Those hēi gǒu 黑狗 days of winter

The writing is on the wall

Life in Beijing 北京 these days, it seems, has turned into a medley of Led Zeppelin songs. I'm often dazed and confused, finding it difficult to remain focused on tasks at hand. Communications with Mandarin teachers have broken down as I struggle in class to remember vocabulary, sentence patterns and grammar structures that I should've mastered by now. And throughout the weeks and months a black dog that a certain wartime leader often made reference to has been an unwanted faithful companion, a loyal Hachikō that I would prefer be put to sleep (sorry 忠犬ハチ公). If you've been wondering why the first blog post of 2023 (or the last of the current Lunar New Year) hasn't appeared sooner, it's because the desire to venture outside (other than to reluctantly attend classes) in the evenings and on weekends hasn't been there. 

But this is where the Zeppelin references will cease for now. Diagnoses have been confirmed, consultations have been initiated and medication hopefully will soon be meted out. And while the next few months are going to be a struggle to get through language training (and then the start of a job for which I've had no prior experience doing), the continual opening up of China in a post-Zero-COVID world holds out the hope that summer will finally provide the long-awaited opportunity to immerse myself once again in a culture that has meant so much personally, one that I'm long overdue in visiting. 

There's a light shining at the end of the tunnel, provided it isn't the kind of glow that drew General Westmoreland to his career doom. It was that feeling of 希望 that finally got me out of the house on Sunday (yesterday), though the bone-chilling weather and the stupid decision to ride a bicycle instead of taking a bus resulted in much second-guessing on my part, no matter how much my daughter reassured me otherwise. Despite it being -4°C/25°F (with a windchill of -9°C/16°F), the deceptively sunny weather and the Apple Maps data insisting it was the quickest form of transport convinced me that Amber and I should visit the 798 Art District 798艺术区 via Beijing's shared bike system (my philistine spouse opted to stay indoors). It was a choice of transport soon regretted - after only ten minutes into the ride, my hands were in pain from the chill, despite the thick gloves I was wearing. It was at this point that we stopped for a much-needed lunch break at a rāmen ラーメン restaurant, a chance to briefly get out of the cold:

ラムネ乾杯！

Unfortunately, as Apple Maps indicated there were no convenient buses to hop on in the area, we had no choice following the meal but to finish the bike ride to our destination. The 798 Art District is a gallery complex located on the site of the decommissioned "718 Joint Factory", built in the 1950's with East German assistance:

Since the late 1990's the factory site has been home to artists, designers and publishers, and the galleries displaying their works. The most famous of the latter is UCCA (Ullens Center for Contemporary Art 尤伦斯当代艺术中心):

There were three exhibitions going on as my daughter and I paid the admission and went inside (out of the cold!), two of which were of only mild interest. Zhang Ruyi: Speaking Softly was one of those two:

The "highlight" of the exhibit was Water Stain, the pink tiles of which resembled the exterior of an old Taiwanese apartment building being covered for some reason by a plastic film. An "individual emotional transformation, constantly shaped by postmodern industry"? The call is yours to make:

Fortunately, the old bathroom was only the warmup act for the headliner, Somewhere Downtown: Art in 1980's New York:

Apparently, Keith Haring was quite the scenester in the Big Apple during the 1980's, at least judging by the number of his works on show at UCCA. 1982's Untitled (face) was spraypainted on the roof of a postal truck:

In my vast media-shaped ignorance, New York City was a crime-ridden, trash-strewn, graffiti-covered hellhole during the 1970's and '80's (I wouldn't make my first visit there until the summer of 1998, when I was pleased to discover that virtually all of my stereotyped biases were thoroughly mistaken). I wondered what impressions the 20ish-early 30ish Chinese visitors in attendance on Sunday were forming as they were introduced to a world that must have been thoroughly alien to them (as it was also to someone like yours truly, who spent most of the Eighties on the other side of the country, in northern California):

This multimedia installation was playing loops of commercials from the era. Amber was stunned that I could recall the dialog to the Mikey Life cereal commercial, especially when I pointed out where the subtitles were mistaken:

For those of you who have no clue as to what the hell I was going on about above:

The Pop Shop was a store owned and operated by guess who? Keith Haring:

My retro Los Angeles Kings jersey took on a literal shine in this blacklight-lit room, making me a part of the exhibition:

My daughter found herself drawn (her words) like a moth to a candle flame (mine) to the Asian-themed works on display, like these oils on canvas by Nam June Paik:

Jean-Michel Basquiat collaborated with Haring and others on these fiberglass vases. Amber is familiar with him both from when we visited the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, and from a hoodie of hers that features his crown motif design. Kids these days, am I right?:

Viewing the Moon, 1884-1894 by David McDermott and Peter McGough, an oil on canvas imitating the style of British Orientalist copies of Japanese prints from the Meiji era 明治時代:

The woman in white asked the gallery worker to film her looking at a painting. I don't think this was going out live, but it isn't uncommon to see Chinese livestreamers in action at popular tourist sites:

I refrained from making any snarky comments on the above photograph because soon after I had my daughter pose in front of Julian Schnabel's Alas, with it's "Kabuki theater backdrop". Parents, am I right?:

 

The Future that Never Happened by Kenny Scharf imagines pop culture characters such as those from The Jetsons in some nightmarish scenarios:

My favorite pieces were the inkjet prints by Tseng Kwong Chi entitled It's a Reagan World! It sure was back then. While looking at them, I was somewhat surprised that Amber knew of trickledown economics, the most infamous of the disastrous Reagan-era experiments that ended up worsening the rich-poor divide in the U.S. It's Mourning in America!*:

Yes, Amber did ask if TV's were really that big and bulky back in the day, instantly causing my rheumatism to act up:

Overall, I was quite impressed with Somewhere Downtown, though it certainly didn't evoke any sense of nostalgia for that bygone time in American history. In contrast, I was less than inspired by the third exhibit, Geof Oppenheimer: People in Revenge, not even remembering to make note of the name of this installation:

On the other hand, the ginormous mural Map of the Art World by Qiu Zhijie could not be missed, especially as it was mounted on the wall by the lavatories, close to the gift shop:

Somewhere Downtown came with its own soundtrack. At the listening station I introduced my daughter to Bela Lugosi's Dead, risking putting her on the path to becoming a goth by doing so:

Again, for those of you little 'uns too wee to know of that which I write:

Jeff Koons selling his soul to BMW:

Following our visit to UCCA the two of us stepped back into winter, and strolled through a part of the 798 Art District complex:

All those industrial chimneys, factories and workshops beg further exploration (especially as many of the galleries appeared to be closed - hopefully some will reopen as the economy recovers from the government's mishandling of the coronavirus). I can already picture ourselves strolling around on a warm weekend afternoon, or people watching while sitting outdoors in a café (my philistine wife opting to stay at home). Early January isn't quite the right time to immerse oneself in musings on how Chinese artists maneuver under an authoritarian political system. 

So for now I'll seek solace over the hills and far away as I anticipate those thoroughly legal prescriptions taking me on a misty mountain hop. Until then, here are a few recent photos taken on those rare occasions the past few weeks when I forced myself to go outside. Like this thoroughly overwrought sculpture outside the entrance to a condo complex, an example of the poor taste that comes with sudden wealth, and a common sight in China's large cities:

A local park that I had passed on my way back from hospital visits. I was hoping to see a pantheon of Socialist heroes, but was sadly disappointed:

Beijingers enjoying themselves on the ice. The next day was the onset of a warm spell, temporarily putting a halt to such activities as the frozen sheets retreated. It looks (and feels!), however, the ice will be back to full strength soon:

A can of Old Qingdao (Tsingtao?) 老青岛 beer that Shu-E purchased from a local supermarket. Like many of the Chinese beers I've been sampling recently, the taste wasn't bad, a sign that the 啤酒 situation has greatly improved since the last time we were in China almost eight years ago:

Until the next post, I have no choice but to leave you with this...

*Historical disclaimer: I voted for Ronald Reagan in 1984, the first presidential election in which I was eligible to vote. But what did I know? I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.