IHT: Hong Kong artists on the fringe

Contemporary gongbi artist Wilson Shieh Ka-ho with detail from "Architectural Group". Photo by Alexandra A. Seno




By Alexandra A. Seno
Tuesday, December 18, 2007

http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/12/17/arts/seno.php

HONG KONG: As the global cultural community continues to show fascination with just about anything from contemporary Chinese artists and to pay high prices for their work, art from Hong Kong appears to be getting short shrift.

"Hong Kong has been left out of the story," observed David Clarke, an art historian and author of "Hong Kong Art: Culture and Decolonization." A decade since the former British territory was returned to Chinese sovereignty, Hong Kong art seems to exist on the fringe.

In terms of the narratives found in its art, it is easy to see how the city fails to grab much attention. With its tiny apartments and relatively stable economic environment, creative statements by Hong Kong artists tend to be more intimate, more personal and intrinsically different from those of the mainland, where the scale is vast and the problems are huge.

"The mainland art market does not know much about Hong Kong artists, and the visual artists in Hong Kong seldom are involved in events on the mainland," said Jay Sun of China Guardian, a Beijing auction house.

According to Howard Bilton, chairman of the Sovereign Art Foundation, European and American collectors who primarily support contemporary Chinese art simply don't know what to make of Hong Kong's modest scene.

"People talk as if Chinese contemporary art only started now. Hong Kong and Taiwan are modern Chinese cities with modern Chinese art," said Clarke, who is also head of the University of Hong Kong art department. Especially in the 1970s and 1980s, the only places Chinese art could really thrive were in these two increasingly prosperous communities.

At a Christie's auction in Hong Kong in November, multimillion-dollar records were established for mainland artists, thanks to buyers from all over the world. However, a 1971 painting by the Hong Kong master Luis Chan, who died in 1995, went unsold. Also known as Chen Fushan, he painted whimsical and colorful scenes. Three of his paintings were sold for under $15,000 a piece, not much past the high end of the estimates but considered expensive even by Hong Kong fans.

"If you are a serious, knowledgeable collector, you will find Hong Kong art is very worthy because of the craftsmanship, originality and the current price. If you are a speculator, then you are going to buy with a different intention," said Henry Au-Yeung, founder of Grotto Fine Art, one of the few galleries in Hong Kong specializing in local works. Formerly with Sotheby's, he launched his gallery business in 2001 and was not expecting to make a profit for a decade. And he was surprised to have broken even in less than four years - with the help of a small but devoted group of affluent local art lovers.

Au-Yeung estimates that, of the 45 artists he represents, including big names like Wucius Wong, only 10 percent can make a living from their works. Some like Warren Leung Chi-wo, who has shown at the Venice Biennale, teach; others have commercial careers - the avant-garde photographer William Lim has a successful architectural practice.

"Most of them have day jobs," Clark said. "There is a private side to Hong Kong art."

Wilson Shieh Ka-ho, the best-selling Hong Kong painter under 40 and a rare full-time artist, said: "Painting for me is like a diary. The first audience is myself." Known for his ink-on-silks, collectors love him for the Hong Kong personality and delicate details of his art. Shieh sold almost everything before his show at Grotto opened in October.

Shieh, 36, works in the traditional Chinese gongbi style, an ancient method of ornate fine-brush painting that requires high technical ability. Instead of typical subjects like birds, flowers and pretty landscapes, he renders subjects from daily life.

Among the 15 works for his October show was "Architectural Group," depicting the city's skyscrapers as women. In a corner, he included a little figure dressed as the Star Ferry terminal, its clock tower represented as a hat akilter, a tribute to the Hong Kong landmark that was demolished a few months ago.

"The discussion about heritage has been pushed by artists. In Hong Kong, art has the potential to bring out critical thinking," said Tobias Berger, director of Para/Site, an alternative exhibition space and a champion of the contemporary art scene. This question of identity has become a powerful theme in Hong Kong art.

The city's Schoeni Art Gallery, which specializes in works by mainlanders, gave its first show for a Hong Kong painter in May. He is Mok Wai-hong, a 30-year-old who studies at Beijing's Central Academy of Fine Arts. Mok has produced several paintings about Hong Kong protests, such as the clashes that occurred during the World Trade Organization meeting in December 2005 and those during the pro-democracy march on July 1, 2003.

While she was very pleased with the critical acclaim of the exhibit, Nicole Schoeni conceded that she was disappointed with how hard it was to convince patrons to buy his work. "Because he's a Hong Kong artist. Probably, if he was a mainlander, on the same topic it would have been easier because it would be 'more controversial,' " she said, making quote marks in the air with her fingers.

But, as Clark said, "There are many ways of being Chinese and Hong Kong is one of them."

International Herald Tribune Copyright © 2007 The International Herald Tribune | www.iht.com

Newsweek: The Self In ‘Silhouette’

After a health scare, exiled Chinese artist Gao Xingjian returns to the public eye with new works.
By Alexandra A. Seno
NEWSWEEK
Updated: 12:40 PM ET Dec 15, 2007

Gao Xingjian comes from a centuries-old tradition of multitasking. The author of the novel "Soul Mountain" may be best known as the controversial winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2000—the first time the prize was ever awarded to a Chinese writer. But he is also a successful painter, poet and playwright. His works have often been about the dignity of the individual, a motif that has earned him international respect as an artist and much personal suffering in a land that has long glorified the collective.

Gao channels all his various skills and favorite themes into "Silhouette Sinon l'Ombre" ("Silhouette/Shadow"), a film finished last year but unlikely ever to be widely screened. "Silhouette/Shadow" has no conventional plot but traces Gao's personal journey toward the metaphysical. It shows him, in almost a Taoist trance, working with brush and ink wash on large pieces of paper. The artist walks in and out of the camera's viewfinder but barely speaks throughout the 90-minute movie. It's a study of visual textures, weaving dreamlike sequences with documentary footage, going back and forth between color and the black-and-white his paintings are known for. Last month he released a book of the same title to make his masterwork a little more accessible, expounding on the film with essays, still photographs and poems. "He always felt this might be one of his last projects," says Fiona Sze Lorrain, Gao's friend and the book's editor.

Indeed, a narrow brush with mortality prompted the new work. Since 2003— declared "The Year of Gao Xingjian" by the French city of Marseille, where he has been a citizen since 1998—Gao, 67, has undergone two heart surgeries. His illness sharply curtailed his writing but inspired this small, self-funded work. Now, with the verve of one given another chance at life, a healthier Gao has been engaging the public once again. Earlier this year, he appeared in Germany for an exhibit of his paintings. In September he traveled to the United States for an academic convention on his work. Last month he made his first trip to Singapore in almost two decades to donate a painting to a museum. Next year Hong Kong will host a major festival in his honor; Gao will preside over a forum at a public library, at least one gallery is preparing a show, his plays will be performed and his film will be screened for art-house crowds.

Early on, Gao's uncompromising devotion to his craft turned him into one of China's most provocative artists. As an intellectual, he was sent to the countryside for "re-education" during the Cultural Revolution. When he returned, he made a name for himself with modern, experimental dramas inspired by Brecht and Beckett. He was banned after authorities deemed his 1983 play "Bus Stop" critical of the government. Misdiagnosed with lung cancer and hearing rumors that he was gong to be sent to a labor camp, he began a walk along the Yangtze River that lasted almost a year; the journey became "Soul Mountain," the novel that led to the Nobel. In 1989, as an asylum seeker in France, Gao angered Beijing by writing a play condemning the brutal handling of the Tiananmen Square student protests. In his early years as an exile in Paris, he made ends meet by selling his paintings.

Despite his claims to be apolitical, Gao's relationship with China remains fragile. "Intellectuals know him quite well," says Chinese University of Hong Kong's Gilbert Fong Chee-fun, an organizer of the Gao festival and an expert on his work. "[But] the common people in China have never heard of his name. His books and plays are still banned, and his name is not allowed to be mentioned in the media."

Other artists who left China in the 1980s have returned. They hold American or European passports but spend months each year in China, where the "cultural industries," as the government calls the arts, are flourishing. But it's not an option for Gao. "He does not have any desire to go back," says Lorrain. "There is too much baggage." Still, Fong insists that Gao's "Silhouette" makes a statement the government can't ignore. "He did the film because if you say something, you exist," he says. Even if you say it primarily through cryptic images.

URL: http://www.newsweek.com/id/78118

© Newsweek Mag

IHT: Cantopop -- Lauding Hong Kong's homegrown music

By Alexandra A. Seno
Wednesday, November 21, 2007

HONG KONG: Beyond the carefully styled public personas of Hong Kong's major singing idols, under the smoke machine effects and the glittering concert outfits, behind the catchy melodies and sugary lyrics, the heart of modern Hong Kong beats steadily in Cantonese-language pop music.

"Cantopop is indispensable in our lives. It plays a part in the formation of Hong Kong's identity and culture," said Professor Clement So York-kee in a speech at the opening of the Hong Kong Heritage Museum show "Riding a Melodic Tide." So, the head of the Chinese University of Hong Kong's School of Journalism and Communication, helped organize the exhibition, which opened on Nov. 11 and runs until Aug. 4, four days before the Beijing Olympics begin.

The ambitious exhibition, a year and a half in the making, occupies an entire top-floor wing of the museum in Shatin, a middle class suburb. Despite Cantopop's domination of the Chinese entertainment world for more than three decades, "Riding a Melodic Tide" marks the first time the city has honored the industry in this way. It documents the development of one of Asia's most commercially successful music industries, focusing on the "Golden Age" of the 1970s and 1980s.

