GLIMPSE | vol 2.1, spring 2009 | China Vision, Part I by M. Hurst

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I 1

volume 2 issue 1

the art + science of seeing

Glimpse is an interdisciplinary journal that examines the functions, processes, and effects of vision and visionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s implications for being, knowing, and constructing our world(s). Each theme-focused journal issue features articles, visual spreads, interviews, and reviews spanning the physical sciences, social sciences, arts and humanities.

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China Vision, Part I

Contents

China Vision, Part I

Between Text and Image The Ambiguity of Chinese Written Characters

Yuehping Yen

Magic Mirrors

S.W. Bushell

ARE CHINESE CHARACTERS MODERN ENOUGH? An Essay on Their Role Online Han-Teng Liao

East Meets West

Yang Lui

Harvesting Cosmic Spectra Chinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Large-area Multi-Object Spectroscopic Telescope (LAMOST) M. Hurst with C. Arcabascio and N. Giroux

(Re)Views A Chinese Ghost Story Frozen

Show me the Yuan

Alan Baumler

Desire of the Other Perception of Beauty in Modern China William Jankowiak and Peter Gray

Andy Hughes

Design for Commerce Chinese Label Art for Common Goods Andrew S. Cahan

Contributors

YuehPing Yen

Han-TENG LIAO

Yen received her doctorate in anthropology from the London School of Economics. Her book, Calligraphy and Power in Contemporary Chinese Society, was published by RoutledgeCurzon in 2005. Her current research interest centers on the contemporary Chinese art world, mainly in Beijing and Chongqing. Though a half-committed trailing diplomatic wife, she is nevertheless a fully committed art enthusiast, dirtying her hands with Chinese calligraphy and painting, as well as acrylic painting whenever she has time.

Liao is a student of various disciplines whose research aims to reconsider the role of keywords (sociolinguistics) and hyperlinks (webometrics) in shaping groups (governance) as bearers of ideas (political communication). He is currently a D.Phil. candidate at the Oxford Internet Institute at University of Oxford and holds an MSc in Computer Science and Information Engineering, an MA in Journalism, a BSc in Electrical Engineering and a BA in Foreign Languages and Literatures, all from the National Taiwan University.

YANG LIU

Peter Gray

Liu was born in 1976 in China and has lived and worked in Germany since 1990. She studied at UWE at Bristol, UK and graduated with a Masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s degree from the University of Arts, Berlin. She has since established Yang Liu Design in Berlin, and is the recipient of multiple awards and honors, including the 2008 State Prize for Design in Germany.

Gray is Assistant Professor of Anthropology at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. After earning his Ph.D. in Biological Anthropology at Harvard University, he spent two years as a postdoctoral fellow working with Dr. Shalender Bhasin on human testosterone research. He has coedited (2009) Endocrinology of Social Relationships, and is coauthoring a book on evolution and human fatherhood. Combining passions for research with the real thing, he enjoys family life with two young children.

ALAN BAUMLER

Andy CAHAN

Baumler is Associate Professor of History at Indiana University of Pennsylvania and editor of Modern China and Opium: A Reader. He is a regular contributor to Frog in a Well - The China History Group Blog and has most recently authored Worse Than Floods and Wild Beasts: The Chinese and Opium Under the Republic (State University of New York Press, 2008).

Cahan, an avid collector of Chinese ephemera, graduated from Oberlin College with a minor in East Asian studies and later attended the Folklore Curriculum at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He has authored Chinese Label Art 1900-1976 (Schiffer Publications 2006) and is currently working on a second volume. A cabinet builder and woodworker by trade, he makes his home in North Carolina where he can sometimes be found playing fiddle or banjo at local square dances.

Stephen WootTon Bushell (1844-1908)

Glimpse Team Megan Hurst Founder, Managing Editor

Carolyn Arcabascio Acquisitions Editor

Nicholas Munyan Art Director Lauren Cross Editorial Research

Nadej Giroux Editorial Research

William Jankowiak Jankowiak is Professor of Anthropology at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. He is author of numerous books and journal articles that focus on Chinese society, Mormon polygamous families, and romantic love around the world. When not doing field research or “falling” in love, he spends most of his time with his daughter and her dog, Bugsy.

Normand Giroux Editorial Research

Andy Hughes Reviews 7

Adjunct + Alumni Christine Madsen Co-Founder, Editor (Europe)

Matthew Steven Carlos Editorial Advisor

Jamie Ahlstedt Logo Design

ANTHONY OWENS A former resident of Boston’s Chinatown and a student of martial arts since his youth, Owens photographically documents street life, arts, and culture of groups that are underrepresented in mainstream American visual culture. Owens studied photojournalism at the Art Institute of Boston, musical composition at Berklee School of Music, and under Cecil Taylor at the Black Music Program at Antioch College, Yellow Springs, Ohio. His 1993 photograph of Boston’s Chinatown street life can be found on the back cover of this issue.

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

A physician, art historian, and 30-year resident of Peking during the nineteenth-century, Bushell was a Commander of the Order of St. Michael and St. George (CMG), an Honour of Britain’s Foreign and Commonwealth Office. He authored numerous books on various forms of Chinese art and design and was commissioned by Britain’s Board of Education to write the handbook on Chinese Art, a portion of which is featured in this issue.

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Copyright and Acknowledgements Glimpse acknowledges creators’ copyright, and encourages contributors to consider Creative Commons licenses for their works. Many of the images used in this issue are Creative Commons licensed images from Flickr.com members, and others are public domain images courtesy of private collectors. The font used in this issue is Tuffy, a freely available font.

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From the Editor

The Chinese-American rap artist, Jin, predicts that you are going to learn Chinese. With China’s economic and cultural ascendency, it certainly couldn’t hurt. In this issue, China Vision, Part I, Yuehping Yen and Han-Teng Liao provide us with the historical and technological grounding to get started in the language - Yen, with her explanation of calligraphy and language, and Liao with his consideration of the complexities of creating a virtual space of cultural and lingual polity. From a purely visual perspective, China and its diaspora present particularly interesting cases of multiple, converging visual languages rooted in ancient meaning systems, political ideologies, commerce, geographies, and encounters with other cultures. Looking at the design of the nation’s paper currency over the last century reveals a great deal about the evolution that has carried China to where it is today. Alan Baumler’s article on the topic shows how the political ideology and national priorities are traceable in China’s fiat. Similarly, Andrew Cahan’s collection of label art gives us a view into the commerce and popular consumer culture over the course of the same century. Writing for Britain’s Victoria and Albert Museum in the early 20th century, Stephen W. Bushell describes Chinese Bronze Age “Magic Mirrors” – small mirrors with seemingly perfectly smooth surfaces that once confounded European and American scientists with their optical reflections of highly designed images. Today, Chinese scientists are gazing even farther into the past (of the cosmos) with the help of newer, highly-designed mirrors of a different sort. China’s Large Sky Area Multi-Object Fiber Spectroscopic Telescope (LAMOST) demonstrates

China’s vision for itself at the leading edge of astronomical research and the modeling of the largescale structure of the universe. Yang Liu, a Chinese graphic designer working in Germany, provides potent visual summaries of the cultural differences between “East” and “West.” Anthony Owens’ 1993 photograph (back cover) captures the meeting of the “East” and “West” of multiple generations and cultures at a street corner in Boston, Massachusetts’ Chinatown. Anthropologists William Jankowiak and Peter Gray explore the encounter of “East” and “West” on a more interpersonal level with their multi-decade study of women and men’s perceptions of each other’s “sexiness” and that of “Westerners.” The complexity and multiplicity of China’s visual culture and Chinese modes of seeing make it impossible to present a comprehensive exploration in a single issue. Still impossible with two issues, we believe two is better than one. Accordingly, we will continue the theme of China Vision with the next issue, which will focus in part on the visual influences of geography and animal symbology. Glimpse promotes insight on sight. We hope that you will perceive more and differently after engaging with this issue. In many ways, the more we see, the more we understand that, what, and how we do not see. This may be particularly true for perception across cultures. We invite your comments, suggestions, insights at the GLIMPSE blog: http://glimpsejournal.wordpress. com Megan Hurst Editor

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“Never Saw It Coming is a work of disciplined imagination at its best. Lucid and persuasive, written with charm and humor, it is a model of how to think about the relationships among culture, cognition, and social structure.” —Contemporary Sociology

Collector Seeks Pre-1970 labels, boxes, packages, etc. from products made in China, Hong Kong, Macau, and Singapore

“Katrina, 9/11, and the War in Iraq—all demonstrate the costliness of failing to anticipate worst-case scenarios. Never Saw It Coming explains why it is so hard to do so: adaptive behavior hard-wired into human cognition is complemented and reinforced by cultural practices, which are in turn institutionalized in the rules and structures of formal organizations.” —Paul DiMaggio, Princeton University Paper $29.00

Andy Cahan, author of Chinese Label Art, is always looking to buy items for his collection. Please email: gunghsi@bellsouth.net

The University of Chicago Press www.press.uchicago.edu

Between Text and Image the ambiguity of Chinese written characters By Yuehping Yen

world of art, this has been seen with the blurring barrier between text and image. Art theorists

have expended much energy finding text in art and art in text. It should therefore be no surprise

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

In our postmodern world, we are accustomed to breaking down conceptual boundaries. In the

in the context of the visual culture of China that its distinctive writing system could be subject to 11

this scrutiny. After all, have we not all been told that Chinese written characters are little pic-

tures in themselves? What illustrates the distinction and tension between text and image better

than the writing of stylized pictures?

Is Chinese writing an inherently visual system? Given the fact that it started as a set of picto-

graphs and ideographs, the intuitive answer seems immediately apparent: Yes. But let us take just

one step back. Are not all writing systems in the world inherently visual in the sense that they

are all meant to be seen and read and that they convey meanings? So perhaps a more pertinent

question would be: â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;What do we mean by saying that Chinese writing is inherently visual?â&#x20AC;&#x2122;

A Quick Sketch of the Chinese Writing System

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hinese characters are traditionally regarded as ideograms, which are defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as written characters that symbolize the idea of things without indicating the sounds of their spoken form. These include pictographs – pictorial symbols for words or phrases. This popular idea of Chinese writing is shared by both Chinese and non-Chinese. However, only a tiny fraction of Chinese characters derive from pictographs. About ninety percent of Chinese characters contain a phonetic code. The majority of characters still in use today are constructed according to two principles that find their basis in the pronunciation of the things indicated. One of these principles works this way: different words with similar spoken forms are often differentiated by a semantic element (i.e. radical) while sharing a common graph that denotes their common sound element. Moreover, a character can also be borrowed to mean a homophonous word, thereby creating entirely unrelated multiple meanings for this character. In these cases, the only link between these distinct meanings is the sound. In other words, a lot of Chinese characters actually do not indicate ideas, or reveal knowledge linked to these ideas, through their visual forms. Like the English script, a big chunk of Chinese script relates to how words originally sounded. Except that as a result of the huge diversity of dia-

lects and the natural language transformation through time, the supposedly phonetic components become more and more detached from their modern pronunciation. This shows that Chinese characters do not constitute an entirely visual system as is popularly believed. But as a legacy of this misconception, some believe that Chinese characters ‘speak directly to the mind,’ implying that one can grasp their meaning just by looking at them. Not completely unlike the implicit understanding when one looks at gendered toilet signs, even though they come in such a diverse variety (one can always guess the right door to enter!). This over-confidence, it seems to me, derives from the same misunderstanding with how images convey meaning. If any untrained eye can grasp the meaning of any image as intended, why would paintings need subtitles or reviews at all? Subtitles delineate as well as confine the meaning of paintings/images, channeling the meaning. Reviews recover and discover, transforming image into text. Between image and text, there is still rough water to cross. Similarly, it is quite obvious that people who have not learned Chinese writing would not be able to understand what a written character means, even ones that have evolved directly from pictographs. Meaning and idea do not simply reveal themselves to the perceiving eye. This is a misconception about image that metamorphoses into a misconception about Chinese writing. So, does all this demystification show that Chinese writing is not a visual system? Not quite. I would argue that Chinese writing is a visual system after all - but for different reasons from what we tend to think.

