Richard Layzell Blog

It’s Saturday. I leave in a couple of days. Clara has had more communication with Ms Guo at the Station toilet. She was asking what time I’d be taking the Aiport Bus on Monday morning. Apparently they want to take some more photos before I leave. I couldn’t be sure which bus I’d take so she and her supervisor, Ms Li Guihong, would like to say goodbye this evening. We arrange to meet at the toilet at 5.30pm.

We are on time. I stand back while Clara chats to them both. Yong and Flora stand further back. They are filming for his documentary about Square Mile. Clara gasps volubly. “What’s going on, Clara?” “ They want to take us for dinner to say goodbye to you.” What shall I say to this? “What do you think, Clara?” “I think we could say yes.” “Ok. Could you say I’d be delighted.”

Yong seems to think it’s ok for him and Flora to come along too, although I don’t think anything is actually said about this. I trust his ability to read the situation. Yong is a documentary film-maker and lecturer, studied in California, a man of experience.

We cross Shilong Road and Ms Li Guihong chooses a well-lit, traditional restaurant with extra seating upstairs. We start to sit at a large circular table but Ms Li Guihong is not quite happy with this and negotiates a private room. She mentions that her daughter will be joining us. Six for dinner, one on camera one on microphone, one slightly overwhelmed. Is this another ‘turning of tables’ as when Ms Guo grabbed my camera a month ago? How can they be taking us for dinner? They are cleaners. Ms Guo beams at me across the table. I’m thinking about how many situations and expectations have been confounding. This is another. Ms Li Guihong is ordering, camera is rolling. She asks me what I’d like to drink. “Tea will be fine.” She insists on ordering wine, her gestures implying that a foreigner needs alcohol. A bottle of Great Wall Red arrives, along with a very large lazy Susan made of glass.

The lazy Susan

Ms Guo beaming

Yong and Flora filming

The waitress is wearing a uniform of transcendent red. It goes beyond fashion to an eternal scarlet of knowing.  Ms Li Guihong’s daughter Sun Ruyi arrives in a short white quilted jacket, looking like an international student. Coincidentally she’s also studying at Clara’s university and is about the same age. They start to make friends. Ms Guo talks about her own six year-old daughter, Zhang Xinru. Clara’s parents are factory workers, and her spoken English is impeccably non-American. Here around this table I feel the encapsulation of China in transition. The quiet power and ambition of the hard-working mothers. The sophisticated, genteel daughters. Ms Guo’s will be next in line.

The menu and the transcendent red

Ms Li Guihong expresses embarrassment at not being able to speak English. This in turn, embarrasses me. The food keeps coming. The lazy Susan keeps turning, bamboo shoots, tiny shellfish, a large flat fish, deep-fried coated meats. She asks her daughter to practice her English on me, while Yong boldly suggests that I should give her an English name. “She’ll need one.” I go for ‘Sarah’ as it’s phonetically close to Sun Ruyi.

The flat fish

Conversation is flagging and I feel a little awed by the generosity of this meal and the naming of Sun Ruyi. But it’s time for photos. We pass the cameras around. Yong is still filming. Perhaps we’ll find a way of talking more freely now the meal is over. I mention ‘cleaning’ and how I see it in society. Ms Li Guihong agrees. Now we’re moving. I don’t talk about cleaning as art. This is not about art. Or is it? I speak to her for the first time about the exterior toilet and its interior bamboo grove, and how much this affected me on my first visit. She calmly says that this was actually her idea. The glass case was left empty by the builders. After several months she decided to take action. And plants are her hobby; we’ll have seen that from our visit to their ‘home’. She decided it was appropriate for the glass case to house native plants, hence the bamboo. The mystery is solved. The designer is amongst us. The artist is the cleaner after all.

The portrait with Ms Li Guihong and Sun Ruyi

I like to spend money locally if possible, as a holistic notion, so the exciting Changqiao Huaniao Market was again the ideal collaborative partner and source of materials for Further Trans-actions.

Market movement

When The Cycle – as an overall framework – was being developed, the migrant community within the Square Mile was high on the list as a target locale for Saturday’s intervention.

Restrictions had not been an issue at any stage so far and I was encouraged to take this further. Here, although residential, the boundaries between private and public were as blurred as in the Botanical Gardens Extension or Kangjian Park. But where to choose? Deep inside the migrant community, at the far end of the main street, I remembered an open space. However, on a return visit it proved to be not large or public enough, and close to a sewage outlet. The dynamic main street itself was too narrow, so this left the boundary road, which has a name, Yonghcuan Road. And if the location for Further Trans-actions was close to the corner of Luocheng Road then it would be easy to find. And there were enough possibilities here: a square of grass adjoining the river, a thin rectangular concrete island, a space used for storing roadwork materials.

