UC#33 | YELLOW PAGES: ENGLISH TEXTS (selection)

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English Version of ‘Creative China: Counter-Mapping the Creative Industries’ (selection)

CREATED IN CHINA (abstract) Bo6leneck and Breakthrough of a Great Country in Industrial Transi@on [Prologue] Text/JIANG Jun Culture & Science

Among the Four Great Inven1ons of ancient China – Gunpowder, Paper, Prin1ng and the Compass Sinan – a fundamental di?erence exists that most people are unaware of: while gunpowder and the compass sinan are inven1ons of science and technology, paper and print technologies largely belong to the realm of culture. In other words, while the former two inven1ons lay stress on terrestrial and naval rights, the laEer two share an in1macy with cul1va1on and absorp1on into everyday life. The tendency for these Four Great Inven1ons to be associated with poli1cal governance and military achievement has polarized debates on the periodiza1on of civiliza1on and modali1es of crea1ve forms according to divisions between the East and West.

Planning & Market

Because of the centralized monopoly of 'crea1on rights', the Planned Economy restrained individual initiatives with regard to independent innova1on. At the same 1me, state‐determined forms of specializa1on are highly restrictive when it comes to transversal flows between different institutions, cultural practices, epistemological interests and business prac1ces. Indeed, the governmental division of sectors restricts inter‐industrial blending, and the inflexibility of the dominant industrial system is hos1le to flexible transforma1on (which, paradoxically, is also the precondition of neoliberal, post‐Fordist economies). Combined, these forces are opposed to mobility, cross‐fertilization and the unforeseen poten1al of crea1vity. On the other hand, although crea1vity is remarkably adaptable to changing environmental conditions, the market does not function especially well as the catalyst of cultural

innova1on. The over‐specializa1on and division that underscores market compe11on tends to consign the outputs of crea1ve prac1ce as generic and trivial. However, the mechanisms through which markets select the latest developments results in liEle more than 'renova1on' of already existing forms, based largely on symbolic content – how the 'object' is advertised – without any essential alteration. The convergence of Planning and Market registers precisely the polariza1on of 'crea1viza1on of industry' and the 'industrializa1on of crea1vity'.

Foreign‐oriented & Self‐renovation

Developing over the 30 years of reform and process of opening‐up, and in an export‐oriented economy specializing in single products and parts, "Made in China" performs in quite an ordinary way in terms of product innova1on. However, it is amazing and dazzling in terms of the scale, diversification and flexibility of industry, which can be understood as the stage of primi1ve accumula1on for 'Created in China'. Establishing the conditions for the economization of culture – embodied by the architecture of intellectual property regimes – the move to 'Created in China' is notable for the conventions and regulations by which knowledge is not 'open' so much as constrained by the borders of control. Progressive technologies both fail and flourish, either through silent submission or willful refusal. Paradoxically, 'Made in China' can be viewed retrospec1vely as poten1ally crea1ve because its limits inspired instances of virtuous self‐educa1on precisely despite the unsuppor1ve and frequently puni1ve social circumstances. With the help of 'Crea1ve Commons' and the 'Learn and Practice' spirit of Copyleft and open source movements, acts of creative liberation have continued in the

face of increasing regula1on of inven1ve prac1ces since China’s entry into the WTO in 2001. More than anything, an in‐built understanding of crea1vity is without doubt the inherent mechanism that drives Chinese enterprises from being export‐oriented to independently driven.

Industry & Space

If one cares to look with precision into the cultural industries, the flexibility and cross‐pollination of creativity condition the possibility for a more extensive context for 'Creative Industries'. The concept of 'multi‐dimensional creativity' should become the default for think‐ tanks wishing to traverse disciplinary and organiza1onal borders. Such a mode of engagement should be able to integrate knowledge from various fields so as to diagnose and plan industrial development, o?ering targeted plans for new modes of work and mechanisms with which to explore crea1ve produc1on. The need for crea1vity reflec1on destines its absence from a conventional environment, and only the comprehensive cultural context can be the incubator of lower‐technical but higher‐reflec1ve crea1vity. Culture presents its complexity in even more unquantifiable ways than science and technology. The creative city brings culture, the element once located at the periphery of economic development, back to the core of metropolitan values, and conversely shi^s the more aErac1ve and energe1c cultural capital into more sustainable and internal economic capital. In so doing, the modern city once kidnapped by the obsessions of power and capital regains its freedom therea^er.

Counter‐Mapping Crea@ve Industries in Beijing [Introduc@on] Text/Ned ROSSITER In the past few years China has joined the international rush to creative industries. While the policy discourse on creative industries in China is similar to that in other countries in East Asia, Australia‐Pacific and Europe, it would be incorrect to assume that China’s engagement with the creative industries is simply a case of derivative behaviour. The special qualities of creative industries in China are not, however, to be found in policy discourse, which tends to reproduce the international hype around spectacular growth rates associated with digital ICTs and the ‘new economy’. For example, the institutional and regulatory environment surrounding the media and cultural industries, advertising, music, and urban development – some of the key sectors of the creative industries in China – does not correspond with the conditions that lead to such boosterism in the case of the UK and US in the late nineties.

With a prehistory in Australia during the early nineties and the ‘Creative Nation’ policy agenda of the Paul Keating led Labor government, the creative industries became formalized as a policy discourse in the UK during the early years of the Blair government. Between 2001‐2005 governments around the world became excited by the creative industries as a solution for post‐industrial unemployment, most notably in Australia, New Zealand, East Asia, western Europe and Brazil. The United States had its own policy variations, but maintained the essential elements of ‘creative classes’, cluster developments, urban gentrification and intellectual property generation underscored by service industries and ‘free labour’. The creative industries obtained formal status in China in 2005 with documents from the 11th Five‐ Year plan outlining models of development.

This migration of governmental reason from the periphery to the centre which then became repackaged for global consumption resembles the colonial‐era cartographies of resource extraction and transformation. Unlike the economic logic of depletion that underscores the ravaging of material resources, the creative industries policy was born in the time of dot.com mania and the informatization of social relations. To this day, the creative industries policy largely remains a discourse of hype disconnected from material conditions. Of course, this is far from the reality.

n责任编辑/朱菲 n版式编辑/张哲瑞

Some Maps Make Money, But Not for the Masses

Broadly understood as a ‘value‐adding’ process generated through the economization of culture and its attendant costs of labour, much emphasis has been placed by governments on ‘mapping’ the creative industries.

International ‘scholar‐consultants’ along with government departments and think‐tanks have been responsible for much of this mapping work in an effort to capture the elusiveness of creativity. More often than not, these maps hold little resemblance to the idea of a visual registration of geographically situated relations (which in itself functions as a geopolitical, imperial technology). Nonetheless, the imperial logic of control and containment figures largely in what are better understood as lists of statistics whose econometrics operate as persuasion devices for government,

potential investors and insecure populations.

This issue of Urban China is framed around an experimental research platform that set out to conduct a counter‐mapping of Beijing’s creative industries in the summer of 2007. Based on preliminary fieldwork in Beijing in 2005 and 2006 and follow‐up discussions at the MyCreativity convention of international creative industries researchers held in Amsterdam, 2006, the project adopted the model of a mobile research laboratory as a framework for collaborative research on the creative industries in Beijing.

The project finds inspiration in a range of cartographic experiments and organizational forms. Makrolab – one of the most renowned temporary sustainable laboratories mobilized around the world – brings small groups of scientists and artists together for up to 120 days to research aesthetic, scientific and technological dimensions of local environments. Another key point of reference and inspiration is the work of Dehli‐based media lab Sarai, who have long engaged the relations between urban change, social‐ aesthetic experience, inter‐cultural teaching and research platforms and media‐cultures. And as for amazing counter‐cartographies that register the political economy of the global war machine, the collaborative maps produced by Bureau d‐Études are singular in their incredible design of detail.

Counter‐Cartographies and Collaborative Constitution

This issue of Urban China sets out to critique and redefine the idea and practice of ‘mapping’ the creative industries. Foregrounding the experimental process of collaborative constitution, we are interested in the multiple idioms of expression that make creative industries intelligible beyond the blandness of policy discourse. Activist researchers, artists and writers in Europe, Brazil and India have been particularly inventive in combining collaborative techniques of production with social‐political critique via media of communication. We see this work as part of the prehistory and global dialogue around how to create new spaces and transdisciplinary knowledges able to negotiate the complexities and politics that attend the economization of culture.

In bringing the idea of counter‐mapping to the creative industries in Beijing, the question and problematic of translation is quickly established.

Understood as a social practice rather than search for linguistic equivalence, translation registers the conflictual dynamics of the encounter between different knowledge and social systems. Rather than adopting a defeatist logic, we instead see the conflictual processes of translation as constitutive of new social assemblages and knowledge systems.

As a method of collaborative research, translation inevitably questions the ‘cluster’ model that has come to define government policy and infrastructural development within the creative industries. Rather than focusing on concentrations of creative sectors – high‐tech parks, cultural precincts, film and new media production centres, etc. – and their spin‐off

benefits for property developers, this issue of Urban China investigates what might be understood as the ‘constitutive outside’ of creative industries in Beijing. We identify six key thematics or vectors of inquiry that, in our minds, make visible and bring into relation that which has become ‘partitioned’ from discourses on creativity (e.g. experiences of creative labour, service workers, information geographies of open source networks, etc.). Unlike the usual mapping documents on the creative industries, which are typically derived from compilations of statistics on economic growth in the sector, this issue of Urban China sets out to produce an alternative map of the creative industries in Beijing.

Transdisciplinary Urban‐Media Research & Organized Networks

The project thus undertakes an anthropology of creative industries from the perspective of creative producers and those displaced by urban developments. By undertaking a collaborative anthropology of new institutional forms – what we term ‘organized networks’ – this project identifies the transdisciplinary dimension of creative industries in Beijing.

Transdisciplinarity can be understood as an experimental research methodology and pedagogy that emerges within the logic of networks as they traverse diverse institutional forms. To this end, transdisciplinarity is a practice interested in the educational capacities of network cultures. This project investigates how the formation of organized networks illuminates some of the material qualities and tensions of creative industries in Beijing and China more broadly.

Urban China is a magazine interested in testing the relation between Chinese government policy initiatives and their impact on the urban condition and architectural design. It considers this tension as key to the production of new proposals that open initial policy perspectives to the complexity of contemporary urban, social and economic transformation in China. How do counter‐cartographies of the creative industries influence our idea and 121 experience of what a city is? It’s clear that property developers benefit from the creative industries meme, and there’s no question that speculative capital has impacted in massive ways on the social‐urban transformation of Beijing and other Chinese cities. Districts are re‐arranged, populations mobilized, programs are implemented in specially demarcated zones. But how does this stealth‐like approach to urban change conflict with the more volatile, elusive, fleeting forms of creativity? What are the cartographic dimensions of this ‘urban sensorium’ and how is its conflictual constitution shaping understandings of creative industries in China? These are some of the questions this issue of Urban China sets out to address.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to all contributors to this issue: authors, image‐makers, designers, Urban China production staff, and especially the translators – without whom there would be no issue. Jiang Jun deserves a special mention – he supported the idea of this issue from the start, and has been an ongoing source of inspiration.

Collusion and Collision of Ci@es within Ci@es Text/Shveta SARDA All of us live in di?erent ci1es, ci1es in which we carry with us di?erent senses of an1cipa1on of its tomorrow. The accelera1on of movements, technological enmeshment and change of scale compel us to con1nuously re‐work the co‐ordinates of our ways of thinking urban life.

It is said that ‘Mumbai dreams of Shanghai’. A total transforma1on into the other city, without malforma1ons. The tex1le mills in Mumbai, where an 80 year old industry that was in the doldrums in the late 80s rediscovers itself as a part of global economy of entertainment and creative technologies, and is now redrawing the way culture and leisure will be produced. After you’ve walked 30 minutes at a slow pace in a straight line along the road, you’ve barely touched the two ends of the mills. A large shopping complex has been constructed, where thousands throng everyday. Signs painted in red on the now defunct chimneys of the mills announce names of new restaurants, malls, discotheques and art galleries.

