Goodbye to Tradition (4)

Author: Lü Shengzhong
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-05-01
Features: Preface These articles were mostly written over a decade ago and were published sporadically in various magazines. Some were also included in the 1996 collection Soul-Seeking Journey. One day, I reread these writings and felt as if I had been transported back to the rural areas where I had conducted field research a decade earlier. In my memory, the sky was purer than it is now, the earth cleaner, people more simple, and I myself was indeed younger. With a pair of naive and ignorant eyes, what could I possibly discern from such a pure, clean, and simple background? It must have been shallow and lacking depth. Since that field research, I have continuously lived in the countryside and never expected the phrase "goodbye." For a time, I dreamed that tradition would accompany me. Over a decade has passed. Looking through my field research notes and photographs, and rereading these writings, I suddenly realized: every time I went to the countryside, it was a "goodbye," and every time I left, it was also a "goodbye." 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 vivid enough, and every word I listened to was not attentive enough. From these old writings, I attempt to retrieve more of the scenes from that time. Today, traditional folk and rural culture have become fashionable, and many young people yearn to learn more about it. However, the rural areas of China today have moved from the land permeated with tradition during my research to a "modernized" landscape over the past decade. The former earthen walls are either empty or have been transformed into bustling tourist attractions. Therefore, I prefer to reveal my own shallowness so that today's people can 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 nurture their children, and my art gradually matured under the nourishment of folk art. My mother, Jiang Yongzhen, was an adept craftswoman in the countryside, but during her lifetime, I did not actively seek nourishment from her in the realm of folk art. Thus, my greater artistic nourishment came from other "mothers of art." I once lived closely with these mothers, but most of them have now passed away. They are: Wang Lanpan, Zhang Linzhao, Cao Diangang, Qi Xiumei, Duan Yueying, and Kusulan. I will always remember their names, and in my heart, I will set up a eternal altar for them. In truth, these mothers of art do not belong to me alone; they are the last inheritors of traditional folk culture, representing rural China of the past that passed down its millennia-old cultural heritage to the modern era. Modern, you must be moved, right? Don't you quickly say to them: "Mother, you can rest assured." Then gently take this heritage. These mothers of art do not belong to me alone; they are the last inheritors of folk culture, representing rural China of the past that passed down its millennia-old cultural heritage to the modern era.
After sighing for a long time, I finally stopped sighing, because what these mothers of art left behind for future generations is not just a flower pasted on a window, nor a soul-calling hairpin doll, or a flower-shaped offering placed on an altar. What lies within is the quintessence and spirit of creativity and aesthetics that our ancient nation has nurtured. Since that field research, I have continuously lived in the countryside and never expected the phrase "goodbye." For a decade has passed. Looking through my field research notes and photographs, and rereading these writings, I suddenly realized: every time I went to the countryside, it was a "goodbye," and every time I left, it was also a "goodbye." What accompanied me was actually the hasty footsteps of modern people striving for a "prosperous life."