Tunes matched Western pop melodies, with ancient Chinese poetry or plain-spoken Cantonese language, and icons of the period like Roman Tam Pak-sin and Sam Hui Koon-kit - both well-represented in the exhibit - spoke to a generation who for the first time took pride in being modern, prosperous Chinese. They were the children of people who left China after the Communist victory in 1949 or recent immigrants from the mainland who had fled in the early 1970s, the last difficult years of Mao Zedong's rule.

Tam's "Beneath the Lion Rock," the theme song of a TV soap opera that began in 1974, became Hong Kong's unofficial anthem with lyrics like: "Hand in hand to the ends of the earth/ Rough terrain no respite/ Side by side we overcome ills/ As the Hong Kong story we write."

Terence Ng Tak-cheong, the museum's assistant curator and a key member of the team that assembled the exhibition, said that "at the time, Hong Kong enjoyed an economic boom and a relatively stable political environment." While its Asian neighbors were recovering from recent wars and revolutions, the British territory thrived and so did its pop music. "There started to be a local identity and the music played a part in creating that," said Angelina Law Yuen-fai of the Composers and Authors Society of Hong Kong.

The exhibition faithfully tells the overall story. There are facts and figures in English and Chinese, rare music and video samples as well as hundreds of objects: costumes, fan kitsch, posters, pictures, hand-written music scores. There is even a special corner that pays tribute to Teresa Teng Li-chun, the Taiwanese singer known for "The Moon Represents My Heart" and "Tian Mi Mi," some of the best-known Chinese pop songs of all time. Though she became famous for recording in Mandarin, in the mid-1980s Teng decamped to Hong Kong, where she bought a house and carved out a Cantopop career, a recognition of the industry's premier position in Chinese entertainment.

"Riding a Melodic Tide" has plenty of things from Tam's estate. His sisters donated 3,000 items to the museum after he died in 2002. However, save some reproduced photographs, there isn't enough from Joseph Koo (also known as Gu Gaa-fai) and James Wong, the "Lion Rock" composers who were pivotal to the success of the industry. Also noticeably absent are important memorabilia from Anita Mui Yim-fong and Leslie Cheung Kok-wing, two 1980s greats. Their deaths in recent years were perceived to mark the passing of an era. And aside from a few images and posters, what about "The Four Heavenly Kings?" The biggest individual acts of the 1990s remain masters of the Chinese pop music universe.

What makes Cantopop like no other genre is extreme showmanship, something that doesn't quite come across clearly in the exhibition. The Hong Kong industry took the Japanese pop sensibility and unapologetically amplified it. More than the singing and music, Cantopop concert audiences want their money's worth with dancing, lasers, mini-plays and outfits.

There are hints of Cantostyle in Hui's suits, created from typical Hong Kong red, white and blue plastic carrier bags emblazoned with a bauhinia flower, the city's symbol. Tam's classic performance-wear includes a fur-trimmed, hand-beaded and mirrored jacket with matching black lace-and-sequins trousers, and another glittery outfit worn with a cape of peacock feathers.

Cantopop got its start when the Shanghai entertainment industry was forced to move to Hong Kong after the 1949 Communist victory on the mainland. Mandarin, spoken by China's educated classes, became the language of choice for quality films and songs. Meanwhile, music in Cantonese, the dialect of Southern China's Guangdong Province and the mother tongue of most Hong Kongers, languished as low-class fodder with an export market targeted at homesick Chinese laborers and household help in Southeast Asia.

The status of Cantonese songs, until then primarily traditional ditties and Chinese operas, was rewritten in the 1970s when Hong Kong went from business backwater to powerhouse. Joseph Koo, then the music maestro at one of the local TV stations, took what was then a radical move by using Cantonese lyrics instead of the usual Mandarin for the theme song of "Fatal Irony," a 1973 drama series starring a young Chow Yun-fat. It was a hit. By 1976, when decent young Chinese men in the British colony only played Western music, Sam Hui, a good-looking graduate of Hong Kong University, ditched his Elvis Presley repertoire and English-language covers to sing "The Private Eyes" in Cantonese. Suddenly, crooning in the local Chinese dialect was cool.

For everything that Cantopop stands for, the Hong Kong music business now appears destined to follow the familiar melancholy narratives of the ephemeral loves enshrined in its songs. Cantopop is having to move on. Walking through the cases full of memorabilia at the Shatin exhibit, Ng, the curator, stopped to declare in a theatrical whisper, hands cupped around his mouth: "The market changed."

A decade ago, tastes changed thanks to greater exposure to Western pop culture. As demand from Singapore, Malaysia and Taiwan shrank, music piracy spread. The International Federation of Phonographic Industry estimates annual Hong Kong Music sales to have plunged from 1.7 billion Hong Kong dollars ($217.8 million) in 1997 to 560 million Hong Kong dollars ($71.8 million) in 2006.

The economic pressures have led to an over-dependence on big stars and a small group of proven lyricists and composers.

The future for Cantopop singers (home market: 7 million) hinges on its mastery of Mandopop, the business of entertaining the 1.4 billion Chinese who speak Mandarin. In the past decade and a half, more Hong Kong singers have warbled in Mandarin or recorded translations of Cantonese songs for the mainland market.

As the weather has cooled and new wealth continues to rise in China, Cantopop concert season is in full swing and the Heavenly Kings have hit the road. Jacky Cheung Hok-yau plays Shanghai in December. Andy Lau Tak-wah's "Wonderful World" tour hits Hong Kong at the end of the year. He kicked off the series two months ago in Inner Mongolia - one of dozens of concert venues in mainland China.

International Herald Tribune Copyright © 2007 The International Herald Tribune | www.iht.com

IHT: Imagining Red Guards in China today

By Alexandra A. Seno
Friday, November 9, 2007

http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/11/09/arts/seno.php


HONG KONG: Shaking her head gently, more in wonder than in dispute, Jiang Shuo says: "Unbelievable!" It is her response to various questions about her homeland's current economic prosperity or the international interest in the culture of today's China and the record prices being paid at auction for contemporary Chinese art.

Jiang, a respected Chinese sculptor - and one of the very few women in the field to achieve such success - has a unique perspective on these issues. She creates in bronze robot-like figures representing the Red Guards, Mao Zedong's young army that powered the Cultural Revolution.

"This is my generation," Jiang said in an interview here. "We were students and we listened to Chairman Mao. We were against culture, against tradition, against capitalism. But now, look, who are the leaders? Who are running the companies? My work is about this irony." Her latest pieces, recently the subject of her third one-woman show at the city's Plum Blossoms Gallery, continue to explore the Red Guards theme for which she became famous in the mid-1990s.

Zhao Meng, a sculptor who is also vice-dean of the Academy of Art at Beijing's Tsinghua University, contributed an essay to a book published to coincide with the exhibition. He notes Jiang's use of her signature Red Guard figures. They pose alongside the stuff that has replaced Mao and the Little Red Book at the center of urban Chinese aspirations today: karaoke, McDonalds, becoming rich, the pursuit of the good life. "The sardonic take on history presented by these works is but a part of the greater joke that history plays on mankind, and as such contain within themselves a much deeper meaning," Zhao writes. "Just as the Red Guards in their day contributed to the writing of history, so the living generation remains actively involved in the creation of the present."

In Jiang's latest works, Red Guards appear to cruise jauntily, as if on skateboards, atop flashy new automobiles, Little Red Book in one hand, money in the other. In a 76-centimeter, or 2 ½-foot, high piece called "Wu Fu Lin Men" that she created with her husband and sometime collaborator Wu Shaoxiang, five figures frolic on a laughing Buddha who shares Mao's distinctive hairstyle.

She also goes back to traditional symbols. She has Red Guards balance on sleeping cat figures, a nod to a popular animal in folk art. And in typical Chinese style, she engages in a little word play. Though the written characters are different, the word for cat (mao) can sound a lot like Mao.

Jiang was born in 1958 in Beijing. Her skill as an artist earned her admission to the elite Central Academy of Arts and Design, where she apprenticed under Zheng Ke. As a student, she designed film award trophies and public monuments for the government, considered highly coveted commissions. After graduation in 1985, she became a lecturer at the school, an affirmation of her talent.

In 1989, the year of the Tiananmen crackdown, Jiang won a scholarship to a university in Austria. Like so many of China's finest artists around that period, she moved her young family with her - by then, she and Wu had a 3-year-old son - and started from scratch.

"It was tough. I left my parents behind in Beijing," she said. She recalled how she and her family got by speaking English the first few years while learning German and settling into their new life. She joined shows when she could, gaining the interest of some European collectors and slowly building a reputation. By 1991, Austrian organizations were asking her to design awards and sculptures, and she was selling through galleries.

Her family gained Austrian citizenship in 1993. She visited China over the years to see her mother and father and slowly witnessed the changes taking place. In the mid-'90s, an English collector suggested that she try to sell her works in Hong Kong. Since then, the former British territory has been a key market for her works. Her 2.6-meter, or 8.5-foot, tall sculpture, "Going Forward! Making Money!" adorns the lobby of the Langham Palace Hotel.

After nearly a decade and a half of primarily filial visits, Jiang and Wu last year opened a 600-square-meter, or about 6,500-square-foot, studio in Beijing, where they plan to spend half their time. "All my ideas, my inspiration comes from China, so I need to be there," she said.

On the place of art in China now, she said: "Art is no longer like before. Art is now part of economic development." Jiang's smaller works, about 20 centimeters in height, sell for just over 55,000 Hong Kong dollars, about $7,100. Bigger ones, like "Wu Fu Lin Men," sell for 510,000 Hong Kong dollars. In September, a Singaporean collector sold a 166.7-centimeter karaoke piece from 2004 at a Sotheby's New York auction for $67,000, more than two and a half times the estimate.