Photo Courtesy of Kevin T. Felt. Tonghua, Jilin, China, April 2006. Translated, the words in the background mean “Abundant District, Wealthy People,

I am fascinated by the impact of the visual aspect of Chinese written characters on cognition - the enigma of how written characters are read, stored, processed, retrieved, and manipulated in the human mind. I do not pretend that I, trained as an anthropologist, can answer such a question. But as an anthropologist, I am able to offer a portrait of the cultural phenomena surrounding the process. In Chinese societies, written characters are often consumed as images. This is manifested in two major ways: one in the artistic practice of calligraphy and other forms of handwriting; the other in a culturally specific type of knowledge formation through the Chinese script. The first way has been discussed extensively in writings on Chinese calligraphy. Here, I am concerned with the second way of consuming characters as images – a particular type of folk etymology that serves as a source of knowledge in general. Written characters are treated as graphic images. Characters are often, but not always, constituted of more than one graphic unit. These units can be individual characters in themselves, or they can be units that serve as either phonetic or semantic codes. These standard parts can be found in many different characters. In other words, each character is unique in the sense that it combines units from a limited stock in a way that is never repeated in other characters.1 The parts of a character can be cut and detached, then moved around, grafted onto, or juxtaposed with other similar graphic images from written characters. The new images (not necessarily genuine written characters) resulting from these graphic operations are often re-interpreted into valid information about absolutely anything. For instance, when I was a teenager, I was once told that I would gain significant weight at the age of 23, all because the constituent parts of the written characters of my Chinese name can be cut, reshuffled and rearranged into two characters which mean ‘23’ and ‘fat (胖)’. I became slightly anxious after that age of doom and keenly observed the development of my weight in the few years following it. I am relieved to say that my fate is not written in my name after all. Written characters are a living record of many forms of knowledge and information in Chinese history. For instance, the pictorial origin of many characters is an excellent record of social structure and

Yáng The opposite to Yin, this symbol, which forms the other half of the well-known “yin-yang” dichotomy, represents light and positive energy. Words denoting strong character and pleasant weather can be derived from yáng, as well as words relating to the sun, positive electric polarity, and a lack of secrecy

cultural practices in antiquity. Moreover, root components (or ‘radicals’) of a character also serve as a transparent system of taxonomy, because these radicals put each thing or concept represented by a character firmly under different taxonomical categories. For example, characters that represent names of trees have the ‘wood’ radical (mu, 木) in their graphic makeup; whereas the ‘metal’ radical (jin, 金) appears in characters that represent iron, copper, pot, and money. But they carry more than a static stock of knowledge to be revealed and understood. When treated as images, they become a source of knowledge that is constantly evolving and expanding. As images, written characters provide an inexhaustible fuel source for knowledge production. All in all, Chinese characters indeed occupy an interesting position between text and image. On the one hand, as with all components of language and text, they inspire a linear mode of thinking. On the other hand, being inherently visual, these characters open themselves to all kinds of graphic manipulations enjoyed by images. By exploiting the graphic potential for the enrichment of interpretation and meaning, Chinese characters behave like true images. Bogus Characters with A Genuine Meaning

ore than a decade ago, when I was still using an English Windows computer, I was often amused by Chinese emails received from friends. Because I did not have proper Chinese display software on my computer back then, these emails could not display the text in real Chinese characters.

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

The compulsive search for meaning is not a monopoly in the realm of language and text. The semiotic theory of art is a strong testament to this human tendency. Images are often treated as little parcels of meanings, such as symbols. But unlike text, the meanings of images are more fluid and their articulation does not follow a linear mode that is dominant in text. Here, I would argue that Chinese characters present a fecund visual field in the way they engage in the production of a form of culturally specific knowledge.

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A bookshop transforms bogus characters into everyday reality. A shop that sells written words uses Xu Bingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s bogus characters for its name. What does this say?

I have been fascinated by this piece of work since the early ‘90s. To me personally, it remains one of the most powerful and thought-provoking pieces of artwork from the hustle and bustle of Chinese contemporary art. Book from the Sky is a threadbound book printed on sutra paper with ancient Chinese ‘moveable wooden blocks’ printing technology. The book is composed of four thousand characters printed with these wooden blocks laboriously carved by Xu Bing himself. At the first sight, the text appears to be Chinese. But as soon as one tries to read it, one immediately realizes that none of them are genuine Chinese characters, though they are all composed of etymologically meaningful units found in real characters. In other words, all of these are ‘fabricated characters’ created by the artist himself. I have heard of people, standing in front of some bogus characters created by Xu Bing, say ‘Err...How do you read these few characters? (Ei? zhe jige zi zenme nian? 诶？这几个字怎么念？).’ I experience the same compelling impulse to read them as I did when face to face with the bogus characters generated by my computer. But the truth is, if a couple of these fake characters are placed among genuine Chinese characters in a passage of meaningful text, one is more likely to question one’s limited knowledge rather than the validity of such characters. The urge to decipher and make sense from bogus characters cannot be more evident. In Book from the Sky, Xu Bing critiqued the Chinese for worshipping their writing and written works, which are hinged on a collection of graphic fabrications that are essentially arbitrary. I am, however, less interested in the iconoclastic intent of the

work. I am more intrigued by how far the urge to understand and make sense (e.g. through these purposeful or purposeless fabrications), will bring people to exercise their capability and power to interpret and create meaning. Will it compel people to create their own bogus characters by inadvertently stirring their latent desires to make sense and to interpret? One artist has done just that. Dissatisfied with the archaic inadequacy of existing composite units to express issues and concepts of modern relevance, Jiao Yingqi embarked on a project to create new characters.2 His work included a series of new characters linked to pollution. All of these new characters shared the same new radical that stands for ‘pollution.’ The new character that means ‘polluted water’ is therefore constituted with a pollution-radical on top, and a water character at the bottom. Jovial but similar attempts, albeit on an ad hoc and unsystematic scale, also regularly appear in magazines or other publications. The end products of these creative games and the principles of their graphic makeup are reminiscent of logo designs. Who knows? Some bogus characters when invested with valid meanings may have legitimate futures and may share the altar with genuine characters one day. It is a culturally established practice to play with Chinese written characters – tapping into their potential as both text and image. After all, Chinese characters are, without creative pretension or laborious extension, both text and image. Endnotes This is only a rough description of Chinese characters, which I find necessary to help the reader understand the following discussion.

2 Yu, Rongfu, Chinese Characters Reloaded: artist Jiao Yingqi’s radical proposal, China Now, September 2003.

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

They appeared as unintelligible random codes, or at least to someone lacking in computer intelligence like me. But somehow the wrongly decoded text looked like Chinese script in terms of the construct of each character. Unfortunately, after I acquired suitable software, I also lost the pleasure of receiving these interesting messages. And in the past few years, all the fascinating little unreadable characters have turned into a sequence of either monotonous squares or question marks. In an imaginative sci-fi mood, one could almost be tempted to think that these were messages from aliens! Well, at least for someone who gets both pleasure and inspiration from sci-fi, like me. To me, that was my version of Text from Sky. So when I later got to know of Xu Bing’s artwork, Book from the Sky, I was thrilled.

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are chinese characters modern enough? An Essay on Their role online

By Han-Teng Liao Introduction: Chinese Characters Blamed for Uncreativity?

eading requires visual recognition processes. Writing systems on computers further require that such processes be intermediated through digital codes. Indeed, computers essentially recognize and process only zeros and ones, and thus it is up to humans to construct the mapping of the combinations of zeros and ones to actual human languages and symbols. In other words, the abstract, mathematical, digital codes increasingly become the carriers for human language codes. It is then necessary for us to review how much we have achieved and can achieve in representing and reinventing human languages in the digital worlds of computers, online communications, and mobile phones. Some human languages appear to be easier to represent by computer codes, which often leads to the belief that alphabet-based writing systems are better than character-based ones. The fact that the originally characterbased East Asian writing systems are more visually diverse and complex

than alphabet-based Western writing systems has pushed several untested yet powerful hypotheses about creativity and symbols. A controversial argument (to be detailed later in this essay) made by linguist Hannas (2003) captures the essence of a century-old tension in East Asian countries such as China, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam. Hannas asserts that Asian orthography curbs scientific creativity. Children in East Asian character-based cultures are disadvantaged because their languages are too visually complex and not abstract enough. Hannas presents evidence of the negative impact of Asian orthography on cognition, though because of the cultural attachment to this system, he argues that the adoption of an alphabet system in East Asia is unlikely in the near future. Thus, claims Hannas, writing remains a block for East Asians searching for creativity. Before laying out an alternative perspective and a different argument, it

is instructive to understand this controversial argument from a worldwide perspective. Writing systems across the world are varied and range from Latin to Logographies [See http://www.glimpsejournal.com/2.1Liao.html (Figure 1) for a map]. Indeed, alphabet-based and characterbased writing systems are under-stood as occupying opposite ends of the linguistic and geographic spectrum from west to east. Since the number of letters within alphabets are usually smaller (e.g. 26 for English) than that of characters (e.g. more than 5,000 for daily Chinese), it appears that East Asian languages, especially Chinese, are indeed disadvantaged. East Asian languages that are influenced by the visual features of Chinese characters do not appear simple or elegant enough, particularly for the extremely abstract digital language of zeros and

ones. For example, the German keyboard layout is more complex than the English one, and simpler than the Japanese one [See http://www. glimpsejournal.com/2.1-Liao.html (Figure 2) for illustrations comparing these keyboards]. It follows that alphabet-based writing systems are simpler, more abstract, and more modern than character-based ones. In East Asian countries such as China, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam, this belief, to be examined later, indeed has shaped the early 20th century nationstate language policies that distance these countries from the not-somodern Chinese characters. It is important to review the role of Chinese characters online. By looking at the materiality of media and communication technologies that influence the way people read and write,

this essay moves beyond the alphabet vs. character dichotomy. For example, the invention and use of emoticons demonstrates a visual dimension of creativity online by reusing existing digital symbols to express a personal mood, such as the emoticon of “ :-) ” for a smiling face and “Orz” for a kneeling or bowing person in an East Asian context. Only after considering these elements can we better understand the relationship between languages and creativity in the digital worlds. The Role of Chinese Characters from the Print and Telegraph Era to the Digital Age

he choice between alphabets and characters was a major issue for modern East Asian countries. In the end, Vietnam adopted a modified Latin alphabet writing system, whereas Korea and Japan used their new sym-

Blame Games on Chinese Characters

he general trend in the early 20th century was for East Asian countries to distance themselves from traditional Chinese culture, and “abolishing Chinese characters” was usually the major target and indicator of de-Sinicization (the elimination of

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

Figure 3 Courtesy of Wiki Commons

bols with some Chinese-writing influence. In order to understand why Chinese characters have played such a pivotal role, it may be helpful to think of the Chinese language as Classical Latin before the 17th century. Both languages are the lingua franca of the educated class and are therefore shared across country boundaries; thus the term Sinosphere (Hanzi Wenhua Quan 漢字文化圈), also known as Chinese-character cultural sphere. Although these countries may share some common heritage such as Chinese characters, Confucian and Buddhist classics, or even chopsticks, it should be noted that the term Sinosphere may be controversial because of the tension around Sino-centrism, Sinicization, and involuntary cultural assimilation.

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Image Courtesy Courtesy of Flickr Member Augapfel

traditional Chinese influence). It was considered a move towards Romanization/Westernization and indigenization via de-Sinicization. Vietnam, Korea, and Japan took different actions in abolishing or decreasing the use of Chinese characters during the first half of the century (Defrancis, 1977; Blank, 1981; Gottlieb, 1995; Gottlieb, 2000). Even a sizable group of Chinese intellectuals proposed to eliminate the use of Chinese characters in China during the May Fourth Movement around 1919. This movementâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s legacy could also be seen in early Communist Chinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s language policy of ultimately replacing Chinese characters with Hanyu pinyin, a Romanization system for Standard Mandarin (Chappell, 1980). To abolish or decrease the use of Chinese characters could be seen as promoting the modernization and indigenization of spoken languages and demoting Sinicization as elitist, backward, and feudal. It should be emphasized that unlike the relationship between Latin and other Latin-influenced languages, spoken Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese are, strictly speaking, unrelated to the Chinese language in the sense that they belong to separate language families. Spoken Vietnam-

ese belongs to the Austro-Asiatic language family, while spoken Korean and Japanese derive from Altaic languages. They are all different from spoken Chinese, which is a member of the Sino-Tibetan language family. Thus, Chinese writing systems were mainly appropriated rather than copied. Figure 3 (previous page) shows how Japanese syllabary, or Hiragana (the bottom part of each cell), has evolved from Chinese characters (the upper part of each cell) and their cursive script forms (the center part in red) used for their pronunciations. That Hiragana has its origins in the 9th century AD, that the first comprehensive native Korean script (Hangul)

was published with the corresponding classic Chinese writings, and that pre-modern Vietnamese teaching material was designed for children to learn Chinese characters, indicates that the indigenization of Chinese writing practices has emerged frequently in East Asian history and earlier than modern times. Hence, the picture is not just a competition between Romanization and Sinicization, but rather their strategies for indigenization. [See http://www.glimpsejournal. com/2.1-Liao.html (Figure 4 shows how the first comprehensive Korean native script is mandated along with the corresponding classic Chinese writings. Figure 5 presents an excerpt of teaching material for Vietnamese children to learn Chinese characters)].