Somewhere, construc1on con1nues and entry is denied. Elsewhere, the old buildings made of stone are s1ll being pulled down. You can see a vast expanse of land that has been emp1ed out, and in one dense corner, a tall chimney, the inside walls of what was probably a warehouse and a lone wall that doesn’t contain space any more. This part of the mills seems haunted by the city’s future. As you watch and walk, the emerging city landscape comes in the way. The city con1nues its baEle over the remains of the mills.

Concurrently, the city generates its fresh crop of what are oncially named ‘PAPs’.

The two Ps in PAP stand for project and persons. ‘A’ is the relationship between them. The rela1onship ‘A’ can be generic, and there are a few words in our dic1onary for it. The ‘A’ in ‘PAP’, the hyphen between ‘Project’ and ‘Persons’ could be anything – PAPs could mean project associa1ve persons, project affective persons, project arranged persons, project augmented persons. There is in fact a world of PAPs around us. The city is a strange landscape of PAPs. There is also something called the ‘PAP smear’. It’s a test to detect cancer.

When a body and its cells get into an antagonism, the test determines whether this antagonism is bearable or aggressive to the body. And here we have two more PAPs – the project aggressive persons and the project antagonis1c persons. However, PAP has its own designated full form in the city – it stands for Project A?ected Persons. Persons – working class

persons – moved, relocated, removed for new developments. The city gives them share money for new houses, or it builds houses for them which announce Hiranandani (builders) building 8304 houses for project affected persons. The fact remains that the contemporary situation is increasingly about the ingenuity, innova1veness or failures of these PAPs. Let’s return to Beijing, where I have now been for a week. There is a central axis that runs through the city which forms a kind of organizing principle. The Games City (engendered by the Olympics), the Forbidden City (survives primarily as a heritage city) and the upcoming Media or Film City (the space for the emergent economies of creative industries) are located along this axis. It is possible to sense many ci1es wrestling inside this one city. They all have their own morphologies, temporal rhythms, world of things, spa1al prac1ces and projected futures.

Is there a growing speculative city that cuts across these constitutive elements? Buildings with apartments that no one lives in. Apartments that lie vacant for those who will purchase them at a higher cost next year, another 1me. A making of ghost structures in an1cipa1on of wealth.

A kind of alchemy with buildings – the conversion of concrete into gold.

It’s a story similar to Gurgaon in Delhi. Gurgaon is a satellite city built to accommodate factories, build call centres, malls and gated residential colonies. It’s a kind of ‘security city’. A city afraid of its many millions.

Once I wandered onto the roof of my grandfather’s apartment in a 15 storied building in Gurgaon when my grandmother was very unwell.

From the roof, I remember seeing a vast landscape of concrete, where the incremental, ordinary city tussled with the belligerence of the an1cipated city.

In our cities, the process of the construction of a ‘lifestyle city’ is also underway. Compression and dispersion are played out producing various e?ects. In Delhi, a riverfront that gave home to a million in 30 years can disappear in 4 years, to give way to something in 3 years. The memory of the erasure of slowly made dwellings will lie dormant and fade, and be replaced rapidly within a few years by high and luxury apartments with ‘secured’ environments.

The transfer of the evicted dwellers to various edges of the city opens up the city’s fron1ers. All expanding ci1es produces their ‘fron1er city’. These are zones of administra1ve ambigui1es and reloca1ons, disrup1ons. They are spaces in forma1on, with a deep ambivalence to what their future can

be. These ambivalences are administra1vely contained through various strategies of legal seizure, rhetorics of welfare and promises of projected possibili1es.

Edges are not the only fron1ers of a city. There are various other fron1ers: Fron1ers of illegibility that have to give way to prescribed ways of life.

The old, inner city of Delhi has built a life around recycled economies and old cra^s‐based economies. Here, the old meets the recycled. This old city was legally designated a ‘slum’ very early into the history of independent India because of its density and illegibility. Embedded in and around it are markets that transact in second‐hand hardware, low‐end electronic goods, copied music, pirated so^ware, etc. These feed into far away locali1es, their cultural life and livelihoods. For instance, all night musical recitals and performances, and perhaps in them, the making of the bards of these visible yet unuEered ci1es. This ‘pirate city’ of prac1ces, which falls outside representa1on at the moment, is part of an exuberant and prolifera1ng culture of the copy; access to technology is arrived at through innova1on and defiance of the established rules of the game. This city – the pirate city – is vola1le and open. It borrows from the tradi1onal and both transforms and relays it through encounters with emerging techno‐spaces. What it has to nego1ate is the harsh reality of legal reprimands and threatening admonishments.

It is important to remember that the contemporary moment remixes, it recombines and it also throws away, at 1mes with surgical violence, a lot in its accelera1on. What happens when the dispersed, tenuous, fragile, sites interfere with the imagined cartographic stretches of the industries and plans of the new accelerated economy? Sites which produce and tune in to di?erent frequencies of the sound of the future, along with and some1mes in antagonism to or with aggression towards the emboldened newer economies?

There are multiple ways in which we encounter our various cities. Our imagined city is a contour drawn from various interfering lines of many cities, not knowing when they will override the other. Each of these mul1ple ci1es holds many lives embedded and yet dispersed in the city.

Edited version of a comment in ‘Mobile Research Laboratory’, Beijing, July, 2007.

Sec@on 1: Network Ecologies of Crea@ve Waste [Introduc@on] Text/Soenke ZEHLE The no1on of 'network ecologies' is introduced to explore ways in which debates on crea1vity and the economy of culture resonate and connect with ecopoli1cal concerns, especially those developed in the context of an (emergent) transna1onal network of organizing around environmental and social jus1ce issues in the global networks of electronics produc1on.

A reappropriation of 'sustainability' as conflictual dynamics giving rise to alternative forms of agency serves as point of departure. Building on earlier work on environmental justice as a minority social movement signalling the rise of new forms of organizing, these explorations draw on a variety of approaches (environmental debt, environmental/resource

rights, social ecology, and resource conflict, but also occupational health and safety, approaches to a 'just transition', etc.) to bring into views actors and agendas often considered separately, and thus deprived analytically of possible encounters that could facilitate a joining of forces

e‐waste, with an es1mated 98 per cent working in the informal sector. The na1on’s two major recycling centers are Lùqiáo Qū in Zhejiang Province and Gùiyu in Guangdong Province, our principal focus here. Gùiyu (popula1on 155,000 in 2003), was once a farming town. That changed in the 1990s with the arrival of e‐waste from the ‘crea1ve industries’ of the West. Today, more than 80 per cent of local families work in e‐waste recycling alongside rural migrant workers (100,000 in 2003). The latter undertake some of the most hazardous work, and lack the security o?ered by family businesses (Manhart 2007: 19‐20, 22).

compe11on if you want to be an ideologist, we imagine. While you’re at it, you might also turn to advocates for the precariat and ask them where the popula1on of Gùiyu fits into their vision of theory and ac1on. Nothing like a bit of cross‐class collabora1on if you want to be an ideologist, we imagine.

E‐waste has transformed Gùiyu in three ways: 80 per cent of local families have left farming for recycling jobs; soil and water contaminants from recycling saturate the local human food chain; and the pollu1on of land and water with persistent organic pollutants has prohibited the safe return of affected agricultural lands to future generations (Manhart 2007: 20; Wong et al., 2007). Dioxin has been found at levels 56 1mes higher than World Health Organization standards (Human Rights Advocate 2008: 5). Twenty per cent of recycling workers are estimated to use no basic protec1on against exposure to toxic metals – and exposure to 50 1mes the ‘safe’ level of lead has been reported – while many others carry toxic dust residue on their clothing and into their homes. Contaminants from incineration and landfill of residual waste saturate local dust, soil, river sediment, surface and ground water, and air. Much of this has spread to surrounding villages, where it will persist in the environment (Leung et al.

2008; Manhart 2007: 16, 19).

Leung, Anna O. W., Nurdan S. Duzgoren‐Aydin, K.C. Cheung, and Ming H. Wong. (2008).

“Heavy Metals Concentra1ons of Surface Dust from e‐Waste Recycling and its Human Health Implica1ons in Southeast China.” !"#$%&"'(")*+,-.$(".(,*"/,0(.1"&+&23 42, no.

7: 2674‐2680.

So next time that creationists lecture you on the supposed virtues of their brave new post‐industrial world, ask them to pause a moment and consider facts like the ones presented above. Nothing like a good bit of

Wong, Coby S. C., S. C. Wu, Nurdan S. Duzgoren‐Aydin, Adnan Aydin, and Ming H. Wong. (2007). “Trace Metal Contamina1on of Sediments in an E‐Waste Processing Village in China.” !"#$%&"'(")*+,8&++49&" 145: 434‐42.

on the organizational level.

Crea@ve Industries or Wasteful Ones?

Text/Richard MAXWELL+Toby MILLER post‐manufacturing utopias. The by‐products are electronic code rather than sickening smoke. That sounds nice, doesn’t it? But what about electronic waste (e‐waste) from televisions, computers, cell phones and so on – the fastest‐growing element in First‐World municipal dumps? Aren’t they part of the ‘crea1ve industries?’

E‐waste recycling poses severe health and safety risks, including bone disease, brain‐damage, headaches, ver1go, nausea, birth‐defects, diseases of the stomach, lungs, vital organs, and disrupted biological development in children because of exposure to heavy metals (lead, cadmium, mercury, among others), dioxin emiEed by burning wires insulated with 122 polyvinylchloride, flame retardants in circuit boards andplastic casings containing polychlorinated biphenyls or newer brominated compounds, and poisonous fumes emiEed while mel1ng electronic parts for precious metals such as copper and gold (Leung et al., 2008). And China is a major player in the en1re life‐cycle of electronic technologies. A typical trajectory is for computers made in China to be sold, used, and discarded in Australia; disassembled in the Philippines; sent back to China for par1al reassembly; then returned to Australia for the extrac1on of valuable metals (Tong and Wang, 2004).

Because imports of e‐waste have been illegal in China since 1996, there are no oncial figures on the amount being smuggled into the country’s ‘informal’ e‐waste recycling economy. Es1mates range from one to fi^een million tons annually, and volume is growing steadily (Human Rights Advocate 2008: 5; Manhart 2007:18). The number of people involved in e‐waste recycling is also hard to pin down. There may be over 700,000 people working throughout China in the collection and disassembly of

References

Human Rights Advocates. (2008). “The Human Rights Impact of the Illicit Transfer and Dumping of Toxic Wastes and Dangerous Substances: E‐Waste, Sham Recycling, and the Need for E?ec1ve Regula1on.” Report to the United Na1ons Human Rights Council. <www.humanrightsadvocates.org/UN%20interven1ons%20list1.htm>.

Manhart, Andreas. (2007) “Key Social Impacts of Electronics Produc1on and WEEE‐ Recycling in China.” Freiburg: Ins1tute for Applied Ecology (Öko‐Ins1tut e.V.).

