Housekeeping and setting up the studio space defined the morning today. We smell sewage in the bathroom and it appears to us that the seal on the toilet is leaking… that wax ring on which the toilet sits should seal off all odor and moisture. So I type into the translator on our phone and boldly head down to the desk. Three young women all cluster round. Nodding, asking for the room number. Within minutes an older man appears and investigates. Everyone is doing their job. But in the end, we open the window, keep the fan on and the door closed. Nothing has changed. Having ventured down once, phone in hand, I try it again while Rob is working on drawings in his now quite cozy studio. My sock project is at that point where it is very clear I do not have sufficient yarn to complete the foot part even if I knit the toes in a different color. So I ask the girls at the desk if there is a yarn shop near here. After much phone translating that misses the mark, two girls tell me that they will take me at noon. And they do. We drive down into the narrow shopping district where we have walked several times, and stop in front of a huge warehouse like structure with no windows, in which is a warren of small stalls, “the old market.” They drop me off with a phone number to call if I need a ride back, though I promise I will enjoy the walk.
While I am in this grid of shops in the dark, Rob is accompanying “Ann,” the owner of the gallery where he is to have a show, to have tea with one of the other professors here who is a true tea collector. Another faculty member, who studied in Philadelphia and speaks fluent English, is along and makes this a wonderful experience. The collector favors black teas, and has techniques of multiple brewing that Rob has never encountered before. The tea ceremony takes place on a large wooden table with a drainage hole, so that the hot water spills onto the table and down the drain. The flavors are subtle and each tea has a heritage, with photographs of the farm and the farmer on the walls. Then he is off to teach his class, where he is busy making 30 rectangles along with his students.
Meanwhile, I am chased down in the market by the girls, with an older sister in tow. This trio takes me (arm in arm) to the yarn booth, and negotiate with the vendor for me. This older woman operates in the dark, with a wall of shelves filled with plastic zip bags each holding 4 skeins, not always the same color. She fingers my yarn and immediately pulls out a gray/black 70% wool/30%acrylic yarn that I buy for 12 Yuan about 2 dollars. Once out in the light, I see that it is not a match at all, but I’m happy nonetheless. The girls leave me to walk back, and I wander through what is beginning to be familiar terrain in the market district. What is new for me is my path homeward: I turn away from what I know and walk to the other edge of campus only to find the way is blocked by a fence and a highway. There are stone steps up the hill along the fence, and I follow that path, winding upward and over until I get a strong feeling I am coming behind the new museum construction site. Sure enough, after passing through a literal hole in a wall, I am right where Rob and I walked yesterday.
After class, Rob appears with a student in tow who brought a hard drive of work to show him. It is exciting to see the range of work, the obvious technical skills, and the struggles this young artist has to bring his deep loyalty and love of China and her history into the present with images that are not traditional, and express a much more personal view than tradition would allow. He voices his struggle, and shows his passion and anxiety over how China can ever take her place in the future while so wedded to the past. He mentions Japan’s success with cars, with anime, and how China can do these things but they fall behind the front runners. He draws a comparison with America, that we can spread our culture all over the world and all over the world people will follow what we do, but China is not yet there. How will we do this? He asks his professors but they do not answer him. He lets Rob know that the teaching style in this class is unlike anything they have ever experienced. Usually the professors give assignments and leave the students to do the work. Rob stays, and not only that, he prepares materials (as in kneading the clay for them) and actually works alongside them (completely shocking). Today he will bring cookies to celebrate the end of the first week. They are all ready to begin building with their forms and talking about relational space/form/volume.
We didn’t have the will to go out and find dinner, so we ate our shrink-wrapped spiced tofu product with apple slices, rolls, peanut butter, and a little Jack Daniels. It was just what we needed. Both of us were drooping way too early and knew it, but couldn’t stay up past 8 pm. We knew we would be awake early, but hey, the night is long and while we may be up for a bit in the wee hours, we manage to sleep again.
Rob has been asked to give a public lecture. He immediately came up with the idea of a talk on 50 Years of American Sculpture 1965-2015.