Technical Factors of Print and Telegraph

ne important aspect for the indigenization of writing systems and the subsequent redefining of the role of Chinese characters is technology. The relationships between the print industry, language, and nationalism have been established by various

The economic and technical constraints of the telegraph can be explained by the encoding standards, as evidenced by a book entitled, ‘Unicode’: The Universal Telegraphic Phrase-Book, published in London in 1886. As a commercial code book, it claimed that the “Unicode” could provide a low-price and accessible alter-

in the 21st century in terms of technical and economic constraints. The telegraph is relatively expensive and inaccessible to common users when compared to the Internet and personal computers.

native to the other high-priced exclusive ones, under the word-tariff system. In terms of encoding, it claimed to “strictly conform to the regulations of the International Telegraph Conferences held at Paris, London, and Berlin” by exclusively employing the standard cipher’s Latin words. Latin words were reused as laconic representations of European languages involved. In contrast, it was difficult to use and share Chinese characters for East Asian countries simply because the number of characters involved was not economical enough. Viguier made a partial attempt in 1872, devising a system of ten thousand characters with a fourdigit decimal code [See http://www. glimpsejournal.com/2.1-Liao.html (Figure 6)].

Writing (or Typing) in the Digital Worlds

hile this essay does not intend to downplay other social and political factors for the language policies in various East Asian countries, the focus on the shift of media technologies helps in the reconsideration of the role of Chinese characters. A contrast exists between the telegraph in the 19th century and the Internet

For instance, online user-generated reference works such as Wikipedia attests to the accessibility and capacity of accommodating different kinds of languages in the digital worlds. However, the effort of Romanization continues among some East Asian languages. For example, Min Nan, Min Dong and Hakkanese, regarded by Beijing as part of Chinese Southern dialects, have their own independent versions of Wikipedia written in Latin alphabets. In contrast, although Cantonese and Wuu are also part of the Southern dialects and also have independent versions of Wikipedia, they are written in Chinese with many dialect-specific characters. The existence of both kinds of technolinguistic development, one Romanized and the other Sinicized with indigenous characteristics, shows the capacity of current digital networks to accommodate diversity. In other words, it should be much more viable now to write or type Chinese characters in the current digital environ-

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

scholars such as Benedict Anderson (1983). It should be noted that the early print industry relied on movable type, and thus managed limited numbers of letters, which appeared to be much easier than dealing with a seemingly unmanageable number of characters (though the technologies of movable type already existed in East Asia). Moreover, the invention and use of telegraphy had a dramatic impact even in the Western worlds. In areas of language use, Carey (1988) has identified the effects of telegraphy on the standardization and simplification of news writing in the national media. Nickles (2003) has made similar observations of a higher demand for concision in diplomatic language because of the cost and technical nature of the telegraph. The principles of economy and simplicity thus dominate the fundamental usage of print and telegraphic technology.

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ment. Indeed, the materiality of media and communication technologies can influence the way people read and write. As another example, the use of input methods that permit users to input Asian characters under the constraints of standard keyboards has in effect created what I call “de-facto hidden digital alphabets” for those languages. It should be noted that all these alphabets are designed for users to type any characters with combinations of the pronunciation and/or visual structure of a certain character [See Figures 7 above, and http:// www.glimpsejournal.com/2.1-Liao. html (Figure 7) for additional example]. They are de-facto alphabets because users need to use them to type. Yet different typing systems call for different input methods. Consider the different methods for typing the Chinese character 花 (flower). Users of the Hanyu Pinyin and Bopomofo systems rely on the pronunciation of the character, whereas Canjie users exploit the visual structure. Although they require different corresponding keystrokes, they should generate the

same Chinese character, which can be exchanged in digital environments [See http://www.glimpsejournal.com/2.1-Liao.html (Figure 8) which illustrates how three kinds of input methods allow users to type the Chinese character 花 (flower)]. In short, it is possible for Chinesecharacter users to type the same character in different ways. Users from Japan, Mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan may have different pronunciations or slightly different usages of the character 花 (flower), but once written in digital format it is not only recognizable by users but also treated by computers as the same character. The cultural and political implications of such a development in exchangeability are significant. The very fact that Chi-

nese characters are visual and can be separated from actual local pronunciations allows space for diversification, both for Chinese dialects such as Wuu and Cantonese and for non-Chinese languages such as Korean and Japanese. Hence, people are more likely to use and indigenize Chinese characters in the digital environment with less concern of being “Sinicized.”

The Role of ‘Unihan’ in East Asia

he previous section asks why modernization in early modern East Asia involved abolishing or decreasing the use of Chinese characters. By revisiting the role of Chinese characters from the print and telegraph era to the age of digital media, a tentative answer is provided. It is now less prohibitive to write (type) Chinese characters in the digital world as compared to the print and telegraph era. In addition, Chinese characters may be shared again online without re-enforcing the association of Chinese characters with Sinicization. Thus, Chinese characters could be helpful for exchangeability online for East Asian countries if they are somehow negotiated without being China-centric.

To show one of the positive developments moving in this direction, this section looks in detail at how a computing industry standard, the Unicode, has in effect established a working framework for participants from East Asian countries to accommodate di-

Unicode and ASCII

he modern Unicode standard aims to achieve exchangeability across different computer platforms, programs, and languages. As a remedy for the historical inadequacy of ASCII (American Standard Code for the Interpretation of Information), Unicode is different from both the ASCII code and the ‘Unicode’ mentioned earlier in this essay. The major difference is in its design philosophy. Both ASCII and

One encoding scheme per language was the norm before the Unicode standard was designed to unify them. As non-European-language speakers and computer experts attempted to expand the pre-existing US-centric ASCII standards for their use, they found themselves trapped in a techno-linguistic ghetto due to the lack of coordination. Usually, a language encoding standard was designed to en-

sure the compatibility with ASCII. Meanwhile, each language often used the same extended numbers to represent different characters or letters, which in effect hindered the interexchange between non-European languages. Thus, aiming to reverse the development of one encoding per language, the Unicode Consortium began with the philosophy that every language in the world should share one universal encoding standard that would accommodate all alphabets and characters. Unihan and CJKV

ndeed, East Asian languages suffered from this inter-exchange problem before the introduction of the Unicode standard. For example, encoding standards such as Japanese Industrial Standard (JIS), traditional Chinese Industrial Standard (Big5), and simplified Chinese National Standard (GB) were not compatible. In other words, these languages could not exist in the same document and some of the shared characters (such as Japanese kanji and Korean hanja) had different numbers in each encoding standard. The Unicode Consortium responded to the incompatibility problem between

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versity and seek commonality in the usage of Chinese characters. It is called the ‘Unihan’ project, which literally means unification of Han/Chinese characters. With various existing examples of using Chinese characters online, this essay argues that the development of standardizing and sharing Chinese characters should not be read as an indication of the Sinicization of the Internet. Rather, it shows the possibility for different Chinese characters to co-exist because they are also contributed by experts in Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese, and even non-Mandarin Chinese such as Cantonese and Wuu (the dialect spoken around Shanghai). To illustrate this, a brief history on coding standards for languages is provided below.

‘Unicode’ sacrificed diversity and inclusiveness for economy and simplicity. For example, ASCII started as American industrial standards for telegraphic codes, and thus the early seven-digit version did not even contain the symbol for the pound sterling (£). Other European languages were accommodated later in the extended eight-bit ASCII. The more digits an encoding scheme uses, the more languages can be represented; ASCII was inherently biased towards Latin characters, which created unfavorable conditions for Russian, Greek, Persian and Hindi that contain non-Latin characters, and even worse conditions for ideographic written languages such as Chinese that need tens of thousands of distinct characters. Thus, the early development of language software was not conducive to the ideographic languages like Chinese (Keniston, 1999).

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East Asian languages with a working framework called Unihan. Shared Chinese characters (or Han ideographs), radicals, and strokes were identified and agreed upon by linguistics experts; otherwise, these symbols would not be unified with the same digital number and would remain in their language-specific sections. By first recognizing the difference and then seeking consensus, the Unicode Consortium’s Unihan project successfully accommodated the diverse regional differences of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean, known as CJK [See http://www.glimpsejournal.com/2.1Liao.html (Figure 9) for slightly different written forms for the same character]. Although in some difficult cases the way a certain character could be written varied slightly, so experts in the Unicode Consortium decided that the visually different characters referred to the same word and thus should be assigned with the same Unicode number. Even for the now Romanized Vietnamese, the Unihan project has also accommodated their usage of Chinese characters, turning the acronym CJK into CJKV. In sum, the Unihan project has not only solved the inter-exchange problem with its Unicode infrastructure, but has also unified the codes for some of the shared Chinese symbols with shared digital numbers.

Shared Symbols for East Asian Countries?

shared language encoding standard and standardized Chinese characters (agreed-upon by experts of East Asian languages) has further cultural and political implications. Thanks to these developments, it is now likely for one to have search results from other regions, such as the word 麪包 (bread) both used in Hong Kong and Japan, and the word 国号 (name of a state) used in Mainland China and Japan. Some may argue that this kind of sharing is limited since most daily usages of Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese involve few Chinese characters. However, at least in the cases of proper nouns, which are likely to be searched as keywords, the use of Chinese characters is still common, if not increasing. For example, according to Google’s search volume index from Google Trends, the word 天洋食品, the name of the company involved in the toxic dumpling event around January 2008, has been actively searched both in Japan

and China. The shared Chinese characters are thus increasingly significant online. Such shared Chinese characters are arguably more “modern” than Roman alphabets because of their promotion of exchangeability and diversity. For example, place names such as Turin may have different pronunciations across European countries and thus different spellings and typings. At the risk of adding further complications, some extra effort would be needed to treat Turin, Torino, and Torí as the same digitally. In contrast, place names such as 東京 (Tokyo) may have different pronunciations across East Asian countries and so the typing of the name may vary. Still, the final Chinese characters are the same and immediate exchangeability online is guaranteed. For diversity, the Unihan project does not dictate one correct version of Chinese characters. The dialect-specific Chinese characters used by non-Mandarin Southern

References

Image Courtesy Courtesy of Flickr Member Dawn Endico

writing systems. It has shown that the early Romanization effort to approximate the modernity of economy and simplification may have its material foundation in the past, specifically in the technology of print and telegraph.

Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Blank, L. K. (1981). Language Policies in South Korea Since 1945 and Their Probable Impact on Education. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation, University of San Francisco.

dialects such as Cantonese, and Wuu in coastal cities such as Shenzhen, Guangzhou and Shanghai, has emerged even against Beijing’s will to discourage such development, further confirming this essay’s central argument: features of diversity and exchangeability of encoding languages can be compatible, as exemplified in the role of Chinese characters among East Asian languages. Towards Diversity and Exchangeability

y focusing on media technologies’ capacity to process languages, this article argues that the increasing capacity of computers and digital networks has shifted its design focus from the previous principles of economy and simplicity to the later principles of diversity. Re-thinking the role of Chinese characters for East Asian languages may be more fruitful than relying on the old dichotomy of alphabet-based and character-based

Moving beyond the old dichotomies of Romanization and Sinicization (at the linguistic level), and Westernization and Sinicization (at the cultural and political level), this essay argues that given the abundance of digital space and technical capacity in East Asia, Chinese characters are now relatively manageable. The use of Chinese characters can thus be regarded less as impediment to modernization, but more as a vehicle for regional exchange, heritage renewal, and indigenization. Based on the relatively open nature of Internet governance embodied in organizations such as the Unicode Consortium, an open set of digitally exchangeable Chinese characters (or Han ideographs) can promote diversity and exchangeability without the threat of homogenization.

