Fighting hutong demolition with a camera
Source: Xinhua |
July 24, 2012, Tuesday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
FOR 28 years, photographer Jia Yong has been wielding his camera to òpreservingó life in Beijing?s hutong or alleys and remind the public that precious heritage is being lost to property developers and their bulldozers. Yang Jianxiang snaps the picture.
Down Dashilar Street W. that cuts through the middle of Beijing, one can find an old-fashioned restaurant that resembles an ancient pavilion. Outfitted with hardwood furnishings and staffed by waitresses in traditional dress, the restaurant gives visitors a glimpse into Beijing as it was several decades ago.
One of the restaurant's most unique features is its wall decor - a series of old black-and-white photos depicting the previous denizens of the hutong (alleyways) and their surroundings. The photos were all taken by Jia Yong, owner of the restaurant and an award-winning photographer.
Jia was born and raised in the neighborhood, not far from Tian'anmen Square and the Forbidden City. He has another restaurant and a gallery nearby, where he displays more of his photos. The pictures show a side of Beijing that is known only to those who have lived here for years, as Jia has.
Jia got into photography a bit late, having tried his hand at a number of trades, including weight-lifting and selling vegetables, before opening his own photo-printing business. Jia seemed to have found his calling; it took him just three years to build his business into an 11-branch franchise.
Jia's love of his hometown and desire to see it preserved is perhaps the only thing greater than his love of photography. Troubled by the demolition of many Beijing hutong, Jia started taking pictures of the ancient alleys in 1984 to preserve them in some fashion before they were destroyed. Jia spent three years taking photos of the capital city's hutong, ending up with about 50,000 shots.
He hung many of the photos on the walls of his businesses for his customers to enjoy. One day in 2006, a customer examined them one by one, accompanied by an interpreter who turned out to be a university professor from South Korea. They were looking for competitive photographers to take part in an international photo competition.
Jia signed up, selected 20 pictures and sent them to the Korean professor. Shortly afterward, the professor told him he had won the first prize of US$2,000 and asked Jia for his bank account number to deposit the funds.
"I thought it was a fraud," Jia recalls, but the money arrived, as well as a certificate and album containing photos by all the award-winning photographers.
Jia's first-place photo depicts an elderly man sitting near the doorway of his hutong home, fanning himself in the summer heat.
"That was summer in the early 1990s," Jia says. "Air-conditioner was still a dream for people living in hutong."
In late 2010 Jia staged a month-long exhibition titled "Goodbye, Hutong!" at his gallery, and won modest fame in photography circles.
"History gave me a chance, " Jia says. "I was fortunate for the opportunity to observe and document the hutong. But It's an opportunity I didn't ask for - the demolitions were brutal."
"It was like a second round of the 'cultural revolution' (1966-1976)", Jia says referring to the movement that led to chaos and destruction of traditional Chinese culture.
The destruction of the hutong in Jia's neighborhood peaked years ago. Jia had to race with his camera to keep up with the destruction, but now he has more time on his hands.
"The fever has ebbed and now I have more time to sort my pictures and do something else," Jia says. To that end, Jia organized two sidewalk photo exhibitions last year, featuring photos taken by both Chinese and foreign photographers.
He plans another exhibition in October, backed by corporate sponsors who will foot much of the bill, sparing the photographer participants from using their own funds.
Jia spends a large portion of his income on photography equipment. He says he used to lie to his wife about the purchases, which would sometimes lead to arguments. But his wife, a retired handball player, finally found it was useless to try to persuade Jia to give up his hobby.
Jia has a private studio for film processing and he prefers film, older cameras and older processing equipment. Digital equipment is only a backup. He estimates he has invested around 2 million yuan (US$314,550) in his hobby.
"My photos are my most valuable asset," he says.
Jia is busy organizing competitions, sponsored by a local community service organization and open to anyone with a camera. The fifth competition ended in June and around 6,000 photos have been submitted by people from all walks of life. A panel of judges selects the winners, who are expected to be announced this month.
