Today and Yesterday: Some Stream-of-Consciousness Epiphany, Maybe
Hard to know where to begin and end with this.
Let's see...
After last night's belated Chinese New Year's dinner with my mom and siblings, I went back to my bro's place and played a little bit of Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six on his XBox 360. It was during these after-hours that Cliff brought to my attention an interesting hardcover graphic novel written and illustrated by Guy Delisle. I'm not really one to follow American comics of any kind, but this particular book struck a chord with me in that unlike the comic norm it was a nonfiction travelogue of the author's near half-year stay in Shenzhen, China. Such a prompt immediately brings to mind Sophia Copolla's Lost in Translation, and in many ways Delisle's series of illustrated vignettes and random encounters follow the footprints left behind by the aforementioned film.
I actually had a lot of difficulty putting this book down last night. Each flip of the page brought me back to my summer experiences in Shanghai. Oh, the awkwardness of feeling out of place - even if you yourself were Asian; and all the local mannerisms you found a trial adjusting to; and finally, the memos made about remnants of a strict, overbearing Communist government still casting shadows on the people. Okay, really, this book isn't that serious; it's actually very comical in its experiences. But despite that humorous shell, underneath lies a subtle commentary on the changing state of the country in this time of rapid development. The word I'm looking for is "globalization."
When I took global studies during my month-long stay in the great metropolis that is Shanghai, the most striking things to me were the pollution, the corrupt mentality of obsessed commercialism and consumption, and the incredible speed at which old buildings were left in the dust giving way to the erection of goliath high-rise complexes. It was like watching this extreme, product-driven, grand urbanization rat race - how fast can you build it, how high can you raise it? In the process of the country's storm to catch up to the rest of the world, it seemed a lot was lost. And I mean a lot.
In favor of development, the country lost a good chunk of culture. This thought didn't quite occur to me until towards the latter half of my stay. Somewhere in the midst of all the daily hustle and bustle I found myself caught in, I realized that I actually felt a little unimpressed with Shanghai. Why was that? As the most modern city in China, you'd think it'd have a lot going on; but in reality, there wasn't. The traditional culture I'd been seeking was nowhere to be found; and all around me I was instead overwhelmed by crude brand name labels slapped across every corner, feisty saleswomen following and beckoning me to their stores in loud voices, crowds young and old clashing in a divide of cultural trends like the divide between rich and poor. Everywhere I looked stood some hundred stores selling the same kinds of crap, and they'd be flocked with hungry young consumers. So this was it: shop, shop, shop 'til you dropped. If this was all I could do out here, why bother leaving America in the first place? Like other major Chinese cities overtaken by this burst of rapid development and commercialism, Shanghai faced an identity crisis stuck at a crossroads between emulating the West and holding on to a fading heritage. As it is now, the city acts as a cultural bank that borrows a little here and there from various other places, winding up with an end product that mixes in everything, but lacking the most essential element: its own branding. I often wondered to myself why it felt like the great city was missing something. And, well, that was the reason.
So where does Guy Delisle's graphic novel fit in the picture? The documentary aspect of it is so painfully obvious: there are full and half-page sketches of the ghostly Chinese construction sites scattered in various places across the book, like chapters. These observational doodles lack any sort of written commentary - they stand on their own, with a life of their own. You don't need an explanation to know what's going on.
Their subject matter and compositions can be associated to an altogether different read, found from a fascinating article my friend linked me a month or two ago about photographer Sze Tsung Leong's depictions of change across time in his native China. His photos also deal with strong statements on development, destruction, and loss. I won't bother summarizing what is discussed in the interview; but I suggest that if anyone out there is even remotely interested in this stuff you really ought to read the piece in its entirety:
Unintelligent Design: An Interview with Sze Tsung Leong
(Full portfolio of work)
The photos themselves are haunting contrasts between the old and the new. Gloomy spectacles.
I remember capturing something very similar to Leong's work. In Yuyuan, in the ghetto streets just outside the luxurious tourist-trap bazaar, we took a field trip to the area by bus and were dropped off in this empty, disintegrating parking lot, a lone shack structure planted foreground to a backdrop of colossal, glowing high-rises standing tall in Pudong, on the other side of the Huangpu River. I was shocked by the sight:
All these materials and thoughts sort of coalesced today in my mind. The idea here is change - not necessarily with China alone, but with the entire world. I think the strains of it are heavier than ever before; and here, with our Presidential election there's history going to be made, and who knows where that'll take us once the whole fiasco blows over. But certainly, there's going to be change. Looking at China's example, I'm wondering how much of our own culture will be the victim to this movement, how much of it will be lost for the sake of so-called improvement, whether it's for better or for worse.
And lastly, on a personal ending tangent I found it odd how I seem to be experiencing a real sense of change in myself paralleled to the Year of the Rat, rather than to the turning of our own universal calendars a month and a half ago. Because of my recent contemplation over these topics, I rediscovered something so vital to me I thought I'd nearly lost: the act of questioning. As a designer, you should question everything, because to question is to be informed; and to be informed means everything.