Tong, Xin and Jici Wang. (2004). “Transna1onal Flows of E‐Waste and Spa1al PaEerns of Recycling in China.” !4%*5$*",6(&2%*713,*"/,!.&"&'$.5 45, no. 8: 608‐21.

n责任编辑/朱菲 n版式编辑/张哲瑞

The much‐acclaimed crea1ve industries are supposedly clean and green

Sec@on 2: Informa@on Geographies vs. Crea@ve Clusters [Introduc@on] Text/ Ned ROSSITER The cluster model for the development of creative industries prevails across ci1es in China, just as it does around the world. In principle, this model provides businesses and experts with the possibility of cross‐ fer1lizing ideas and exper1se. Beijing is as good an example as any, with its dozen or so crea1ve clusters that func1on to quaran1ne crea1vity in a very programma1c way: Zhongguancun's High‐Tech Parks, 798 Art District, Songzhuang Art & Anima1on Industry Cluster, China (Huairou) Movie &

TV Industry Zone (CMTIZ), Beijing DRC (Design Resource Cooperation) Industrial Design Crea1ve Industry Base, China New Media Industry Base ... and on it goes. Such concentrations of creativity are supposedly in the business of producing intellectual property (copyrights, trademarks, patents). But they would seem best suited to driving up local real‐ estate prices. Indeed, there is rarely much creativity happening in the crea1ve cluster. For that, you need to search out the informal rela1ons

that underscore the daily rhythms of metropolitan life. The production of information geographies provides one technique for registering the correspondence between open information flows and processes of collabora1on. Drink your café laEe with free wifi connec1ons, and you're more likely to discover some genuine crea1vity in the making.

crea1ve clusters are inclined to high‐tech small and medium enterprises (SMEs), and rather than sourcing knowledge from universities, they associate heavily with street fashion.

ul1mately depends on the kinds of cluster model, the industries located there, and the kinds of innovations sought. Sometimes government interven1on is the catalyst for new development (as in the construc1on of a new area or district); other 1mes government plays an important role after the cluster has been developed organically. For example, disused factories are o^en occupied by ar1sts; industrial spaces become popular venues for hip‐hop concerts. Government can assist in ensuring that there is ‘responsible management’ of such spaces, although there is a danger that the original creative spirit moves elsewhere as a result, as has occurred in Beijing’s 798 art district. In some models, governments have partnered with corporate management to ensure that there is a balanced mix of par1cipants, in turn facilita1ng a learning and coopera1ve environment. However, while policy‐led ‘top‐down’ creative cluster development is important, ‘planning’ and ‘crea1vity’ are not necessarily opposites or mutually exclusive. There is a need for new models to allow planning to produc1vely engage with crea1vity.

Crea@ve Clusters: Out of Nowhere?

Text/ Michael KEANE Chinese cities are currently undergoing extraordinary transformation.

Much urban land, par1cularly on the fringes of ci1es, has undergone re‐ zoning in the past decade. Three spa1al manifesta1ons of development have dominated: these are spaces of globaliza1on (development zones, industrial parks, conven1on centres, etc.), spaces of eli1st consump1on (shopping malls, supermarkets, five star hotels and golf courses) and spaces of differentiation and marginalization (gated communities, urban villages and migrant enclaves). The accelerated urbanization process is driven by mul1ple forces but in par1cular by local bureaucra1c entrepreneurs who are embedded within ‘growth coalitions’. These bureaucratic entrepreneurs have established relationships with government officials, developers and investors and other ‘movers and shakers’.

The re‐valuing of urban space is an important element of social transforma1on, and this no more evident than in the recent fascina1on with crea1ve clusters, which aim to be both spaces of globaliza1on and spaces of elite consumption. By the late‐1990s, industrial clusters had overtaken science and technology parks as the default economic se•ng for regional development. Clustering is currently a policy panacea for economic development commissions and local governments looking to create new enterprise and wealth. An important benefit of clusters is the trade‐o? between compe11on and coopera1on. Firms locate in par1cular regions or centres to gain benefits of labour, knowledge and ideas. When they are co‐located, firms, research institutions and enterprises create an excess of services and knowledge; the former is used in crea1ng more specialised services (e.g. expansion) while knowledge is di?used, acquired by people working in the milieu. This is the ideal cluster scenario.

These days the economic logic of clustering is dis1lled into crea1ve parks, bases, incubators, industrial districts, crea1ve ci1es, and crea1ve regions.

In China, as elsewhere, the terms ‘crea1vity’ and ‘innova1on’ are o^en used interchangeably, and this in turn a?ects the way crea1ve clusters are imagined. Both crea1vity and innova1on occur in clusters. However, it is important to note that crea1vity is directly associated with novelty and human capital, whereas innova1on is the ability to u1lise, exploit or adapt someone else’s crea1vity – improving on a design, for instance.

A crea1ve cluster is a place for crea1ve enterprise: a geographically defined area in which there is a linked group of creative industries, businesses (predominantly small and medium enterprises), or cultural activities.

Such clusters have historically tended to include educa1onal ins1tu1ons and R&D agencies; governmental agencies or public bodies; public and privately financed arts and cultural venues and facili1es; entertainment, leisure and shopping facili1es; and accessible public spaces for socialisa1on and events. The combina1on of these mul1ple dimensions means that crea1ve industry clusters come in a great variety of di?erent shapes. Most creative clusters hope to be knowledge clusters, places where there is a creative spark, where there is a flow of ideas. From this perspective

In reality, some self‐styled creative clusters are best defined as cultural quarters, places where there is a high degree of not‐for‐profit activity (museums, art galleries, libraries) and fragmented production or consump1on (ar1sts’ lo^s and markets). While these clusterings of ac1vity may engage with street fashion they are o^en complicit in perpetua1ng the sale of shabby mass‐produced tourist artefacts containing little or no creative input. In places where cultural and arts policy has played a leading role in national discourses, particularly Canada, France, China, and to some extent Australia, there are strong preserva1onist a•tudes underlying a belief that 'arts and culture' are somehow beyond the realm of the market. Because of inherent market failure an obliga1on is placed on government to support and determine best policy, and because of the power of influential elites there has been a tendency to promote high culture forms over popular culture. From this perspec1ve, cultural quarters are less about innova1on and more about tourism and the reproduc1on of tradi1on.

Clusters in China: Real Estate or Real Crea@vity?

The question of what makes a cluster creative is central to the development of China’s creative future, as it seems the government’s current Five‐Year Plan (2006 – 2010) has determined there will be a crea1ve industries and crea1ve cluster‐led renaissance. Indeed, the term ‘crea1ve cluster’ (chuangyi jijuqu) was only coined in 2006. The ques1on in the current climate of enhancing Chinese soft power is: just what makes a cluster crea1ve? The first key idea that China needs to embrace is ‘boundary spanning’: that is, people from outside – from different disciplines and fields of endeavour – should be included wherever possible. Boundary spanning also implies there is value in integrating interna1onal ideas and personnel into projects.

This ‘boundary spanning’ is different from established ‘knowledge communities’ where researchers, developers or R&D personnel have similar interests. The importance of breaking out of the knowledge community is revealed in communica1on. Within a group of individuals flanked by a boundary we more often than not observe similarities in skills, attitudes, educational backgrounds, and subsequently in norms and values. This leads to a tension between efficiency and originality.

In the animation industries, for instance, we can distinguish between making profit from merchandising (boEom‐line enciencies) and crea1ng new original content that has poten1al export markets. As I have argued elsewhere, this is currently a huge problem in China’s anima1on industries because the lack of value in the content market drives businesses back to manufacturing.

The idea of the ‘learning region’, one in which knowledge is absorbed and readily transferred, is o^en advanced as a reason for governments to promote the development of clusters. However, there are some problems with knowledge transfer under such policy environments, and these certainly apply to the crea1ve cluster fever breaking out in Chinese ci1es.

Many poorer regions that are currently pursuing the cluster approach to development have ‘thin’ knowledge bundles when compared to global benchmark regions like Silicon Valley, which are 'thick' in the areas of exploration (research), examination (testing and trialling) and exploitation (commercialisation). The problem is that fear of being left behind pushes the forma1on of clusters. As clones, they are incapable of producing what is called ‘genera1ve growth’ – growth that interacts with the surrounding system or ecology of sociable, creative, collaborating and competing agents. New cluster models should look closely at ‘soft infrastructure’; in doing so they can exploit the advantages of informa1on and communication technologies, in particular networked interactive pla‚orms for crea1vity.

A further problem is associated with catch‐up learning. To achieve generative growth, knowledge needs to act on existing knowledge: in other words, discovery involves a process of ‘unlearning’; it entails stepping beyond codified knowledge. It is impera1ve therefore that both crea1ve regions and crea1ve clusters avoid unnecessary duplica1on and ‘follow‐the leader’ strategies. Moreover, they need to iden1fy their own strengths and cri1cal success factors through knowledge accumula1on and innova1ve thinking. This then needs to be customised to regional assets and needs.

If these factors are considered the pay‐o? from clustering will be here for all to see; if, however, clusters are conceived as real estate developments, there is unlikely to be any real creative ‘added value’ in the long term.

And such a scenario seriously brings into ques1on the idea of a ‘crea1ve economy’.

Planning is important to the success of crea1ve clusters. However, planning

Frida V. in Beijing and OpenStreetMap’s First Leaps in Beijing Text/Luka FRELIH About Frida V.

n责任编辑/朱菲 n版式编辑/张哲瑞

Frida V. is a rugged and comfortable bicycle equipped for encient, safe and enjoyable exploration and mapping of public urban spaces. The optimized‐for‐bike interface enables easy creation of location‐tagged media, automated mapping of open wireless networks and opportunis1c synchronisa1on with a server on the Internet.

The current version of the Frida V. system is based on a consumer available wireless router running Linux and the Arduino microcontroller system.

Custom firmwares have been developed for both, integra1ng them into a seamless interac1ve device.

Technical requirements: needs access to power and open (no password) wireless loca1on should be accessible to bicycles to enter from and leave to the street The project was ini1ated as a collabora1on between Ljudmila and the _ V2 Society in 2004. It has since been in development as an open source

hardware solution, producing two versions of the system. Among the ci1es explored so far are RoEerdam, Ljubljana, New York City, Maribor, München, Zagreb, Bergen, San Francisco, Manchester and Beijing.

Besides being a tool for individual explora1on and mapping of the digital communica1on landscape, it has also been well received for grass‐roots mapping of ci1es like the community‐developed OpenStreetMap project. hEp://twiki.ljudmila.org/bin/view/Luka/FridaV hEp://www.ljudmila.org/dat/Frida_V/

Frida V. in Beijing

In 2007 Frida was invited to take part in the OrgNets project on counter‐ mapping the crea1ve industries in Beijing. The new system based on a usb router was used. Aside from some failing baEeries and overexposure on the camera it was all working preEy well.

The experience was unforgeEable. Riding one of the ‘nine million’ bicycles trough Beijing was eye‐opening not just for me, but it seems for all who rode along – hong lai wai, Chinese co‐researchers and local Beijingers. We went exploring the huge city grid and countless contrasts lurking inside

its cellular structures. On the leather seat of the bike, we glided with, against or across the swaying sea of taxis, tried uncommon paths and 123 serendipitous detours.

The overpowering engagement with the city left little spare attention for the blips of open wireless we stumbled upon on the way. The group ride, where everyone took along cameras (later edited by missumi into a movie), is definitely a model to be used again. Looking at recorded pictures, videos and mapping tracks I can access the buzz and smells of Beijing again. Hopefully some of them shine trough these pages to you too.

I am glad that I was not harassed or arrested for either GPS logging or opera1ng my makeshi^ electronic device on these travels, as some people have recently been. I even got my bicycle lock back from the land of lost baggage. Lucky, I guess.

OpenStreetMap's First Leaps in Beijing

The OpenStreetMap (OSM) is a collabora1ve map of the whole world. The

data and maps made by the contributors are shared under the Crea1ve Commons AEribu1on Share Alike license. This means anyone is free to print or use them as a base for original mapping without payment, as long as credit is given and the right to reuse is le^ open.

When I visited last year, the OSM had barely sketched the outlines of Beijing. I hope our two‐week e?ort gave it a bit of a push and publicity in some right circles. In any case, looking at it now it seems to be in excellent shape. The map is growing, free and unauthorized. This huge city will take a lot of work from many people, so this wri1ng intends to document the first steps you will have to take to start contribu1ng.