Concrete strip at corner of Yongchuan and Luocheng Road

Trans-actions would be something between an installation and an interaction, a visual give-away centred around the market-trimmed daffodil bulbs, passing on a living thing, and explained by a text panel.

But then there was the other group of people that I felt a strong  connection with, the Botanical Gardens Extension community, the incredible diversity of morning park users. Wouldn’t it make sense to compare the experience of Trans-actions in the two locations, the two communities?  So, although this second site didn’t appear in the publicity, the prospect of this engagement was far too tempting and it became the morning venue.

I laid out the bulbs and other donated items as a tableau and then began to take photographs. People gathered around and I realised that this made me into some kind of exotic photographer, assembling his items within this faded horticultural setting. It had a certain logic to it. No-one tried to stop me. Once again I could not imagine getting away with this in any UK botanical gardens. Maybe we were recognised from the previous day’s filming of the head man on the tricycle.

And then the shift happened when the written invitation in Chinese was added. It went from passive to active. If people didn’t quite believe what they read then Clara was on hand to explain. ’Please take one item’.

Was this where it became a more universal act that transcended language and culture? Or a transaction guaranteed to raise a smile?

And then at the migrant community the outdoor snooker tables had been overlooked as a potential site for investigation.

Until the sign went out.

..

Indirect and direct are the key to the door in warfare, the pivotal force in gaining victory. They revolve in an inexhaustible circle. Breaking that circle means defeat.

Indirect is also direct: direct is also indirect. In their infinite permutation they give rise to one another, like a circle that has neither beginning nor end; it cannot be exhausted.

The nature of water is soft and yielding, the nature of stone is hard and heavy; and yet water can roll great boulders downstream, by virtue of the torrential flood of its momentum.

The highest excellence is like water. Water profits the whole of creation, but it never contends.

Nothing in the world is a soft and yielding as water, but when it attacks something hard, nothing can surpass it.

Water shapes its current

From the lie of the land.

The warrior shapes his victory

From the dynamic of the enemy.

The Art of War, Sun-tzu (380–316 B.C.)

Three rivers traverse the Square Mile, two run west to east, one runs north to south.

The same river that dissects the Botanical Gardens – and is the responsibility of another department – also crosses Longchuan North Road close to Xiangyang Yucai Primary School and passes through the Jinniuyuan Community, a densely populated housing estate with its own bridge.

The newly constructed stone bridge over Longchuan North Road presented itself as a very public site for something, while the Jinniuyuan Community bridge held its own temptations. This was a tough decision, only resolved by return visits. The potential for a more intimate exchange and dialogue favoured the Community bridge. Old for new. Less is more. Indirect is also direct.

The Changqiao Huaniao Market, provider of all materials, was close by. And the rain should hold off.

The two bridges

The Jinniuyuan Community

All that can be revealed of the Market

It would be easy to miss. Three entrances set back amongst shop fronts, like thresholds, the odd moped driving in and out. It looks like nothing. Then there were the rumours coming through from Yin Yi and other Saturday visitors, “we found this market around there as well. It must be for the migrant community.”

I can’t explain, can’t describe the feelings, feelings which include fear, excitement and sensory overload. Photographs would flatten it out. Video would place it anywhere. And the light is poor.

It is vast. It has zones. Pyjamas, dogs in cages, dust, spices, hot water flasks, songbirds, furniture, insects in their small containers, goldfish, bulbs being part-peeled by hand and soaked in water, artisans masked up and sanding down, others cooking in corners and some are living here, illegally maybe, like an artist studio block. Two jiao to use the toilet.

The further back you go the more private it becomes. I could imagine renting a space here myself, for masking up and sanding down.

Of course this is familiar territory for the locals. And it’s a place of specialism, not just for the migrant community. It predates them. For me it has the magnetic pull of a grotto of resources, learning and desire.

I discover it late and am then drawn back most days. I want to spend here, to spread the UK Sterling in Yuen. It has something of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, without the hassling. No foreigners, few customers, something slightly forgotten about it.

Then I look again at the satellite map and there it is, all roof and rectangular space, directly opposite the recycling centre. It really is vast. Not just a feeling. And it’s named on the street map. This is the Changqiao Huaniao Market. Only.

