Memory map

Author: Lin Yude
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-01-01
Features: 30 copperplate paintings that guide you back to classical China and the memories of modern China are not entirely a humiliation of territorial cession and indemnity. Through exquisite copperplate engravings, the elegant and luxurious scene of China a century ago is vividly recreated, leading you into the glory and splendor of the ancient empire. Memory is a journey through time, but memory is not a winding path that gradually recedes into the distance. Sometimes, we extract souvenirs or leave precious visual records at the places where memories occur, like collecting specimens. Years later, these many things become gateways that remind us or lead us into the path of memory. When we gently close our eyes and pass through the gateway of a scent, a trace, or a sound into memory, on the vast plane of time, memory is a vast territory, boundless and endless. In spatialized time or time-saturated space, we immerse ourselves yet remain unaware of where we are. When I was young, my grandfather told me, "When I was young, my grandfather told me, when he was young." If we calculate 30 years for one generation, this memory spanning five generations crosses 150 years. Going further back, it reaches 1850. This almost exceeds the limits of oral history or personal and family memory, leaving only a historical era without scenes and details. However, as long as this era is not too distant, it often becomes a landmark in our journey of memory. We always firmly embed personal or family memories at the edge corners of the grand history. Yes, it is a trivial and humble corner, never having influenced anything, never having changed anything or caused anything. But when we narrate these memories, the history that serves as the backdrop becomes delicate and full of life. 1945 was particularly a joyous year for my father, not only because Taiwan was liberated, but more importantly, with the victory of the Anti-Japanese War, he defeated his Japanese rival and won my mother with colorful decorations. In the same year, as a "defeated nation's" military dog, my poor fifth uncle was hiding in the deep mountains and forests of an island in the South Pacific, surviving on snakes, insects, and wild vegetables each day. He said that if it weren't for the lack of salt, he would be weak and frail, and even an entire U.S. Marine Corps division could not catch them, just a few "Taiwanese villagers." So, following the clear threads of public history, our memories often extend to our parents and grandparents, and as time passes, the memories of the family gradually fade and are forgotten in each generation. Perhaps our memories can still reach around 1900, the youth of my grandfather, and as for the youth of my grandfather's grandfather in the mid-19th century, it might just be a historical overview without memory or personal emotion. Sometimes, those stiff, solemn hand-painted portraits can still vaguely reveal something to us, while those genealogies that exaggerate and flatter the family, apart from the meaning of honoring ancestors, are difficult to explain to us. A few years ago, a large number of mineral-colored cotton "ancestral portraits" from Shanxi were meticulously displayed in antique shops in Beijing, Hong Kong, or Taipei. Some of them were huge, accommodating nearly a hundred people, with dates ranging from the late Qing Dynasty to the Ming and Yongle era. In the paintings, apart from slight differences in clothing between the two dynasties, everyone, whether male or female, had the same face. There were often empty spaces reserved at the bottom of the paintings, some of which had portraits already painted, just waiting for the names "Mr. So-and-So" or "Ms. So-and-So" to be added.