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Notes Due to copyright concerns, only links are provided for reference. For the average traffic of 天洋食品 from China in 2008, see http://www.google. com/trends?q=%E5%A4%A9%E6%B4 %8B%E9%A3%9F%E5%93%81&ctab= 379544448&geo=cn&geor=all&date= 2008 and for that from Japan in 2009, see http://www.google.com/tre nds?q=%E5%A4%A9%E6%B4%8B%E9 %A3%9F%E5%93%81&ctab=0&geo=jp &geor=all&date=2008

Carey, J. W. (1988). Technology and Ideology: The Case of the Telegraph. In Communications as Culture: Essays on Media and Society (1st ed., pp. 201-230). London and New York: Routledge. Chappell, H. (1980). The Romanization Debate. The Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs, (4), 105-118. doi: 10.2307/2158952. DeFrancis, J. (1977). Colonialism and language policy in Viet Nam. New York: Mouton Publishers.

Gottlieb, N. (2000). Word-Processing Technology in Japan: Kanji and the Keyboard. New York: RoutledgeCurzon.

User:Michaelliberty. (2007). File:KB United States-NoAltGr.svg. Wikipedia. Retrieved March 24, 2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:KB_Unit-

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ed_States-NoAltGr.svg. Gottlieb, N. (1995). Kanji Politics: Language Policy and Japanese Script. London and New York: Kegan Paul.

User:Minghong. (2006). File:Keyboard layout Cangjie.png. Wikipedia. Retrieved March 24, 2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Keyboard_

Hannas, W. C. (2003). The Writing on the Wall. Philadelphia, PA:

layout_Cangjie.png.

University of Pennsylvania Press. User:Nickshanks. (2006). Writing system. Wikipedia. Retrieved March 15, Keniston, K. (1999). Language, Power, and Software. In C. Ess

2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Writing_system.

(Ed.), Cultural Attitudes Towards Technology and Communication. New York: SUNY Press. Retrieved February 22, 2009, from

User:Pmx. (2007). File:Hiragana origin.svg. Wikipedia. Retrieved March 24,

http://www.mit.edu/people/kken/papers1/Language%20

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Power%20Software.htm. User:PuzzletChung. (2005). File:Hunmin jeong-eum.jpg. Wikipedia. Retrieved

Nickles, D. P. (2003). Under the Wire. Cambridge: Harvard Uni-

March 15, 2009, from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Hunmin_

versity Press.

jeong-eum.jpg?uselang=zh.

‘Unicode’. The Universal Telegraphic Phrase-Book. (1886). (2nd

User:Sakurambo. (2007). File:Keyboard layout Zhuyin.svg. Wikipedia. Re-

ed.). London; Paris; New York; Melbourne: Cassell & Company,

trieved March 24, 2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Keyboard_

Limited.

layout_Zhuyin.svg.

User:chrislb. (2006). File:Vergleich zh-Hant-CN zh-Hant-TW

User:StuartBrady. (2006a). File:KB Germany.svg. Wikipedia. Retrieved

ja-Hani ko-Hani.png. Wikimedia Commons. Retrieved March 18,

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2009, from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vergleich_ zh-Hant-CN_zh-Hant-TW_jaHani_ko-Hani.png

User:StuartBrady. (2006b). File:KB Japanese.svg . Wikipedia. Retrieved March 24, 2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:KB_Japanese.svg.

User:Epson291. (2007). File:Keyboard Layout Hangul.png. Wikipedia. Retrieved March 24, 2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/

Viguer, S. A. (1872). New Book for the Telegraph (Dianbao xinshu 電報新書)

wiki/File:Keyboard_Layout_Hangul.png.

(p. 13). Shanghai. Retrieved March 24, 2009, from http://base.kb.dk/ manus_pub/cv/manus/GotoManusPage.xsql?nnoc=manus_pub&p_

User:K.C. Tang. (2007). File:Tu duc thanh che tu hoc giai nghia

ManusId=340&p_Lang=alt&p_Mode=img&p_GotoPageNo=13.

ca.jpg. Wikipedia. Retrieved March 15, 2009, from http://en. wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tu_duc_thanh_che_tu_hoc_giai_ nghia_ca.jpg.

Chūn

Compared to the other characters examined in this issue, Chūn has relatively few derivatives. Its most of its meanings relate to either the season of Spring or sexuality. Some of these include the name for the vernal equinox (chūn fēn), the season of Spring itself (“chūn jì”), sexual stirrings (“chūn qíng”) or “spring fever” (“chūn kùn”).

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Mirrors

Magic

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Mìng On its own, this character usually represents life, luck or fate. Other meanings that derive from it are similar, such as “lifeline,” “the course of events of one’s life,” and “one’s luck.” Other meanings that come from its roots include words that involve high rank or authority, such as “ranking official” or “one destined to govern.” Still another meaning can pertain to the naming of things, including “naming a task” or “name.”

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harvesting cosmic spectra

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china’s Large SKY area multi-object FIBER

Above right: The Fornax cluster, photographed by Chandra X-ray Observatory, 2004. Courtesy of the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory. Right: LAMOST Observatory

irst he f es t e t a e ei cr scop 9 160 eo Galil cal tele i l i t l Ga tial op s es cele reat er c p a r D l 0 184 William nomica o n Joh irst astr f the graph o st phot e fir is th s n i ugg to 3 186 illiam H oscopy cts e r j W t b c r i S pe stial o se s to u rve cele first obse the s e t a r cre 2 by Megan Hurst, with Carolyn Arcabascio and Normand Giroux 187 y Drape ograph t r Hen tral pho the spec tes Writing on the subject of Chinese decorative arts around 1909 for the Viccrea ng t d i i ct hm 4 toria and Albert Museum in London, S.W. Bushell reflected upon the refined 193 hard Sc al refle become c i n l l t r i p e w o optical design and aesthetic qualities of personal “magic mirrors” first created B idt hich OST Schmcope, w he LAM in China during the Zhou Dynasty (1034-246 BC), and continuing through the t s e f tel asis o b Yuan Dynasty (1260-1368) (see pages 25-33 in this issue). What might be the n g i s e e considered China’s 21st-century “magic mirrors” are of a much larger d n th ds o Device n a l scale and designed to harvest invisible light from eons ago, in a race llo 9 ed 196 ’s Apo Coupl ped, e for knowledge about the origins of our galaxy. These “magic mirrors” o g l r e a v NASA; Ch e ore n a rs d are described in astronomers’ terminology as the “active optics” 35 moo ) senso ables m spectr n f D e o (CC later rdings le with - thin, flexible, hexagonally-segmented collecting and reflecting h b whic led reco ly feasi mirrors - of the Chinese Academy of Science’s new Large i s a u t o e i d film prev Sky Area Multi-Object Fiber Spectroscopic Telescope (LAMthan graphic o t pho OST). These unusual mirrors are key elements of a telescope pace rovides that is designed to have the greatest spectrum-acquisition rate s p 0 ble S 199 ’s Hub nches, ep view h u e of any spectroscopic telescope in the world, and which promNASAcope la r and d ines bot s a b ises unsurpassed views into “the large-scale structure of the Tele uely cle s”; com raphy g o q i “un e cosm spectro universe” – a phrase that, despite sounding ambitiously vague, is of th ing and firmly rooted in scientific data. In the last two decades, survey imag e to th ces recordings of visible and invisible light from wide fields of our sky osed f Scien p 3 o r 9 reveal concentrations and voids of matter in the universe – 19 OST p demy o LAM se Aca essentially showing its shape and form. e Chin y, a urve , ky S oration y S 8 l LAMOST is situated at Xinglong Station of the Na- 199 n Digita collab surve l Sloa nationa opic sky tional Astronomical Observatories, approximately i mult s telesc xico, USA n e 170 km North of Beijing in a windy, sometimes begi New M dusty, semi-rural area with little light pollu- from sign n tion and an average of 270 clear-sky nights al de uctio 1 200 OST fin constr d per year. Inaugurated in October 2008, the meLAM lete an p ridian Schmidt telescope promises to “bring com s n begi Chinese astronomy into the 21st century with a anel ert p vitation p x e n i leading role in wide-field spectroscopy and in the 5 l 200 nationa OST at r fields of large-scale and large-sample astronomy Inte ws LAM e revi and astrophysics.”1 Proposed in 1993 by a group of AS C f o scientists led by Wang Shouguan and Su Dingqiang, n atio ugur 8 LAMOST was prioritized by the Chinese Academy of 200 OST ina onoLAM Sciences and related government agencies in 1996.2 Astr f o ar y of LAMOST is now the major astronomical facility in Chi9 l Ye 200 nationa niversar pe r n na, and designed to record visible and invisible light Inte 00th a telesco t 4 my, o’s firs le i l a G

spectroscopic telescope (LAMOST)

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spectra from more, farther, fainter, and older stars. The data collected by LAMOST will also be cross-referenced with data from other high-resolution optical telescope observatories in China to confirm or quicken discoveries.

LAMOST ranks high in China’s national priorities as one of CAS’s five “Mega-science Projects.” CAS describes its vision on its English website: By 2010, CAS will have about 80 national institutes noted for their powerful capacities in S&T [science & technology] innovation and sustainable development or with distinctive features; thirty of them will become internationally acknowledged, high-level research institutions, and three to five will be world class.3 The other four of CAS’s five “world class” projects include the second-phase of construction for the National Synchrotron Radiation Facility (NSRF); a cooling storage ring at the Heavy Ion Research Facility in Lanzhou (HIRFL-CSR); a new superconductor facility for controllable nuclear fusion; and design plans for the Shanghai Synchrotron Radiation Facility (SSRF). CAS operating guidelines include lofty goals: “aiming at the world science frontiers, efforts will be made to promote original innovation in scientific research … so as to scale the

heights of world science and technology…”4 The LAMOST project is clearly intended to place China in a leading position in the fields of astronomy and astrophysics, and its collected data will be valuable to astronomers worldwide. The degree of LAMOST data-sharing that can be expected to cross China’s borders remains to be seen. The highestpowered optical telescopes in the world are outside China, and there is great potential in cross-referencing LAMOST’s spectrographic data with photographic images collected by high-resolution optical telescopes, as has been done with LAMOST’s wide-field spectroscopic predecessor, the Sloan Digital Sky Survey (SDSS). SDSS, previously the largest survey telescope in the world, is a multinational collaboration based in New Mexico, USA.5 The SDSS data is freely available to researchers worldwide (in fact, LAMOST is hosting a mirror website of data from one of the SDSS surveys, DR6). LAMOST improves upon the SDSS design, mainly by providing:

• 4-meter aperture vs. SDSS’s 2.5-meter aperture • 5-degree field of view as opposed to SDSS’s 3 degrees, and quadruples the field of view from the equivalent of 28 full moons to that of 80 full moons6 (SDSS’s 120-megapixel camera imaged 1.5 square degrees of sky at a time, about eight times the area of the full moon)7 • 4000 position-able optical fibers comprising the collecting plate. • “Active optics”: Thin, deformable mirrors comprised of hexagonally segmented sub-mirrors for correction of collecting mirror’s aberrations, and the “gravitational and thermal deflection of the structure, the manufacturing and alignment errors.” LAMOST is designed to build on the SDSS data sets by surveying farther, deeper, and faster to the edges of, and beyond, our galaxy, identifying stellar objects of interest for more detailed study. While SDSS is both a spectroscopic and optical telescope, LAMOST focuses exclusively on spectrography.

Spectrography in Astronomy

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Spectrographs (also known as spectrometers) are instruments that split light into a spectrum of its component wavelengths for measurement. Originally recorded on photographic paper, spectrograms (the images recorded from spectrographs), are now detected digitally with Charged Couple Devices (CCDs), which are sensitive to both visible and ultraviolet light, and are similar to the computer chips present in most consumer digital cameras. The CCDs read the spectral wavelengths and intensities and convert them to a digital signal, which is then recorded by attending computers. It is this “splitting” of visible and invisible light into its component parts that enables astronomers to detect the material composition, distance, direction of motion, and velocity of stars. Depending on whether a galactic object is moving towards or away from Earth, the light waves will be compressed and appear on the blue end of the spectrum, or elongated and appear on the red end of the (visible) spectrum, known as “red shift.”