"The insights that Jiang Shuo can provide lies in the fact that she experienced both the trials and tribulations of the past as well as the current era of prosperity and economic growth," Zhou wrote in his essay. "Besides embodying the huge transformations that China is currently undergoing, Jiang Shuo's works illustrate the rational and intelligent advances made by the present generation."

Jiang's son is now in his 20s and attends university in Germany. He has spent most of his life in Europe, which he considers home. Sometimes he visits China with his parents, because "he likes to eat Chinese food," his mother said with unmistakable pride. Her face also lit up as she talked about how he is working toward a degree in "mathematics and informatics," maybe culminating in a doctorate. What about art for the child of two sculptors? "No, no. The artist's life is very hard," she said, smiling wistfully.

International Herald Tribune Copyright © 2007 The International Herald Tribune | www.iht.com

Newsweek: China's Luxury Brands

Homegrown Luxe
Asia's elite have fueled the growth of Western high-end brands. Now, they are creating their own.

By Alexandra A. Seno

NEWSWEEK
Updated: 2:28 PM ET Nov 3, 2007

Ten years ago, the most gracious hosts in China provided dinner-party guests with imported vintage reds, a rare treat as the country began to open up to Western-style extravagance. Today, they still serve $5,000 bottles of Château Lafite the way they did back then, often mixed with tomato juice or Sprite (wine isn't yet about enjoyment, but about showing wealth). Increasingly, though, tables are filled with something more palatable to local tastes: premium baijiu, a fiery, traditional Chinese grain-based alcoholic beverage (from brands like Wuliangye, Swellfun or Wen Jun), which outsells all other spirits.

It's a much anticipated shift. For years now, rich Chinese, who today represent 12 percent of the global luxury market, have been snapping up Western brands like Chanel, Armani, Cartier, Rolls-Royce and Louis Vuitton. Goldman Sachs predicts that by 2015, China will be the world's largest luxury market, accounting for 29 percent of sales, some $11.5 billion. It's no wonder that Western brands can't build stores in the country fast enough.

But now, as the Chinese begin to feel more comfortable with their place in the world, they are also willing to pay top renminbi for a small but growing tribe of homegrown brands, including not only premium baijiu labels, but also high-end fashion brands like Ports 1961 and Passerby, or cosmetics like Yue Sai, acquired by L'Oreal in 2004. "There are two elements that are important in luxury: exclusivity and making people dream. History and culture become important at some point," says Denis Morisset, a former CEO for Armani and Ralph Lauren, who now heads the luxury-brand management program at ESSEC, a French business school. "China has both."

Increasingly, it also has top-quality production, crucial to building a luxury industry. While Chinese manufacturing standards have come under fire recently after a raft of safety scandals, many overseas luxury-goods brands are boosting production in the Middle Kingdom—Armani, Paul Smith, and Coach to name a few. Production standards, particularly in the south, are increasing, and the skills gained will support the homegrown luxury business. Lorraine Justice, head of Hong Kong Polytechnic University's design school, says that leather craftsmanship is now equal with Europe and that the government has supported the flourishing of more than 200 design schools, a boost to what Beijing considers "cultural industries."

The mainland is also mastering the art of marketing, which is essential to selling luxury. Leveraging celebrity helps—Yue-Sai Kan, the founder of Yue Sai cosmetics, is one of the most famous women in China. Born in Guilin, she left in the 1950s for Hong Kong and then the United States, but returned in the 1990s as a tremendously successful author, TV presenter, and lifestyle guru. Her blog gets approximately 150,000 hits a day, and her personal Web site features pictures of her art-filled Shanghai apartment and her New York townhouse. Later this year, she plans to open her own 5,000-square-foot lifestyle store in Shanghai inspired by how she lives.

It was pure spin that made baijiu a luxury product. The drink, a favorite of farm workers and manual laborers, is mass—if not down—market, accounting for 99 percent of China's wine and spirits market. The trick was in proper packaging—a number of companies evoked China's rich imperial past on fancy boxes containing bottles with crystal decanters—and pricing ($3,600 for fine, aged baijiu). "Price-points communicate everything here. Most people still use price to assess quality," says Lilian Yap, a director in Shanghai for Nielsen, the consumer-research company. Last year at a public auction in the southern boomtown of Shenzhen, a connoisseur bought a bottle, no more than half a liter of Wuliangye 90-year-old baijiu, for a record $117,000, the equivalent of the lucky-sounding 880,000 renminbi.

Now those prices are attracting foreign money. In January, Diageo, the maker of Johnnie Walker and Smirnoff, acquired 43 percent of Sichuan Chengdu Quanxing, parent company of Sichuan Swellfun, China's oldest baijiu distiller. In May, the French conglomerate LVMH bought 55 percent of Wen Jun from Jiannanchun, the No. 3 producer. These Western buyers are no doubt counting on the fact that the rest of the world may someday mimic China, and raise a glass of baijiu with guests.

With Quindlen Krovatin in Beijing

URL: http://www.newsweek.com/id/67849

Newsweek: Asia's Women Leaders and "Inherited" Power

Handing Down the Reins
In Asia, a surprising number of women hold powerful political positions. For better or worse, they have their family connections to thank for that.

by Alexandra A. Seno

NEWSWEEK
Updated: 3:31 PM ET Oct 13, 2007

Americans may be contemplating a female president for the first time, but in Asia 11 women have ruled in office since the 1960s—and many others exercise great influence from off-stage. Their cultures may be different, but they share one characteristic: politically powerful parents and husbands. "There is no doubt that the rise of female leaders is linked to their being members of prominent families: they are all the daughters, wives or widows of former government heads or leading oppositionists," write Claudia Derichs and Mark Thompson, the authors behind the German government-funded research project "Dynasties and Female Leadership in Asia." "These women share dynastic origins and inherited political leadership."

Chandrika Kumaratunga, the Sri Lankan head of state, once remarked that leading her homeland was the "family business." She succeeded her mother, Sirimavo Bandaranaike, who became the world's first female prime minister after her husband was assassinated in 1959. In their part of the world there is no shortage of family firms. Benazir Bhutto's much anticipated return to Pakistan this month after eight years in exile is believed to foreshadow her comeback as prime minister, a post she held from 1988 to 1990 and 1993 to 1996, as did her father, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, in the 1970s. Megawati Sukarnoputri, daughter of Sukarno, Indonesia's first post-colonial president, was leader of the world's largest Muslim country between 2001 and 2004 and is expected to seek the post again in 2009. In Bangladesh, arch-enemies Sheikh Hasina and Khaleda Zia have both served as prime ministers as well as heads of the two largest political parties. Hasina's late father and Zia's late husband ran the country at different times.

The phenomenon isn't confined to developing countries. In South Korea, legislator Park Geun-hye, daughter of dictator Park Chung-hee, remains a power in the ruling conservative party despite recently losing the nomination for the presidency by a few votes. In Japan, one of the most prominent lawmakers is the controversial ex-foreign minister Makiko Tanaka, whose father was a prime minister.

Most of the women who have "inherited" political power—Megawati, Kumara-tunga, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo and imprisoned Burmese pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi, daughter of Burmese revolutionary Aung San—also have brothers. But in the past two generations, women have been claiming a bigger share of the inheritance pie. This is partly because they are stepping up to take it, often spurred by social unrest. "We want women to be transformational leaders in transformational politics—not simply new members of the old male fraternity," says Patricia Licuanan, a Philippine academic who chaired 1995's landmark United Nations World Conference on Women in Beijing.

But in politics as well as business, fathers are also increasingly comfortable ceding authority to qualified daughters, says Roger King of the Centre for Family Business Studies at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology. He's also found that when women rather than men become the main decision-makers in Asian family enterprises, they tend to be more focused on preserving the name and values of their fathers. Suu Kyi was only 2 years old when her father was killed, but was obsessed by the idea of him while growing up and wrote a book about him. Bhutto was driven into politics by the memory of her father, who was executed after a trial she insists was unfair.

Even for women with famous last names, being female can be a disadvantage. "The women have to be even better as leaders. They have to have a lot of drive to get to the top in an environment where that is not the tradition," says Christine Blondel, a professor at the French business school INSEAD. But of course they've got it much better than women without family connections, who still have trouble breaking into politics; according to the Inter-Parliamentary Union, women compose only 16.6 percent of Asia's legislatures. That's an improvement over 13.1 percent a decade ago, but a long way from Scandinavia's 41.6 percent and still below the global average of 17.4 percent.

Still, having women in office—no matter how they got there—benefits other aspiring female candidates. "The more women in top positions in politics and business, the more women will be encouraged to enter these fields," says Licuanan. History shows that countries that have elected women leaders do it again, and that credentials rather than family ties ultimately become the issue. It's already happening in Asia: Han Myung-sook, who was South Korea's prime minister until last March, and Taiwanese Vice President Annette Lu Hsiu-lien both arrived at their positions not through birth but through lifelong careers as activists. Ability, not bloodline, was their ticket to power.

URL: http://www.newsweek.com/id/43373

IHT: China's Luxury Manufacturing

http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/10/01/style/rchina.php

A new luxe take on 'Made in China'
By Alexandra A. Seno
Monday, October 1, 2007

HONG KONG: Say "Made in China" these days and the growing list of manufacturing scandals immediately comes to mind. But the recalls of lead paint-covered toys, news of poisonous dog food and shocking sweatshop stories obscure another reality: a very small but flourishing high-end factory sector that produces top-class goods.

