Photographs and Memories from China
Andy Warhol, a corpse in the water, opium and a botched tribunal—that should be enough for a headline. These are memories from my years in China. The events felt rather less like a headline while they were happening.
In October 2024, I was preparing photographs and a text for a forthcoming issue of China Report. That prompted me to gather some further stories here [1]. Earlier recollections had appeared in a book published by BACOPA in 2021.
I lost most of the photographs from my years in China. The small collection that remains has become all the more valuable to me. For this article, I converted the photographs to black and white.
Before the stories, a personal remark. My connection to China sometimes raises eyebrows, online and elsewhere. Given my studies, work and history, my continuing interest in its culture seems quite natural to me.
Since my teenage years, I have been reluctant to accept an idea simply because it is widely repeated. Political relations can turn countries into friends or enemies, but I do not want my interest in people and their culture to follow every such change. Disagreeing with a government is one thing; treating an entire country as an enemy is another.
First Impressions, First Wonders
When I arrived in China in 1978, some of my new acquaintances were surprised to hear that Albania, Yugoslavia and Romania were not among Europe’s wealthiest countries. They had encountered very different accounts of those countries as models of socialism and progress. I remember the surprise on both sides.
Years later, in the run-up to the 2003 Iraq war, Donald Rumsfeld’s distinction between “old” Europe and the countries supporting US policy sounded familiar to me [4]. Countries were once again being judged according to their political usefulness. I found it hard to greet that discovery with more than a wry smile.
One of my first photographs after arriving in Beijing shows small children sharing old basket strollers. Children had a way of making an unfamiliar place feel less distant to me.
The little girl with the cat is one of the daughters of my calligraphy teacher, Wang Jinhuai. I learned a lot from him, and he remained one of my most important mentors and friends until the end.
Many small children wore split-crotch trousers, which made it easy to attend to their needs. I remember seeing them even in winter.
Chang’an Avenue, Beijing’s Grand Boulevard
The jogging photograph may seem unremarkable until one notices the setting: Chang’an Avenue, Beijing’s grand boulevard, with very little motor traffic in sight. It is the amount of open road that strikes me now.
Wall newspapers gave people a place to post notices and grievances. In this photograph from Beijing’s Democracy Wall, a crowd reads a notice for a Sino-American friendship association.
Andy Warhol in Beijing
In 1982, during my second stay in China, a Swedish colleague came to breakfast one morning and said, “Hey, have you heard? Andy Warhol is in town. I’ve spoken to my embassy, and they’re trying to arrange a meeting for us students.” A few days later, the meeting took place [4]. Warhol was staying at the Jianguo Hotel, which had a breakfast room closed during the day. It was a long room with tables on either side of a central aisle.
Warhol sat at the third table from the back on the left. Years later, in 1987, during a business trip to China, I stayed at the same hotel. I sat at breakfast – the third table from the back, but on the right, and thought about how I had randomly chosen that table. Two Americans in their mid-twenties sat at the “Warhol table” next to me. One had bought a newspaper and said to his friend, “Know what?” “What?” “Andy is dead.”
A Unique Tuition Fee
My dear friend Zhang, a painter and teacher by profession, lived in a modest teacher’s residence. One late evening, as he was unlocking his door in a dimly lit hallway, a dark figure rose from a step in the darker part of the corridor. He was startled but then saw it was a teenage girl. She asked if he was the painter Zhang, and he confirmed. “I am X from village Y in province Z. My father sent me to learn painting from you. As a tuition fee, he gave me this pound of opium for you.” [2]
On the Yangtze
I was fortunate to travel through China when many cities were still manageable and it was possible to sail the Yangtze from Wuhan to Chongqing, which I did three times. In some months, it was an adventurous and somewhat dangerous river journey. On one of these unforgettable trips, I stood at the railing, looking into the water. Behind me were two Chinese travelers. Suddenly, a corpse floated by, and I heard one say to the other, “For us ordinary Chinese, this is probably the only way we can go abroad.”
The Botched Tribunal
During our honeymoon in the south, we needed permits for our destinations. One stop I was particularly excited about was Luoyang, famous for its Buddhist grottoes and sculptures. The long journey was exhausting, with an old bus and wooden seats. We checked into a hotel that had no experience with mixed marriages. Despite presenting all our documents, including our marriage certificate, we were given separate rooms. Well! I was eager to visit the caves. When we returned to the hotel in the early evening, the receptionist said, “Someone from security was here, but I told them everything is fine with you. No need to worry.” So, we each went to our rooms.
Surprise Action
I hadn’t even entered my room when I heard my wife calling for me in a panic. I rushed over and saw two plainclothes officers in unfriendly poses who tried to bring her downstairs. We were taken to a room with four tables arranged in a U-shape, creating an imposing tribunal. Several officers, some in uniforms, mostly in civilian clothes, were already seated, their tea cups filled, one sharpening a pencil. Up to this point, I found the situation somewhat entertaining.
Then the interrogation began. The chairman didn’t get far though. When he asked how and when we both met I lost my temper. I told him, “If you don’t stop this nonsense immediately, my first stop in Beijing will be your superior’s office. I’ll inform them that you are a counter-revolutionary, a rebel undermining your government’s decision. You have our marriage certificate in front of you and the stamps show who approved it. This matter is settled, and your behavior is that of a troublemaker questioning government laws.” That ended the evening’s program, which some of the attendees were likely looking forward to.
The Rest of the Photos
It was the era of bicycles, and I mostly got around by bike too. In the spring, strong sandstorms from the desert would blow into Beijing, darkening the sky or making it unusually bright when the sun met the fine dust.
During this period not only in private homes but also in public areas, coal was used for heating, which could be obtained from specific places. The little snow that occasionally fell would turn black immediately when it melted due to the soot.
I have shown this Daoist woman before in My Favourite Taoist. This photograph belongs to a later visit: Shanghai, 2015.
Painting on the Yangtze
I promised Martha Kennedy [3] a photo after she shared her attempts to sketch the passing landscape during a train journey in my last article. She wrote: “We were on a train (one car; half passenger/half mail) going across Wyoming from Montana to Colorado. I sat on the train’s back ‘porch’ in a wooden chair and read that book while all of green Wyoming passed beside me. I have tried many times to paint that scene…”
Her recollection brought back an experience of my own, and I wanted to share a related work. The reproduction is poor: I sold the sketches from that journey long ago without photographing them properly.
In 1980, I travelled from Wuhan to Chongqing on a passenger ship that had seen better days. There were few passengers. I found a quiet place at the bow on the second deck and unpacked my painting supplies. Four musicians settled directly below me and began to play—perhaps rehearsing for the evening. I sat painting while mist-covered mountains passed by, with their music rising from the deck below. It felt like the curtain opening at an opera.
Footnotes
[1] The anecdotes in this blog post were separate from the photographs and text being prepared for China Report. They were written for readers here.
[2] The pupil’s name and home village are omitted in the account of my friend Zhang. This is a recollection of the anecdote, rather than an account of Chinese drug laws.
[3] Martha Kennedy is an artist and blogger, and was the first person I corresponded with through WordPress. Her comment on The Silk Road: Personal Reflections prompted the final river memory.
[4] For the historical background, see UCCA: Becoming Andy Warhol, on his 1982 Beijing visit; and the Centre for European Reform’s 2003 account of “old” and “new” Europe. The meetings and conversations described above remain my personal recollections.
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