Metal-poor stars and the “Revolution in Exploration of Galactic Halo” Gang Zhou, in a 2005 paper for the American Institute of Physics, wrote of research plans using LAMOST to increase the amount of “relatively high resolution” spectral data of metal-poor stars by 10 to 100 times” by surveying 7 million stellar objects “with 16 low resolution spectrographs within three years”8: Up till now... only 7000 stars with spectral resolving power R > 15000 were observed (one at a time!) over past 20 years. We [the] plan to observe all metal-

Mirror B

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poor star candidates with B magnitude brighter than 18.5m determined by LAMOST low resolution spectroscopic survey and by [possibly] SDSS/SEGUE [Sloan Digital Sky Survey/ Sloan Extension for Galactic Understanding and Exploration] project. We can expect the number of metal-poor stars with relatively high resolution spectra (R ~ 10000 - 15000) will be increased by at least 1-2 magnitudes through [a] such survey project.9

NOTES 1

The Large Sky Area Multi-Object Fiber Spectroscopic

Telescope (LAMOST). (October 2008). A simple review about LAMOST. Retrieved March 15, 2009 http://www.lamost.org/en/ modules/wfdownloads/visit.php?cid=4&lid=23 2

Chinese Academy of Sciences. Five Mega-science Projects at

CAS. Retrieved March 15, 2009 http://english.cas.ac.cn/english/

Generally speaking, stars that have high ratios of metal content were formed more recently, and conversely those that have extremely low ratios of metal content are “first-generation” and thus primitive. Studying these stars, which are invisible to the naked eye (human vision can see up to Apparent Magnitude 6), can give us information about the earliest stages of the universe, its motion, and its chemical composition and interactions, helping astronomers to better understand how galaxies formed.

page/T263116.asp 3

Chinese Academy of Sciences. Mission Statement. Retrieved

March 15, 2009 http://english.cas.ac.cn/english/page/about. htm 4

Chinese Academy of Sciences. Mission Statement. Sloan Digital Sky Survey. Mapping the Universe: The Sloan

Digital Sky Survey. Retrieved May 1, 2009 http://www.sdss.org/

LAMOST will cast the widest and deepest net available yet for harvesting cosmic spectra. China’s vision of its scientific future is trained on, and tracking, the oldest light from the oldest stars in the universe. What LAMOST promises to reveal could further define China, and greatly advance our current knowledge of the universe as has been defined by SDSS, and the Hubble telescope.

Yu Zheng, Xu Xuedan. (November 5, 2008). Sharpest telescope

heralds China’s ambition in deep space quest. Retrieved March 18, 2009. http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2008-11/05/content_10311769.htm 7

Sloan Digital Sky Survey. Mapping the Universe: The Sloan Digi-

tal Sky Survey. Comments on this article will be featured in the upcoming Glimpse issue, Cosmos.

Zhao, Gang; Mikolajewska, J. and Olech, A (eds.). 2005. “Search

for Metal-poor Stars with LAMOST” in Stellar Astrophysics with the World’s Largest Telescopes: First International Workshop. American Institute of Physics. 9

Zhao.

East meets West Yang Lui

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Transportation

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Approach to Problems

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Desire of the other

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perception of beauty in Modern China

By William Jankowiak and Peter Gray

Photos Courtesy of the Authors Illustrations by Carolyn Arcabascio

t has been suggested that globalizing forces may exert their most pervasive influence in the aesthetic domain of beauty and sexual attractiveness. In the nineties, Louisa Schein (1994) argued that urban Chinese women were no longer fetishizing the Westerner and, thus, “Caucasianess or whiteness” was no longer, if it ever had been, an aesthetic value. Later, Bonnie Adrian (2003) working in Taipei, Taiwan found a similar trend whereby Asian and Western phenotypic characteristics were being blended together to form a new aesthetic code. Although “whiteness” or EuroAmerican models are prominently featured in Taiwanese and mainland magazines, this does not mean, she points out, that a westernization in aesthetics has taken place. To the contrary, China has a long, pre-colonial history in which fair-skinned women have been highly valued. However, Susan Brownell in an unpublished paper points out that the Chinese have a strong interest in cosmetic surgery for enhanced breast size, eye fold deletion, and altered nose shape, indicating that Chinese women have embraced some aspects of western aesthetics. Schein and Adrian are aware of this trend, but believe China’s culture is sufficiently vibrant to blend ‘western” images into a new, albeit very Chinese, aesthetic.

Evolution-oriented researchers, who are aware of the impact of culture and globalizing forces, point out a remarkable persistence in male and female sexual aesthetics that is more linked to reproductive success than cultural identification. For evolutionists, there are underlying commonalities that resist cultural influence. For example, in all contexts, we would expect individuals to value cues of health (e.g. absence of overt symptoms of disease) and developmental stability (ability to counteract physical insults during development, as indexed by low-fluctuating asymmetry). In contexts of long-term mate selection, we would anticipate that individuals would prefer traits indicative of compatibility (e.g. trustworthy disposition, similar personality, similar religious affiliation, closeness in age). We would expect females to see physical attractiveness as a cue of a potential mate’s social status, since social standing could translate into political, economic and social benefits to her and her offspring. However, the precise cues deemed attractive (a chubby husband if indicative of wealth; a thinner, physically fit individual if associated with hunting prowess) can be expected to vary across social contexts. When it comes to physical attractiveness, males should be drawn to potential mates whose traits are suggestive of long-term reproductive output (if seek-

ing an extended pair bond), or those for whom conception after a given act of intercourse seems likely (if seeking short-term mating). Males will value traits indicative of high reproductive value, or future reproductive output, such as youth, a youthful facial architecture, and a low waist-to-hip ratio, adequate fat reserves (in poverty-stricken locations), full lips, and shiny hair. However, males may be open to a wider take on physical attraction since the reproductive costs of intercourse tend to be less for males than the costs for females (lengthy gestation, potentially lactation, and extended childcare). Males are less discriminating than females, the results of which manifest in many ways, including disregard of whether mating objects are members of one’s own group.

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there is a presumption that Caucasian men are considered to be uniformly taller and LIve more luxurious lifestyles

Conversely, for females, perceptions of physical attraction can be expected to track cues of a male’s complimentary traits and his access to valuable resources. In practice, this can include cues to a male’s social status, which may reveal his social, political, and economic advantages. Females would also notice direct cues of wealth, advertised in conspicuous displays (e.g. expensive clothes and cars) or through other means (e.g. possessing valued religious knowledge). Attention to such cues emphasizes a highly contextualized female view of physical attractiveness, one that stems from higher reproductive costs. An

Fú A vital symbol in the celebration of the Chinese New Year, Fú on its own represents good fortune and is thus a popular good luck charm. The various words derived from this character all relate to luck, including the phrases “lucky star,” “one’s share of happiness,” and “material well-being.” The same character also begins the name “Fujian,” a province in eastern China, and its capital, “Fuzhou.”

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outgrowth of this more contextualized female view of physical attractiveness is that females’ views may be more readily modified in the face of rapid social change. Certainly, other contextualized aspects of physical attractiveness exist (e.g. a female’s varying preference for masculine faces depending on changing phases in her reproductive cycle), but some of these may apply to both men and women (e.g. differences in perceived attractiveness depending on one’s own mate value). A large body of evidence supports these general expectations concerning sex differences in perceptions of physical attractiveness. An early compilation of various surveys, primarily from the U.S., suggested that men tended to seek youth, health, and physical attraction, while women sought ambition, generosity, and social and economic success when evaluating potential mates. It then follows that men favor sexual variety for its own sake, a view that finds support from various lines of evidence: males more commonly utilize prostitutes, consume pornography, and are more likely to consent to sex with a stranger. Cross-cultural surveys indicate that women give greater weight to cues of status and wealth, and men to cues of physical attractiveness when specifying mate preferences. In the face of tremendous international social change and interchange, how can such evolutionary principles of physical attractiveness inform our understanding of how Chinese men and women evaluate physical attractiveness in contemporary China? A word on methodology: Our study was designed to investigate whether Chinese men and women who lived in Hohhot, a northern capital city, and Chengdu, a southwestern capital city, shared similar criteria as to what constituted relative male and female beauty and sexiness. Specifically, we wanted to know if men and women used the same or different criteria in evaluating a female’s relative sexiness and physical attractiveness. To this end, 74 Chinese men and women, in two different cities, ranked photographs of Asian (i.e. East Asian: Japanese, Chinese and Korean) phenotype and Euro-American models as to their relative beauty and sexiness. Upon completion of the rankings, individuals were asked to provide an explanation or account for their rankings.

Chinese Perception of Physical Attractiveness

hen asked what traits made a particular male model more “physically attractive” than another, Chinese women were inclined to presume that a male model had certain personality (qizhi) traits, and they seldom invoked physical features. For example, a 23-year-old female noted that what made male model

“1U” better looking was “his confidence” (zixin) which she also associated with higher intelligence. Another woman noted that men with an honest (puzhe), graceful (shuai), and straightforward demeanor were better looking. She also thought these qualities suggested a greater likelihood of social achievement. A 29-yearold woman provided a straightforward and highly representative perspective in noting, “Westerners are tall, have broad shoulders, and are more confident (zixin). These facts make them simply more attractive!” Further probing also showed a presumption that Caucasian men are uniformly taller and live more luxurious lifestyles compared with ordinary urban Chinese. Despite the emphasis on personality characteristics, females did highlight important physical features in attractiveness: an angular nose, wide and deep-set eyes, whiteness of skin. Some women added qualifications when rating men: hair style, clothing design, physical positioning, or associated items in the photo suggestive of a model’s positive or negative character traits). For example, Chinese females were in agreement in ranking one Caucasian male model lower than most Chinese male models. The Chinese women, but not men, were uniformly quick to note “how scary the model looked” and that he was “too dangerous” and that his dark, partially-hidden figure “frightened” them. This particular male model wore a suit and tie and stood next to a bookcase with his face partially darkened from mood lighting that cast a dark shadow across his face. Chinese women were adamant in their rejection of immature males. For most, a youthful character presentation was deemed visually unattractive. Chinese women preferred a more serious pose, which implied an intensity of focus that they associated with an integrated or well-balanced character. This value was so strong that Chinese women overwhelmingly ranked a younglooking male model as the least attractive.

style, fashionable clothes, demeanor (fengdu), and health, could convey a sense of sexiness. A 23-year-old shop assistant noted that she “assumed European women are sexy as they are tall. Tall is sexy, unlike Chinese who are short.” Significantly, there was no difference in responses between 15-year-old teenagers and those of 40-yearold women in views of female sexiness. Hohhotians do not believe that valuing certain western phenotypic features is evidence of being ashamed of one’s culture. As one 23-year-old woman noted, “I have no bias. If a Westerner is ranked the highest, it is because she or he (ta) is the better looking [model in the sample]!” For most, this is a straightforward acknowledgment of the “natural order of things.” Participant Observation

or many Chinese women, Australian, European, Canadian, American, Japanese, and Taiwanese men form an attractive pool of potential mates, with the western male being seen as the most attractive. The strength of this conventional wisdom was repeatedly demonstrated whenever I was invited into homes that sold Amway products. I was usually asked to view a promotional video that showed the CEO’s multi-million dollar home in Texas, which was always greeted by someone announcing: “See? This is how Americans live.” Comments to the contrary were greeted with a polite, albeit not necessarily believed, acknowledgment. In this way, the local conventional wisdom that Caucasians, especially those

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The Chinese females agreed with a 27-year-old female’s observation that “western women are prettier than Chinese girls due to their long nose.” Another 23-year-old woman thought Chinese girls were not as “healthy as European women who are sexy and better looking.” Chinese females also thought a female’s eyes, along with height, hair

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from America, are fabulously wealthy is a belief that few people want to clarify or reject. Further evidence of this conviction is readily found in listening to Chinese women’s conversations about what makes for a desirable mate. In 2006, a 29-year-old woman told me that she wanted a western boyfriend (to marry) as it would “make all her friends jealous knowing she got a Westerner as a husband.” Another 29-year-old woman readily admitted that “Europeans are more physically attractive than Asians.” She added “Westerners have a sexier figure with broader shoulders and nice faces. That is quite obvious.” Concurring, a 40-year-old woman noted that for her and many of her friends, Westerners compared to Chinese men “are so sexy” (see Table 2). A recent study conducted in Xian, a large, northwestern Chinese city, lends further support to the representativeness of the above women’s comments. The Xian women found males with “broad chests and narrow waists” more physically attractive (Dixson et al 2007:93). In the summer of 2007, young unmarried Hohhotian working class men (n=11) readily acknowledged that young Chinese women (guniang) found “Westerners very attractive and wanted to marry them.” Working in southern Chinese cities, Aihwa Ong (1999) observed Chinese women breaking off “their marriages in order to take up relations with a foreigner” (2006:235).