Cheap and nasty fashion gets made a lot in mainland China but increasingly, well, chic happens. "Luxury manufacturing in China is a new trend so there will not be many factories. I would think this number must be less than 100 or even much lower," said Hana Ben-Shabat, a partner and international consumer goods specialist at the London offices of the management consultancy A.T. Kearney.

"In the beginning I was skeptical," said Rafe Totengco, designer of Rafe New York, a label popular among the Hollywood crowd. "I thought: 'Ugh, cheap labor . . . !' and I had all the perceptions of people who are uneducated about manufacturing in China."

A few years ago, hearing what some other high-end brands were doing on the mainland, Totengco began to visit workshops in Guangdong and Shenzhen in southern China. The recipient of several U.S. accessories design awards, he said, "I was blown away."

Totengco said he found tidy, Chinese-owned factories with neat, uniformed local workers and some Italian employees. The equipment tended to be cutting edge and the products, he said, were excellent quality with attention to detail. While he still uses Italian skins, he has had two collections entirely made in China, including the reptile-skin clutches that the "Desperate Housewives" star Eva Longoria ordered earlier this year for members of her wedding party.

Price, however, is not a big advantage in these factories. "It is not cheap. Small runs, under 300 pieces per style, per color, tend to cost the same as anywhere else in the world," said Fiona Kotur-Marin, a Hong Kong-based designer who also is a production consultant and a silent partner in the Tory Burch brand.

"There are different tiers of manufacturing in China," she said, "In the north, it is less expensive production. As you move south, manufacturing gets more refined." Labor for handbags or clothes generally constitutes just a tiny fraction of overall costs, often less than 10 percent, and the average general rates for workers in, say, Bangladesh can be a fifth of those in China.

The main advantage, according to Kotur-Marin: "Chinese factories meet their deadlines, unlike Europe." Chinese workers do not have the vacation allowances of European workers so factories, for example, work through August. And one of the under-appreciated qualities of the mainland's manufacturing capacity, she said, is a sophisticated supply chain infrastructure.

And the best workshops do not work with just anybody, Kotur-Marin said. "They pick you, you don't pick them because they don't need your business."

A recent study by consultants at the international accounting and business consultancy firm KPMG and at Monash University in Australia reported: "While companies are often wary of the 'Made in China' tag, companies such as Coach, Paul Smith and Armani have shifted some of their manufacturing to China in recent years."

Burberry makes up to 10 percent of its products in some of the more sophisticated factories across the border from Hong Kong, including about a quarter of its shirts and some of its accessories.

None of the three brands mentioned in the study would comment on their product sourcing methods.

When queried directly about the percentage of their goods made in part or entirely in China, representatives of other randomly selected European luxury labels were vehement that their goods were made in Europe yet refused to give further details about their manufacturing process.

Their reticence is understandable, analysts say. "One of the selling points of luxury is that the goods are handcrafted in Europe," said Nick Debnam, head of KPMG's consumer group in the Asia Pacific region and an author of the study.

And Ben-Shabat at A.T. Kearney said: "This is something all players will handle with care because of the sensitivity of consumers. Why pay $1,000 for handbag if it's not made in Italy?"

"Typically, you will see that they maintain most production of high-end ranges in Europe but will try to produce a sport line in a low-cost location," she said. "Or they will only do part of the work in the Far East and complete it in Europe."

China's own appetite for luxury goods may drive the country's growth in high-end manufacturing in the future, industry experts say.

Management advisers at Ernst and Young predict that by 2015, Chinese consumers will account for some $11.5 billion of luxury purchases, 29 percent of the industry's sales.

China already is the world's third-largest single market for luxury goods.

Earlier this year, the World Luxury Association predicted that by 2009, 60 percent of all luxury goods would be made in the mainland - and some of that production doubtless would end up being bought by the Chinese themselves.

Yet even that scenario has its own problems. Mainland Chinese, in particular, relish the "exotic" frisson of owning something made in Italy or France, Debnam said.

Aside from the general negative connotation around the "Made in China" tag these days, Kotur-Marin is frank about the other obstacles for a brand using mainland factories. For example, it took plenty of patience and five samples to prototype her bag named Fane Hitchcock. The $575 feathered clutch is now a hit among the East Coast socialites that patronize Kotur but the factory initially could not understand what she was trying to do.

"It is easier to work in Italy because we share the same vocabulary" of design, Kotur-Marin said. In China, "you are working with many people who have never been to Bloomingdale's."

Which partly explains the presence of foreign employees at some of the top-end factories. Of the six that Kotur works with, one has Italian workers; two of the five manufacturers used by Totengco have some Europeans on the payroll.

New York Public Radio Guesting: Digital Classical Music

http://www.wnyc.org/shows/soundcheck/episodes/2007/09/20

IHT: 9707

http://www.iht.com/bin/print.php?id=7304388

International brands, with a Hong Kong twist
By Alexandra A. Seno
Monday, September 10, 2007

HONG KONG: Alan Chan speaks of his recent collaboration with Salvatore Ferragamo with the kind of language usually used to describe a romance. One of Hong Kong's most distinguished design personalities, he speaks fondly about his long-time admiration for the Italian brand and of their shared passion for tradition. "The chemistry is very important," he says.

Chan's liaison with Ferragamo was part of the 9707 project, initiated by the Hong Kong Design Center, a quasi-governmental operation, to underscore Hong Kong's status as China's capital for world-class design. The project has paired 10 internationally renowned brands with top locally bred or Hong Kong-based creative talents.

The creative offspring in Chan's case: a silk scarf called "Hong Kong My Love." The design brings together symbols from Chinese and European cultures: a red star in a corner, a shoe, the Chinese character for 10, the Ferragamo logo. "My designs are East and West," Chan said, "It is cliché but this is Hong Kong's personality."

Most of the products, which include a range of fashion and home accessories, are scheduled to be finished by December, when the limited editions will go on sale, although the venues and product prices have not been settled.

There also will be an exhibit that will start in Hong Kong, then move to cities in mainland China, the United States and Europe.

The project is linked to the 10th anniversary of Hong Kong's return to Chinese rule - and its name is the actual date of the handover. Overall, 9707 is being touted as an example of the territory's desire to be considered a hub of global style and to retain that reputation.

Kai-yin Lo, a 9707 designer and a member of the design center's board, says, "Hong Kong did well with manufacturing, but that all moved to China where labor is cheaper. Hong Kong's edge is our know-how of the international market. When China can grapple with that, our advantage is lessened."

The brands involved in the project selected their Hong Kong partners. The products are in various stages of development but an early look reveals very personal interpretations of the essence of Hong Kong.

Barney Cheng named his pattern for a 9707 line of LeSportsac bags "Brilliant Beauty." Known for dressing the city's boldface names, he was inspired by a print of a pretty pink flower that he used for a couture client. He says: "I want to talk about Hong Kong people. They sway with the breeze. If there is a typhoon, the flower is still there."

For Richemont-owned Shanghai Tang, Lo is making embroidered shawls, noting that 90 percent of the world's fine cashmere yarn supply comes from mainland China.

Her designs feature Chinese knots, "universal symbols of bonding," and lingzhi, a potent fungus often used by local herbalists. "It represents Hong Kong. Lingzhi is renewable life," she said. "At home, I don't have flowers, I use lingzhi as decoration. I love its arabesques and spirals."

Working with Alessi, the stylish Italian houseware brand, the architect and product designer Gary Chang decided to avoid any obviously Chinese motif. Referring to the cramped living spaces typical in his hometown, he says: "My theme is how to make the most of the limited. It is very Hong Kong yet the idea of tight space is now global."

Chang, who has done coffee and teapots for Alessi before, is creating what he calls a "Treasure Box for Urban Nomads." He envisions a 2-inch, or 5-centimeter, thick case that is the size of an A5 sheet of paper and could function both as a travel accessory (it will fit in most hotel safes) as well as a dish for snacks.

Royal Copenhagen selected Kan Tai-keung. A recipient of a prestigious Chinese design award, he is making "Flora Banquet," a china dinner service adorned with a calligraphic yet contemporary pattern.

Others involved in 9707 include the fashion designer Vivienne Tam, who is doing jewelry for Georg Jensen, and the noted industrial designer Eric Chan, who is working on a chair for Herman Miller. They both grew up in Hong Kong but now are based in New York.

Michael Young of Britain is the only non-Asian of the lot, although he moved to Hong Kong three years ago. The product designer collaborated with Hong Kong watchmakers o.d.m. to create a pared-down timepiece "about the poetry of time and light."

While obvious targets for the 9707 message may be Europe, Japan or the United States, organizers say the most important audience is actually closer to home. "Mainland clients are not so sophisticated but they have the guts to take bold ideas," Alan Chan said.

Copyright © 2007 The International Herald Tribune | www.iht.com

IHT: Terence Chang

http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/08/29/arts/fmlede31.php

Terence Chang: A Hollywood producer turns back to Asia
By Alexandra A. Seno
Thursday, August 30, 2007

http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/08/29/arts/fmlede31.php

HONG KONG: According to the producer Terence Chang Jia-tsun, casting John Travolta or Nicolas Cage is much easier than booking Chinese cinema's big names. Landing several top Asian talents for one project, as Chang recently did, requires the same logistical precision as the carefully choreographed signature action scenes of the director John Woo, his business partner.

The fruit of Chang's negotiating prowess is the all-star line-up in "Blood Brothers," a new Mandarin-language movie, shot in China, that marks the producer's first Asian project in 15 years. On Sept. 8, the $10 million production takes place of pride as the closing film of this year's Venice International Film Festival. A few days later, on Sept. 12, the movie, by the novice director Alexi Tan, makes its North American premiere with a prestigious Gala-section screening at the Toronto Film Festival.