Sign up with the project:

Get an account for yourself at hEp://www.openstreetmap.org/ Set your home loca1on appropriately. lat: 39.9 lon: 116.4 Get an account for yourself with the wiki (op1onal)

Potlatch

This easy‐to‐use flash editor can be accessed from the main OSM map pages any1me by clicking on the edit tab above the map. You have to be logged in to the website to actually use it.

It is very easy to draw linear features like streets, roads and railways, or area features like lakes with it, tracing over the satellite imagery supplied.

You will need local knowledge of the area to correctly assign street names and split ways where the name changes. But as these can be added by

someone any1me a^er the ini1al drawing, feel free to trace the shapes even if you do not know the names.

JOSM

The more capable editor, JOSM, is a Java applica1on that can be installed on your computer. It works on all pla‚orms. Besides drawing ways over GPS traces, JOSM also supports adding and tagging single points (nodes), needed for marking landmarks or linking to geolocated media. Don't let the look scare you, this is a powerful and versatile mapping tool, developed and optimized by and for the thousands of OSM mappers worldwide. Unfortunately, its site is blocked by the Great Firewall of China.

There is a working mirror in the UK: Larted JOSM mirror, where you can download it from.

Sec@on 3: Migrant Networks and Service Labour [Introduction] Text/BreE NEILSON In China the intersection of creative industries and migrant networks occurs on three fronts. First, the renewal of urban districts as creative clusters leads to the displacement of populations and threatens their established cultures. Second, the inflow of rural migrants to China's urban centers provides much of the workforce that fuels growth in the crea1ve

sector. The real estate speculation that accompanies the expansion of the creative economy requires rapid construction of buildings and infrastructure. This is made possible by cheap migrant labor. Third, the creative workforce has become more cosmopolitan with an influx of young people from Europe and North America seeking economic

opportunity, adventure, or just the chance to build and partake in a hip scene. To understand the political and economic constitution of the crea1ve industries, it necessary to ask how these three forms of migra1on, which o^en are seen as separate, interrelate and shape each other.

Labour, Migra@on, Crea@ve Industries, Risk Text/BreE NEILSON While debates on migra1on o^en focus on culture and iden1ty, there is a need to supplement these perspec1ves with an aEen1on to changing labour regimes and the poli1cal meaning of controls on labour mobility.

Research on the creative industries brings these fields of investigation into contact. The processes of production in this sector undoubtedly involve the deployment of creative and communicative capacities in the service of profit generating activities. They also signal a number of important transi1ons in the organisa1on of work: the growth of cogni1ve or immaterial labour regimes, the growing reliance on service labour, the increasing insecurity of employment, job crea1on through unpaid work, friendships, social networking, etc. A focus on labour conditions cuts through much of the hype that surrounds crea1ve industries discourse by focusing aEen1on on one of their most crucial condi1ons of possibility.

In the case of China, the cost of labour is o^en cited as a key contribu1ng factor to a thriving cultural entrepreneurialism. As regards migratory movements, there are three important developments. First, the renewal of urban districts as creative clusters has led to the displacement of popula1ons and threatened their established cultures. Second, the inflow of internal migrants from rural China has supplied the labour to construct the buildings and infrastructure essen1al to crea1ve industries and the real estate specula1on that accompanies them. Third, the crea1ve workforce has become more cosmopolitan with an influx of young people from Europe and North America seeking economic opportunity, adventure or just the chance to build and partake in a hip scene. What are the connec1ons between these three forms of migra1on, which are usually considered as separate, and what do they tell us about the poli1cal and economic cons1tu1on of the crea1ve industries?

The displacement of urban popula1ons due to modernisa1on, renewal and gentrifica1on has been a key concern for cultural geographers. But it is notoriously dincult to study what becomes of displaced people since they tend to disperse. This means their communi1es and the cultures they sustain become susceptible to disbandment. In China these dynamics have been accelerated due to the rapid urban development of which crea1ve industries are an important driver. Much of the debate in Beijing has focused on the demoli1on of the hutongs and the disappearance of the cultures that thrived in their courtyards. The retooling of factories as art galleries is another story that has clear e?ects upon the texture of the

urban landscape and the kinds of work available within it.

The construction of buildings and infrastructure necessary for the expansion of creative industries and the real estate speculation that accompanies them has been enabled by the presence of a cheap labour force comprised of rural migrants to China’s ci1es. The regula1on of these population flows through the hukou system of household registration has been widely studied. There is a sense in which this labour force cons1tutes a new working class in China just as the language of class is at once subsumed and appropriated in invoca1ons of a ‘harmonious society’ that favour individualism, professionalism, equal opportunities and the open market. Furthermore, the projected drying up of this migrant labour force and expected emergence of a labour shortage in China is a factor contribu1ng to an increased realiza1on that the country will be forced into further economic restructuring. Not surprisingly, crea1ve industries are a key factor and hope in restructuring narra1ves that promote the no1on of a transi1on from ‘made in China’ to ‘created in China’.

The growing expatriate popula1on of young North Americans, Europeans and Australians who have flocked to Chinese ci1es is another development that e?ects the cons1tu1on of the crea1ve workforce. These architects, writers, curators and web developers are often cultivating expertise in China but are not yet recognised as experts in their home countries.

Indeed, many are fleeing the precarious labour regimes that have invested the crea1ve industries in Western ci1es. Here there is at once an economy of opportunity (as valuable expertise is garnered in the whirlwind of Chinese capitalism) and exploitation (as ably trained individuals accept lower wages and longer working hours than those available in other world ci1es). An important aspect of the presence of these crea1ve workers is the produc1on of new forms of subjec1vity in the interac1ons, in1macies and collaborations that unfold between them and Chinese locals. This gives rise to new forms of hipness and cosmopolitanism in Chinese ci1es.

There is certainly a sense in which these three kinds of migratory movement are linked in a causal and linear manner. The cheap labour of rural‐urban migrants enables the real estate specula1on that feeds money into crea1ve enterprises. This opens up opportuni1es for foreign ‘expats’ and Chinese entrepreneurs to build new and profitable scenes in the crea1ve industries. In turn, there is displacement of long‐standing urban

popula1ons. The circle is closed in an irresis1ble and doubtless accurate narra1ve. But it is also necessary to ask what the neatness of this story hides.

One way to introduce new ques1ons about the development of crea1ve industries is to read this narrative across the more general tendencies of financialization and risk management that characterize the forms of neoliberalism that have taken root in China (and link them to a wider global system that is currently su?ering a credit crisis). The specula1on that has invested the commercial real estate sector in Chinese ci1es, frequently leading to the construc1on of once blocks that remain empty for months or years, is one manifesta1on of this tendency. Likewise, the ‘land‐banking’ that sees companies scouring China to buy up leases on outlying districts or interior ci1es yet to be developed is another aspect of these processes of financializa1on.

The creative industries are also implicated in these ‘futures’, not least because they feed into the remaking of the urban fabric and supply a dominant exit narra1ve for a China that may be forced to restructure due to financial pressures (e.g., devalua1on of the dollar, apprecia1on of the renminbi) that would make it no longer the factory of the world.

To approach the creative industries through financialization is to begin to read urban change through a seemingly groundless manipula1on of risk that creates value through specula1on. Perhaps there is something to be said for understanding financial crea1vity itself as a form of crea1ve industry. But just as all specula1ve bubbles burst, so the technologies of risk management cannot eliminate the moment of labour. The crea1ve industries cannot do without their workforce. To study the composi1on of this workforce is to raise important ques1ons about the cons1tu1on of subjec1vity in a social environment that has been largely depoli1cized due precisely to the dominance of economics and finance. If the produc1ve power of subjec1vity in the crea1ve industries is reduced to the power to produce wealth, what are the terms of this reduction? Asking such questions opens a new line of research and provides an opportunity to further one of the most important tasks of contemporary political thought: the need to reassess and redefine the concept of exploita1on under current global condi1ons.

Migrant Workers, Collabora@ve Research and Spa@al Pressures 124 ‐ An Interview with MENG Yue In July last year I had the opportunity to interview Meng Yue, literary scholar and author of -1*"21*$,*"/,)1(,!/2(5,&:,!'7$%( (2006).

Meng Yue has been collaborating with Toronto‐based architect and ar1st Adrian Blackwell for a number of years, with their students from literature and architecture undertaking highly interes1ng research on the peripheral zones of Beijing. Ques1ons of peri‐urban food produc1on, land use, resource distribution and the multiplication of labour skills have framed these investigations. The interview below is extracted from a considerably longer discussion we had in Beijing during the late summer of 2007, half of which was lost to the faulty baEery of an ipod (the rest remains to be transcribed from video…).

Ned Rossiter: Meng Yue, you are a professor in the Department of Chinese Language and Literature at Tsinghua University and hold a !"#"$%&'()!"*)+'%,',-.'/+"0.&!",1')2'3)&)+,)4'1.,4'0.&1'5+5!5%$$14'1)5'

have been involved in recent years in an urban research project with 3)&)+,)'6%!.7'%&*!,!4'%&8-",.8,!'%+7'!,57.+,!',-%,'"+0.!*9%,.!'#"9&%+,' workers in Beijing. In a strict disciplinary sense this type of research is usually the domain of anthropology. I’m interested in how this project came about: why have literature students doing anthropological :.$7;)&<= Meng Yue: There is a course called comparative literature that is a combined course with cultural studies and regularly o?ered to students.

Our teaching used to start with Barthes and Derrida but I felt that many of us, including the students, found it too abstract. It was really difficult to connect those abstract and complex ideas of French post‐ structuralism with the big changes happening in our lives, language, and in our urban landscape. I felt that a good cultural studies course needed to find a more clear connec1on with what is going on around

us, and par1cularly at this moment of China’s history. To find a theory that explains all of this takes too many years and doesn't help students make sense of the intense changes that define their lives, and I think the most important thing is to open student’s minds to the possibili1es of connecting with their material and cultural surroundings. I talked with my department’s chair to see if we could shift the program to accommodate case studies of urban life, and he thought it was a good idea.

When we first started this new program two years ago, there were only eight female students at the time, so we didn't get very far. But they were able to write preEy good papers and were interested in combining spatial analysis with historical work and anthropological typologies.

Although I wouldn't say anthropological in a strict sense – we didn't interview too many people, but being there on the site and talking

n责任编辑/朱菲 n版式编辑/张哲瑞

Interview transcript/Bert de MUYNCK. Edited/Ned ROSSITER

with local people in a casual way was a very enriching and interes1ng experience. I was thinking of doing it again and then I met the artist and architect Adrian Blackwell in Toronto and we were talking about the idea and then it turned out he was running urban research courses over summer here in Beijing. His approach was to start out by saying architectural students are not to come here and see Beijing as an empty space upon which they can start their landscaping, but rather to begin with field observa1ons in order to enter the urban space.

Very quickly we found this sort of approach expanded the range of ways of understanding a city. And as you can imagine, this creates quite a bit of tension of course for somebody with a traditional literature background, and used to a liEle bit of distance from the world. We are so used to dealing with the text and studying what has been wriEen, so it will o^en be very dincult to switch from this mode of engagement.

I basically tell students to just try to read materials and spaces and the traces that people le^ in those spaces as a kind of language and text, and then do whatever you feel is right. Read something because it is part of built history, built space, and if you want to read more there is informa1on out there, so they went and did more than they expected, basically fieldwork on the margins of the city. At first, it was all preEy experimental.

I know the urbaniza1on has had a big impact on more than 13 million people, and at least 4 million people are surplus, they cannot be absorbed by the agricultural economy. That was ten years ago, and now when the city absorbs this surplus there’s no clear idea about how this might best be done. Of course when China entered the WTO there were nego1a1ons about what to export and what to import, and agriculture wasn’t seen to be worth much because of the cheap cost of labour and land. But this doesn't quite match up with certain reali1es – for instance, it’s more expensive impor1ng agricultural goods and grains. That was a failure in the making, and the land becomes worthless for some, but that didn’t make it cheaper! There’s a broad percep1on that land becomes very cheap for peasants; at the same 1me the peasants think their land is worthless because it doesn't make money, so they are trying to exchange land for money. The developers exploit this opportunity and buy or rent land from the peasants at a ridiculously cheap rate and then turn it into a big money pot. We know that kind of process of expropriation is a key ideological component of globalization and interna1onal poli1cs.