For this student, and many of her classmates, the change in government policies that enabled “foreigners” to visit and work in China, combined with emerging market conditions, brought a new status object into town and thus into their purview: the western or Caucasian male. No longer regarded as an abstraction or unapproachable, the western male was assumed to possess immense wealth, talent, and social standing. Within this milieu, many Chinese women found the Caucasian male not only socially attractive, but also physically attractive. In probing Hohhotians’ mate selection evaluations, young women tended to adopt dual criteria: one being idealized personality traits and the other a strong, pragmatic interest in enhancing their material well-being. Whenever the two values were in opposition, or could not be integrated, most women opted for the value of material well-being. The keenest of this pragmatic strategy was aptly revealed when discussing the film Titanic with several female high-school students. One woman admitted the story was, in her words, “so romantic. The way the poor boy fell in love and fought for his love.” But she added, “of course, it would never have lasted—they were from different social classes.” It was an observation everyone at the table agreed with. For most women, material and psychological factors are not necessarily in opposition. Most women expect they can fit together but not always automatically so. In exploring some of the meaning of male sexual attraction, Chi-

Chinese women were adamant in their rejection of immature males. For most, a youthful character presentation was deemed visually unattractive. This is not a recent perception or behavior. In nese males thought that a man’s “clothes made him sexy.” In addi1987, a documented conversation among female tion, males thought sexiness (xinggan) could be conveyed through Chinese students revealed insights on perceptions a confident body posture that would communicate higher social of male attractiveness. The students unanimously standing. In evaluating a female’s relative sexiness, there was disthought western men compared to Chinese men agreement concerning the relationship between skin exposure and were more physically attractive. One female stu- “sexiness.” Some men, reflecting attitudes common in imperial dent simply stated, “Chinese men are too weak.” China, thought it was not that sexy, while other men stressed that

Discussion

ohhotian and Chenguian men and women do hold a bias that favors the Caucasian phenotypic male over the female, with Chinese females extending that bias favoring Caucasian females. There is no aesthetic bias, however, in Chinese males’ preference for the Caucasian female over the Asian female. In most instances, women from any ethnic group are more often than not perceived to be of sexual value, if not also of equal aesthetic value. The sole exception to this world-wide pattern are those societies with an institutionalized racial hierarchy, which has resulted in the idealization of the western or “white” women over the local women of color as the preferred aesthetic object (Jones 2000). Our findings, when taken in combination with native speakers’ comments and participant observations, lends further support to the evolutionarily-informed hypotheses that see females as oriented toward hypergyny, or upward mobility through marriage, while males remain more open to exploring partner variety amongst a wider circle of available females. This is not to deny that other somatic factors (e.g. broad shoulders, tallness, phenotypical averaging) can not also influence an individual’s perception and, thus, their evaluation of relative physical attractiveness. Our results do not support Louisa Schein’s widely cited position

that there is no aesthetic bias or preference for the Caucasian phenotype or, in her words, “whiteness.” Rather, Chinese men and women favor Caucasian male phenotypes, and Chinese women further favor Caucasian female models. The grounds for these biases do not necessarily reflect cultural hegemony since results seem best accounted for by evolutionary-based, individual-choice perspectives on which we’ve further elaborated. Chinese female assessments of male physical attractiveness appear to make sense from the standpoint of adaptive mate choice. Chinese women view Caucasian males as wealthy, and this presumed wealth makes them attractive. Local folk beliefs strongly support this assertion. Other lines of evidence are consistent with this view too. For example, several web dating and marriage sites feature Chinese women wanting to marry a man who is financially well off and living in a country other than China. This chain of thought is consistent with the findings reviewed in the introduction that women tend to value male status and resources in prospective mates, and thus gives rise to a form of desired hypergyny. And it is consistent with every mate selection survey conducted on the Chinese mainland (Jankowiak 1993) as well as cross-cultural research (Jones 2000:138-139). Such views may also account for why Chinese males rank Caucasian male models as more attractive than Asian ones. Chinese males may be giving their rankings based on their perceptions of Chinese women’s views of attractiveness. In other words, if Chinese men assume that Chinese women believe that Caucasian men are wealthy and attractive, then Chinese men will also express a bias toward Caucasian male models. Apart from these broad strokes, results of this study show that Chinese female views of physical attraction are context-dependent. Contextual variation across the photographs of Asian and Caucasian male

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the amount of skin exposed enhanced a woman’s sex appeal. Chinese males also stressed that a woman’s smile, eyes, and lips were also indicators of sexiness. In the case of female lips, the more open the lips the more suggestive the sexual invitation. A 22-yearold male noted that “sexiness is found in the way a woman looks at you.” Another young male admitted that “it is her eyes—the way they are focused on you. Her eyes say, ‘Come here! I want (i.e. sexually) you!’” Still another 25-year-old man thought sexiness had an eroticized, spiritual component. He noted that sexiness was something that “makes you want to fuck, to masturbate, and entice you from your penis to your soul.” Significantly, the heightened value given to sexual desire has not resulted in the fetishization of the Caucasian over the Asian female. In fact, the opposite occurred: Chinese men were adamant in their appreciation and sexual interest in the Chinese female, a point illustrated when a Chinese youth who had always wanted to look at Playboy magazine returned it to his American friend with the comment “It is not that interesting as it has no Asian women in it.”

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models influenced the order in which they were ranked by the Chinese women. For example, women ranked lower the shadowy Caucasian model than other Asian male models on the basis of assessments of possible negative character traits. This interpretation is also consistent with Constable’s (2003) research showing that Chinese and Filipino women used multi-faceted criteria in selecting a western or local mate. The power of context to shape Chinese aesthetic judgment is further revealed in a smaller restudy conducted in Hohhot in 2006. Using a different set of photographs of three male Caucasian and three Chinese males, 17 women were asked to rank and discuss reasons for the ranking. Unknowingly, three photos of well-known Chinese male actors or entertainers had been selected. This fact did not influence the judgments of women over forty years of age whose ranking replicated the earlier study that found a bias for Caucasian males being deemed more physically attractive. When the same photo set was shown to shop assistants in their 20s, however, a different pattern emerged. Eight of 11 (or 73 percent) ranked the Chinese males as the more physically attractive! When asked why, everyone readily commented that these particular Chinese males were famous and that they liked them. The fortysomething cohort was unaware of the younger Chinese males’ national media identity and thus ranked them as strangers, whereas the younger female cohort recognized and admired them as popular male performers. This smaller 2006 restudy of physical attractiveness lends further support to the interpretation that women’s preferences are highly contextualized.

nese (2000:139). Our study finds, however, that gender influences the way these three components are weighted and thus valued. This article was adapted by the authors from their earlier published article: Jankowiak, W.; Gray, P. and Hatman, K. (2008). Globalizing Evolution: Female Choice, Nationality, and Perception of “Sexual Beauty” in China. Journal of Cross-Cultural Research, Vol.10:1-22:248-269.

REFERENCES Adrian, B. 2003. Framing the bride: globalizing beauty and romance in Taiwan’s bridal industry. Berkeley: University of California. Brownell, S. n.d. The “Oriental eye”: From the nineteenth-century anthropology of race to contemporary Chinese cosmetic surgery. Constable, N. 2003. Romance of a global stage: pen pals, virtual ethnography, and “mail order” marriages. Berkeley: The University of California Press. Dixson, B., A. Dixson, B. Li, and M. J. Anderson.(2007). Studies of human physique and sexual attractiveness: Sexual preferences of men and women in China. American Journal of Human Biology 19,88-95. Jankowiak, W. (1993). Sex, death and hierarchy in a Chinese city: An anthropological account. New York: Columbia University Press. Jones, D. (2000). Physical attractiveness, race and somatic prejudice in Bahia, Brazil. In Adaptation and Human Behavior, Lee Cronk, N. Chagnon and W. Irons, (Eds). New York: Aldine De Gruyter. Ong, A. (2006). Neoliberalism as Exception: Mutation in Citizenship and Sovereignty. Berkeley: University of California Press. Luo,Y., W. Parish, E. Laumann. (2005). A population-based study of body image concerns among urban Chinese adults. Body Image 2,333-345.

In sum, we concur with Doug Jones’ observation that “skin color, averageness, and status markers are all components of attractiveness” among Chi-

Schein, L. 1994. The consumption of color and the politics of white skin in post-Mao China. In Gender and Sexuality Reader, Lancaster, Roger N. and Miceala di Leonardo, eds., New York: Routledge. 473-486. Whyte, M. and W. Parish (1984). Urban life in contemporary China. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Show me the

YUAN

By Alan Baumler Images courtesy of the author

overnments have always taken their money very seriously. For leaders from Roman emperors to modern dictators, placing images on currency has been

one of the most powerful ways of making a universal statement. Money is the one

aspect of state power that ordinary people are eager to have more contact with, and issuing currency is also one of the first things a new government will usually do. Many of the ephemeral regimes that controlled parts of China in the 20th century never got around to issuing postage stamps, printing textbooks, or minting coins, but they all issued bits of paper intended to function as money, sometimes in massive amounts. This currency was sometimes intended to graphically represent political points, but it also needed to look like money and conform to whatever ideas the population presumably had about what made money money and a state a state.

China has had a long, if problematic, history of using paper money that goes back as far as the Song dynasty. Chinese statesmen had long accepted the state’s responsibility for the currency supply, attempting to balance supplies of silver and copper and debating the role of state and private mints in providing money. Paper money, however, was not seen as a particularly good substitute for copper and silver, firstly because it was too easily counterfeited and secondly because it lent itself to debasement,

4 chants, making it impossible for them to function as national currency. The great technical transformation of Chinese money came in the early 20th century. Widespread importation of Western printing machinery made it possible for governments and private actors to print modern notes that were harder to counterfeit. The state also began to see issuing currency as a way of buttressing its authority and of preventing foreign control of China’s money supply. Graphical elements, rather than text, became more im-

which some officials saw as a means to creating an 11 immoral state that would exploit the people. The Qing dy9 nasty (1644-1911) did not issue paper “currency” for much of its existence, using it only in the first years of the dynasty and during the crisis of the Taiping Rebellion. These notes (figure 1) were not intended for general cir- p o r t a n t . 10 culation (although they were used as money) and Fig. 3 is printed they do not seem to have been intended to buttress for the Da Qing bank in the ideological authority of the state. 1909-1911. This one shows foreign influence in its layout, but is also beginning to By the early 19th century, increasing demand for work out a national iconography with dragons and money was drawing Spanish (later Mexican) coined the Great Wall (not as common on currency as one silver into China and leading private money shops might think). The Qing only issued modern banto start issuing paper notes of their own. Although knotes for a brief period, and thus made little progthese notes (fig. 2) did circulate, they were vali- ress in settling on a set of symbols to represent dated by the signatures and chops of local mer- China, or on a clear depiction of the relationship

After 1911, the format of Chinese banknotes was almost always modeled on those of foreign banks that operated in China, as their notes were the most universally accepted both among Chinese and foreigners. Some Chinese banks borrowed foreign imagery directly, like the American-style federal eagle (fig. 4). Almost all notes borrowed design elements from foreign notes, including the central vignette, horizontal pattern, and complex engraving. Sino-foreign banks often emphasized their foreignness, as with a note from the Chi-

spread in the aftermath of the May Fourth movement, explicitly foreign images began to decline. Provincial and local governments were also major issuers of notes, especially after the dynasty was overthrown in 1911. These notes were increasingly printed on modern machinery, either by Western companies like the American Banknote Company or by Chinese printers, publishers, and even bookstores. Many of these were less modern in format and often carried long blocks of text on the obverse explaining what the note was and the conditions under which it could be redeemed (fig. 7). Given the ephemeral nature of some of these banks, most of their designs were quite conservative. National symbols were not unknown, but the most common elements were local scenery and development. Provincial identity was important throughout the Republic, and provincial banks identified and propagated sites of provincial pride. Some provinces, like Anhui, gave the impression they did not have much for scenery (fig. 8). In others, famous scenic spots or famous buildings might be used. Many of these seem to have been traditional scenic spots that did not lend themselves very well to being used in small vignettes (fig. 9). Eventually, pagodas came to be fairly common (despite their Buddhist connotations) as they gave the proper image of monumentality (fig. 10). Countless local banks, governments, and companies also issued notes that were intended to function as money, given the stateâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s inability to provide enough or reliable enough currency. Some of these were overprints on stock notes, which often had generic â&#x20AC;&#x153;scenicâ&#x20AC;? images that might have come from anywhere (fig. 11).

nese-American Bank of Commerce (fig. 5),or a note from the SinoScandinavian Bank (fig. 6). As Chinese money became more reliable, and as anti-foreign ideas

National themes were somewhat rarer on provincial notes, although fig. 12, a Xinjiang note, features both weaving (the canonical occupation for women) and farming (the canonical occupation for men), perhaps in an attempt to play up the cultural orthodoxy of this remote region. Many of these local notes also emphasized development, one of the most common themes on Chinese currency throughout the century. A Guangxi note from 1912 (fig. 13) makes a gesture towards national imagery by including all three revolutionary flags, but the main themes are roads and factories. Railways were as common symbol of modernity, as they were elsewhere in the

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between the government and the nation. Although a handful of political leaders, like the prince regent shown here, were put on notes the emperors were not.. This may have been because of the problematic status of the last two Qing emperors (Guangxu spent the last years of his reign under house arrest, and Xuantong was a child) or because it was hard to reconcile the traditional role of the emperor with modern ideas of political leadership.