"In Asia we have to schedule the film around the actors' schedules," Chang said in an interview. "In Hollywood when you make a film, you lock in the actors for however long. Here, they will give you 20 days this month, 10 days another month, you've got to work around it.

"When you're doing a film with just two stars, that's fine, but when you have an ensemble film, oh my God!," he continued. "Some actors are doing several things at the same time: another movie, a music video. Ahhhhh! They ask you for very specific dates - but what if it rains?"

And what if other producers suddenly appear on the set and decide to "kidnap" your talent? Chang, 58, said that he was shocked when at one point a "Brothers" star cut short the number of agreed shooting days and suddenly left with the makers of a television series.

Tan adapted "Brothers" to pre-war Shanghai, inspired by Woo's 1990 classic "Bullet in the Head." The 38-year-old director marveled at the amount of creative support that he received from Chang, whom he described as a "man of few words" and a great "mentor." "Most producers would have said: 'Stop, you already have Daniel [Wu] and Shu Qi,' " Tan said, referring to two of the film's stars. "But I wanted more. Terence just said: 'Let's go for it.' "

Chang personally worked the phones and pressed the flesh to get key people onboard. He was evidently pleased with the result: "I got the so-called 'next generation' of superstars," he said. "I've got them all." Some of the hottest young male actors working today in the Chinese film industry play the main characters, the "brothers": Wu, a Hong Kong-based Chinese-American actor; Liu Ye, from the mainland; and Chang Chen and Tony Yang Yu-ning from Taiwan.

The supporting cast and crew is also impressive. Sun Honglei, one of China's finest dramatic talents, delivers an inspired performance - and a memorable dance number - as a night club-owning crime boss. As his singer-girlfriend, the Taiwanese star Shu Qi radiates glamour and internal conflict. Tim Yip Kam-tim, who won the 2001 art direction Oscar for "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," designed the costumes.

Born and raised in Hong Kong, Chang studied architecture at the University of Oregon in the late 1960s, then film at New York University. He returned home in the 1970s, eventually becoming a successful filmmaker. After producing Woo's iconic "Hard Boiled" in 1992, he moved back to the United States. Together they made "Hard Target," the 1993 hit that established Woo's reputation in Hollywood.

The duo operate Lion Rock Pictures, based in Los Angeles, and Chang still produces all of the action maestro's films. In 1997, they made the box office blockbuster "Face/Off" with Travolta and Cage. The year before that, there was "Broken Arrow," with Travolta; and in 2002, they had Cage again in "Windtalkers." Chang has produced about a dozen Hollywood movies with major stars like Jodie Foster ("Anna and the King," 1999) and Tom Cruise ("Mission: Impossible II," 2000).

In the last three years, however, Chang has shuttled between California and Beijing to put together "Red Cliff," an ambitious Mandarin-language historical war epic that Woo had dreamed of making for years. While the Lion Rock development portfolio is still primarily made up of English-language Hollywood movies, Chang is dabbling in comparatively small Chinese projects, Tan's picture being the first, as he spends time in Asia for "Red Cliff."

He describes the style of "Brothers" as "heightened reality, like an old-fashioned Hollywood film." Woo, who gets a producer credit, edited the movie himself. Chang said: "John really wanted to make this. Unlike his American films where he's just telling a story, this one is very personal."

Chang is also experimenting with something different in the mainland movie industry. "Everyone in China wants to win awards, so they make depressing movies about peasants and poor people," he said. "I love those films, but I don't know how to make them because I make commercial films." He added, "It is time to show the world that China can make good commercial films that is not people flying in the air," referring to the worldwide blockbusters "Crouching Tiger" and "Hero."

Chang said he enjoyed working with a beginner like Tan. "Alexi is new, I can give him advice," he said. "With John, there is only really so much I can do."

When he first got the script for "Red Cliff," Chang said, he immediately realized it would be a four-hour movie. To do it properly would cost much more than the initial $50 million budget. He gently suggested to Woo, who hasn't directed a Chinese film since 1992, that they cut one of the big battle scenes.

"He stared at me and just walked away," Chang said. "How was I supposed to make this work out?" The producer ended up in the hospital due to the tension with his friend Woo. After that, they had a "heart-to-heart" talk and the director was finally convinced to break it up into a two-part film.

Chang then went around again asking investors for more money. Woo finally started filming earlier this year at a location four hours from Beijing and they hope to finish shooting by the fall.

The first installment of "Red Cliff" opens next summer in China, weeks before the Olympics begin. As sometimes happens with movies that the government deems important, several major film distributors on the mainland have promised to hold off all other releases during this much-coveted slot to better showcase Woo and Chang's cinematic opus.

Copyright © 2007 The International Herald Tribune | www.iht.com

Newsweek: "Collective Identity" Exhibit at the University of Hong Kong

The Revolution Lives
Memories of China's Cultural Revolution have forged some of its most provacative contemporary art.

Web Exclusive
By Alexandra A. Seno
Newsweek

Sept. 3, 2007 issue - Today’s China was forged with revolt, revolution, blood and dreams. Paramount to understanding the future direction of the country and its hyperactive contemporary art scene is the appreciation of the byways the nation has traveled. Those under 50–which would be most Chinese—only know of the turbulent ten years from 1966, when the Cultural Revolution began, to 1976, when Mao Zedong died, as other people’s memories: film clips, pictures, propaganda posters, paintings.

Yet that decade has become the most compelling narrative running through the mainland’s cultural scene today. "Collective Identity: From the Cultural Revolution to Contemporary Art" is a delightfully provocative exhibit that's showing now—until Sept. 2—at the University of Hong Kong. Organized and curated by Jiang Jiehong of the United Kingdom's UCE Birmingham Institute of Art and Design, it's one of these great little shows to be experienced only in Hong Kong: it's sophisticated, nuanced, uncensored and a reflective discussion about China. It explores the Cultural Revolution’s profound power over the present by juxtaposing vintage black and white news pictures with a video, paintings, and fine art photography from the last 10 years or so.

In a multitude of ways, the Cultural Revolution–not to be confused with the economically disasterous Great Leap Forward which came before it—was the last major hurrah for Mao and his personal brand of communism. He made a high art out of sloganeering and his own image into a mythic symbol. Across the country, he galvanized citizens into what the University museum's curator, Tina Pang Yee-wan, calls “mass assemblies electrified with the giddy hysteria of revolution.” At these large gatherings, a nation was born again.

The show-stopper of "Collective Identity" is a wall-sized Li Songsong oil-on-aluminium work from 2006, “The Art of Manufacturing News,” in which a figure suggesting former president Jiang Zemin reviews troops from his car as the press immortalizes the moment from another vehicle. The scene resembles a photograph of a major government happening except that Li rendered sections by using separate panels, applying distinct brushstrokes and shades to each area. It is as if different camera lenses used different color filters. Aside from the officially sanctioned version, how many interpretations are there, how many layers making up historical fact? In China’s art, the revolution lives.

© 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

Newsweek: China's "Patriotic" Art

A Cultural Revolution
China's sizzling art market has a new darling: patriotic works that mark the founding of the People's Republic.

By Alexandra A. Seno
Newsweek International

Sept. 3, 2007 issue - Revolution is sweeping China's art world. In recent months, paintings extolling the communist victory of 1949 have emerged as the hottest genre in one of the world's most exuberant art scenes. With an economy growing at some 11 percent a year and a society morphing radically day by day, fascination with the birth of modern China is growing fast. In recent years, international collectors and critics have been much taken by new Chinese pop and avant-garde works featuring such notorious emblems of communism as red stars, Mao Zedong and People's Liberation Army soldiers. But Chinese collectors and serious connoisseurs are now becoming far more interested in slightly older works surrounding the creation of the People's Republic.

Indeed, China's red-hot art market is not cooling, but its prime objects of desire are changing fast. Today's biggest draws are paintings done in the realist style between the 1930s and the 1970s, from the time of the anti-Japanese movement led by the peasant-based Red Army to the period before Deng Xiaoping's liberalizing reforms. And they are fetching record prices. Just a few years ago, Chen Yifei's 1972 "Eulogy of the Yellow River," an elegant and very large work depicting a rifle-bearing Red Army soldier on a mountain bathed in golden light, was considered dowdy and kitsch. But at auction in May, after a fierce fight among various bidders, the 297cm-by-143cm piece fetched an eye-popping $5.16 million—setting a record as the most expensive oil painting ever sold in China. By contrast, a painting of the Three Gorges dam site by fortysomething artist Liu Xiaodong set the record for contemporary avant-garde art at $2.7 million last November. "Patriotic art is a very important theme in oil paintings," says Liu Gang, director of contemporary art at China Guardian, the influential Beijing auctioneer that handled the "Yellow River" sale. "We will certainly have this kind of work at our autumn auctions. The main attraction of these works is their inspiring subjects, which reveal the artist's love of nation and the people."

While the patriotic paintings merit attention as historical objects, they are primarily beloved for the passions they arouse. With the typical age of buyers starting at about 40, Liu says the works "easily resonate among people who have experienced wars or the Cultural Revolution." They seem to be nostalgic for an idealistic old China. And they've increasingly got money to invest; nouveau riche Chinese have become highly visible at home and abroad buying all kinds of art. Evelyn Lin, Sotheby's contemporary Chinese painting expert in Hong Kong, explains that while the realist style "is not so fresh" to the Western-trained eye, Chinese highly value what it represents. "It is more emotional," she says. "We know the stories." "Put Down Your Whip," for instance, is a 1939 realist ink work by Xu Beihong that portrays a famous actress in a scene from a renowned anti-Japanese play of the same title. Xu, widely regarded as the greatest master of his generation, died in 1953, and surely never imagined that his picture would sell for $9.2 million—as it did in April at Sotheby's in Hong Kong, setting the world record for the sale of a Chinese painting. It was purchased by a non-mainland collector, though Sotheby's won't say who or where.