Like every country, China has its own distinct set of problems and organizational challenges. In the case of urbanization, Beijing is of course not the only city having to extend its borders in order to absorb popula1on flows associated with labour desires and demands. But quite specifically, the value system of land and labour has already established the peasantry as worthless, both in terms of their knowledge and labour.

This is despite the fact that of all worker‐subjects in China, the peasantry is the most unique in terms of its incredible capacity to adapt to a range of circumstances and skill requirements. Arguably, the flexibility of the peasants makes them the exemplary post‐Fordist subject, and not the so‐called crea1ve producer!

As I’ve said, from the top oncials down to the peasantry, rural land is not viewed as worth keeping any more. Yet on the margins of Beijing there is very good land. Even the villagers and the heads of these districts seek to change this land into urban settings. There are a lot of relocation problems associated with the social work they are doing in the process of urbaniza1on. And that is where you find the concentra1ons of surplus labour as well. Of course in downtown Beijing you find surplus labour; migrant workers come from the country‐side to do mainly work in the service sector for females and construc1on for males. This is typical of the construc1on worker in Beijing in par1cular, and perhaps in Shanghai as well. At the city’s margin you find the agricultural workers. They live in preEy bad situa1ons because they do not have a house, and they do not want to rent a house because they rent land to work, not to build a house on. They want something they can make money out of. And this results in an intensifica1on of agricultural produc1on, which in turn means using a lot of fertilizers and chemicals to produce vegetables out of season that can be sold easily on the market. With such ac1vity, the peasant is able to earn more than before. It’s well known that this increase in income is saved and returned back home to support family members. This type of peasantry kind of disconnects at an existen1al and social level from wherever they might have migrated from. This new use of land doesn't connect in any clear way to the environment of Beijing, or their home. They are isolated working in the fields.

n责任编辑/朱菲 n版式编辑/张哲瑞

NR: Do you think your students get a sense of the strong social or

)+,)$)9"8%$'8&"!"!'.>(.&".+8.7'61',-.'(.%!%+,&1';)&<.&!= MY: The peasantry is called peasant and agricultural in one word (agricultural‐peasantry) and countryside in another. Together, these are called the three nong questions. There are many discussions about these rela1ons, par1cularly around big social issues. I think my students are aware of these issues, but un1l they visited the sites of investigation, these issues were understandably pretty remote for them. What they really revealed in their studies was how this kind of three nong peasant ques1on exists at the margins of the city and is not exclusive to what we associate with the countryside. But the city’s margins are not only a site of rural migra1on. The students were able to di?eren1ate between the local peasant and the migrant peasant.

Of course, many migrant peasants willingly le^ their land, which they think is worthless now. But some of them are not so willing. Because they were isolated from their community – who thought they were odd precisely for not leaving like the others – they moved to a new place, even though they receive beEer or the same type of educa1on in their home town. So there is a lot of internal anxiety in the peasantry. At the same 1me the local peasants on Beijing’s margins wanted to make money from the migrant peasants, so they rented houses to them as well as the land. This lead to a sort of crisis in the situa1on of land use. My students and I could see the local peasantry thinking along these lines. We could see the migrant peasantry becoming really fragmented around the compe11on over land, and they were angry a lot of the 1me. Yet they do not have a channel to express their anger. Even the local peasants were angry because they are in an interes1ng situa1on and they know that some1mes they are making the wrong decision about how the land is used, but they will not talk about that. So these kind of complicated situa1ons got my students thinking.

NR: It seems, then, that the object of the peasant corresponds with ,-.'.>(.&".+8.'%+7'8)+7"*)+')2',-.'#%!!"0.'8-%+9.!'"+'?-"+%@'A",-' this decoupling of the peasantry from the countryside, the name of the peasant in turn becomes abstract H it no longer refers to the #%,.&"%$'8)+7"*)+@'B&.',-.&.'+.;'+%#.!')&'+.;'8)+8.(,!'!,%&*+9' ,)'.#.&9.')5,')2',-%,'&5(,5&.4',-%,'2&%9#.+,%*)+=' MY: Yes, there is actually. My students observed some of the recycling workers. Some who have be doing that sort of work for more than a decade have become very successful in the profession. They have ceased being a peasant for a long time and now they understand everything about the life of the city – they were trying to find new identities for themselves, like those collecting recycling metals, for example. The new recycling workers by no means hold the poli1cal status of the working class in the socialist era. Their image is deprived of social values. Yet they draw on the image of the ‘steel worker’ and apply it to the labour of recycling metals, so as to ironically reveal the historical change in terms of the meaning of labour. It is in this way that they reject the devalua1on of their labor. Indeed, they are ironically posi1ve about their own iden1ty and subjec1vity.

CDE'F);'7).!',-"!'(&)8.!!')2'!.$2G+%#"+9')(.&%,.='H)'(.)($.' ;)&<"+9'"+',-.'#"+"!,&1')2'$%6)5&4')&',-)!.'$))<"+9'%I.&',-.';)&<.&!' "+'9)0.&+#.+,4'7)',-.1'<+);',-.!.'+.;'+%#.!= MY: I do not know. My students had good experiences doing research in the field. The migrant workers were happy to chat and be interviewed and were easy to talk to. They would say things like ‘we deserve a raise in our salary’, things like that. But I think the communica1on has not been really connected with the government apparatus. Instead, there is s1ll a lot mutual suspicion going on. Local administration advised my students not to talk to migrant workers in the recycling villages, supposedly they were not good people.

But of course my students still went. None of these workers really planned to do recycling as life‐long work even though they take it up as a profession, or turn it into one. ‘I am the best in the profession’, they’ll happily declare, yet they s1ll do not think it is a profession for their whole life. They want to use the money and find other means of expression for themselves, although they are using the recycling materials to beautify their environment and they collect colourful papers or posters to decorate their room. I think it is quite dincult to come up with a new term for this sort of inven1ve prac1ce. You really need another language of expression, something that matures from the material expression they have already started to express. For example, they do not call this place home or think of their future as belonging in this place; they s1ll want to go back home to the villages.

And then my students found they manage to bring their families

here, even though they do not think of their job as a profession or necessarily a place for better education. I don’t know why. But I think they try to express their life through the material traces in their environment. Perhaps this is not a statement as such, but they leave traces on the recycled waste, they make use of the waste and that is the way they leave traces for others to read and understand.

CDE' A.' -%0.' %+' "+!,%+8.' -.&.' ;-.&.' +%#"+9' )&' .>(&.!!")+' 6.8)#.!'%'7.0"8.4',-.'#.7"%4',-.'#.8-%+"!#')2'!.$2G)&9%+"J%*)+' ;",-"+',-.'#)0.#.+,')2'#"9&%+,!@'K5,'%,',-.'!%#.'*#.4'6.8%5!.' there is limited trans-institutional communication of these forms of expression H or ‘traces’, as you put it H it seems to me that this a significant political problem. If government is about the art or ,.8-+"L5.!')2'#%+%9"+9'()(5$%*)+!4',-.&.'"!'%'+..7',)'"7.+*21',-.' subject in order to regulate its movements. But as you indicated, there is a high ambivalence held by these workers in terms of their subjectivity. In a sense, there is no migrant subject available for 8)+,&)$@'H).!',-"!')(.+',-.'7))&')2'%5,)+)#1= MY: So far the management, as far as I can see, of the government is restricted to enterprise management, though I do not like the word management. I believe there are government sections in the local village, for example, that are s1ll trying to work out what people do not belong to the original community. The places we went to had strong interests in property values, but this land was s1ll classified by government to remain as agricultural land despite the pressures it was facing for reclassifica1on due to changed land use.

The local governments or work units do not have the governmental responsibility for these migrant workers and there was a loose kind of regulation of those who either come from the same village or province. I’m not sure how it works now, but before, for example, there were strong connections between those who came from the same province. You tend to know and help each other, in such instances. But I do not know if these people can introduce family and rela1ves to come to the same site. But the amount of people we’re talking about here is s1ll not that big. For example, in Beijing you can s1ll find buildings with na1ve popula1ons, though it is increasingly rare. People used turn a place into their own hotel and if people are coming from their village or province, they come first to that place to stay and then they help each other out. This doesn't seem to be the case so much any more.

You are right about the emergence of self‐organiza1on in the case of these community‐style sites of collec1ve gathering. I do not know if I would call these autonomous, though it might turn into something that is relatively more self‐conscious about their rights, because they do have comments about their lives and conditions and they have knowledge about a lot of things. Some of them were not even peasants when they first came here. But when they do this sort of work they might get 50,000RMB left over, for example, instead of working in the company and losing their independence. They do not have to spend so much money on living and so they choose this profession sometimes, I believe, for a reason and then they figure out even though the living condi1on is as worse as a migrant peasant living in the field – there is electricity but I am sure there is no refrigerator – you can decide your own life‐style, you do not have to work for someone else, or worry that might you loose your job in the middle of the year. You do not have a boss, you are the boss of your own life. That can be aErac1ve. And hey, not so di?erent from how the young crea1ve entrepreneur views their life.

NR: The migrant entrepreneur, then! Here, you have a new idiom )2'"+7"0"75%$"!%*)+',-%,'"!'+),'!)')60")5!$1'8)++.8,.7';",-',-.',1(.' )I.+'%!!)8"%,.7';",-'+.)G$"6.&%$"!#@'F.&.';.'-%0.'%+'5+"L5.'<"+7' of individualization at work, one that is not accounted for within literature on the western experience of neo-liberalism.

MY: It is unique in the sense that they are not forced into it. I am s1ll hesitant to use the word individualiza1on, but I like to use the word free life‐style. There is choice, they make their own choice to save money, build their own businesses, and so forth. Without using the word individualiza1on, it is hard to say, because some1mes what they are doing is similar to what the family unit does. They are both doing the same labour, but in the family the kid can get an educa1on in an 125 experimental school, which is the school for primary school. Eighty percent of these schools are for the children of the migrant workers and that is where the word experimental is used in a very interes1ng way. Though it’s also a preEy informal schooling, since many will not finish their educa1on and leave for the world of work.

Sec@on 4: Centrality of Real‐Estate Specula@on for Crea@ve Economies [Introduc@on] Text/Ned ROSSITER Property developers are the primary benefactors of crea1ve economies.

Your average crea1ve producer spends most of the year either un(der) employed or juggling‐jobs. With the current global financial crisis – driven largely by the failure of the sub‐prime mortgage markets in the United States – you have to wonder if there’s a future for crea1ve economies.

Subtract property and what's le^? Not much of an economy. Or perhaps the space opens up for new economic models to develop, models that hold a closer affinity with the micro‐economies that define the prolifera1on of crea1ve life. When real‐estate values collapse, ar1sts will have to discover a new role for themselves. No longer will their side‐job

be one of home‐improvement for unimagina1ve real‐estate companies.

Indeed, the collapse in property values may turn real‐estate agents into creative visionaries. Once the value of property is diminished, and movement and life in the city is remobilized, all sorts of unforeseen acts of crea1vity are possible.

Construc@ng The Real (E)state of Chinese Contemporary Art ‐ Reflec@ons on 798, in 2004 Text/Thomas J. BERGHUIS One night in May 2004, I was in a taxi on my way back from Tongxian, 19 kilometers east from Beijing and heading towards the direc1on of Dashanzi, where I had been working during the previous three months to help realize the First Dashanzi Interna1onal Art Fes1val. Most of the city was covered in darkness – a view that was interrupted by waves of highway lights pounding through the windows. The taxi speeded through the midnight tranc of lorries and trucks that were carrying the resources that supply all life in this gargantuan city. I couldn’t help asking myself: What makes the development of an art district at Dashanzi so important for this city? Is it able to represent experimental art produc1on in China, or is it more geared towards the promo1on of a trendy popular culture and promoting the new real (e)state of contemporary art in China? My thoughts wondered o? in the night.

