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 collection "Soul-Seeking" published in 1996. One day, when I reread these writings, I felt as if I had returned to the rural areas where I had conducted field research over a decade ago. In my memory, the sky was purer than it is now, the earth cleaner, people simpler, and I myself was indeed younger than I am now. With eyes full of youth and innocence, 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 and never imagined 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 pace of modern people striving for a "prosperous life." Ah, I regret that every glance I cast was not as sincere, and every word I listened to was not as attentive. 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 learn more about it. However, the rural areas of China today have moved from the land permeated with tradition during my field research to a "modernized" setting 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 who nurture their children's growth, and my art gradually matured under the nourishment of folk art. My mother, Jiang Yongzhen, was an accomplished rural artisan, but during her lifetime, I did not actively seek the nourishment of folk art from her. Thus, my greater artistic nourishment 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 perpetual 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 of the past, which has passed down its millennia-old cultural heritage 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 of the past, which has passed down its millennia-old cultural heritage to the modern era.
After sighing for a long time, I stopped sighing, 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 they embody is the spiritual essence and artistic spirit of our ancient nation's creation and aesthetics. Since that field research, I have continuously lived in the countryside and never imagined the phrase "goodbye." For over a decade, 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 pace of modern people striving for a "prosperous life."