surprise stems from ignorance, and also from the overturning of what I already knew. When nostalgia for old Shanghai has become fashionable, what I seek is not knowledge, but simply "surprise." It confirms my status as an outsider, so I can only browse, only observe, and do nothing more. Life must be immersed in, but books, including photographs, are only captivating because of our imagination. The residents of this city have long had their imagination squeezed out by practical purposes, unless they regain the ability to browse and the capacity for boundless contemplation, no longer endlessly asking: How to do it? What is the truth? What is the use? Photographs, like life, have no order, no index, no hierarchy. Our reactions should also be impromptu, unrestrained, and instinctive. Of course, knowledge always steps in in time, telling us what it is, when, where, who, what, how to judge, and how to choose. So, let knowledge and impromptu coexist. Knowledge is the map—it reminds us to grasp the key points, avoid detours, and emphasize effectiveness; impromptu is strolling—it is the intrusion and lingering of an outsider. When facing photographs, let us indulge in our thoughts. When we lose our sense of direction and feel dizzy, we can always turn to the map we carry with us—it won’t be too late, and we need not worry about getting lost on the way home. In the past, why not enjoy both the pleasure of browsing and the wonder of contemplation?