Let's see...
After last night's belated Chinese New Year's dinner with my mom and siblings, I went back to my bro's place and played a little bit of Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six on his XBox 360. It was during these after-hours that Cliff brought to my attention an interesting hardcover graphic novel written and illustrated by Guy Delisle. I'm not really one to follow American comics of any kind, but this particular book struck a chord with me in that unlike the comic norm it was a nonfiction travelogue of the author's near half-year stay in Shenzhen, China. Such a prompt immediately brings to mind Sophia Copolla's Lost in Translation, and in many ways Delisle's series of illustrated vignettes and random encounters follow the footprints left behind by the aforementioned film.
I actually had a lot of difficulty putting this book down last night. Each flip of the page brought me back to my summer experiences in Shanghai. Oh, the awkwardness of feeling out of place - even if you yourself were Asian; and all the local mannerisms you found a trial adjusting to; and finally, the memos made about remnants of a strict, overbearing Communist government still casting shadows on the people. Okay, really, this book isn't that serious; it's actually very comical in its experiences. But despite that humorous shell, underneath lies a subtle commentary on the changing state of the country in this time of rapid development. The word I'm looking for is "globalization."
When I took global studies during my month-long stay in the great metropolis that is Shanghai, the most striking things to me were the pollution, the corrupt mentality of obsessed commercialism and consumption, and the incredible speed at which old buildings were left in the dust giving way to the erection of goliath high-rise complexes. It was like watching this extreme, product-driven, grand urbanization rat race - how fast can you build it, how high can you raise it? In the process of the country's storm to catch up to the rest of the world, it seemed a lot was lost. And I mean a lot.
In favor of development, the country lost a good chunk of culture. This thought didn't quite occur to me until towards the latter half of my stay. Somewhere in the midst of all the daily hustle and bustle I found myself caught in, I realized that I actually felt a little unimpressed with Shanghai. Why was that? As the most modern city in China, you'd think it'd have a lot going on; but in reality, there wasn't. The traditional culture I'd been seeking was nowhere to be found; and all around me I was instead overwhelmed by crude brand name labels slapped across every corner, feisty saleswomen following and beckoning me to their stores in loud voices, crowds young and old clashing in a divide of cultural trends like the divide between rich and poor. Everywhere I looked stood some hundred stores selling the same kinds of crap, and they'd be flocked with hungry young consumers. So this was it: shop, shop, shop 'til you dropped. If this was all I could do out here, why bother leaving America in the first place? Like other major Chinese cities overtaken by this burst of rapid development and commercialism, Shanghai faced an identity crisis stuck at a crossroads between emulating the West and holding on to a fading heritage. As it is now, the city acts as a cultural bank that borrows a little here and there from various other places, winding up with an end product that mixes in everything, but lacking the most essential element: its own branding. I often wondered to myself why it felt like the great city was missing something. And, well, that was the reason.
So where does Guy Delisle's graphic novel fit in the picture? The documentary aspect of it is so painfully obvious: there are full and half-page sketches of the ghostly Chinese construction sites scattered in various places across the book, like chapters. These observational doodles lack any sort of written commentary - they stand on their own, with a life of their own. You don't need an explanation to know what's going on.
Their subject matter and compositions can be associated to an altogether different read, found from a fascinating article my friend linked me a month or two ago about photographer Sze Tsung Leong's depictions of change across time in his native China. His photos also deal with strong statements on development, destruction, and loss. I won't bother summarizing what is discussed in the interview; but I suggest that if anyone out there is even remotely interested in this stuff you really ought to read the piece in its entirety:
Unintelligent Design: An Interview with Sze Tsung Leong
(Full portfolio of work)
The photos themselves are haunting contrasts between the old and the new. Gloomy spectacles.
I remember capturing something very similar to Leong's work. In Yuyuan, in the ghetto streets just outside the luxurious tourist-trap bazaar, we took a field trip to the area by bus and were dropped off in this empty, disintegrating parking lot, a lone shack structure planted foreground to a backdrop of colossal, glowing high-rises standing tall in Pudong, on the other side of the Huangpu River. I was shocked by the sight:
All these materials and thoughts sort of coalesced today in my mind. The idea here is change - not necessarily with China alone, but with the entire world. I think the strains of it are heavier than ever before; and here, with our Presidential election there's history going to be made, and who knows where that'll take us once the whole fiasco blows over. But certainly, there's going to be change. Looking at China's example, I'm wondering how much of our own culture will be the victim to this movement, how much of it will be lost for the sake of so-called improvement, whether it's for better or for worse.
And lastly, on a personal ending tangent I found it odd how I seem to be experiencing a real sense of change in myself paralleled to the Year of the Rat, rather than to the turning of our own universal calendars a month and a half ago. Because of my recent contemplation over these topics, I rediscovered something so vital to me I thought I'd nearly lost: the act of questioning. As a designer, you should question everything, because to question is to be informed; and to be informed means everything.