While in Beijing I met with Hu Fang, a writer, art critic and curator*, who very generously lent me his ear and, gave me his time, after my request to get some feedback on my perceptions of China. I’ve been coming to China now on a yearly basis since 2004, observing, absorbing, interpreting, comparing, contextualizing, processing. Each time maintaining a weblog for my visual and written notations. Throughout these past years this has been very much a solitary exercise. An indulgent undertaking resulting, until now, in a subjective collection of images and ideas that have not been exposed to, or examined by, those who know infinitely more about Chinese culture than I do.

When the opportunity to talk with Fang arose, it met with my growing craving to embark on dialogues with others about various themes that recur in my collection of possibly fanciful notions about aspects of Chinese culture.
One of those themes is the attitude towards copy vs. original, imitation vs. authentic, fake vs.genuine. Fang introduced me to the term shanzhai initially meaning “a fenced place in the forest” or “village in the mountains with stockade houses“.
It is however currently often used to refer to certain type of pirated goods in China. As I understood it, it means not a literal copy, whereby every detail is replicated, but rather it’s an almost copy. A reference to an existing product and/or brand, whereby the shanzhai product has some alterations in it that distinguish it from the original article, yet it clearly is based on an original product.

Wikipedia offers some insights on origins and usage of the word shanzhai. One of the references given is an small article in the New York Times:

[Shanzhai] associates fake products with the actions of old-time bandits who thumbed their noses at various Chinese dynasties, an increasing number of Chinese people are viewing such products as an anti-establishment symbol.(…)

*Fang is also artistic director of Vitamin Creative Space, an art space in Guangzhou.

The well-known Louis Vuitton print, or references to it, can be seen just about everywhere: of course on fake LV handbags. But also on socks, scarves, stickers to decorate your mobile phone with, underwear, fabric, plastic carrier bags, hairpins and so on and so on.

A couple of days ago in the Guangzhou metro, I saw this woman wearing her LV inspired sleeves. These loose sleeves are worn mostly by women, and small children, over their coat sleeves. I guess they’re meant to keep the coat clean and whole. People wearing them are often engaged in activities involving dirt and grease (like streetvendors), and small children are of course crawling and climbing all over the place, including rather filthy floors.
So anyway, this woman is wearing loose sleeves that I associate with low income labour, yet sporting a motif that refers to one of the most ridiculously chic brands in the world. (Even though it’s not an exact copy: it says LS, not LV and the shapes that make up the pattern are not very precise replicas of the original LV shapes.)
Encounters as these fuel my curiousity about the cultural meaning of the act to copy from the Chinese perspective. I hope to address this later on in this blog.

My reflection in an LV shopwindow in Xiamen/November 2009

*follow beloved

Near the busstop where I often wait for the number 3 bus from campus to town, I noticed this banner hanging at eyelevel. More to the point, I noticed the character that had been added to the original message by punching holes in the fabric. It was the character 不 [bù] meaning no or not.

The horizontal strip of red fabric, and the yellow message printed on it, make up a format that is ubiquitious throughout China: that of government (either national, regional or local) slogans. Whoever had punched those holes, had made an adjustment to the banner that negated the message*. The bright sunlight cast sharp shadows, and in the case of the banner, it’s shadow projected very clearly only the message NO.

Whether intentional, or coincidental, it conveyed a very strong visual statement.
To see the whole banner, click HERE.

*(don’t)DO IT NOW, DO IT FOR YOURSELF, KEEP AWAY FROM SMALL GOODS BEING SOLD ON THE STREET

This girl caught me in the act, and clearly does not look too pleased at being captured in her role as a human signpost. The sign was pointing towards a shoe shop in a narrow alley off the main shopping street.

a little cushion shaped hanger, the sort of thing kids here might attach to their cellphone, or, as in my case, attach to the key chain. It caught my eye, firstly because of it’s graphic quality, and secondly it seemed to be a Chinese character, that, at the same time, also clearly is meant to be a face.
On seeing it hanging around my neck, along with my key, my students laughed, and seemed to think it was cool (or ridiculous, I’m not quite sure which) that I was wearing it.

Being curious about this character/face I decided to see what I could find out.
Only to discover, unbeknownst to me, that I was wearing the hippest, subculture internet thingummy of the moment. It’s based on the character 囧.

Pronounced jiong in Mandarin, en gwing in Cantonese, it originally meant “bright” or ” brightness shining from window”. Starting from Taiwan, then spreading to Hong Kong and mainland China, this ancient character, out of use already for many years, gained a new lease of life, and meaning, on internet messageboards. 囧 is used to express shock, embarrasment, surprise, sadness, and stupidity.

According to this article 囧 has moved outside of the internet community and into the off-line world, becoming a valuable asset to brands trying to connect to young internet-savvy consumers.
- – - - - – -
So it seems that 囧 is a type of Chinese emoticon. I find it intriguing that a smiley, , or any other emoticon, is composed of keyboard characters that are chosen for their shape, not their meaning or sound, in order to convey a sentiment.
Whereas 囧 is an existing character, made up out of radicals, each radical already representing an object, and the combination of these radicals representing the idea “brightness shining from window”. This ancient ideographic character, is then transformed into a pictographic image, with a meaning that now is determined by it’s shape: a sad, surprised face. 囧 :O

added 08 12 2009:

Wang Nan, (student from my class) spewing jiong
(photo by xin xiao yan)

In an interview with an American sinologist, about the 60th anniversary celebrations in China, about I came across some comments that I find interesting in relation to the above mentioned observation:

“The Western eye might see the slogans as blatant propaganda, but (…) the Chinese see it more like an advertisement.”

“Propaganda is simply making the case for the kind of product you have to sell — whether it’s a candidate or it’s a policy, or whether it’s something to buy”

“Thirty years ago, the party’s message might have been the only one to see on the streets of China’s cities. But now, (…) “these slogans [party slogans] have to compete with actual advertisements for products.”

The whole interview can be found at:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=113469963&ps=cprs