Technically, the works are quite accomplished. Figures appear lifelike, often cast in romantic light. European and Soviet influences are clearly discernible even when subjects were uniquely Chinese. Indeed, many of the country's biggest names trained abroad. Xu, for example, studied in France at the Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts. He and his creative peers in turn helped educate younger artists. During the Cultural Revolution, Mao's system marshaled the best artistic talents in China to serve politics. Many painters took on teaching jobs at state art institutes and lent their skills to glorifying communism, often in the form of propaganda material.

But little of it still exists as original paintings. Throughout China's history, artists and their works suffered during wars and political campaigns. In the case of modernist ink painter Lin Fengmian, soldiers ransacked his house and destroyed his works during the war with Japan in the 1930s. Then in 1966, just as the Cultural Revolution was beginning, Lin destroyed all his paintings—done on rice paper—by soaking them in water and flushing them down the toilet in an effort to avoid persecution as an intellectual; later he was jailed and tortured anyway. Surviving art from that period tends to be in notoriously poor condition, further heightening demand for the precious few that are well preserved—and jacking up prices.

The art world will be watching closely this fall, when Sotheby's Hong Kong offers two unabashedly patriotic paintings as highlights of its October auction. Xu's 1935 "Crouching Lion" uses his signature animal symbolism to convey his belief in the Chinese nation's grand destiny over foreign powers; Sotheby's predicts the painting will fetch between $230,000 and $320,000. And "Father and Daughter," a 1939 work by Jiang Zhaohe that conveys the optimism of China's youth on the eve of the country's revolution, is estimated to go for somewhere between $10,250 and $15,400.

Though Sotheby's won't say when it expects the current records for patriotic art to be broken, collectors and critics outside China are clearly catching on to the trend. Catherine Kwai, managing director of Hong Kong's Kwai Fung Art Consultants, says some of her multinational investment-bank clients have begun asking her to look out for patriotic pieces to add to their corporate collections. In addition, she is in the process of helping an Italian museum stage an exhibit next year on Chinese realist masterpieces, which will include patriotism-themed paintings. She believes these kinds of paintings are among the most exciting for Chinese art collectors right now. "Behind these paintings there is so much to tell about the history of China," she says.

The fact that the works are straightforward and easy to understand only adds to their appeal. "Chinese still look at paintings for technique," says Kwai. "How lifelike is it? That is our training." As the mainland economy continues to prosper, novice collectors will keep rushing into the market, ensuring a bright future for the realist style. "This market will always be around," says Sotheby's Lin. "This will stay forever in China." That might be a particularly rosy prediction as tastes continue to evolve, but for now at least, patriotic art is enjoying its moment under the red, red sun.

© 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

IHT: Jiang Wen

http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/08/16/arts/seno.php

Jiang Wen: An actor and director with a taste for the epic
By Alexandra A. Seno
Thursday, August 16, 2007

HONG KONG: In 1970s China, Jiang Wen fell in love with epic cinema, the kind with larger-than-life heroes swept up in a changing world. "In those days, we could only watch Russian, Chinese, Albanian and Romanian films. They were mostly movies about war and anti-fascism," he said. "Those films affected me. They had a smell. The big studio films of today are very glamorous but they seem so artificial; they have no smell."

Clearly, that craving to recreate the profound cinematic experiences of his boyhood drives Jiang's career, one focused on making important statements and lasting impressions. For more than two decades, he has been the face of his country's art-house films, as a director and as China's most famous dramatic actor.

He played Gong Li's winemaking paramour in "Red Sorghum," (1987), Zhang Yimou's breathtaking first movie. In "Devils on the Doorstep," (1994) which won the Grand Jury Prize at Cannes in 2000, and which Jiang directed, he played a villager caught between the Chinese Army and Japanese occupation forces.

In his latest opus, "The Sun Also Rises," which will premiere at the Venice Film Festival next month, he is a man dealing with his wife's infidelity. It took him three years to finish the movie, his third as director. "I never control a film. The film controls me," said Jiang, 44. "I was obsessed and involved. I was controlled by the characters."

Four related stories set in idyllic, rural China comprise "The Sun Also Rises." Three take place in the 1970s, one in the 1950s. Aside from himself, the movie features established actors like Joan Chen and Anthony Wong Chau-sang.

But the early buzz has been about the performance of Jaycee Chan, the son of the action star Jackie Chan, who is making a name for himself as a dramatic talent.

Jiang takes special pride in Jaycee's work, noting that he picked him for the lead in three of the stories and served as mentor.

The director shot what he believes will be the most memorable scenes of this $10 million movie over many weeks in the remote Yunan Province. "Making this film, I wanted a dreamlike environment," he said. He wanted to enhance this further by doing post-production in Paris, choosing the same lab that worked on "Amélie," the fantastical French hit.

Jiang epitomizes the kind of filmmaking tradition that is revered on the mainland. While in Hong Kong's predominantly commercial industry the craft is learned by working on movie sets, in China cinema is considered high culture that is nurtured in elite film institutes.

Jiang graduated in 1984 from Beijing's Central Academy of Drama, China's most important acting school. He acted in a handful of government studio films like the sweeping drama "Hisbiscus Town" before making a name for himself internationally with his powerful performance in "Red Sorghum." He directed his first film, "In the Heat of the Sun," a coming-of-age tale, in 1984.

He has remained true to his pursuit of epic stories, choosing to star in only about one a year and directing only three in more than a decade.

"Do you think it is too few?" he asked. "If you look at them, they are like 20 films. Each one is like five or six. Other people's films are like a cocktail, a little alcohol with water and juice. My films are like pure vodka."

Jiang's movies are indeed potent. "Sun" tackles life during the Cultural Revolution, a period that is still sensitive in China. He remains sanguine about the risks inherent to his kind of storytelling.

"Devils" earned Jiang the ire of censors who felt he was a little too sympathetic to the Japanese, and for months after that, he was blacklisted. Despite the movie's lack of theatrical distribution, it was very popular in China, becoming a best seller in pirated-DVD shops across the country.

"A film that doesn't get distributed is like a child that never gets married," he said. "Maybe she's having a secret affair with the audiences, but officially she still lives at home."

Copyright © 2007 The International Herald Tribune | www.iht.com

Newsweek: Water Funds

Very Liquid Assets
Water crises are both a dark threat to the world and an increasingly bright investment opportunity.
By Alexandra A. Seno
Newsweek International

Aug. 20-27, 2007 issue - The new oil may be water. According to Global Water Intelligence, a U.K. consultancy, by December total assets under management in water funds could hit a record $20 billion this year, a 53 percent increase from 12 months earlier. No wonder: since 2001, shares in glob-al water companies have gone up 150 percent, according to Thomson Financial. That compares with a 50 percent rise in international blue chips.

The reason is simple: there is profit in scarcity. Buffeted by constant news of dying rivers, droughts and water shortages from China to Mexico, investors are increasingly aware that water is a threatened resource. With more and more governments handing public water systems over to the big multinationals like the U.K.'s Veolia Environnement and Thames Water, profits are rising. One of the top companies, France's Suez, saw global sales from its water unit increase 11.7 percent, helped by a 20.3 percent rise in revenue from China. These days, savvy asset-management companies have turned water-shortage anxieties into a burgeoning investment-fund business. Like the rest of the market, water stocks have fallen recently, but a lot less than, say, U.S. equities. While the Standard & Poor's index plunged by a tenth in the last few weeks, shares in global water companies are down only about 3 percent, helped by international business exposure and the view that cash-generating utilities businesses are a good defense in a downturn.

This year, much of the new money pouring into water funds is coming from Asia, where ethical investing is very new. It may also simply be that Asia is the only developing region that has a combination of remarkably acute water crises and particularly rapid growth, creating a new crop of investors who are intimately familiar with the water threat. Only seven months into 2007, there are now 27 international water funds, more than double the number compared with 2006. Of the 15 new products, nine target Asian investors in Hong Kong, Seoul, Tokyo and Sydney. Since April, when Société Générale's Lyxor Asset Management unit began inundating Hong Kong with ads touting its new water fund, it has raised $320 million from mom-and-pop investors alone, well beyond its expectations.

The price of any company's stock reflects its estimated future earnings, and the potential to make money fixing water problems is huge. In developing markets where affluence is growing, and hundreds of millions of people are set to move from rural to urban areas, water resources are under assault. The Chinese government estimates that demand will increase by 120 percent in the next 25 years, while in India, urban water needs will rise 100 percent in the coming two decades. "We see a combination of exploding demand for water per capita, growing scarcity of supply and massive pollution,'' says Anthony Wilkinson, co-principal of the CLSA Clean Water Asia Fund, which started in May, and invests most of its money in Asia-listed companies.

For major water-treatment specialists, the biggest new projects are in China. Some 1,000 wastewater plants are to be built over the next five years, as the government has pledged more than $125 billion to address the natural-resource shortage. Hundreds of billions more are expected to come from the private sector. A recent report from Macquarie, the investment bank, pegged earnings growth for Singapore-listed water-treatment companies like Epure and Hyflux, which target the China market, at between 37 and 40 percent over the next three years.

