ONCE upon a time, the Maqiao hand lion dance, the Qibao shadow play and Zhuanqiao paper cuts flourished in the area of Minhang. However, these colorful, traditional folk arts are slowly sinking into oblivion, swallowed up by the modern world of movies, Internet, rock music and pop art.

A number of Minhang locals are trying to turn back the tide. This month and next, we will meet some of them and hear how they devote themselves to the preservation of cultural history.

Lion dance artist

Sun Bingxiang, 80

Sun Bingxiang, 80, was born in Maqiao area and grew up enchanted by the Maqiao hand lion dance. He is specialized in making lion lanterns, and he recalls, with great pride, participating in the hand lion dance at festivities marking the founding of the People's Republic of China in 1949.

Sun learned the hand lion dance when he was only about 13 years old. Since the 1980s, he has dedicated himself to keeping the tradition alive.

"The hand lion dance is a simple folk dance performance that was used to pass local culture and history from generation to generation," Sun said.

He is keen to train young people in the ancient art.

The lion dance has long held a special place in traditional Chinese festivals. Dancers concealed in the costume of a lion make the king of beasts dance exuberantly to the beat of drums.

In ancient times, the people of Maqiao dressed up and flocked to the streets during the annual Lantern Festival. They carried bright lion lanterns, and because the narrow streets were crowded, they used bamboo sticks to hoist their lanterns high.

They danced and their lanterns danced along with them. That was the origin of the hand lion dance.

The head and tail of the lion are tied to a bamboo stick, and colored strips of silk are used to represent the body. The mouth of the lion opens and closes, and colored balls decorate the lion's body. The result is a mingling of dance and acrobatics infused with energy. The heaviest "lion" weighs up to 40 kilograms.

Sun still remembers the excitement of the Lantern Festival during his childhood.

"It was a joyful occasion, filled with laughter," he said, as his mind wandered back to the past and a smile cracked his wrinkled face.

The happy memories came to an abrupt halt in the 1950s, when the celebration of the Lantern Festival was halted.

The hand lion dance disappeared, along with many of the old techniques used to make lion lanterns.

In 1983, local cultural authorities kicked off a campaign to resuscitate the folk dance.

As part of that effort, Sun invited several old artisans to make eight "lions." It was difficult to find people who remembered the art, Sun said.

One of the old-timers dredged up by Sun was Qiao Zhenglin, who was in his 60s at that time.

At first, Qiao demurred, saying he hadn't made "lions" for about 30 years. But Sun coaxed him to give it a try.

The duo spent three days shaping the rough form of an imposing lion, after meticulous and frequent trials and errors. They were joined by other old craftsmen in the finishing work. They then set about to recreate the motions of the dance.

The group rehearsed and rehearsed before the dance made its debut during a celebration marking a torch relay for a national sports meet in 1983. It was a hit. The Maqiao hand lion dance was reborn.

Since then, the Maqiao hand lion dance has been performed at several gala occasions, including the celebrations marking the 35th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China and the 2010 World Expo in Shanghai.

Sun was awarded for his cultural heritage contributions in 2009.

Shadow play artist

Zhu Mojun, 56

Zhu Mojun, 56, is an aficionado of the shadow play. His crusade is to build bridges between the old art and modern-day citizenry.

He was born in Liming Village in Minhang, where the tradition of the shadow play once thrived. The story-telling art form made a deep imprint on his childhood.

At first, he only asked his parents to take him to watch shadow plays whenever they were performed locally. Eventually, he grew restless just being part of the audience. He started sneaking backstage to see how the artisans manipulated the puppets.

When he was 12 years old, he decided to put on his own shadow play retelling the legend of Yue Fei, a patriotic general of the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279). He drew figures on biscuit boxes and cut them out to make simple puppets. He used a mosquito net as the translucent screen, lit candles behind the screen and banged on an enamel washbasin for the traditional percussion effect.

Zhu's show debuted in his home, with no audience to appreciate his tender efforts. Later he moved out onto the streets, improving his props with electric lights and a piece of white cloth. The applause of villagers gave him encouragement, and soon he had a loyal following among locals.

Zhu has never lost his touch. He can still manipulate about 10 puppet figures himself.

Though he later worked as the director of the art department of the Beixinjing Culture Pavilion, he never lost his interest in the shadow show.

Six years ago, he quit his job and went to Qibao, where he was determined to take on the task of saving the Qibao shadow play from extinction. He became the curator of the Qibao Shadow Play Pavilion and tackled the job with great enthusiasm.

"At that time, many friends questioned my decision because they thought the shadow play was an antique in its sunset and couldn't be adapted to modern cultural tastes," Zhu said.

Zhu said he never believed that for a minute. "The more difficult the task, the more determined I became," he said. "I am convinced it will be a 'sunrise industry' one day."

The Qibao Shadow Play dates back more than 120 years.

The story goes that a man surnamed Mao, who lived in the local area, established the first shadow play troupe. The art form was passed down from generation to generation.

By ferreting around, Zhu discovered 79-year-old Ju Moxi, a fifth-generation heir of Mao's. Ju still owned many exquisite shadow play props, carefully packed in old wooden boxes.

At first, Ju was reluctant to lend his "treasures" to Zhu. After all, he had once declined a Japanese offer to buy the props for US$140,000.

But after repeated appeals, Ju's love of the traditional shadow play overcame his concerns and he agreed to dust off the props and help Zhu give them a modern-day renaissance.

Zhu searched for more old aficionados of the art form. He finally found seven people, including one old man who contributed about 10 decades-old tape recordings of shadow play performances.

With great difficulty, he transcribed the music from the scratchy tapes

Another obstacle to recreating the Qibao shadow play is language. The plays traditionally were performed in the Qibao dialect, which most people today can't understand.

So Zhu is busying translating dialogue and lyrics into Mandarin. He says that is necessary if modern-day audiences are to appreciate the art form.