14 world, but trucks, machinery, and prisons all made appearances (fig. 14, 15, 16, 17). The Guomindang regime that governed Canton in the 1920’s carried on many of these themes. As Canton was supposed to be a modern city, images of urban development were common (fig. 18, 19, 20).

After the Guomindang established a national government in Nanjing in 1927, new elements were added to the iconography as the new national government developed and propagated symbols of the nation. Sun Yat-sen had appeared on at least some notes issued by the Canton regime, but after his death in 1925, he became the center of a fullblown cult of personality, appearing on countless central government notes and only rarely on provincial notes (fig. 21, 22). Although local and provincial banks continued to issue notes, after the 1935 fabi reforms, the Nationalist government only allowed four banks to issue legal tender notes, thus imposing some centralization on national iconography. The Farmer’s Bank usually carried images of rural life (fig. 23). This was not entirely unprecedented, but their new prominence was perhaps linked to the growing concern with the peasantry in the ‘20s and ‘30s. The Bank of Communications continued to focus on development (fig. 24).

The Central Bank’s and the Bank of China’s notes almost always carried images of Sun Yat-sen. In the late 1930s, Sun was paired with more explicitly traditional images (like the ritual vessel shown in fig. 25) as the Guomindang tried to create a usable Chinese past for itself, and at the same time partially repudiated the May Fourth Movement. During the war with Japan (1937-1945) some notes featured fairly explicit war propaganda, as in fig. 26, a bond from Xinjiang. This sort of explicit wartime imagery was uncommon, however. Central government

15 notes issued during the war with Japan featured Sun Yat-sen almost exclusively, as the Nationalists attempted (successfully) to maintain a currency zone in the face of Japanese pressure. This was one of the Nationalist’s most important victories in the war. Although Sun continued to 23 grace the notes of the Republican government even after they fled to Taiwan, by the 1940s he was being rivaled by Chiang Kai-shek, especially on the new notes issued later that decade (fig. 27). Given the hyper-inflation of the last years of the Nationalist regime, Chiang was in effect associating himself with government incompetence by appearing on them. Japanese

he various Japanese puppet governments also issued banknotes. The Wang Jingwei puppet regime claimed to be the true heir to the legacy of Sun Yatsen, and thus usually featured Sun on their notes and often put Sun’s mausoleum on the reverse. The other Japanese-run banks were more likely to use heroes of traditional Chinese cultures who had not appeared on actual Chinese money for decades and who were intended to emphasize the cultural links that tied Japan and China together.Fig. 28 has both Confucius

17 19

18 22 33

26 30

Communist notes and a dragon, lifted directly from the Qing dynasty note previously discussed. Guanyu and various other traditional heroes also made appearances, probably to the detriment of their position as possible symbols of the nation. Some of the Japanese regimes claimed to be defending regional identities, as with fig. 29, a Manchukuo note which features the Qing Dynasty emperor, Qianlong (although this note would never have been used by the Nationalists as Qianlong was a Manchu).

ike many other minor regimes in China, the early Communist governments issued countless notes. Some of the earlier notes were quite radical either in iconography (fig. 30) or design (fig. 31). These elements disappeared quickly, however. Like many other weakly-financed regimes, the Communists gravitated towards fairly conservative images (fig. 32, 33), since one of the main reasons they printed money was to have the regime accepted. After 1949, the Communist governments continued

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Yin

This well-known symbol and its derivations represent a variety of things, all of which connect to femininity and the generative powers. The character on its own can signify the moon, the obscuring forces of the clouds, or the negative polarity of an electric charge. Several words can be formed from it, and many of them can be grouped into three categories: words relating to sex (both the male and female sexual organs), words that deal with the afterlife (ghosts, Hades, punishment for sin) and words that denote some sort of covering, either physical shade or secrets kept from others (one phrase, “yin sun”, means “a secret evil deed which detracts from man’s lot of happiness”).

many of the themes of the past. Development remained important, as shown in fig. 34 and 35. Fig. 36 shows development not only through the image of a tractor, but also through the depiction of a woman riding it. And like other Chinese regimes, the Communists were sometimes unable to provide for the people’s need for currency, thus forcing local authorities to issue currency of their own (fig 37). In general, however, the Communists were able to keep national iconography under tight control. National unity was an important theme for the Communists. This sometimes meant the unity of China’s classes as shown in fig. 38, an early note with a worker and a farmer. The content of class unity changed a bit over time, and the intellectual on the far left of fig. 39 (a note first issued in 1980) was an obvious sign that the Cultural Revolution was over. In the last few decades, class solidarity has been joined by ethnic solidarity. As China is a multi-ethnic nation, its minorities needed to be represented (fig.40). Although Mao was the center of a cult of personality during his life, he was rarely pictured on currency. He has turned up more frequently since his death, especially on a commemorative note (fig. 41) celebrating the 50th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China. Fig. 42 shows a more commonly used Heroes of Communism note. Mao’s image is far more common on notes today than it has ever been. Recently, a group of Chinese intellectuals has suggested replacing the images of Mao on current Chinese currency. This would be a turn away from the political in some respects, but their candidates for new notes are Qu Yuan, Li Bai, Yue Fei, and Wen Tianxiang. Li Bai is of course a poet, and his inclusion would be a sign of a movement towards a more culturalist understanding of Chinese nationhood. Qu Yuan was also a poet, but was better known for committing suicide to protest government corruption. Wan Tianxiang and Yue Fei are both straight nationalist figures who defended China against foreign invasion. So far, Mao has only been replaced (temporarily) by the Olympic Bird’s Nest Stadium (fig. 43).

Design for Commerce Chinese Label Art for Common Goods, 1900-1976 By Andrew S. Cahan Images courtesy of the author first discovered Chinese advertising art during childhood visits to New York City’s Chinatown. The colorfully labeled items on the shop shelves were unlike anything I had ever seen. Though I

had no idea what the packages contained, I was, and continue to be, fascinated by the artistry and imagination that went into the designs of these small, ephemeral pieces of paper. Chinese advertising art has always been shaped by current events and past traditions, often eccentrically juxtaposed. A comprehensive understanding of Chinese label art’s histories and mysteries is daunting, due to the immensity of its scope, the lack of business records from the past, and language challenges. In contrast to the posters and calendars produced in the art houses of Shanghai from the early 1900s until World War II, label art was done primarily by artists and designers whose names are lost to history. And yet many pieces of the puzzle can be put together. Presented here is a small selection of old Chinese labels that for one reason or another survived the ravages of time. My collection spans a period ending around 1976, the year that the Cultural Revolution ended. These labels offer a glimpse into little worlds in which subjects as diverse as mythology, zoology, religion, fashion, leisure, labor, politics, war, food, sex, technology, and architecture were used to mark and sell merchandise, with no expectation of being saved once they had served their purpose.

In exploring this subject, an important consideration is that we are not simply discussing “Chinese labels,” but rather labels designed and used for products made in Mainland China, Hong Kong, Macau, Singapore, and other areas of significant Chinese population. An old label’s point of origin contained its own realm of political, historical, and artistic ramifications, all of which shaped the nature of the graphics used in a particular area. Naturally, the

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level of printing technology came into play as well.

By the time of the 1949 Chinese Communist revolution, commerce with the West had already been influencing Chinese commercial design for well over a century. In the 20th century alone, trends and movements such as Art Nouveau and Art Deco found their way into China as a result of the presence of foreigners living there for business purposes. Shanghai was the epicenter of foreign business and Western cultural influx, and became the home of the most prominent commercial design houses, where, from the early 1900s through the late 1930s, countless advertising posters and calendars were produced. Lavish, colorful, and artistically rendered, they were disseminated through the country and exported to regions around the world, wherever Chinese products were sold. The early examples relied heavily upon traditional influences such as New Year posters (nianhua) and mythological images, but soon became characterized by the portrayal of beautiful, fashionable women in idyllic scenes, often surrounded by gaudy and intricate border work. The scenes in these posters idealized the modern Western influences that were changing life in the urban centers of China, as well as the roles of women in society. While age-old traditional motifs continued to be used in labeling of a huge range of everyday products, the fresh and vibrant artwork on these posters became a strong influence on product labeling throughout the Chinese world. While comparing prod-

uct labeling in post-1949 Hong Kong with that of post-1949 Mainland China, we see a distinct split in styles and subjects. Mao Zedong first publicly launched guidelines for government-regulated art seven years earlier at the 1942 Yanan Forum for Literature and Art. The theme of these guidelines was that art must “serve the people.” With the 1949 Chinese Communist Revolution, the new regime imposed a wave of regulations that revamped the fundamental nature of acceptable creativity. All realms of art were now required to showcase “post-liberation” China as a nation achieving miraculous advances in the overall well-being of its people, most prominently in the arenas of technology and agriculture. Previously working within a capitalist system, the commercial artist was now enlisted in the new government’s propaganda machine. This condition peaked with the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), during which regulations were at their strictest. Outside of the confines of Mainland China however, even past the 1950s, many components of the older advertising styles continued to be used. In contrast to the self-imposed closed-door policy that isolated China, foreign interaction continued to inspire the evolution of newer forms. Through their positive and powerful associations, traditional mythological and religious imagery, largely banned in communist China, had always attracted consumers. These forms continued to merge with the Western elements that had long since become standard ingredients in Chinese advertising, as well as those inspired by the individual creativity of the artist himself. Note: The reader may notice the prominence of fireworks labels in the selection. This is due to its being the primary collecting interest of the author.

EARLY LABELS Printing blocks for Chinese labels date back to the 1200s, and woodblock printing was the primary method used for manufacturing labels well into the 20th century. These labels were often printed on red paper that strongly resembled the joss paper that is still used for burning, as a way of sending offerings to ancestors as well as prayers to deities.

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Fig.1 (page 59): CHESHING CO FIRECRACKER LABEL Woodblock printed firecracker label c.1900. “Gold Chop” was a brand name used by many firecracker companies at least as far back as the late nineteenth century, and into the first few decades of the twentieth. It gave connotations of a product that was genuine (chop=seal) and of the highest quality. Fig.2 (page 59): DEITY JOSS STICK LABEL- wood block-printed label from the early 1900s.

RELIGION, MYTHOLOGY, and FOLKLORE Myths, legends, and supernatural animals were popular subject matter. These labels were often framed by borders influenced by the prevailing Western styles, while revealing strong influence from traditional New Year’s posters (Nianua).

Fig.3: THREE DIETIES FABRIC LABEL- C.1930s-‘40s“The Three Pure Ones” are a triumvirate of the gods of longevity, wealth, and happiness. Their image represents all things positive, and has been used for centuries in New Year posters and was a ubiquitous decorative motif.