The hottest investment bets include companies engaged in desalination, recycling or infrastructure, which have the highest margins and potential profit growth. Utilities are less attractive, because water prices anywhere are usually regulated by the government and not subject to market conditions. Dieter Küffer, a senior portfolio manager with Sustainable Asset Management in Zurich—which has the second biggest water fund in the world, worth $1.6 billion—says: "We think earnings growth in water stocks overall will be 14 percent over the next five years, and Asian water-stock growth will be 50 to 100 percent.''

Investors pouring money into water funds may find, as they say in China, double happiness. The stocks themselves have had a good run. But investing in sustainability may have a larger payoff. Many economists now see environmental issues as the biggest stumbling block to continued fast growth in Asia. Already, Beijing estimates economic losses due to water shortages at $25 billion a year. Investors buying into liquid assets could help secure Asia's larger economic future.
© 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20226748/site/newsweek/

© 2007 MSNBC.com

Newsweek: Jaycee Chan

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MSNBC.com
Newsweek.com

Jaycee Chan (Jackie's Son) Finds His Rhythm
Jaycee Chan, Jackie's son, is set to become a film star with 'The Drummer.' But all he wants is to play music.

By Alexandra A. Seno
Newsweek International

Aug. 6, 2007 issue - Jaycee Chan was filled with apprehension. He was in a hotel room trying to film a love scene for his new movie, "The Drummer," and it wasn't going smoothly. "'Wah, with 50 people staring, how can I do the job right?' " he recalls thinking. He had already banished his famous father, Jackie, from the set; the action star was passing the time in the bar downstairs, singing karaoke. Eventually the younger Chan found his groove and aced the scene. "At first there was a lot of pressure," he says. "Now I don't care." But audiences will: Chan, 24, gives a mesmerizing performance in "The Drummer," in which he plays a crime boss's troubled son who is transformed by Zen drumming. "I think Jaycee is going to be a very, very good actor," says Hong Kong upstart Kenneth Bi, the film's director and writer. "He's got stuff going on."

That's putting it mildly. This summer Chan stars in no fewer than three major Asian films. In addition to the independent "The Drummer"— scheduled to premiere at Switzerland's Locarno International Film Festival in August—Chan plays a Hong Kong cop in "Invisible Target," a crowd-pleasing police thriller out this month. And he shows up as a young man having an illicit love affair during the Cultural Revolution in Jiang Wen's Venice Film Festival entry, "The Sun Also Rises." "Jaycee's friends couldn't believe this is the guy that they know," says Jiang, one of mainland China's most respected directors. "He gave a wonderful performance."

Chan manages to deflect comparisons to his father mainly by avoiding martial-arts roles. In fact, his first love is music. Growing up in Hong Kong, he would start dancing any time he heard a Michael Jackson song. As a teenager attending private school and then college in the United States, he wrote his own songs, and he eventually dropped out of the College of William & Mary in Virginia to return home and pursue a music career. More than anything, Chan, who plays drums, guitar and piano, thinks of himself as an aspiring recording artist. He readily admits that he plunged into the film industry three years ago because the Asian public expects singers to make movies (and actors to release CDs). Although he is delighted with the good reviews his acting has earned, the singing-idol wanna-be sees a downside: "Sometimes I feel I may be a better actor than a singer," he says wistfully.

Chan lives with his dad, and readily acknowledges that his genealogy has opened some doors. (His Taiwanese mother, Lin Feng-jiao, was a film star in the 1970s and 1980s.) "It's pretty nice having a dad like him," says Jaycee. Jackie, who also has a minor singing career, expects his son to make his own decisions and supports him but gives him space. The younger Chan is acutely aware that he'll have to deliver the goods if he wants to make it on his own. His film career began with roles in escapist commercial fare, like 2004's "The Huadu Chronicles," an adventure story. In 2005, Chan wrote the music for and starred in the drama "2 Young," a small film about a teenage relationship that first won him notice as a serious actor.

Bi wrote the script for "The Drummer" specifically with Chan in mind. He pursued the actor relentlessly for the pivotal role, even after an initial rejection. Bi, himself the son of Hong Kong movie personalities, finally won over the young star by selling him on how the role would push his boundaries. "We made him do things he had not done before," says the director. The film is set to be his breakthrough, the first time an entire movie has rested on his acting skills. For the part of the young urban thug on the run from Hong Kong mobsters, Chan—who speaks excellent Mandarin and Cantonese as well as very good English—threw himself wholeheartedly into full days of rigorous training with drummers near Taipei.

Despite good early feedback on "The Drummer," Chan clearly cannot wait to get back to composing songs. Though critics savaged his only recording attempt so far—a self-titled CD released in Hong Kong in 2004—Chan remains undeterred. He relishes the chance to express himself musically and loves the pressure of knowing that everything depends on him: the music, the lyrics, the vocals. Chan describes his style as "Mandarin alternative folk," something that he believes most locals simply don't get. But he is firm in his faith that his sound will have a following in Taiwan and China. He acknowledges that "it is different from the music in Hong Kong," where tastes tend to favor romantic ballads and processed pop songs with catchy hooks.

Chan, who is known in Cantonese as Fong Jo-ming, hopes to take a break from acting in a few months to finish that long-planned second album. Meanwhile, he is also busy running a small candy company called Rio Active Mints. He started it a few months ago with two friends from outside the entertainment industry. The venture suits him perfectly. "I want to do business because I want to try new things," says the singer-actor. And with that, the budding entrepreneur produces a small tin of the candies and passes them around.

© 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

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Newsweek: Chris Roberts Q&A

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Classical Music's Digital Future
The chairman of Universal's Decca classical-music label talks about how classical has bucked the recording industry’s downward trend.
WEB EXCLUSIVE
By Alexandra A. Seno
Newsweek International

July 30, 2007 issue - The Internet is transforming the entertainment industries. The music industry has been particularly hard hit by the illegal downloading and is struggling as sales of CDs decline. But the classical music industry appears to be benefiting from the “long tail” effect—as a niche industry, it’s been able to exploit the Internet to broaden its audience and boost its bottom line. Christopher Roberts, chairman of Decca Label Group, the classical unit of Universal—the world’s biggest music company—spoke with NEWSWEEK’s Alexandra A. Seno about how the business is evolving. Excerpts:

NEWSWEEK: What types of music sounds best on portable digital devices?
Christopher Roberts: Consistent dynamics and an intimate sound—that often means baroque works, early music pieces, chamber music and solo instrumental music. These types of music do better digitally than they would ordinarily on CD.

Universal Music’s classical labels have had a great deal of success using digital because it presents a new way for us to present classical music and the younger generation of artists. Helene Grimaud, Janine Jansen, Lang Lang and Anna Netrebko have all had a great deal of success in the digital medium. In addition, certain great recordings by recognized artists such as Karajan, Solti, Barenboim and others, of the most popular works (Mozart’s Requiem, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony) also sell extremely well online.

Furthermore, success breeds success in digital, due to the presence of the charts on iTunes and other digital services as key drivers for sales. Placement and continued strong chart positioning drive digital sales, perhaps even more than in the traditional [retail] business.

According to Nielsen SoundScan, sales of classical music rose 22 percent in 2006 versus a decline of 5 percent for total album sales. Why did this happen?
Classical is not as subject to piracy, and also not as popular for track-by-track sales digitally, which erodes full album sales in more youth-oriented genres. Many people on the Internet are browsing on iTunes and other digital services with few clear ideas of what to buy. They are open to suggestion. They are not necessarily obsessed with any one genre of music. Digital encourages experimentation. When you see Lang Lang right next to Toby Keith and 50 Cent on the main page of iTunes, all of those artists get a chance to reach the consumer. It is not so odd for people to have an interest in Beethoven concertos as well as hip-hop and alternative rock, and that can only be a good thing for the development of our society and our performing arts.

Have young, good-looking artists like pianist Lang Lang and opera singer Nicole Cabell helped create new audiences for classical?
Younger artists like Nicole Cabell, Lang Lang and others move a consumer on the edges of classical music toward purchasing, especially given how easy it is to do online, with the close proximity of these artists to those from other, more traditionally mainstream genres.

Strong images from these artists certainly help, but perhaps not in the way that many people think. The paradox of digital is that, although space is theoretically unlimited, it is harder to browse through that infinite space. People want to be guided, to [be helped in finding] what they are looking for.

It is a myth that these young artists online are really converting nonclassical listeners into rabid classical fans. Instead, they help to move the listener at the edges of classical music front and center into the genre, to take a chance and listen. If you don’t like opera, you will probably not like Nicole Cabell, Anna Netrebko or Rolando Villazon. But if you see a singer who appeals to you, never mind an opera singer, but simply a singer, then you might be moved to take a chance, and that expands our marketplace for classical in a very powerful way.

Every few years, we read about the demise of classical music. What do you think of this?
Classical music may not always be in the mainstream, but a certain audience for it always exists, and always will. Fresh waves of new talent, new artists and composers, and new musical perspectives are always flowing in continually and keep classical music invigorated. The digital medium has breathed new life into classical music by bringing in audiences who might be generally interested but not specifically knowledgeable about classical music into the fold, turning them into classical buyers by breaking down the glass walls that tended to separate the classical section from the rest of a record store.

Do you release any classical music in digital-only format?
Yes, we currently have several unique digital-only concepts and products. Our DG and Decca Concerts series uses the speed and flexibility of the Internet to give people round the world the opportunity to attend [virtual] concerts in some of the world’s best concert halls with the world’s leading orchestras.

We also engage in digital-only catalog releases that take advantage of the unique opportunities of the digital medium. We are reissuing vast amounts of our back catalog that have long been unavailable at retail—even resurrecting entire labels like Argo and L’Oiseau Lyre—with digital as a driving force due to infinite shelf space and the much-discussed promise of the “long tail.”

