If one walks through the Egyptian collection at Met, he or she can easily get lost. There are too many terms from timeline (three major periods with three intermediate periods) to gods (names, relations, shapes, symbolism) to texts. There seems to be endless items to go through in one afternoon. On the other hand, he or she can also get confused. The block statues, to laymen’s eyes, look almost the same for 4000 years spans. The paintings, in a similar way, vary little in techniques or subjects. Who are these Egyptians behind all these civilization remains? Are they technically superior but religiously stupid? All these questions remain unanswered from those museum visit unless there is a comprehensive guide about the Egyptians themselves.

Barbara Mertz’s book “Red Land, Black Land – Daily Life in Ancient Egypt”, if not authoritative with certain existing collection (luckily it is not), brings readers vivid and complete pictures of the people that create all these wonders. It is riveting and humorous sometimes. But most importantly, it is not a book written in a rigid scholarly way that most readers fail to pass page 10 or would not bother until a certain interesting object is related to some sections. In fact, I have found it so charming that it is hard to put it down without completing reading it.

That reflects what most of the Egyptian collections books fail to please a general public. Narration of objects without elaborating the creators behind is seldom intriguing. In modern and contemporary fields, artists shine in front of their artworks. Even back to Renaissance period, those big names are well studied and understood. But in ancient Egypt, artists, architects or scribes were commoners who left no personal trace. Thus it is easy to forget to recognize them as a whole. But Barbara brings us a clear picture of a society in hierarchical steps: pharaohs, priests, officials, soldiers, artists, peasants and even prisoners. The objects created by or for these individuals thus can be explained within a richer social context.

Some passages are well written and may deal with the fundamental human feelings, needs and pleasure. Female readers may find the beginning part about the songs for the dead children or childbirth is touching. Male readers may envy the fact that beer was abundant in ancient Egypt even for the kids and they may even try to google “King Tut’s” beer that is supposedly produced by ancient technique and ingredients. (Did I say fundamental needs there?)

While the book starts from descriptions of daily life of an ordinary family, it ends in climax chapters about gods, mummies and death topics that are more related to the kings and nobles. These chapters are great introduction for further study of any particular period or object because Barbara not only tells us how the styles changed, but also clear pictures of how certain objects are made (what material, what procedure, how long, etc). The making of mummies will definitely interest a reader, but then the same reader may be disappointed by what a real “book of the dead” is. (The twisted definitions in Hollywood movies may cause Barbara to write another book!) Overall, the reading will demystify Egyptian arts and make readers clearly understand what they see in the museums are solely created by needs, desires or responsibilities.

No Egyptologist would not be stubborn about what they believe, but Barbara, who has seen controversies over most of the subjects, at least brings the readers aware of what she believes and what other interpretative possibilities. But the strength of the book can also be a little overdone when several contradictory options are presented in great length. At certain areas such as the fights between Re and Orisis, readers are left with no clear pictures of what the scenarios should be.

Do I want to experience the ancient Egyptian life? I asked myself in the end. Probably not, even if I were an Egyptologist. It is much more enjoyable to experience their life from Barbara’s book than reality.

On the third night that Michael Tilson Thomas and his San Francisco Symphony Orchestra took the stage of Carnegie Hall, the program fell back into conventional: a compact symphony by Knussen preludes Beethoven 9.

Knussen’s symphony has extremely crafted texture and colors: strings either contributed ghostly tremolos or chopped abruptly with percussion-wise sound. It is dichotomic madness, hysteria contrasting with ominous despair.

With the same sensibility, MTT brought a full house of a meticulous or even a little bit fastidious performance of Beethoven Sym. No 9. San Francisco was such a refined orchestra, nevertheless they didn’t let the leash loose. The impulse that propels the first movement contained more calculation than necessary that the main themes built up its affirmative voice convincingly yet not spontaneously. The second movement was played with delicate balance and clarity. At the end of the balcony, I could hear the interplay between different sections. Still it feels laborious rather than a natural burst of unstopping music flow.

MTT with his orchestra was at his best in the meditative orchestra. The lyrical slow movements of late Beethoven are always miracles. There is no violent harmony yet the melody has lasting yearnings that stirs deep in the heart and disquiet the serenity on the surface. Giving up the traditional structure that emphasized the theatrical divergence, Beethoven mapped a series of variation that channeled the profound of moods from one to another with nuance and surprise that words fail to describe. MTT elaborated the variations with seamless transitions and progressed into the point that the inner anxiety confronts with a longing for heroism. The first violin brought me the same extreme experience as I had before when hearing late Beethoven: an almost forlorn cry under the tremendous open space of tranquility.