I consider myself lucky to have been amongst the first foreigners to visit the 798 Factory compounds at Dashanzi, as it made its transformation from an industrial zone to a trendy cultural district.

I first visited Dashanzi in late 2001, together with the prominent Chinese art cri1c Li Xian1ng. We entered an old basketball court that had been turned into a thrilling modern complex that hosted a design studio and an once space for the New Wave (Xin Chao) art magazine, which was supported by a group of ar1sts and art cri1cs including Wu Wenguang, Qiu Zhijie, and Li Xian1ng. Unfortunately 1me had already caught up with these pioneers of experimental art in China, and soon a^er moving to Dashanzi the magazine got into financial trouble when it failed to aEract new sponsors who were willing to support the next genera1on of experimental ar1sts.

In November 2001 I spoke with a group of local artists about the tremendous growth of contemporary art exhibitions that where

held across major cities in China. At that time we counted around 400 exhibitions had been staged in Beijing during the spring and autumn periods alone; many of which were held in ‘underground’ spaces and private residences spread across the en1re municipality.

Everyone seemed to be working hard in keeping up with the spirit that originated in the early 1990s – a spirit of constant experimenta1on, marked by a strong a•tude and a desire for change on the part of the ar1sts and their curatorial cohorts. Together, they ensured a constant flow of new art works that would forever change the way we conceive contemporary art in China.

Moving back to the 798 factory compounds at Dashanzi – a place that I came to visit again in the autumn of 2002 – things were star1ng to change. A growing number of ar1sts had started to take up residency in more of the old factory halls and warehouses spread across the en1re complex, and there was talk of a new experimental art district.

Yet, amidst the excitement of new developments there was also talk about the possible demoli1on of the district in a few years to make room for high‐rise apartment blocks. Nonetheless, many, including myself, seemed op1mis1c about even the short‐term impact that this district could o?er in becoming a place to showcase the true might of Chinese experimental art. At the same 1me, we knew that such a development would go hand in hand with the rapid gentrifica1on of the district as a place for cultural leisure, which was already apparent with the number of trendy cafes and restaurants that started to be built.

Over the years, Dashanzi Art District managed to encompass all aspects that allow the recent district for experimental art produc1on to become a site for fashionable marke1ng of contemporary popular

culture. This becomes further evident in the terms that are now commonly used in describing this district. Frequently referred to as Beijing’s Soho, offering ‘loft‐style’ warehouse spaces that accommodate the best of ‘hip art’ and ‘trendy culture’ in China, Dashanzi is clearly a place very di?erent from what it was a few years ago. The en1re area has turned into a site for cultural leisure, allowing foreign and local visitors to gaze at what is thought to be new Chinese culture at its best.

Experimental art produc1on in China is working itself away from the underground scene, and into the realm of popular culture. Walking through Dashanzi it becomes evident that this place is no longer aimed at the production of new art, but rather becomes a market place for contemporary lifestyle that mixes buying a few canvases with a comfortable dinner and a chat over a familiar bottle of red wine before heading back to the airport. Travelling back from Tongxian, one of the main districts where real ar1sts live, work, and talk to each other in Chinese, I feel less and less inclined to consider Dashanzi as being somehow representa1ve of experimental art in China.

Clearly, Dashanzi has nothing to do with any of the experimental spirit that was evident in the 1990s, nor with the 400 underground exhibitions that were organized across Beijing in 2001. These days, the experimental art scene is reinven1ng itself as a highly profitable and marketable, commercial cultural industry. Is there still hope for real experimental art to exist? Perhaps not, unless people are willing to educate themselves of its history, and the move from true experimentalism to the new real (e)state of Chinese contemporary art.

Sec@on 5: Import Cultures/Export Innova@ons in Architecture and Urban Design [Introduc@on] Text/Bert de MUYNCK An important and o^en overlooked aspect of today's architecture is the concept of media1on. With an enormous range of possibili1es for image making and the ubiquitous demand on architects to 'make a difference', it seems as though the work of mediation has been sidelined. Mediation gathers knowledge and experience

through a process of transformation and adaptation. The culture of construction has become a commodity where one size fits all.

This self‐inflicted architectural amnesia among professionals has many surprising results –great buildings are erected and designed in absence of any cultural legi1ma1on, providing architects a plethora

of possibili1es. This global euphoria with neo‐interna1onalism has frequently been controversial for local inhabitants, producing a dynamic tension in which local creativity precipitates on a global scale.

How Foreign Architects became Interna@onal Architects Text/Bert de MUYNCK

Much has been published about the contribution, involvement and role of foreign architects in the development of the Chinese City during the past decade. Leading up to the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games, the international press focussed on the notorious Beijing’s Gang of Five Foreign Architects: Rem Koolhaas, Steven Holl, Paul Andreu, Herzog & de Meuron and Norman Foster. In the past five years a major shi^ happened in terms of how these projects were analysed. Star1ng with numb reac1ons to their shock and awe renderings, debate then moved into a discussion about costs of construc1on and labour to culminate into a critique of the absence of the Chinese culture in the designs.

Once construc1on started, a second reading of the designs provided the public elements of interpretation, appropriation and naming – Bird's nest, Flying Dragon and The Egg. In a 1mely manner shortly before the Olympics, a full international appraisal followed of the architectural marriage between import, export and innova1on in architecture.

While the Beijing Gang of Five Foreign Architects forced all the aEen1on to their work, one can see on a different scale a more comfortable, visionary and crea1ve invasion of foreign architects in China. Ordos100 is one prominent example of this – a project set‐up by milk and coal tycoon Mr. Cai Jiang and curated by Ai Weiwei. In Ordos, a city in the making located in the desert of Inner‐Mongolia, 100 international architects from 29 countries were each invited to build a 1000‐m2 villa in a neighbourhood called the ‘Ordos Cultural Crea1ve Industry Park’.

The selec1on of the par1cipa1ng architects was undertaken by Herzog & de Meuron, and as such, a^er the Bird's Nest, a new collabora1on ensued between the Swiss architects and the Chinese ar1st‐architect.

In an interview some years ago they explained the reason to work with Chinese ar1st Ai WeiWei as follows: ‘Weiwei is someone who tests our ideas’ (Jacques Herzog). ‘We have lengthy talks with him about how things work in China today. You cannot just walk into China and do what you have always done. We like to learn from other places, and China is the oldest civiliza1on on the planet. With Ai Weiwei, we find contemporary lines of energy from that tradi1on’.

This new collabora1on made it possible for 100 architects to visit Ordos on two occasions in the first half of 2008. The first 1me to see the site, three months later to present their design proposals. In January 2008 Ai Weiwei explained one of the motives for the involvement of the architects as follows: ‘This project is about China and the world and how to bring in the world contemporary architectural knowledge into Chinese prac1ce. This is an important factor. There should be less talk about new architecture, but more about ac1on and understanding of today's culture’. The outcome of this project is a high‐end residential se•ng, to some akin to a World Expo, while to others it looks more like Beverly Hills, where interna1onal ideas on housing can be tested under Chinese conditions of speed, quality of construction, labour skills, a crea1ve industries context and return on investment.

The invited architects all operate in vastly different conditions, most work exclusively in their country of origin. Unsurprisingly, these architects travel with a set of ideas and design skills that now have to incorporated within the Chinese City. To some this import‐export aspect of architecture doesn't pose a problem, as Mexican architect Julio

Amezcua (AT103) explained to me: ‘We find a lot of similari1es here to Mexico: the way we interact, build and communicate in terms of “yes, yes we are going to do it like that”. When you check the final result it always looks di?erent, but at least they put the risk to do it, they didn't stop it. Also, in our culture a lot of the people start building based on the rendering, which can really be a problem’. Chilean architect Alejandro Aravena talks about the same loss of control when he explains the way his villa should be constructed: ‘A key issue in this project is how to manage distance. In my project, brick is the common language that shortens the distance and guarantees a quality of the design. I found a brick on the site and it is fantas1c to see how easily it breaks, showing red on the outside, black on the inside. The breaking is very rough, construc1on workers can do it and place it on the outside. So it has this rough quality, independent if mistakes are made or not’.

Increasingly, architecture is becoming a profession of managing, crea1ng and controlling reality at a distance. Whatever crea1vity the architect gains, he soon has to relinquish in terms of control. Ordos100, and its ‘Cultural Crea1ve Industry Park’, is an interes1ng test case in the field of architecture to understand the impact of China’s Crea1ve Industries ambitions, both as an urban and cultural model, as a real‐estate investment (Mr. Cai Jiang), a curatorial prac1ce (Ai Weiwei) and policy implementa1on (the local government of Ordos). Ordos100 is branded and legi1mated by the involvement of ‘100 Interna1onal Architects’ (note that they aren't called ‘Foreign Architects’), posi1oning this project as an import/export experiment at the centre of the debate on the Crea1ve Industries. It is a project that imports, exports, adapts and experiments with our understanding of exchange and development in the field of architecture, labour, culture, media and urbanism. There is certainly an element of crea1ve roughness, if not brutality, in invi1ng 100 architects for this project. As it currently stands, this project is clearly is an experiment in the produc1on of a new architectural culture, irrespec1ve of its shortcomings. As always, it is only through mistakes that we learn to make beEer ci1es and update urban models. Or as Bao Chongming, vice mayor of Ordos, explained to me in January 2008: ‘In the 1980s we looked at Shenzhen as a model for urban development, in the 1990s we looked at Shanghai and it is my hope is that in the coming 20 years when people look for a new model they will look at Ordos’.

n责任编辑/朱菲 n版式编辑/张哲瑞

The Chinese City is a space of conflict, confusion, crowds, culture and construction sites. Despite its exceptional development and growth, the Chinese City has the same programmatic characteristics as the Usual City: city, housing, offices, parks and roads. Scale and the pace of construction distinguish the Chinese City from the Usual City. In Beijing, a group of ar1sts accidentally discovered a new urban program, a way of living in‐between art and economy. A couple of years ago they transformed an old industrial factory into an experimental laboratory.

Eager to capitalize on their crea1vity, they failed to foresee how their act of innova1on would destroy the source of this crea1vity: the place itself.

The art factory soon turned into an art market. Art was produced in another part of town, but s1ll consumed in the factory. In the end it was all about place‐making, branding and imposing international policies upon a local context. Today it doesn't maEer what is on display, as it is about a brand, 798, and the Crea1ve Industries. Once that formula was understood, tested and controlled, it served as a model radia1ng from Beijing outwards. This led to a formula1on of the future of the Chinese City, a city where Crea1ve Business Districts (CBDs) and Special Crea1ve Zones (SCZs) are an indispensable part of urban planning. These areas 126 o?er everything in‐between crea1vity and consump1on, folk cultures and foreign intrigue, co?ee and cultural cri1que.

Moving Towards a Crea@ve Society Text/Shaun CHANG The Quest to Construct a Harmonious Society

At the opening ceremony of the 2008 Olympic Games, thousands of performers formed a large Chinese character – 'harmony' – with tradi1onal Chinese prin1ng tools. The Chinese government's current mission is to create a 'harmonious society' in the face of social changes and globalization. The opening ceremony was a spectacle with elements resembling the Mass Games of North Korea. In the world of one dream, we dream the same dream of a world of harmony.

As China rapidly embraces market socialism, Chinese society has started to recognize the importance of crea1vity and individual expression. However, the terms 'crea1ve' and 'individualistic' are not neutral terms in China. 'Creativity', or chuangyi, is associated with artistic sensibility and practice in China. Breaking the rules and thinking outside the box do not fit well with what the government wants for a 'harmonious society', or with tradi1onal conserva1ve values of a patriarchal society.