We are also creating album concepts such as “The Works” which would not be possible in the physical world. Together with the editor in chief of Gramophone Magazine, we have put together the most critically acclaimed performances in the DG catalog of 10 of the most popular classical works as separate “albums” of varying length and at fair prices, no matter whether they would fill an entire physical CD or not. Released last month, these albums are currently dominating the top 20 of the iTunes Classical album chart, and they are only available digitally.

Is digital classical-music marketing different than traditional classical-music marketing?
Marketing is marketing—it really doesn’t matter whether it results in a digital or physical sale. Marketing in online or offline can result in a sale online or offline. There are some differences between digital and physical marketing, mostly to do with the fundamental nature of the Internet: infinite space and limited computer-screen size. The marketing of classical music for digital sale is driven extensively by positioning with the digital services. Because visible digital space is limited by the size of your computer screen, and other choices are only a mouse click away, you need to draw the audience in quickly, to draw attention to an artist, to urge the audience to experiment, and to discover more.
© 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

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Newsweek: The Long Tail of Classical Music

Classical Music's Digital Comeback
Digital downloads over the Internet are helping purveyors of classical music stage an encore.
By Alexandra Seno
Newsweek International

July 30, 2007 issue - Classical music hardly seems like a growth business. We're forever reading about how concert audiences are graying, and new artists must flounce around fiddling in tank tops and platform heels to get attention (think Vanessa-Mae and the gals from Bond). In fact, classical music is doing a lot better than you might think. Although total sales in all music categories (on- and offline) fell 5 percent last year, classical sales grew by a whopping 22 percent. "When I talk to people in the industry, everyone is making money," says Klaus Heymann, chairman of Naxos, the world's biggest independent classical-music company, based in Hong Kong.

So why are Heymann and his peers singing such a different tune? Because classical retailers have been the best at exploiting the potential of online revenue. The biggest companies of the classical genre are now earning about 20 percent of sales from digital music, double or triple the average for other categories. This is a tremendous advantage for them, as selling music in the digital format can be twice as profitable as it is offline. The bottom line: while this may well be one of the worst years for music sales in general since charts were started in the 1960s, most classical labels expect revenue to continue to rise.

Classical music has proved to be ideal for the digital-music era. The complex and subtle nature of the recordings makes them tough to pirate; the classical customer is technologically savvy and more likely to buy in bulk, and the viral nature of the Net has allowed the music to be heard by new audiences, fueling overall sales. "The classical-music sector has done a very good job of maximizing the opportunity of the Internet," notes Mark Mulligan, a digital music analyst at Forrester Research.

It's all part of the "Long Tail" theory of cybercommerce, in which companies do a good business selling a few units of many, many things. Many other musical genres still follow the traditional "big hits" business model: 80 percent of revenue coming from 20 percent of inventory (that's why labels generally push a few artists very hard). Classical is different—consumers like to geek out on niche recordings, reveling in different versions of the same work or finding obscure versions of well-known pieces. Of the 146,031 tracks offered by Naxos online, about half have sold only 10 units or less. Still, that was enough to push digital revenues to a quarter of the company's total $82 million in sales for 2006, increasing profitability and helping offset a decline in offline sales. Heymann, a serious classical buff who started the company 20 years ago, says, "We could live very comfortably if from tomorrow we never sold another CD."

Indies like Naxos have been the most aggressive online, but even at Decca Label Group, the classical division of Universal, the world's largest music company, the digital-music business now contributes a fifth of sales. This is in part because illegal peer-to-peer file sharing hasn't hit classical music at all, a sharp contrast to the way it has decimated the pop industry. Low-quality tracks, which are often uploaded as smaller files on networks like LimeWire and Gnutella, aren't a problem when you want to listen to relatively banal stuff like Britney. But they don't cut the mustard for complex orchestral compositions by Bach—the nuances and length of such pieces make them much tougher to share via peer-to-peer. Classical also benefits from the fact that most users want to buy an entire album, rather than a single or two. They may also want to download the liner notes, background on the artists, the recording venue, the composer, etc. A pop song can be enjoyed for 99 cents, while a piece of classical music will likely cost more than $10.

Of course, none of this will save the recording industry from its larger problems. Classical-music sales are about a fourth the size of country's, and barely 10 percent of rock's. Still, the success of companies like Naxos have provided a case study in how to optimize profits with the Long Tail. "Joan Tower: Made in America," a Naxos recording of the U.S. composer's work conducted by Leonard Slatkin of the National Symphony Orchestra, held the No. 1 slot on last month's classical charts. That meant selling merely tens of thousands of copies, but given that online production and distribution costs are so low, the recording is on its way to becoming one of this year's most profitable items.

The lesson for labels is that prepackaging global pop stars isn't the only way to profitability, and the result might be more exposure for a broader number of artists and more diversity for consumers. EMI digitalized some of its rare historical recordings by the late opera great Maria Callas, and Decca is resurrecting long-extinct labels like Argo and L'Oiseau Lyre in downloadable format.

At the same time, some industry watchers believe digital might also help create more classical megastars. Witness the rise of Lang Lang, a young, spiky-haired Chinese pianist who topped iTunes' charts in mid-May. The fact that he ended up on iTunes' main page helped push sales of his new album, "Beethoven Piano Concertos Nos. 1 & 4," even further into the top 15 of the general iTunes charts. "When you see Lang Lang right next to Toby Keith and 50 Cent, all of those artists get a chance to reach the consumer," notes Christopher Roberts, chairman of Decca, which produced the album.

Meanwhile, labels are working on the next big digital challenge—how to let consumers search a really, really Long Tail of recordings. Mike McGuire, vice president of Gartner Industry Advisory Research in the United States, notes that virtually all systems of organizing online music data were "designed for three-minute pop or rock songs." Finding a particular piece of Spanish piano music composed between 1850 and 1920, or looking for multiple movements that add up to a single title requires more-sophisticated technology. That's something Naxos developed for its own businesses, but is far from the current standard of popular digital-music retailers. The upside of this is that the digital revolution has given smaller labels like Naxos yet another way to level the playing field—by selling or licensing their own proprietary technology. Niche search technology is one of the hottest areas of technology development at the moment. A classical label that can score on that front may find its audience—and its sales—get a lot, lot bigger.
© 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

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Newsweek: "Along the River During the Qingming Festival"

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A Rare Look at 'China's Mona Lisa'

A Hong Kong exhibit offers a rare glimpse of the 12th-century masterpiece known as 'China's Mona Lisa.'

By Alexandra A. Seno

Newsweek International

July 16, 2007 issue - Even among the stuffy bureaucrats in Beijing, the Song dynasty ink-on-silk painting "Along the River During the Qingming Festival" has an affectionate nickname: "China's Mona Lisa." Though it's a landscape, not a portrait, "Qingming" has a mysterious allure that has captivated the popular imagination and spawned debate about its hidden meaning, much like da Vinci's fabled work. But unlike the "Mona Lisa," which is on view at the Louvre, "Qingming" has been seen only rarely by members of the public.

Now's their big chance. The stunning 12th-century work by the court artist Zhang Zeduan is making its first appearance outside the mainland as the star attraction of "The Pride of China," an exhibit of 32 important paintings from Beijing's Palace Museum (through Aug. 11) marking the 10th anniversary of Hong Kong's return to Chinese control. The five-meter-long "Qingming" scroll—named after the spring holiday for honoring ancestors—features more than 800 figures, 28 boats and 170 trees in a buzzing waterside city.

It captures scenes of everyday life in finely wrought detail: traders lead camels, heavy with merchandise, through the city gate. Sedan-chair bearers balance wealthy passengers through busy streets. Children scream for attention while elders engage in chitchat. Stevedores unload sacks of food from boats. A woman's laundry hangs from a roof. " 'Qingming' is a great ambassador for Chinese culture," says Maxwell Hearn, curator of Chinese painting at New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, who recently visited Hong Kong in connection with the exhibit. "It has enormous popular appeal. You don't have to understand calligraphy, brush painting, poetry or symbolism which infuses so much of Chinese art with meaning. It is about humanity."

As an imperial treasure originally meant for the pleasure of the emperor and select members of his court, "Qingming" has always been inaccessible to the masses—which has only strengthened its appeal. Since the time of its creation in the 12th century, the artwork's fame has spread mainly through stories in books and poems. Pu Yi, the last Chinese emperor, took the scroll with him when he left the Forbidden City in the 1920s. The painting was missing until it was found in a bank vault in the 1950s.

Now tea-colored with age, the scroll is considered too delicate to go on permanent exhibit. Beijing's regulations allow it to be on view for only three weeks at a time, after which it must be retired to the vault for years. But like all important Chinese works of art, it has been much replicated, ensuring that the public knows well what it looks like. In fact, one such 16th-century "fake" by Qiu Ying will take the place of the original Song piece during the second half of the Hong Kong show, beginning July 23.

In addition to its esthetic qualities, "Qingming" continues to fascinate because of what it celebrates: "a prosperous, urban state from the perspective of the working class," says University of Hong Kong art historian Yeewan Koon. The painting clearly depicts great Chinese achievements of the time—including innovations in architecture and engineering, as evidenced by a wooden bridge without piers and a variety of vessels designed to transport goods and people. "Qingming" also prominently illustrates trade in wine and grain, which were monopolies of the emperor and represent his control. The painting shows people from all strata of society thriving in a place held together by a sense of order and unseen powers. For Hong Kong, 10 years after reverting to mainland rule, that makes "China's Mona Lisa" an especially relevant guest.

© 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

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