The last movement is almost fail-proof with massive orchestra tutti and grand chorale. But New York Chorus Artists gave a strong performance of the finale. I only wish that I had never heard it before and could enjoy such stunning music with fresh ears and mind.

It is as hard to imagine music without late Beethoven as to understand why they were so cherished when I was younger. My tastes in fine art appreciation, in retrospective, seem to follow a similar route. Late Beethoven has forlorn the grandeur discourse and exceptional prowess, instead he expressed a sense of instability that roots deep in everyone’s heart and a yearning for something so tangible that words fail to describe yet so indisputable that no one will fail to associate it with his own memory. The music itself migrates from dramatic, theatrical and developmental to relational, parallel and digressive, thus there is a greater sense of freedom in both forms and material that liberates minds from rules and convention.

In the second movement of his 12th string quartet, Op 127 in E-flat major, the variations of two different themes - one thoroughly sober and earnest, the other with a touch of folksong lightness – eventually bring the two seemingly irreconcilable melodies together. It has never failed to touch me, but strangely each listening seems to recall some remote memory and emotion totally differently. To me it encompasses such tremendous human feelings that by flowing through one to another the music triggers the most profound responses from listeners.

Beethoven was especially fond of variation in his late period. Through variations, he has found a limitless ways of exploring music elements and personal moods aesthetically and intellectually. The way regular sonatas work, by emphasizing contrasts between fast and slow, heroic and serene, although effective in immediately captivating and familiarizing audiences, fails to provide an infinite degrees of subtleties in human feelings.

These, by far, can also reflect how I view the advancement from Hudson River School to Tonalism in the second half of 19th century in America. The tonalism school painters abandoned the ideas that paintings as a another medium for moral rhetoric or intellectual prowess. The landscape should not be idealized for the sake of grandeur; similarly the technique should not be polished to eliminate traces of human labor. Above all, they focused on expressing the utmost deep emotions for themselves. They accepted the brush strokes as a way of earnest yearning for something unattainable by just imaging or portraying the likeness. If Frederic Church, in his magnificent canvas, showed what god sees America, tonalism painters humbly yet non-hesitatingly told how they felt of the surroundings themselves.

It is said Beethoven composed his middle period string quartets with the ideal listeners in his mind; but his late quartets, with extreme forms, sonority and harmony, were written for his own silent world. Upon the manuscript of his Missa Solemnis in D major, he wrote the following words: From the heart! May it go back to the heart!

Thus, I feel a kind of intimacy in front of small paintings by those Barbizon and Tonalism painters even though they may be dark toned, even toned or indistinct, for I know these are the treasured memories from the hearts. After all, no matter how splendid the landscape may be, it only lasts emotionally in one’s heart.

The other day, I put the new bought Glenn Gould CD into the player and was ready for challenges from his intellectual and aesthetic aptitude.

But to my surprise, it was the least contrapuntal sound from the eccentric pianist. Instead of speaking multiple voices with puncture, emphasis, tension and release, Glenn Gould was conversing amicably. If he revolutionized Bach with irresistible romanticism, he was conventional and at home when it comes to Late Brahms.

Not accidentally, the other performance that I greatly appreciate is from Kempff, who played with equal clarity and simplicity. Kempff inserted more space into the brooding music, and those moments of silence are as magic and effective as music notes. His rare capability of articulation and succinctness matches the sober melancholy of meditative Brahms. At his best, the playing, even at the highest point of crispy clear and crystal pure, sounds just pianissimo.  

Gould provided me a slightly more abstract interpretation. The syncopation from both hands, a little bit odd at the very beginning, came natural and harmonious. It is as if Gould was conversing with Brahms at ease, both soft spoken and both humble and reserved; but soon the voices merge into one. Whether it is Gould is submerged in Brahms thoughts or Brahms finds his soul mate for his final discourse, I didin't know. I only knew, thought it was still warm, the mood had changed into autumnal.