Fig.4: DOUBLE DEER FABRIC LABEL- c. 1930s. Depictions of deer were very popular in Chinese labeling, as they symbolized longevity. Unschooled local artists sometimes executed endearing labels such as this. Fig.5: OLD YUEN KEE CO. TREASURE TRIPOD FIRECRACKERS-Stylized English commercial lettering and gaudy, eye-catching border work surrounds an ancient Chinese ceremonial tripod on this c.1930 firecracker label. Fig.6: YICK LOONG FIRECRACKER CO- Macau c.1930s. The age-old Lion Dance has always been a popular celebration theme. This label adds an unusual depiction of a surprised looking God of Longevity in conversation with a child.

Fig.7: LEUNG LAN HING CO. JOSS STICK LABEL-Printed in Hong Kong in the 1990s, this label epitomizes the feature of odd juxtapositions and cultural mixtures that make so many of these labels fascinating. Here we have a traditional scene with Shou Hsing, the god of longevity burning joss sticks. Above him, a box framed by a mixture of art deco and Victorian border influences surrounds none other than Santa Claus.

PROPRIETOR PORTRAITS Often, a portrait of a company’s proprietor was included

on a label to serve as a kind of trademark, and as a way of

proving authenticity. Outside Mainland China, this www.glimpsejournal.com

practice is occasionally used to this day.

Fig.8: YICK LOONG CO. CHILDREN BRAND ILLUMINATIVE FIREWORKS LABEL-This hand-lettered label

from the 1930s incorporates a riot of art deco and Victorian influenced decorative motifs and styles from the West,

surrounding a crudely drawn scene of children playing

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with fireworks.

WOMEN IN ADVERTISING

Fig.11: LADY’S CLOTHES

BOX LID b.- Sometimes bizarre renderings of art deco style

patterns decorated boxes and labels from many products from the 1920s through well into the 1950s.

Fig.12: GIRL ON BIKE FIRECRACKER LABEL-c.1930s

This striking label shows a bold statement of a changing

China. In an effort perhaps to show the best of all worlds, a Chinese girl dressed in the popular western fashion of the day is riding a bicycle for pleasure, in an opulent garden

paradise complete with an ornamental fountain, an ancient

pagoda, and a modern building. An art deco style border and flowers frame the idealized scene.

Fig.13: PRC WOMAN HOLDING BOLT OF FABRIC-This fabric label from the 1950s shows a deliberate attempt to

display the changing ideals of womanhood in the People’s

Republic of China.

TRANSPORTATION 9

A popular device used throughout the 20th century was the creation of positive associations through modern

technological advancement. Among the most prominent

was the advancement of transportation.

Fig.9: TRANSPORTATION FABRIC LABEL – People’s Republic of China c.1950s.

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

Fig.10: AIRPLANE TEA PACK-Hong Kong, c.1950s

PEOPLEâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S REPUBLIC OF CHINA 1950s The 1950s was a period of transition from private owner-

ship to state run business. Despite campaigns encouraging

artists to adhere to the principles of the Yanan Forum, some pre-revolutionary characteristics still prevailed.

Fig.14: EYEGLASSES AD- Personal vanity is used as a Fig.15: FEI TIN-LUCKY BRAND FIREWORKS- This

pre-Cultural Revolution label contains traditional elements from Chinese mythology and symbols of good fortune against a background of industrial progress.

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selling point.

14 15

PATRIOTISM AND THE MILITARY Patriotic imagery and text served several purposes: to show

the political loyalties of a company, to appeal to the loyalties of the consumer, and to show allegiance to nationalist

movements promoting the sale of indigenous products. Fig.16: PO SING FIRECRACKER CO. 3 BOYS LABEL(1930s)-Boys sporting modern western-style clothing celebrate the nationalist regime.

Fig.17: ATOMIC BRAND FIRECRACKER LABEL-Post-WWII label manufactured in Hong Kong for the Philippine market.

CULTURAL REVOLUTION PRC (1966-1976) Cultural Revolution era labels exhibit the most extreme

interpretation of the government-sanctioned characteris-

tics outlined in the Yanan Forum For Literature and Art.

Commercial artwork became more serious and stoic than ever before. Paradoxically, the role of label and advertis-

ing art was now seen as a conduit for propaganda rather volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

than a vehicle for promoting sales. Despite the narrow guidelines in which artists were

forced to work, the best label design of the era contained

visually exciting imagery-a world of uncluttered,

impersonal beauty, with imaginatively stylized

renderings of technological

progress and abundant harvests.

Fig.18: AX HEAD AND

CHISELS AD â&#x20AC;&#x201C;Silhouettes in romanticized labor.

Fig.19: THUNDER BUNGERS FIRECRACKER LABELOne of countless variations of a radio tower scene in

Guangdong. This particular label was meant for the

Australian market.

Fig.20: NAN HAI DAM FIRECRACKER LABEL- Progress in hydroelectric power is boasted in this Cultural

Revolution era firecracker label. The border surrounding the company name is typical of the period, implying abundant harvest. Printed in the 1960s, it still shows

remnants of the influence of the

European art-nouveau style.

Fig.21: CHENG QING CIGARETTE LABEL- An imaginatively stylized factory-scape.

Fig.22: BUS/BRIDGE FIRECRACKER LABEL-The

Nanjing Bridge, a Cultural

Revolution showpiece, was

commemorated on countless

labels and posters.

21To view

more labels from Cahanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s collection, visit glimpsejournal.com

www.glimpsejournal.com Glimpse â&#x20AC;&#x192; 68

Illustration by C. Arcabascio

(Re)View: A Chinese Ghost Story Siu-Tung Ching (1987)

By Andy Hughes

ometimes, cinematic style is enough to turn someone to or away from a particular work. A Chinese Ghost Story (1987), the first in a popular series of romantic horror-fantasy films, was hugely popular among several Asian countries upon its release, and grossed over $18 million Hong Kong dollars. And yet, I can imagine many people being turned off, simply because of the hyperkinetic action scenes and culturally specific sense of humor. Though the film has some flaws, it would be a shame to pass over it, as A Chinese Ghost Story is a fun and imaginative piece of filmmaking.

The story is an instantly recognizable one, and well deserving of its classical yet generic title: in medieval China, a clumsy tax collector named Ning Tsai Chen (Leslie Cheung) stops in a village and has to stay the night. He decides to board at the mysterious Lan Ro temple, a place so forbidden that bustling crowds suddenly fall silent at the mention of its name. The movie has fun with this particular convention by having the crowd fall silent, then start talking, then fall silent again every time Ning turns around to look at them. At the temple, Ning meets a mysterious Taoist swordfighter named Yen Chi Xia (Wu Ma) and, more importantly, an alluring woman named Ye Xiao Quin (Joey Wong). Ning falls for Ye almost instantly, but soon learns that there are complications, for she is really a ghost, enslaved to an evil tree spirit named Lao Lao (Lau Siu-Ming). Normally, Ye seduces men for the spirit so that it can feed on their life force, but she takes pity on Ning, putting her own soul at risk. When Lao Lao forces Ye to marry another evil spirit, the terrifying Lord Black, it is up to Ning and the spirited Yen to save her. Many scenes that follow feature outlandish special effects such as an onslaught of flying heads and a battle with a giant tongue. Time has not been especially kind to this film. Though many of the setpieces are effectively eerie, some (such as a scene with stop motion zombies creeping through

the temple rafters) are unconvincing and flat, as the zombies move like choppy, mush-faced Gumby villains. The editing can be jarring and the film stock generally looks grainy. Worse than all this, however, are the horribly translated subtitles, although this did lend a charm to the film, and might even enhance the entertainment value for some. (“I hide up because I hate to go with those face and mean person,” Yen emotionally intones at one point. Most of the subtitles are fortunately better than this). Despite these setbacks, the film features original visuals and charming performances, which offer sufficient reason to see it. The camera is mostly frenetic, but when it slows, especially at the beginning, we get a strong and appropriate sense of place, of shadowy forest groves and muddy village paths. The settings in general are all nicely done and key into fairy-tale ideas quite well, with the barren and misty underworld a particular highlight. The film features a great deal of broad comedy, more than you might expect. Practically every major character engages in some sort of slapstick routine, whether it’s Wong attempting to hide Cheung in her bath, overzealous soldiers chasing townspeople, Cheung frantically running from wolves in the forest, or Ma doing a kind of medieval Chinese rap routine as he practices with his swords. Luckily, the film doesn’t lose its footing, and the plot is never buried even with the film’s many distractions. About the only aspects the movie takes seriously are the tragic elements of the romance, emphasized by the wistful theme song, and the evil of Lao Lao and Lord Black. Returning to my original point, there are people who will be unable to get into any of this. They probably know who they are. A Chinese Ghost Story wants nothing more than to be grand entertainment, and it largely succeeds. For anyone else willing to sit through the cheesiness, this is a peculiar and interesting slice of Chinese film history, and a significant one, as it has inspired many similar films since.

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

(Re)View: Frozen Jidu Hanleng (1996)

Glimpse

www.glimpsejournal.com

By Andy Hughes

s art worth the sacrifice of a life? Most would quickly say no, but Qi Lei (Hongshen Jia) has other ideas. He was a young performance artist operating in Beijing before committing suicide as a final work of art. Frozen opens with a posthumous exhibition of his work, then recounts the events leading up to his death in flashback. In life, Qi Lei is shown as deeply troubled and disaffected. His sister (Yu Bai) and brother-in-law (Geng Li) find him fainting from hunger and force him to eat. He is endlessly fascinated with death, to the point where he can think of nothing else (he describes it as “attractive” to a friend). He decides to create a series of “burials” for himself as performance pieces, in order to test his endurance and communicate his pain. On the first day of each season for a year, he subjects himself to a different element, burying himself up to his neck in dirt, floating in a pond, and sitting cross-legged in the middle of a bonfire. Soon, summer is approaching, and Qi Lei announces his plans for his last performance: an ice burial, in which he will lay on blocks of ice and die of hypothermia.

His friends have mixed reactions. One tries to get Qi Lei psychiatric help, only to end up doubting the strength of his friendship. Another allows him to go through with it, but he has a secret that is tied in with the performance. An old man encourages Qi Lei, telling him that he will be made immortal because of this act. The most livid (and eventually, only) protester is Qi Lei’s photographer girlfriend Shao Yun (Xiaoqing Ma), who tries to convince him to forget the last burial, and almost succeeds. This film was highly controversial upon its release, not least because it was independently made in a country where independent films are illegal. The director, credited as Wu Ming (“no name”) shows an interest in guerilla performance art, depicting it as the response of a disillusioned and desperate sect of society. One extended scene (that appears to be authentic) shows a performance done by two of Qi Lei’s colleagues: two men, seated at a table set with plates and a tablecloth, slowly eating a bar of soap with a knife and fork. The narrator explains that this is done to express extreme revulsion, presumably with modern society, and the expressions on their faces communicate this clearly. In fact, this sequence, while powerful, goes on a bit too long, since the audience absorbs the meaning well before the men begin vomiting (though most of that thankfully occurs offscreen). I would have preferred less of this particular scene and more scenes like it, giving the audience a better idea of the political and social intentions behind such performances. The other major flaw of the film is the lack of characterization of Qi Lei. He is tortured, yes, and pained. But why? We can relate to him in the way we can relate to all those who are troubled, but as the story progresses, we see him less as an everyman dealing with angst and more of a self-obsessed nihilist (to be fair, this is addressed by the ending, although not in an entirely satisfying manner). Frozen is worth a viewing, primarily because of its significance as a cultural artifact, but it would have benefited from a tighter focus.

Illustration by C. Arcabascio

BIG RED SHINY

Big RED & Shiny

volume 2.1 China Vision, Part I

c 7 0 x

an art journal

www.bigredandshiny.com

articles . interviews . reviews . columns . exhibition & event listings . opportunities for artists . news . daily blog

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Mary Ting Devour from Baishe, The White Snake series 2006, digital print

In the next issue... China Vision, Part II Mary Ting Myth and Modernity Han-Teng Liao Political (and Geographical) Colors in Modern China Lily Yeh The Dandelion School Charles Stafford What Will Happen Next? separation and reunion in modern China Chandra Reedey Seeing History: rediscovering the art of ancient Tibet through modern imaging technology and much more...

74 Glimpse â&#x20AC;&#x192; www.glimpsejournal.com