Drawing#65: Freedom









– – Jean-Paul Sarte (French Philosopher,1905-1980)


From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid. Continue reading

No One Is Unquotable #2

The blood on the wall remains how cruel the Cultural Revolution was. Our history book claims Chairman Liu Shaoqi the biggest victim of the Cultural Revolution. What about those who never know history, just like I never heard of Tiananmen Square protests of 1989 till this Yunnan trip in March,2014?

The blood on the wall remains how cruel the Cultural Revolution was.

Language is a thing that easily makes a questionable history and beautifies the ugly side of the world.

Discover the beautiful words and marry the good, separate from the ugly and divorce the bad.       Heather Cai

Chairman Liu Shaoqi, the biggest victim of Cultural Revolution led by Chairman Mao.

It says:”Down with the traitor Liu Shaoqi!”
Our history book claims Chairman Liu Shaoqi the biggest victim of the Cultural Revolution.
What about those who never know the history and still the majority of China, just like, as one of them, I never heard of Tiananmen Square protests of 1989 till this Yunnan trip in March,2014?

No One Is Unquotable #1

Freedom is a thing that attached to Art. When the power of art meets the power of country, freedom is in danger and art not the only victim.       Heather Cai


My Birthplace Stays Green Green

You know? Since ever China opened the door to the world, many of the poorest and the most remote Chinese villages began to die one after another. So has my home village.


This is the house which was built exactly the year I was born in 1986. It still looks new from the outside, doesn’t it? It was built up with rough mud and stones with black tiled roof. Outside the house, is a small shelter without a door. It’s the toilet made of two giant wooden buckets with only one short stepladder, and two pigsties. Between them, there is small space to store the pig shit and any other shit that could be used for fertilizer. Beside it in a small corner, there was a home for many lovely rabbits. But not now, not when I visited back in September 2014.

There are only my uncle and my auntie still living inside the house. All my side of the family moved out in 2008. Now all the wooden furniture has been eaten by bugs, all the metal farm tools rust in the damp, all the wooden floors are spread with rat shit and dead bodies of cockroaches, all the rooms are covered with a certain smell of dust, all the doors, windows, poles, beds and each corner have spider webs with different spiders building their homes. And because of frequant strong windy storms coming with big floods in summer, the mud walls gradually lean towards the right side. God knows when, the house will break and collapse to the ground, and if ever anybody would afford to build another one or just let the village completely die in silence.



No matter what season and no matter where, there are always many places with dark green, light green, grass green or pure green. But due to less and less people using the wood burning stove, the chimney with the purple smoke gradually becomes more and more attractive to me. Living for about 15 years in a house surrounded by green fields growing rice, green trees rising to the sky, green wild plants and flowers and green wild fruits, with the smoke moving freely in the air, I feel the conception of freedom, much like a baby coming to the world naked. Unfortunately, it’s the high technology and money that drives the villagers away from their original place. They live far away from their birthplace. They now mostly live somewhere in a city with pollution, sighing to the cold wall made of concrete with grey or white paint falling now and again. They would question themselves, “Where do I belong?” Maybe many out there have some money, own a house out of downtown, buy a car driving around, marry to someone blindly and carry their family lines by having another son or even another illegal child. But really, are they all happy in the city? Happier than the old time when there was no single bridge to connect to the big cities?



See the road? It’s a place located at Xiadang Township(This link -released old photos reveal Xi’s experience in Fujian, my hometown),where the current chairman, Xi Jinping, had work experiences before and visited again last summer, there is still corruption and corrupted feudal thinking. It has taken so long to build a proper road and it is still not finished. It’s definitely not lack of money but where the money has gone.


As a village on the edge of China, any idea for the good of its own might go nowhere. Just like no one knows how the cock communicates with the hen and how it is possible that the oldest woman still survives in my home village with her bound feet. Look at her, isn’t she like a model or something for a painter or photographer?

Look at the chickens, it seems they don’t even bother to talk to each other. They are the victims, just like those villagers who have moved to big cities and who also don’t bother to talk like they did before in the village.