The other side of the East River

I hear the tides of the Sound

Leaves whistling, flowers trembling

and brown stones shimmering at twilight

Everything is quivering,

like struck by a Cupid's arrow

mellowing out in sweet sorrow

Lights off

and on

Lady Columbia puts on her night gown

in a gossamer of Cabernet Sauvigon

A nightingale sings

through the darkness of the Ravine

intoxicating Broken Land

Recently there are more times than I can realize that I speak of Brooklyn, the borough where I live, not only because it is huge in terms of both land and population, but also because I feel strong sense that Brooklyn should be differentiated from Manhattan, which people associate with fast-pace life-style of rude and indifferent trendy people.

Based on Kenneth Jackson, the professor and scholar at Columbia University, as many as a quarter of all Americans can trace their ancestry to people who once lived in Brooklyn's 81 square miles. It is here that I began to learn of Dutch Colonial living and expanded my knowledge of Victorian architecture, because the borough, with its more than 400 neighborhoods provides the best textbook ever for anyone who wants to indulge in American culture and history.

Non-Brooklynians can hardly appreciate Brooklyn, partly because the name itself brings ones of the dusty memories of industry declination and racial strife & violence, partly because there is simply a more glittering attraction on the other side of the East River. (Carey in Sex and City moaned that even the cabs don’t go to Brooklyn. Well she is wrong.

Sitting here facing Prospect Park, I wonder how the course of my antique and art interest would have meandered if I were living in Manhattan. First of all, the apartment would be much smaller. Thus what can be deployed around the rooms would have to be more limited. (A recent article from NY Times actually mentioned some yuppies’ happy story ending in Brooklyn Heights where they hosted parties in such “roomy” space that made their Manhattan friends jealous.) Secondly, it will certainly change what "should" be collected.

Of course any object, as long as size permits, can fit in rooms of any style. The question is whether it is appropriate or what is appropriate?

What is an appropriate style for Manhattan apartments? I don’t have a firm opinion on that.

As much I am energized (or sometimes annoyed) by the crowd in the city, as I am sometimes tired of its somewhat ominous architecture. The architectural history of modern Manhattan is a history of negation, a denial of the value of past, a murder of aesthetic souls. (Having said that, I do think the gruesome demolishing of architectural gems in Manhattan--and sometimes saving them-- is what makes New York New York.)

From my observation, buildings of around the 1920’s in the Upper West still bears an aroma that is reminiscent of Edith Wharton’s New York ambience. (Oh well, why should I talk about the places of super rich!) But the apartment complex built from 1930’s onward in the Upper East look less cheer. I can still hang some 19^th century paintings or use a drop-leaf empire table, but it is impossible that passing those rows of apartment buildings void of individuality would not have any effect on my mind. Maybe I would select Ashcan school works since their fondness of observing ugliness of urban livings and their voyeur topic may inspire me to peek into the concrete jungles around.

It is not accidental that modern art galleries flourish in lower Manhattan neighborhoods such as Chelsea, the sleek and inhuman metal feeling of the furniture and the abstract visual art would match those long and narrow condos which were converted from warehouses. The same degree of negation of the past in those super rough or super smooth modern paintings and the sheer color and surface of the modern furniture are the natural choice for lower Manhattan. The crowds are young and 60’s and 70’s furnishing and art have influenced them from their youth. What would I choose if I had lived there? I would say my own works. Don’t I deserve 15 minutes’ of fame?

Heinz Hall yesterday was literally sold out yesterday because of the star fiddler Joshua Bell. The concert featured Samuel Barber, John Corigliano and Modest Mussorgsky (orchestrated by Maurice Ravel). The center piece is the concerto “the Red Violin” which enjoyed its Pittsburgh premiere yesterday night.

The new designated principal guest conductor Leonard Slatkin is known an expert for American repertoire, who has left some defining performance for Charles Ives and Aaron Copland. But his control of texture and breadth works the best with Samuel Barber. The second essay for orchestra sounded at once meticulous and intimate. Barber’s immense romanticism and lyricism may sound anachronous in the 30’s and 40’s; yet when people begin to look back from the 21th century, Samuel Barber filled in the position that transitioned the European grand style into American’s own cosmopolitan sound. In the second essay, the melodies were woven with scintillating humorous bursts. The concluding fanfare from the majestic third theme was almost Wagnerian. Under Slatkin’s baton, such climax was both anticipated yet astounding.


