One Point of View

by Karen Smith

Liu Heung Shing studied political science in New York before discovering photography in his final year. A single semester was the catalyst to a twenty-year career as a photojournalist. Liu was not born in the United States but to Chinese parents in Hong Kong， in 1951. His father， a newspaper man， became a guiding influence in Lius choice of study and， ultimately， upon the nature of his photographic endeavor： in Lius choice of daily life as a conduit for documenting the political exigencies of whatever country in which he found himself. Whilst all photography serves to document an anecdote of human experience in one form or another， Liu consciously set his visual parameters around people， private and public， always referencing the social context of each moment， whereby his observations of quotidian life as much as social turmoil would invoke a discussion of the political and economic conditions in which the subjects are entrenched. This is evident in a body of work that examines human existence not just in the Chinese mainland， where he has spent the greater part of his life， but also in India and Russia. Lius observations of the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989， and its immediate aftermath， won him a Pulitzer Prize.

Lius images of China， taken in the early 1980s as China embarked upon opening and reform， were published under the title China After Mao by Penguin in 1983， and provided him with the experience of editing a volume of photographs down to an equitable number that would achieve the narrative he sought – of relevance today in regard of his latest project China， Portrait of a Country. China After Mao had a great influence on emerging photo-journalists and photographers in the Chinese mainland if， for no other reason， than it alerted them to the world before their eyes； a world they were rarely inspired to scrutinize on their own， despite photographic models they looked to for guidance such as Marc Ribaud， Henri Cartier-Bresson， to name two of those seen most often in China. Liu brought the concerns of a standard “Western eye”， but guided by a profoundly Chinese sensibility， and an added measure of political curiosity to an approach that was in many ways unique. Towards the end of the 1970s， the late Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping exhorted his one billion countrymen to “seek truth from facts.” Taking his cue from Dengs overture， through his lens， Liu did just that. His Chinese identity allowed him access to a side of daily life in China that foreigners were usually denied and resulted in a unique photographic insight into the aura of the times in the early 1980s. With an obsessive fascination with news and politics as his mantra， and daily life as his muse， Liu realized it was not enough just to be there： one had not just to look， but to see， which meant using ones mind as much as the eyes.

One might point to any number of Lius photographs to illustrate this point， but it is most direct in images like that of a shoe mender eating his lunch at his stand， with a picture of Mao casually stuck to the panel above his head， taken in Sichuan in 1980. “The shoe mender probably could not tell you why the image needed to be there，” Liu says， “but the fact that it was， spoke volumes about the impact of politics upon the [Chinese] people up to that time： how politics infiltrated daily life.” Again， we find its presence in the gracefully artless glide of a young man on roller skates whizzing past a statue of Mao； a composition which like so many of his photographs， employs the subtle juxtaposition of opposing motion to suggest a flying farewell to a bygone era and an enthusiastic embrace of the new.

As a foreign correspondent， in each of his postings Liu habitually compared notes about Chinese politics with American colleagues. He soon became alert to the fact that China did not fit in with the reporting agenda of American newspapers. Equally， the discussion inevitably wound round to a China with which he was unfamiliar. Such foreign opinions were frequently formed not only through years of imbibing similar narratives that appeared in the Western media， but through the accumulated experience of the difficulties in daily reporting these foreign correspondents encountered in China. Compounded by the language barriers， China continually defied Western generalization. From the early 2000s， as the process by which China navigated the path from periphery to a central position in world affairs came to dominate the debate about Asia and Chinas relationship to the Western world post-WTO， greater understanding leading to a parallax shift in position was arguably becoming manifest. Whilst acknowledging that this was indeed better late than never， with the announcement of Beijing being awarded the hosting of the 2008 Olympics， Liu wondered what the future narrative of “China” would evolve into. Against a lack of clearly documented history within China within the public arena， history was in danger less of being forgotten – certainly by those who had lived through the tumultuous decades of the latter half of the twentieth century， but being glossed over by the new shiny surface of contemporary China， with its shimmering fa？ade of consummate ‘everythingness： the very thing that Mao had promised the people， but how would the young generations know that？

In terms of photography， it was not only the “notes” of foreign correspondents that did not tally with the China familiar to Liu Heung Shing： it was the scenes and sense of life captured in photographic frames taken by succeeding foreign interlopers， with little background knowledge or understanding of Chinas socio-political system， either under Mao or Deng， or prior to the founding of the PRC in 1949. The convergence of these two experiences， primarily visual but also the mental perception of China domestically as well as externally， was the impetus behind China， Portrait of a Country， a photographic history of China through the sixty years of the Peoples Republic （1949 to the present）. This is China as seen by Chinese photographers. The process of compiling them is pivotal to the final outcome； bodies of work edited by Liu to unleash the power of the individual images that were latent， concealed， or suppressed within their native media environment， in some cases for several decades. The project required a great amount of research to dig out images that were relevant， pointed and poignant， and for that reason， perhaps buried under beds and at the back of cupboards， forgotten， because their significance today was outside of the sanctioned parameters of the moment in which they were created. That is not to imply that the photographs were politically unacceptable， or hidden for fear of the censors. Many simply did not conform to the priorities of the day， and， therefore， were given little in the way of a second thought. Times change and so does the weight accorded to all the particles of history， especially photographs. As we reappraise the past in the light of a new day， things emerge from images that were unimportant at the time of their taking， but that contribute to the fabric of a narrative in astonishing and arresting ways. This is how Liu approached the editing of thousands of images down to the four hundred that appear in the final book to present China as seen by Chinese photographers. He describes the collection as revealing how the Chinese people have “blossomed” in spite of having endured several decades of extraordinary hardship. China， Portrait of a Country further maps out the remarkable road that China has traveled to rejoin the international community and redefine its relationship with its global trading partners and political sparring partners to become an irrefutable equal. It will remain a unique body of work， and a visual testament to history， to the Chinese people， and to the vision of its author.