In contrast to most other countries who have chosen to adopt the terminology 'crea1ve industries' – from the 'Mapping Document' issued by the UK government's Department of Culture, Media and Sports – the Chinese government prefers the term 'cultural industries', emphasizing 'culture,' or wenhua, over 'creativity'. The mission to develop cultural industries is necessarily for the enhancement of Chinese culture. Its ultimate goal is not only to resist the consumption and dominance of Hollywood or Western culture in the domestic market, but to export its own cultural products overseas and spread its influence. Thus put in terms of poli1cal economy, cultural industries in China can be understood as a combina1on of cultural na1onalism and a form of nascent cultural imperialism.

Developing cultural industries involves a process of cultural modernization demanding a whole series of economic, legal and socio‐urbanis1c structures within which these industries can thrive. And as we have seen in many Asian countries, the opening up of the market to foreign cultural industries not only allowed a wider relaxa1on of content control in the home country, but also an overall relaxa1on of authority. The Chinese government, in contrast, is determined to develop a Chinese model without relinquishing its ultimate monopoly over content. The extent to

which this can be regulated in online se•ngs, however, is open to debate, no maEer how secure the so‐called Great Firewall of China may be.

The language of the central government's cultural industry reforms has not, however, been uniformly embraced by local government. Examples of this can be found in a conference organized by the Chaoyang District of Beijing in 2005 entitled 'International Symposium on Cultural & Creative Industries in Chaoyang District' – the Shanghai government adopted the term 'crea1ve industries' while the Beijing government o^en uses 'Cultural & Crea1ve Industries' (Wenhua Chuangyi Chanye). But again, the word 'culture' was placed ahead of 'crea1vity', indica1ng the importance of the former over the laEer.

From Harmonious Society to Crea@ve Society

The Chinese government oncially recognized the importance of developing 'cultural industries' at the Chinese Communist Party's 15th Central CommiEee in 2000. With the help of a series of cultural industry reforms, China is gradually shi^ing to a more creativity and knowledge‐based economic structure. The reforms of the cultural industries have created a more open environment for local cultural entrepreneurs to provide crea1ve content to their audience.

But the process of par1al priva1za1on of cultural ins1tu1ons has resulted in intrinsic contradic1ons, with a party‐control framework trying to func1on in today's market environment. The Chinese government can no longer fully control the content the public is allowed to access, thanks to the convergence of media. The explosion of short video clips available online reflects the Chinese audience's growing dissa1sfac1on with government‐approved content. Poli1cal ideology can no longer dominate today's consumer market; Chinese audience's behaviors and tastes drive the cultural produc1on of the new market.

Fans of a television reality show winner demonstrated the emerging consumer power by changing the unbalanced power structure between audience and government. Tens of thousands of a Chinese pop star's fans, nicknamed as 'Corn', demanded to see their idol Li Yuchun appear on Central China TV's annual

spring festival program, the most‐watched television show in China. Despite Li's popularity, their request was turned down. Instead of remaining passive, the 'Corn' demonstrated their collec1ve power by telling the mouth‐piece of the government what they want to see, giving voice to the once‐invisible masses.

The 'Corn' are cultural producers remixing images and texts of their idol, crea1ng a popular online 'Corn field' with endless crea1vity and imagina1on. These 'textual poachers' produced tens of thousands of fic1on stories and video clips with images of Li. Online and offline fan practices have strengthened group ties and helped producing a spectacular 'Corn culture’. They further demonstrated their crea1vity and deep involvement with media through self‐produced 'Corn literature'.

With the help of the internet and user‐friendly technology, the audience is gaining more control. As an old Chinese saying goes – 'giving wings to a 1ger', the internet helped the audience become a 1ger with wings. Fans of Super Girl Li Yuchun told state‐run media what they wanted to see. The 'Corn' search for Li cut across di?erent media platforms and between offline and virtual spaces. Online fan clubs are a home‐base for 'Corn' where their collec1ve power is demonstrated by the highly e?ec1ve 'high quality Corn' campaign. Urging members to buy legi1mate albums to demonstrate the popularity of their idol is one example. The collec1ve power of an ac1ve audience changed the contemporary Chinese mediascape.

As content is playing a more influen1al role in the knowledge economy, the Chinese government faces a dincult task of maintaining a balance between crea1vity and control while trying to ensure social stability and harmony. The main concepts of the 2008 Olympic Games were 'Hi‐tech Olympic, Green Olympic and People's Olympic'.

We witnessed the speedy technological developments at the Games. The Chinese society has since set on the path of a more diverse and crea1ve future with the help of technology and globaliza1on. As a 1ger with wings, Chinese people are able to advance a crea1ve society while the government tries to maintain a harmonious society based on social stability.

Sec@on 6: Ar@st Villages and Market Engineering [Introduction] Text/Bert de MUYNCK The well‐known real‐estate property proverb 'location, location, location' has found in 'crea1on, crea1on, crea1on' its crea1ve industries' counterpart. The rapid development of the Chinese art market during the past decade has blurred the border between ar1s1c crea1on and real‐estate specula1on. As one can see with

the case of 798, the aEempt to establish a living art community turned into an economically‐driven district of art display. Today, CBD not only stands for Central Business District, but also for Crea1ve Business District. The pressure and demands of the market, and the desire of some ar1sts to cash in on crea1on, has doEed

Beijing's map with several clusters of creativity. 798 remains its epicentre, but with subcentres to the North and East of Beijing, a new evolu1onary process has begun: the crea1ve‐cluster‐fuck. Have the Crea1ve Industries become a cosme1c layer added to an otherwise bland building culture?

Other Kinds of Ambi@ons: From Ar@st Villages to Art Districts Text/Alex PASTERNACK

n责任编辑/朱菲 n版式编辑/张哲瑞

Beijing's modern crea1ve geography began, fi•ngly, with the closure of its ar1st districts. In 1995 police descended upon a village near the ruins of the old summer palace at Yuanmingyuan, in the northwest of the city, to evict the painters, writers and musicians that had taken up residence there. Like Dong Cun, or East Village, which had been raided a year earlier, the neighborhood had become a refuge for crea1ve types from around China a^er the events at Tiananmen Square in 1989, a place to evade the bustle of the city if not the eyes of the authori1es. Ar1sts like Fang Lijun, Zhang Huiping and Yue Minjun, who would later command millions of dollars at auc1on, held exhibi1ons in which pain1ngs hung from trees. ‘We were young, had no self‐censorship’, performance ar1st Zhang Nian said in 2004. ‘The moment a crea1ve idea popped up we put it into ac1on. In a sense we felt we had found the des1na1on of our ideal and faith’.

But the evic1on of ar1sts from Yuanmingyuan would usher in a new era of artist districts, built as much by the spontaneity of the artists as by the pressures of policy and money. The artists' exodus to the village of Songzhuang, 80km northeast of the city centre, coincided with a burst of interest in China by the international art market. A decade later, as Richard Florida's book on the ‘crea1ve class’ circulated among some of China's policy‐makers, areas like Songzhuang, and more famously, the Factory 798 area, came to be seen as hotbeds not for dissent but for the crea1ve industries that could drive the na1on's next stage of economic development. In 1995, the Beijing government would dedicate USD$140 million to the development of visual arts and the art market in Beijing, exempt art‐related businesses from city taxes, and include art districts within its next Five Year Plan.

Once restricted to the city's physical and psychic peripheries, Beijing's upstart art villages today are an integral if largely unchartered part of the city's cultural geography. Formed less by accident than by governments, interna1onal organiza1ons, investors, collectors and property developers, the city's ar1st districts are presen1ng new paEerns of urban development and altering the space for artistic production. Three present models – from the fully commercialized (798) to the upstart real‐estate driven (Pingguo, Gaobeidian), to the village se•ng (Songzhuang or Caochangdi) – indicate a delicate balance between the demands of the market, policy pressures and crea1ve ambi1ons.

Factory 798

No district represents the potential and complexities of Beijing's artist villages beEer than the former factory 798, located in the neighborhood of Dashanzi. A^er decades of disuse, the factory became a temporary studio space for the sculpture department of the China Academy of Fine Arts in 1995. By 2002, ar1sts and galleries from China and abroad began to divide and rent out the factory spaces, conver1ng them into studios, exhibi1on halls, design firms, cafes and shops. Tall ‘saw‐tooth’ ceilings created well‐ lit spaces that were ripe for studio and exhibi1on space conversions. The rare Cultural Revolu1on slogans that s1ll linger on the walls, like ‘Chairman Mao is the red sun in our hearts’, lent an iconoclas1c irony.

Adding to the irony has been the spectre of a decidedly un‐Maoist property development that threatened to imperil the whole area. A^er raising rents drama1cally and rapidly, the state‐controlled owner of 798 curbed new leases in 2005, amidst rumors that the district would be turned into a high‐tech zone along the lines of Beijing's so‐called Silicon Valley, Zhongguancun. Ten years a^er the demise of the Yuanmingyuan village, a flurry of petitions and intervention by the Chaoyang district government, which designated 798 as one of the city's crea1ve clusters and an Olympic cultural site, gave the city's bold new art district a drama1c reprieve. Ultimately, and most ironically of all, the prospect of 798's ex1nc1on – a threat that s1ll lingers on if only in rumor – has only added to the area's allure.

That allure has fostered a new challenge to 798 – not the government's suspicions nor the developer's wrecking ball but its own commercial success. In a familiar narra1ve, 798 has shi^ed from a bohemian crea1ve zone into a mere display case for crea1vity, where rents are too high for artists and everything is on sale. ‘I never visit 798’, says Ai Weiwei, the influen1al Beijing‐based ar1st. ‘From the very beginning, it was going to be a shiEy place. You're using art for the wrong reasons. It never really served in the way that art should serve a community. It simply became a carrier for other kinds of ambi1ons’.

Though gentrifica1on may have choked the area's crea1ve energy, 798 may s1ll be seen as Beijing's best example of an urban art district. ‘Even if people don't like it within the art and architectural circles, we have to be very honest with the fact that it's an amazing success, not just in terms

of the commercial side but in terms of its idea’, says Berenice Angremy, a curator who used to organized an annual art fes1val at 798. ‘This is a site that provided freedom of expression and exhibi1on. The art events that we produced here are still difficult to produce in other spaces’.

One reason for its success was its rela1on to – and between its factory spaces, replica1on of – an urban context, which generated dynamism and connection with people outside the art world. ‘The idea became’, says Angremy, ‘not only are we public, but we have a quality of intellectual life that is urban oriented’.

From Caochangdi to Pingguo A dis1nct alterna1ve to 798 lies a few kilometers northeast in the village of Caochangdi. The di?erence is signaled by the prevailing architectural style: modern, sober grey‐brick courtyards whose imposing walls seem to turn their noses to tourist groups and local villagers. Though the buildings – many designed by or copied from Ai Weiwei – bear a scant connec1on to the surrounding community, they speak to the needs of the local ar1sts in a way that 798 no longer can. ‘I don't want to be in the retail business’, says Meg Maggio, the founder of Caochangdi's Peking Fine Arts gallery, who compares 798 to New York's SoHo or Chelsea, and Caochangdi to 127 the Lower East Side. That is an exaggeration: the galleries and nearby anima1on and film studios seem alien next to the neighborhood's bustling back alleys. The area is s1ll very much a thriving village, catering to a local popula1on, not bohemian tourists. It is the quality of galleries like Boers‐ Li, Do Art, Pla‚orm China, and Three Shadows – not their loca1on – that draws visitors.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, where art is increasingly linked with upscale lifestyles, real‐estate developers are reshaping the city's art geography, using galleries as a branding tool for their commercial and residen1al projects. One stand‐out is the Today Art Museum, established by developer Zhang Baoquan at the site of his massive Pingod (Pingguo) apartment complex. The museum is housed in a former brewery that has been converted by Yung Ho Chang and Wang Hui. Nearby, an ambi1ous art district called 22 Art Plaza is set to contain some two dozen galleries.