John Corigliano gave a long talk about his works, which although bears the name of the corresponding movie, is much complicated than the original soundtrack. It is true the music in the movie “the Red Violin” was one of the most important elements, but nonetheless the music took a more supportative role while here the music has to stand alone and justify itself.

John Corigliano is a powerful composer. Within 30 minutes, audience can hear different characters, different techniques, different orchestration yet the solo sections themselves would enchant even Paganini. The Anna's theme slides up the scales and then curls around gently the beautiful melody, almost like yearning. In particular, when such melody reappeared in the third movement, it almost bears an irresistible melancholy as if from a traditional repertoire in the romanticism period.

But in the whole, I felt the opposite. John Corigliano built the skeleton based on the Chaconne structure which takes the lower register from the powerful brass. It swept through the whole orchestra makes the solo violin almost inaudible. His tendency of using percussion (especially those of indefinite pitch) disintegrated the piece into patches, each of which enjoyed its own moment of energy, sweetness or sorrow; yet none can survived in the gulping power of those scorching noise. Even a piano, a celesta and harp were mainly used for percussion effect, which in the end was submerged with the violin sound.

While the second movement was interesting and unique, a fleeting effect with uncommon harmony; the last movement brought the whole piece together. The main racing melody with string crunches started the movement and the initial Chaconne sealed in the end with a wood block. In the middle of the last movement, another romantic melody surfaced up from the solo violin. It was Mahlerian, dream-like sensitive, but again it was only a sparkle, gave in when the modernity poured in. It was at the time that I realize that there is more Charles Ives than Samuel Barber in John Corigiliano’s music.

The second half featured Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition”. The only way that I can think of to link the three works in one night’s program was that they were kind of all composed by gay composers. For the last one, there is more Maurice Ravel than Modest Mussorgsky.

Lawrence Loh said the piece was one of the top 25 most requested classical works, which translated in my mind, should be banned from the performance. Slatkin’s treatment of “the Old Castle” was more restrained, more or less coherent whole way through. But in the end, when drums, timpani, triangle, cymbal all shone out of the orchestra, I was bored and unmoved. The beautiful promenade has been abused and cheaply used.

It was not the sentimentality but the orchestration that failed to impress me. The piano version by Mussorgsky was more suggestive than descriptive; yet Ravel masterful orchestration with sensational usage of brass and wood section leaves no room for brooding. Music should be not commensurate as literature or paintings. It is more abstract, more mind-malleable than any other art form.

In 1958, Richter played Pictures at an Exhibition in the legendary Sofia recital. The piano sound was poorly recorded, not to mention lack of the variety of texture as in the orchestra version. He played the Gnomus with such extreme violence. But such staggering struggle to bring about the anger and the unfair added additional credibility for his performance. True, Ravel brought up condiments, but also he buried down psychological meaning underneath.

After the pastel workshop by Kevin Mclatchy at Hoyt Institute of Art, I didn’t create anything satisfying. It is hard to concentrate when you know you have to finish something within one and half hours and it is even harder if you try to do a landscape painting from places which do not inspire you. Nevertheless, the workshop was quite useful for future practices.

Mr. Mclatchy picked up pastel after he took a workshop from Wolf Kahn. The immediacy of the medium and Kahn’s landscape style which lingers between representational and abstract inspired him to work on the medium for the past twelve years.

“You know the nice thing about pastel is that the values are already there. You just have to pick one.” He commented. “In oil, you don’t have such advantages.” Value is his emphasis in the workshop. He first instructed everyone to mass in white, gray and black in order to understand the shape and relationship. At that time, I wished there would be a digital camera so that I could take pictures in B&W! It was very hard for me to filter out all the color information or convert colors into grayscale.


In his demonstration, he didn’t sketch in detail: No scale calculation, no compositional planning, and no value drawing. He simply started drawing a few lines for the tree trunk, his main object in the middle of the paper and felt how to evolve afterwards. There arose at times myths where those lines ended in relationship to others, which seemed not only puzzled me but also the artist. But he quickly moved along and decided, at the same time when he was drawing, which direction to go. The more pastel pigments he laid down, the more specific the subject became, and the more clearly how the myth was going to be solved.