Although the hutong of Beijing is losing the battle to property developers, Jia's photos and his efforts to encourage citizen photographers have helped preserve one of the last vestiges of the old city.
Down Dashilar Street W. that cuts through the middle of Beijing, one can find an old-fashioned restaurant that resembles an ancient pavilion. Outfitted with hardwood furnishings and staffed by waitresses in traditional dress, the restaurant gives visitors a glimpse into Beijing as it was several decades ago.
One of the restaurant's most unique features is its wall decor - a series of old black-and-white photos depicting the previous denizens of the hutong (alleyways) and their surroundings. The photos were all taken by Jia Yong, owner of the restaurant and an award-winning photographer.
Jia was born and raised in the neighborhood, not far from Tian'anmen Square and the Forbidden City. He has another restaurant and a gallery nearby, where he displays more of his photos. The pictures show a side of Beijing that is known only to those who have lived here for years, as Jia has.
Jia got into photography a bit late, having tried his hand at a number of trades, including weight-lifting and selling vegetables, before opening his own photo-printing business. Jia seemed to have found his calling; it took him just three years to build his business into an 11-branch franchise.
Jia's love of his hometown and desire to see it preserved is perhaps the only thing greater than his love of photography. Troubled by the demolition of many Beijing hutong, Jia started taking pictures of the ancient alleys in 1984 to preserve them in some fashion before they were destroyed. Jia spent three years taking photos of the capital city's hutong, ending up with about 50,000 shots.
He hung many of the photos on the walls of his businesses for his customers to enjoy. One day in 2006, a customer examined them one by one, accompanied by an interpreter who turned out to be a university professor from South Korea. They were looking for competitive photographers to take part in an international photo competition.
Jia signed up, selected 20 pictures and sent them to the Korean professor. Shortly afterward, the professor told him he had won the first prize of US$2,000 and asked Jia for his bank account number to deposit the funds.
"I thought it was a fraud," Jia recalls, but the money arrived, as well as a certificate and album containing photos by all the award-winning photographers.
Jia's first-place photo depicts an elderly man sitting near the doorway of his hutong home, fanning himself in the summer heat.
"That was summer in the early 1990s," Jia says. "Air-conditioner was still a dream for people living in hutong."
In late 2010 Jia staged a month-long exhibition titled "Goodbye, Hutong!" at his gallery, and won modest fame in photography circles.
"History gave me a chance, " Jia says. "I was fortunate for the opportunity to observe and document the hutong. But It's an opportunity I didn't ask for - the demolitions were brutal."
"It was like a second round of the 'cultural revolution' (1966-1976)", Jia says referring to the movement that led to chaos and destruction of traditional Chinese culture.
The destruction of the hutong in Jia's neighborhood peaked years ago. Jia had to race with his camera to keep up with the destruction, but now he has more time on his hands.
"The fever has ebbed and now I have more time to sort my pictures and do something else," Jia says. To that end, Jia organized two sidewalk photo exhibitions last year, featuring photos taken by both Chinese and foreign photographers.
He plans another exhibition in October, backed by corporate sponsors who will foot much of the bill, sparing the photographer participants from using their own funds.
Jia spends a large portion of his income on photography equipment. He says he used to lie to his wife about the purchases, which would sometimes lead to arguments. But his wife, a retired handball player, finally found it was useless to try to persuade Jia to give up his hobby.
Jia has a private studio for film processing and he prefers film, older cameras and older processing equipment. Digital equipment is only a backup. He estimates he has invested around 2 million yuan (US$314,550) in his hobby.
"My photos are my most valuable asset," he says.
Jia is busy organizing competitions, sponsored by a local community service organization and open to anyone with a camera. The fifth competition ended in June and around 6,000 photos have been submitted by people from all walks of life. A panel of judges selects the winners, who are expected to be announced this month.
Although the hutong of Beijing is losing the battle to property developers, Jia's photos and his efforts to encourage citizen photographers have helped preserve one of the last vestiges of the old city.
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