The large linear rectangle of Changqiao Huaniao Market, opposite the Recycling Centre

From a UK perspective, recycling is endemic in Shanghai in a way that we crave in the west. Some people, mainly migrant workers, actually make a meagre living from their collecting and gathering. Money is exchanged. Everything moves on. Bicycles are even specially adapted to carry large plastic vats of food waste, strapped on either side of the rider, presumably to feed the pigs. Tricycles carry dry goods of every kind. Downtown in the city centre this is also a regular sight: men and women gathering waste materials and loading them up, strapping them on, riding off, seemingly very precariously. “I have this guy’s mobile phone number. Soon as we have stuff to get rid of I call him and he’s there in less than an hour. He takes anything.”

So is this recycling in the languid, self-consciously virtuous, western sense, or something more fundamental to the cultural and eco-system of China? Can the fish see the water they are swimming in? And would this be such a successful process in Shanghai without the wide bike and moped lanes built into the major roads? The Shilong Road bike lane is 3.3m wide and has its own rules of the road.

This constant movement of materials was one of my first observations in the Square Mile. The combination of pedal power and recycling appeared idealistically holistic. It was later that I came to understand the relationship of the corner of Shilong Road and Yongchuan Road, right outside the Shanghai E Arts Bar, to the bigger project. This was wear the tricycles turned off, the through route to the Xuhui District Recycling Centre, 500 metres away, and also in the Square Mile.

Compellingly filmic for the sculptor and commentator, this centre has an altogether different feel to its London equivalent, a place on the Isle of Dogs where I’ve heard confusing stories of French companies “being paid a fortune by the Council to deal with Tower Hamlets’ rubbish” or with horror and embarrassment that “it’s all being shipped out to China”. London would prefer not to think about what happens to its rubbish, it’s all too overwhelming. “Well we do try to recycle but you know how it is…”

Here, behind a concrete wall on Luocheng Road, lies the destination for the laden tricyclists, a place of continual movement, sorting, shifting, measuring and weighing, and subdued human interaction, not unlike an artists’ studio complex.

Now in an ongoing working relationship with a group of Pioneers from the nearby Xiangyang Yucai Primary School I dreamed of a symbolic intervention, in recognition of the excellence of this facility. We talked about wording and salutation, timing and surprise. It all made a certain kind of sense, the foreigner making comparisons with his western city struggling under a garbage mountain, highlighting a local facility, the students owning their statements and actions, the workers receiving them. Terrain would be crossed. Diligent Angels and Heroes of Recycling. We Salute You (completely lost in translation).

Gaining deeper insights about the Bus Station South was, as it turned out, simply a matter of negotiation and patience. But could we be seduced by it in a way that would parallel the temptations of the Railway Station South?

The official at the Information Desk, who spoke no English, referred us to the Director of Operations and he referred us to the Director of Customer Services, Ms Shi. We met her on the actual day of the Fourth Anniversary of the Bus Station.

I was really interested in some further understanding of the movement of migrant workers, but decided to frame this enquiry with some more conventional questions.

Clara and Ms Shi became deep in conversation, while I learned to appreciate some of the finer qualities of the physical environment.

We learn that there are 17,000 people arriving here each day by bus, while 40,000 come by train. Most people who take buses are from neighbouring provinces: about 50% from Zhejiang Province and 40% from Jiangsu Province. So people coming longer distances arrive by train. They are mainly from southern provinces like Guzhou, Yunnan and Fujian. These are the very long-distance travellers. This had not been my theory. I thought they came by bus.

There are roughly 900 buses going to about 200 destinations every day.

By now we had been invited into her office on the other side of the complex, beyond the waiting passengers and the parked buses. She told us more. The Bus Station South is considered, as bus stations go, luxurious. It is privately owned by five shareholders who invested about 0.2 billion yuen (£20 million) in the building and its infrastructure.

There was no bus station here before, while there has been a railway station since the 1920s. They have made great strides. At the opening there were only 81 buses a day and a staff of a mere 210. The long distance bus companies pay to use the station.

I sensed her understandable hesitation in revealing too much, while, at the same time relishing giving over the information and impressive statistics. Who were these people turning up on spec on the fourth anniversary?

Her office was classically international, her desk iconic, her pot plant wilting. We could have been in Detroit or Reading. For this reason I asked to take her photo in the office. She politely refused. Fine. I was pushing the envelope. Not for the first time I wondered if we’d have got this far in the UK, cold calling at Victoria Coach Station.