Unfortunately, his contemporary style didn’t fit in most of the reference books with traditional approach in minds. When I tried to mimic his style: loose strokes, scribbling lines, and most of all drawing with energy, the fundamental rules were totally forgotten. Colors are not strengthening each other, light and shade lose their suggestive meaning and layers of pastel soon dulled the Canson paper.

In his book, Wolf Kahn says artists should not paint with insights, but with instincts. Yet in workshop, insights and habits can be described and taught, yet instincts, fleeting like light, are indescribable. Kahn said it won’t work if one focuses too much on those rules. Great art comes out of artist’s hands and mind undisturbed by those established laws; although it is true that afterwards one may find those underlining rules, while never been sensed consciously during the creation of the work, do apply to it or even contribute to its success.

Such statements, which philosophizes the creation of art work, can hardly be applied to amateurs, who are as hard to remember those rules (composition, color, balance, etc) as for artists to forget them. Pragmatic tips can be better grasped in workshops, although it is true some of Kevin's metaphorical instruction may be understood a few years later as I progress (if only I could still remember what he said by then).

But he did not force everyone to make some changes and try to show demonstration directly on participant’s work. Instead he tried to understand from everyone’s perspective and then gave some suggestions. This is really what I appreciated from the workshop. As a student of Kahn, Mr. McLatchy values the spirit of exploration. Kahn once suggests that once one begins to grasp, he should stop immediately and move on to something new. Otherwise, he falls into the trap of painting by habits. (I asked Mr. Mclatchy what he thought of some old masters who repeatedly painted the same subject with perfection. He said some works may seem perfect, but lack of emotions and energy. )

Well, my pastel drawing is far from perfection after one day workshop, but it made me excited with the medium and inspired me to try more.

Kevin Mclatchy's website is here.

Here are the two tests that you may take it at lighter side.

"True or fake art" is a test based on modern and contemporary works. I scored 75 in this test.

"Famous or unknown artist " is a test with mostly impressionistic works. Although I scored another 75, two works that I identified as by Eisenhower were categorized into unknown artists group, which I disagree. (The second one by Eisenhower is an imitation of his teacher, Arnold Grabone, whom I am quite familiar with) So actually I only made one mistake in this test.

It is no accident for less-trained eyes to score higher in the second test. Impressionism's focus on primacy of colors can hardly be missed. But the eyes can be easily confused by abstract modern art works. Those whose eyes are used to tonal syntheses of paintings find their acuteness is hampered or dissipated in these wild concepts.

Knowing how to draw is no longer an absolute necessity for modern painters when personal expressions chooses succinctness and "true and tried" is violated with only the intention of violation.

The current bubble market of modern and contemporary art is largely due to a small circle of elite collectors, but also contributed to by the general public, who sense them in awe and mystery. The ambiguity of the works invites people to discover, and the pride stemming from "conquering" or "deciphering" conceptual works pleases them.

But this is true to all spectacular visual art works. They do not just interest people, they make people discover. Yet in representational works, the relationship of shapes, colors or deeper meanings are no less intriguing than those modern works. It is the general public who are fenced by their knowledge of terms and logic ( trees, lake, or horses) fail to recognize more, if not less, can be found from those works if they are willing to study them with the fresh minds and keen eyes. .

For me, paintings are meant to represent volume. In older masters' works, it means perspective; in modern era, it means depth. Rothko's minimalism works have tremendous depth because of their density, texture and scale. From the visible struggling and laborious strokes one is convinced by the credibility and complexity in works by De Kooning or Pollock. But when such depths disappear, as have often happened nowadays, modern art is squeeze into some special conceptualized taste, so that knowing who painted them is more important than seeing the works themselves.

Time: Sept 14-16

Place: Walnut Street, Pittsburgh, PA (between South Aiken Avenue and South Negley Avenue)

The best feature of the 10th Annual Art Festival on Walnut Street is that it is a juried show, which command the artists to balance between unique artistic inspiration and pop-market demand. (Sadly, the two sometimes do not converge.) Around 150 exhibitors will be presented.

Detailed information can be found at here.

It was the first time I went there for figure drawing. As the event coordinator Phil said, there was no model training in the pittsburgh area and the gallery is by his acknowledgement the only one in the metro area which both provide figure drawing session and model training at the same time. "The next closest one that you can find is in UK, but they only offer cerfiticate, not training." Phil said, "here you have the artists giving you suggestions and help."

