China
is a large country with a complex history, so it is not surprising that photography
produced there should reflect that complexity. The
Chinese Photobook, a small exhibition at the Photographers’ Gallery in
London, is a welcome, if cramped, opportunity to examine its photobook
production over the last century. Some
of images, for example from the Cultural Revolution, will have an air of
familiarity, but there are many that will be new to the non-specialist, making
it a valuable peek into a world little known to most in the West, or known
largely through the prism of cliché.
The
exhibition is co-produced by the Aperture Foundation and Les Rencontres d’Arles. It is curated by Martin Parr and the Dutch duo
WassinkLundgren (Thijs groot Wassink and Ruben Lundgren), Parr’s involvement
originating from an interest in propaganda and Socialist Realist photography. Most of the books the three have collected were
purchased either from flea markets or online.
The exhibition is partially supported by the soft-power China Art
Foundation, which shows that current political interests cannot be disentangled
from aesthetic and historical issues. A
chunkily handsome but rather expensive illustrated coffee table book, The Chinese Photobook: From the 1900s to the
Present, has been published by Aperture to accompany it.
Covering
the period from 1900 to the present day, the images chart in a condensed form the
trajectory of China from an agrarian feudal society to the second largest
economy in the world. In addition to
display cases and framed sheets, there are videos showing someone flipping
through photobooks, giving the viewer the opportunity to see how the pages
relate to each other. These were
fascinating, but clumsily turned, and a better method would have been to have
scanned the pages and shown them as a slide show. At least there is more to see than in static
volumes under glass.
The
exhibition is divided into six sections: ‘From Empire to the People’s Republic
of China (1900-1949)’; ‘Manchuria and the Sino-Japanese War’ (1931-1947)’; ‘The
Image of a New China (1945-1966)’; ‘State Publishing: The Cultural Revolution
and Beyond (1966-present)’; ‘The Renaissance of Chinese Photography’
(1979-present)’; and ‘Global Perspectives on China’ (1949-present).
The
years 1900-49 were hugely eventful, beginning with European photographic
pioneers taking advantage of the commercial and military penetration of the
country. Photography soon caught on
among affluent Chinese, and amateur photography flourished. In a period that began with a rigid imperial
regime and ended with the establishment of a rigid Communist state, it was
inevitable that photography would serve many purposes, not least pornographic,
as the country struggled to establish a new identity. In this the growth of mass media and improved
printing techniques assisted the dissemination of photography, which both
reflected and shaped the discourse of nationhood in a changing world, while
acknowledging China’s rich artistic heritage.
‘Manchuria
and the Sino-Japanese War’ focuses on photobooks published by both the Chinese
and Japanese, including in the puppet state of Manchukuo, featuring competing
narratives of the war and its legitimacy.
Japanese products were often designed to spin a story to its own
citizens and those of its occupied territories in which conquest was depicted
as harmonious cooperation and the Japanese presence benign. Naturally the Chinese themselves had a
different perspective on the Japanese invaders, highlighting the brutality and
despoliation.
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| Pictorial Review of the Sino-Japanese Conflict in Shanghai, 1932 |
The
next section covers the defeat of Japan, the civil war between the Nationalists
and Communists, the foundation of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, and
the development of Mao’s personality cult.
Photography played a vital role in propaganda, uniting people and party
in a common effort within the ruling ideology to present a positive image both
domestically and internationally. As
that programme suggests, the photographs (government managed rather than
privately made) tended to be carefully composed and lacking spontaneity, in
order to show the heroic strides the country was making in leaving its troubled
past behind and forging a new social order, symbolised by the Great Leap
Forward from 1958. Bright cheerful
groups gather to praise the wisdom of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Tse-tung thought and
denounce the imperialist machinations of the running dogs of the fascist
bourgeoisie.
1966
was a key turning point, with the institution of the Cultural Revolution which
had such a devastating effect on the lives of ordinary people. State control over publishing, both text and
images, was centralised and guidelines were rigorously enforced. Possession of unauthorised material was an
offence. As in the Soviet Union
individuals fell out of favour, and publications featuring them had to be
retrospectively censored. One of the
most fascinating displays is a number of books which have had pictures of
unpersons (often the disgraced Lin Biao) scored out by their owners. A change came with Mao’s death in 1976 and
Deng Xiaoping’s liberalising influence, China beginning to look outwards more
as it sought to become a major player on the world stage, projecting a modern
technological image.
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| Chairman Mao is the Red Sun in Our Hearts, 1967 |
Socially,
massaged optimism was replaced by a sense of realism, and photography followed
suit. As part of this change there was
toleration of more diverse expressions of individual views. From the late 1970s publishing outside the
official structures occurred, such as photobooks documenting protests following
the death of Zhou Enlai in 1976. Individualism
crept in as the country progressed economically and there were increasing opportunities
for free expression (though as Tiananmen Square – still taboo – attests, there are limits). It comes as a surprise to see openly gay
photographs, and these are an indication that however clandestine, and however
far it still needs to go, there is now an element of liberalism in China
unknown in previous decades.
As
a consequence, photographers were able to engage in a more spontaneous, and
often critical, depiction of their lives, and as well as sharing these with
fellow citizens were also able to present them outside China through
international distribution channels, helping to integrate Chinese photography
into the global art trade. Chinese
travellers turned their lenses on the rest of the world; at the same time
foreigners scrutinised China, seeing the country with fresh eyes, just as those
European pioneers had at the start of the twentieth century. China is still far from being an open
democracy, but it has come a long way from its previous insularity. There is even space for out and out
weirdness, notably The Hairy People of
China (1982), which balances, not very well, cool scientific scrutiny with
idle voyeurism.
Wasskink,
Lundgren and Parr have done a valuable job in collecting and publicising the
wealth of photography in China, undoubtedly acting as a stimulus for further
research, but overall the displays feel like a taster for the exhibition
book. This is a show that could have
justified the use of another floor of the gallery, and the contrast between the
expansiveness of China and the smallness of the allotted space is very evident.
The
exhibition is at the Photographers’ Gallery from 17 April to 5 July 2015.