She and Clara were deep in conversation. Ms Shi had a lot to say. I sat back and listened, imagining what was unfolding: “We run a tight ship… very smooth… top of the range… passenger through-flow… ready for Expo… customer satisfaction… international focus… security…. ”

I smiled carefully and consistently. It seemed the right thing to do. She smiled back now and again. On reflection I wonder if this was more out of embarrassment than engagement:

Unfortunately, from one cultural group to another there is a great deal of variability about when one smiles or laughs and what it should be taken to mean…. It has been widely observed that Asians in general tend to smile or laugh more easily than westerners when they feel difficulty or embarrassment in the discourse. Intercultural Communication, Scollon and Scollon.

As we left her office, and I looked for more ways to love the Bus Station, I wondered if I was trying too hard. This may be a luxurious terminus but it’s not quite classy. Just look at the toilet for example. And “maintenance is tricky as the building is made of glass, an imported material of irregular size and hard to replace when broken.”

Meeting Ms Shi before going to her office

We should buy a couple of packs of cigarettes to give to the head man. He can make it happen. Watch.

It’s much less expensive to come and buy hot water here, filling up thermos flasks, than to heat it at home.

I don’t think they’ll understand. They’re just doing a job, making some money.

My Long Jing teas are already at a good price.

Then there’s the ‘bananas’: Chinese people who are white on the inside (born outside China) and don’t speak Mandarin.

Shanghai has always been famous in China for what it manufactures. In the 1930s it was sewing machines and flasks.

They keep the insect in its little container and put it inside their jackets in the winter, to keep it warm. Sometimes you can hear insect sounds on the Metro and wonder where they’re coming from.

Recycling is still a new idea for China. But you’ve always done it.

I make a mistake. I mean ‘artistic’. I said you were ‘artificial’.

I also make mistakes. I was wrong saying that mynah bird is the symbol of bad luck, actually it is the crow. And magpies stand for good fortune. It was a slip of tongue I thought.

Can we get a better price on the daffodil bulbs?

He’s selling garlic and ginger at the side of the road. Can’t afford a stall at the market. Making some small business. Cycled here from not far.

Chinese people usually are just curious.

I am inviting you to a performance of dancing, music and body painting, near Longcao Road Metro, one stop from here.

He says these stones are for the fish.

Helloo Mr Richard.

So this looks normal to you? All this going on in one public place at the same time? Yes.

You can shelter in here, out of the rain.

Can I film you having dinner?

Actually, there are places within this square mile other than the Botanic Garden that are very important to us. For example, the South Railway Station is an important traffic intersection; our school is place where we study and learn; our home is a place full of love.

Flask production in Shanghai in the 1930s

You can shelter in here, out of the rain (Botanic Gardens gatehouse)

Fine teas for sale opposite the Recycling Centre

Stones for the fish

Garlic and ginger

A feature about my work in the Square Mile appears in The Shanghai Daily, the only English language daily newspaper here.

The photo they choose to illustrate the article is of the toilet. This was an unexpected and exciting choice. The toilet is now famous. This must be shared with Ms Guo and the rest of the team. Clara phones ahead to check that she’s around. She says she’s at their ‘home’. We should go there.

We’re welcomed with giggling “hellos”, in reference to our appearances at their English lessons, and there is the added hum of payday. They’re queuing for their wages in cash. I remember the near delirium of this moment when I worked for the Post Office and Blackman Harvey picture framers, and how quickly it passes. The article, although in English, speaks through the colour photo and creates a definite buzz. Ms Guo is beaming. We’re all excited. The supervisor doesn’t react very much, but she’s paying out their cash at the time.

Pay day interrupted by the news

The queue

Surely this must give me increased leverage to finally take Ms Guo’s photo, back at the toilet? I ask Clara to translate this request and we are in business. Leaving one copy of the newspaper at ‘home’, we set off, but not until Ms Guo has changed back into her work clothes for the photo. As we leave, I turn around and realise that their home is not actually under the South Station at all. It’s underneath an elevated road that leads to the station. I wonder about my perception.

Where home really is

On the way we meet her sister and she asks for a photo of them together. She’s clearly not camera shy after all. Don’t we see the family resemblance?

Sisters

After the first couple of pictures she insists that I’m photographed with her. She grabs my hand, fingers entwined, and asks Clara to tell me to put my arm around her. Then I photograph her and Clara. This is the best photo.

We leave another copy of the article and also a print of that first photo she took of me with a regular customer. She mentioned he’d requested this a few days ago.

I feel momentum here. Something has shifted. We’re all in this together now. And it’s more than a toilet. It’s a work of art.