The session lasts for three hours with a break in the middle featuring complimentry food and snacks. Today's model is Myron who has been modeling for more than seven years. He talked about his first experience (always difficult as one can imagine) and his most difficult session (3 minutes gesture drawing lasting for three hours at CMU, which exhausted him as much physically as mentally). "You see someone put a price tag of 800 dollars for a painting, you think wow, that is expensive." He commented, "but you know, to get to that level, there is a long way. And the price is really not that much if you appreciate all the efforts made through years." He said that with his body straight and tight and his eyes looking down pensively as if a flash of growth of artists came into his mind.

If you are interested in figure drawing, please contact with Phil Keniston at 412-600-1664. He can also be reached through email (figuresession@verizon.net).

Finally, after four classes from "I can't draw" art class offered by Carnegie Museum of Art, I drew a picture that was satisfying, both for the picture itself and my pet

The course is compact with five sessions emphasizing on contour drawing, gesture drawing, pespective, value and figure drawing. It is fun, especially when what you draw is NOT what you do to make a living; thus even mistakes can be taken as light as the vine charcoal.

Having been taken photos for the past few years, it was quite different experience when pictures are created not through camera lens. For me, taking pictures is like finding Eden. As what Thomas Cole once said, the wall that shuts us out of the garden is our ignorance and folly, thus photographing is a process of sifting uncessary for the pure and beauty. Drawing is opposite: nothing is there on the white paper. If Eden can be found through the lens, then drawing lifts the person to the state of almighty whose power creates the paradise.

More classes can be found here.

I heard from NPR four days ago that the Starbucks store inside the Forbidden City Museum (also called the Palace Museum) was closed because it undermined the “solemnity of the Forbidden City and (trampled on) Chinese culture”.

China’s national pride has grown as fast as its economy booms. However, even though such news was not totally unexpected, it still shocked me with its underlining extreme patriotism.

If the irrational impulse is to be peeled off from the above argument, the tradeoff of having a Starbucks store inside the most prestigious museum in China should be analyzed from both benefit and cost perspectives.

The benefit of having rest and snack stops can only be fully appreciated if one has been to the museum before. The Forbidden City Museum is about one kilometer long and 800 meters wide, with 9,999.5 rooms (of which I still haven’t figured out where the half room is) dispersed along a central axis and two symmetrical sides. It is a formidable task to explore such a palace complex in great detail. Most likely visitors are totally exhausted before they even reach the elegant Royal Garden on the other end. Starbucks provides refreshment like coffee and snacks, as do other convenient stores inside the museum. Such service is definitely not auxiliary, but necessary and indispensable.

Then, the next question is whether the addition of having the coffee shop has debased the preservation effort?

The museum is the pinnacle of Chinese architecture. After all, most of portable and valuable items had been shipped to Taiwan with Chiang Kai-shek’s retreat. Therefore, the preservation of the national heritage here should rely on the criteria that consider whether any addition has caused physical damage to the buildings or harmed the architectural integrity. Has Starbucks “sabotaged” visitors’ perception of history and antiquity? Probably not!

I have never seen the Starbucks store inside the museum because I left Beijing in 2002 when the Starbucks store was not open yet. But I could not imagine that the decoration of the store would be so imposing that it could not blend well into its surroundings. It is possible that the store had some stencil trademarks on the window, since the majority of snack and fast food products are consumed by the unexpected impetus when familiar signs are visually spotted.

One may argue the key point here is the authentic historical ATMOSPHERE which was ruined by the sign of Starbucks trademark. True, it used to a sacred place symbolizing imperialism, but not any more. And the museum can not be operated like Mount Vernon because essentially it is, just as its name indicated, a city. Nowadays the museum welcomes more than 20,000 visitors daily, among them 20% are foreigners. In other words, the museum not only preserves and records but also sells Chinese culture at the same time. If Starbucks should be forbidden because it is an American company, then should coffee be also eradicated too within the museum since none of the 24 emperors once lived there had coffee in their whole life? Should cell phones and iPods be prohibited to keep authenticity of antiquity? Or should all visitors drink water from a big water tank as people did two hundred years ago? The reasoning is ridiculous because the scope of preservation had been exaggerated to include such intangible measures that the convenience and comfortableness of visitors was sacrificed. After all, a cup of coffee or tea does help reinvigorate some visitors, why can’t the museum’s service be just a little bit more consumer friendly?