The neighboring apartment complex has become a fashionable address for upper‐middle class businessmen and ar1sts. Pingguo may be one of city's first upscale ‘art villages’.

Real‐estate developers can be ‘a posi1ve force making new things happen in China’, says Beatrice Leanza, a curator for the Moon River MOCA, a $4.4 million museum connected to a resort‐development project east of Beijing that includes apartments, a golf course and an 'art club hotel’.

Through hotel revenues and venue rentals, the museum aims to become a registered non‐profit museum, a designa1on that would be a first for an arts institution in Beijing. ‘Philanthropy can come out of these new personalities’, says Leanza, who previously helped a Chinese furniture entrepreneur consider founding a new art district in the Gaobeidian area.

Promise, she says, may even lie in the ‘barbaric, aggressive politics of profit’.

Art Urbanism

Yet the success of Beijing's new and exis1ng art districts may hinge on a shi^ of how investors and government oncials define profit. Leanza calls for ‘a di?erent approach to the temporality of the process’. That is, ‘how long it takes to get back your investment, and in what kind of forms it can come back to you’. Such a pa1ent and ‘crea1ve’ approach to developing art clusters may encourage more than just the arrival of new galleries: it could mean more dynamic urban spaces that help generate crea1vity. ‘The ques1on is how one can s1ll nego1ate new ideas and crea1ve ideas within an economy of scale’, says curator and cri1c Hou Hanru, ‘not how much one can maximize capital or benefits’.

That approach may be the forte not of private en11es but governments.

Already art districts may be a?ec1ng how oncials perceive the city's urban development. Rather than razing historic areas and building oppressively large neighborhoods from scratch, as has been common from Mao un1l the Olympic era, art villages have led to an acceptance of new urban typologies: the reused factory, the mixed village, the upscale residen1al hybrid. If Factory 798 began its life in the 1950s as the sober product of central planning, it has become a dynamic art district due largely to accident, and the lassez‐faire encouragement of the government.

the local government has opted to seize upon the creative and future market poten1al of this underground current. The ini1a1ve exposes the tensions in China's drive for creative development and highlights the ambiguous ground on which ar1sts' villages are now situated, in the grey area between political and market forces. ‘In a way it's an experiment to see how far it will go’, says Xu. If her museum, like the artist village growing around it, has not received the outside attention paid to the more centrally‐located 798, it has thrived nonetheless with the support of decentralized government policies that work with exis1ng condi1ons.

At Songzhuang, the old artist colony born partly out of government evic1ons elsewhere, the local government has updated China's formula of collective production, encouraging thousands of artists to move into the community using tax incentives and cheap land. In 2006, it spent more than $1.3 million on a smart 2,500 square‐metre art centre designed by architect Xu Tiantian. It has also reportedly tried to entice Paris' Pompidou Centre with free land, and given land to ar1sts. ‘Many houses in Songzhuang used to be illegal’, says Xu. ‘Now they're going to be memorials a^er they die’.

‘The government sees that this new complexity can generate more interest, have economic effects, somehow create a community and a social texture’, says Hou. ‘It can bring the city together, make the city more interes1ng’. Over a decade a^er the shutdown of its two major art villages, Beijing's art districts now thrive between the twin pillars of Beijing's commercial ambitions and creative desires. Aside from galleries and ar1st residences, new modes of urban development and art crea1on are growing in these villages too. What other ambi1ons these districts nurture will determine what the next decade will bring.

One of the local government's latest initiatives is its support for an independent founda1on and archive meant to nurture young filmmakers.

While avant‐garde Chinese films, typically documentaries touching upon tender social issues, tend to fall foul of the authori1es, in this case

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The Uncertain Aesthe@cs of Contemporary Chinese Visual Culture Text/Paul GLADSTON From the point of view of contemporary western(ised) theory, enquiry into the nature of aesthetic experience is inescapably problematic. Within the western philosophical tradition, aesthetic experience has conventionally been regarded as a matter of feeling or taste that, by its very nature, exceeds cognitive thought. As such, it is something to be approached only indirectly through the circumlocutory use of metaphors, or the application of ostensibly precise, but ultimately generalising concepts such as pleasure and pain. Consequently, what each of us feels in relation to aesthetic experience cannot be communicated with absolute certainty. More importantly, contemporary western(ised) theory no longer supports philosophical beliefs in the existence of a shared aesthetic sense (sensus communis) beyond the play of language. Such beliefs are simply inimical to what is widely seen by contemporary Western(ised) theorists as the immanence of metaphoricity to all forms of linguistic signification and, therefore, the inability of language (philosophical or otherwise) to give outright fixity to meaning.

This problematic sense of conceptual indeterminacy in relation to questions of aesthetic experience has, of course, been compounded still further by the increasingly conspicuous hybridisation of cultures, which has taken place as part of the process of globalisation. Against this background, we have come to see the grafting of one culture onto another not just as a product of recent socio‐economic events, but also as a persistent aspect of the historical formation of cultural identities. Consider here, for example, the periodic and highly variegated influence of Oriental culture on that of the West and that of the West on the Orient since antiquity. As a result, it is no longer possible to view in any convincing manner contemporary aesthetic experience, as well

as the combined histories of cultural development that precede it, from a position informed solely by the Western intellectual/philosophical tradition.

Given the prevalence of this overdetermination of conceptual uncertainty, how then should we seek to frame our contemporary understanding of aesthetic experience? Genealogical comparisons are arguably useful insofar as they serve to highlight differences and similarities between discursive approaches to aesthetic experience as well as particular historical orderings of ideas. However, analysis of this sort does not – as a matter of methodological predisposition – help us to fully resolve questions of ‘either‐ or’ in relation to differing discursive constructions of aesthetic feeling, nor, by the same token, does it provide justification for the synthesis of those constructions. Arguably, close comparative cultural analysis ultimately serves to amplify rather than to curtail conceptual inconsistency with regard to the nature of aesthetic experience. Moreover, it requires continuing sensitivity to unconscious acts of discursive closure – the exclusion of the ‘Other’.

To turn to the specific question of aesthetic experience in relation to the conspicuous cultural hybridity of contemporary Chinese visual culture, it is no wonder, then, that commentators have often struggled to fit their particular, culturally inflected conceptions of aesthetic feeling precisely with the phenomenological experience of particular texts, performances and artifacts. Although Western notions of beauty and sublimity have a certain purchase in this regard, there would often appear to be an unfolding indeterminacy of sensation in the face of contemporary Chinese visual production that cannot be encompassed satisfactorily by the conventional

western association of the term beauty with unalloyed feelings of pleasure, or, indeed, that of sublimity with a sequential relay of pain and pleasure.

Equally, the sense of harmonious reciprocity conventionally attached to Chinese aesthetic sensibilities would seem to be somewhat out of kilter with a continuing western(ised) belief in the critical potential of contemporary visual culture (not least in respect of recent arguments relating to the notion of a post‐modern sublime as well as a strategic return to beauty).

Contemporary Chinese visual culture thus stands in constant danger of falling short of the cultural demands of both China and the West.

Although it is difficult to see how this apparent slippage of views might be reconciled, there is perhaps something to be taken from the notion that contemporary Chinese visual culture acts not simply as a focus for the hybridising of differing cultural points of view, but also as an active translation (re‐contextualization and re‐motivation) of those positions in relation to one another. Moreover, it is also important not to overlook the continuing immanence of aesthetic experience to everyday life in China. If nothing else, the interrelationship of tastes can be understood to act as a medium through which Chinese society has been able to conduct itself both more reciprocally and with enhanced communal pleasure. Seen in this light there is an urgency in engaging critically with the impossible complexity of aesthetic responses to contemporary Chinese visual culture, both as a matter of intellectual curiosity, and, perhaps most importantly, as a way of taking part in the active negotiation of new global/local cultural networks.

Sec@on 7: Crea@ve Industries Policy Crea@ve China, Managerial Innova@on, Global Brands ‐ Interview with John Howkins Interview/Urban China UC: How did you persuade the Chinese government to accept your (&)()!",")+!=

John Howkins: It was the obvious next step for China. Creativity and innovation are the drivers of development worldwide. They are an essential part of human development, cultural development and economic development.

They are the causes of Europe and America’s lead in art, design and technology. China could not stand aside. Understandably, the Chinese people want to understand this creative mindset, these creative skills, and take part in this global transformation. Actually, they want to take a leading part. So I 128 was delighted to be asked to advise governments, businesses and creative individuals.

JH: I lay out my theories, backed up by hard evidence, and have a discussion.

The evidence is overwhelming! Sometimes my ideas and suggestions are accepted, sometimes not. Some officials like a discussion, some do not. In general, the government is very enthusiastic about the importance of creative industries. It knows that China’s future jobs and economic growth depend on China becoming more skillful at creativity. If China fails to be creative it will remain dependent on US and Europe. Obviously, this is a risky strategy.

I provide two parallel strategies. The first is to bring the best of international expertise to China. This might be from Europe and America or it could be from Brazil, Australia, anywhere. The second is to work with China to develop the Chinese way of creativity and innovation. For me, this is very interesting: China’s ideas about creativity, collaboration, culture, copyright, freedom, management and so on. I will not have succeeded until I can teach Chinese creativity to the English! /?E'A-"8-'9)0.&+#.+,%$'!.8,)&!')&')&9%+"J%,")+!'7)'1)5'5!5%$$1'8))(.&%,.' ;",-=

JH: The government is very aware of the need to develop the creative economy. The leadership is positive. However, it faces a delicate balance between supporting free and open creativity and maintaining overall harmony.

This balance between freedom and harmony is the major challenge facing us in the 21st century, whether we are in New York or Beijing. Every artist faces a quandary, every second, about when to follow the rules and when to break them. For each of us, it is a personal, aesthetic and even ethical matter.

In a creative economy, these daily quandaries are magnified a million times.

The whole system can turn inwards and stagnate or it can run out of control.

Fortunately, there is an inbuilt tendency towards equilibrium.

JH: I work a lot with city and district governments. I work a lot with education organizations, both government officials and universities. A country’s capacity for creativity is dependent on its capacity to learn. I emphasise, to ‘learn’, not to be ‘educated’. Education is only useful if it helps us to learn. I believe the two of the most important factors in China’s creative economy are the reform of its education system and a new approach to the management of workers.

The collapse of the global financial system means the government has to act quickly. It is very urgent. Now, it is difficult to rely on other countries. So China has to be very quick to develop its own resources. I believe that China has to take some radical steps over the next 12‐18 months that it probably expected to take more leisurely over the next five years. It has a wonderful opportunity to seize a leadership role. But other countries are circling: Japan, the Gulf States,

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and Russia and of course India.

Today, China assembles iPods that are developed and branded in California.

The next equivalent to the iPod, or the next nano‐Pod, will be designed and branded in Beijing or Shenzhen, if the government takes the right steps now. /?E'F);'7)'1)5'!..'85&&.+,'8&.%,"0.'"+75!,&".!'7.0.$)(#.+,'"+'?-"+%='F);' would you suggest China takes the next step toward evolving the creative "+75!,&".!= JH: I am optimistic about creative industries in China. I am impressed by the people I have met, especially the young people: their imagination, ambition, skills, hard work, and willingness to learn. And their sheer personal likeability.

So I think creative industries in China will develop very fast. My concerns are the education system and also the attitudes in some government circles that open discussion and open competition are a bad idea.

It is also true that creative companies will find it harder than manufacturing companies to make international alliances, both because they are smaller and cannot afford the necessary preparation and also because the language and cultural differences are more significant.

Western companies are very experienced in managing creative people, but Chinese companies are only just beginning to learn. I have found many excellent Chinese companies that need training in business and management.

In Britain, government and industry provide lots of courses. China has hardly begun to do this. For me, this is the main priority. I want to work with some creative companies in this way to improve their international business skills.

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