To answer such a question, it would be necessary and interesting to briefly review the history of Beijing’s preservation of culture heritage.

Before the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) took power in 1949, Beijing, which had been the capital for almost 500 years, was a masterpiece of Chinese architecture. It was surrounded by monumental city walls with nine gates to separate inner city and its suburbs. Those gates were of titanic structure, mostly with two or three floors. Jian Lou (pictured), with its grand base balanced with elegant eaves of pavilion canopies had not been equaled throughout the country. In fact, there were 47 such gates in the whole area with diverse variety in size and style. Yet only two gates have survived today and no single brick from the ancient city walls can be found in Beijing. In 1950’s China equated the number of chimneys and number of steel plants to the degree of industrialization and civilization. Sicheng Liang, the famous architect and the associate mayor was almost sent to prison for his advocate that Beijing be kept as what it was and like Washington, DC, no industry be developed within the city. Beijing government simply regarded the infrastructure of the city as too cumbersome. Therefore, the walls and gates, which had been treasured and kept even during the civil war period, was destroyed into rubble under succession of canon shots fired by the government troops.


The Cultural Revolution, which began in the year of 1965, is a catastrophe of Chinese cultural heritage. Fundamentally, it made more change mentally than geographically: No one dared to say history should be preserved even though some still cared. Among them Premier Zhou should be remembered forever for his determination and courage. On August 18, 1966, Chairman Mao interviewed with a group of Red Guards and encouraged them to “completely get rid of thousands of years of class exploitation caused by poisonous old thinking, old culture, old customs and old habits”. On the same night, Premier Zhou was informed that the Red Guards were planning to attack the Forbidden City, the symbol of Feudalism at that time. He immediately mandated an order to close the museum and sent a battalion of troops for protection. On the next day, no matter how the Red Guards shouted and threatened, museums staff refused to open the doors , whose gigantic size (10 meters tall) and astonishing solidity made the effort of sabotage trivial and nonsense. Eventually the doors had been closed for another 5 years, when the political reforms changed their focus from destroying places to torturing minds.

From 1980’s to the 1990’s, Beijing underwent a second round of city expansion and high-rise were unavoidable due to the pressure of increased population density. One of the problems is that the Forbidden City was not built for convenience and it resides in the heart of the city and blocks the traffic from going through directly. The city decided to build highways in a similar rectangle fashion as the museum. The one closest to the Forbidden City is called the Second Circle (since the rectangle circumference of the Forbidden City is regarded as the first one), the next outer layer the Third Circle. Today the city has expanded to its sixth circle. To keep the integrity of architecture within the Second Circle, no more skyscrapers would be allowed to build in case they overshadow the Forbidden City, the Great Hall of the People (similar to the capitol) and the monument in Tan’an Men Square. While the decision was well perceived and executed, the government went too far for strategic planning: Within the city limits on the top of all tall buildings should be built a traditional pavilion with a round canopy decorated with flying eaves and curving ridges. Local residents call them “Pencil Tip” because if viewed from faraway; those skyscrapers look like sharpened drawing pencils with varying girdles. (Unfortunately, the same type of mistakes has been made repeatedly by the Beijing Government: The non-experts administer and make decisions for the experts.) The result as a whole is so incongruent and bizarre that one feels the same ridicule as seeing a guy wearing a monk robe toped with an Armani suit.

Luckily, the Pencil Tip joke finally went up to the ears of decision makers although no mistakes were acknowledged. Surprisingly, the city decided to embrace fresh ideas of modernity and the Avant Garde flooded into the land which has been in a closeted mind o long.

The winning of the bid for Olympic Games in 2008 has made its permanent mark on the skyline of the ancient city: Currently, all big skyscrapers under construction were designed by foreigners, including the CCTV Headquarter building, the Bird Nest (official stadium for 2008 Olympics) and its companion Water Cube, and the National Grand Theatre which is built besides the Forbidden City.

Koolhaas’ singular and flamboyant design of CCTV Headquarter has been referred as “Wei Fang” (dangerous building, very likely to collapse) by the locals (Beijing is in a high seismic zone). It is eye-catching and mind-challenging at any angle because of its height and size; therefore it dominates the whole area and defying the symmetry and simplicity of the architecture in surrounding areas. Although Bird Nest and Water Cube are built far away north of the city, they are placed along the central axis line of Forbidden City where ironically the ancient gates, if still existed, would not be not too far away. The design of Bird Nest has been criticized as material-wasting because most of the steel beams, randomly nested above the stadium, were for aesthetic purpose only. Water Cube, with its dreaming bubble shell, brings such a challenging question that no expert has been able to answer yet: How to clean the irregular unevenly heaved and flattened surface of the whole stadium? (Beijing is so dusty that white collars put on their shirt only inside the office to avoid them get stinky on the road.)

But most of all, there stands the National Grand Theatre, a glossy, semi-transparent giant egg glittering in front of red walls of the Forbidden City. The project was initiated by the previous president of China, Zeming Jiang who is an ardent classical music fan. But the project had been postponed because of its monstrous initial budget, until Beijing became the host for 2008 Olympic Games. Suddenly all projects and budgets were well justified, and with the support of tax money collected from the whole country, luxury and extravagance are nothing but necessary. Paul Andreu, the architect, does have an eye for beauty, but probably not for harmony and efficiency. The building has gained names from a boiling egg to jellyfish and worst of all – a giant tomb which is quite accurate to describe one’s feelings after he first steps down an underwater-tunnel of one hundred meters before he resurfaces to the lobby.

From the financial point of view, the initial 3.8 billion Yuan budget (it has almost eight floors underground) plus its 4 million Yuan monthly electricity bill if fully operated would have certainly failed to pass the congress in US. But more importantly, the atmosphere of antiquity is lost when the orderly lines and squares in red and gold clashed with the shining edgeless silver dome. Some proponents argue that the building will in the end win the people’s hearts in the same way as the glass pyramid to Parisians’. However, the pyramid still obeys the rule of symmetry and its size is not protruding in front of the classical Louvre building. In contrast, the length of the Nation Grand Theatre is almost one third of the length of the Forbidden City. To understand its impact, one could just imagine putting an amplified version of “Cloud Gate” (the statue in Chicago Millennium Park) with a size comparable to the State Capitol in the National Mall of DC!

Through decades, Beijing government has shown its inability in preservation of cultural heritage by making mistakes ranging from sabotage, disfigurement and destruction. Thus it urges one to probe deeper to understand why a tiny coffee shop inside the Forbidden City matters so much that newspaper and television haven’t stopped bombarding the topic.

First, the Forbidden City is NOT a museum for most of Chinese. For them, the architecture of the palace is not as important as the fact that it was once occupied by those who ruled the country. Even though the last emperor was kicked out the palace in 1924 and feudalism is described as an evil and cruel system destined to be eliminated, the minds of most Chinese have been wired firmly from the root that there always exists the majesty, any defiance against which must be punished. Some scholars call it servile nationality. In ancient times, the textbooks started with the quote “There is no place in the world which does not belong to the emperor; there is no man living in this country who is not the subject of the emperor.” Nowadays students are required to prepare for the question of “why can only Chinese Communist Party save China” for exams from elementary school to graduate study. The silent majority here have lost their genes of speaking out against the power because they have been deafened from years of servility indoctrination. Above all, the Forbidden City with its majestic symbolism and intact solemnity, justifies their tolerance of tyranny in the past and numbness toward injustice under the reign of CCP.

Secondly, it is necessary to honestly answer the question that if a room-size foreign brand store may trample the solemnity, how come a exotic giant “egg” be allowed to put beside the museum? Starbucks lacks the political support from both US and Chinese governments. It is true that the comment started from an anchor from a TV station, but in China what to comment on TV and what to write on newspaper are fully controlled by the government. The latter saw the opportunity of attacking an American company without causing tension between the two countries. More importantly, it helped boost national pride and increase animosity toward US in the younger generation.

On the other hand, although more than 150 scientists and engineers had stated their objections against the National Grand Theatre project, the voices became inaudible after most media sifted them out since for them the decision made by the administration must not be questioned. Instead they projected a positive image by equating the establishment of a single building at the most important location of the city to the landmark achievement of spiritual civilization.

The Starbucks quit in a decent manner: Officially it was closed because of the current renovation project. But without political reforms, it may never return even when the project is finished in 2020. Under the surface of the so-called determination of heritage preservation is the extreme provincialism and ugly servility. Sadly, being a Chinese and in particular a Chinese who used to live in Beijing, I feel ashamed.