Gu Xiong: Migrations, an exhibition of 45 years of Gu’s work, was organized as part of Canada’s 150th anniversary. The exhibition was scheduled to run for two months in the summer of 2017, at the Galaxy Museum of Contemporary Art in Chongqing, China—Gu’s home town. The artwork filled 10,000 square feet of exhibition space across two floors. After a month’s preparation (with the help of over a hundred volunteers and the gallery staff), however, the it was shut down before it could open. It was taken down over the following two days, during which time the gallery’s doors remained open, allowing visitors to watch the work slowly disappear.
“Yellow Cargo” is for the people of Chongqing. Chongqing is my hometown. It creates part of me. Since my relocation in Vancouver, it’s been 19 years since I have travelled back and forth between the two cities. I have witnessed the changes happened to the city over two decades. As Chongqing strives to rise as an international metropolis, I strive to build up a new cultural identity overseas. The struggles we went through pull me even closer to this city.
“Yellow Cargo” is constructed out of 1,500 export boxes, with stickers of local Chongqing companies. A single channel projection on the back of the “ship” shows the confluence of Yangtze and Jialing rivers. The Yangtze River eventually merges into Pacific Ocean, carrying the made-in-Chongqing merchandize to the world.
This installation consists of 4000 photos of foreign migrant workers, five souvenir bottles of “illuminated” water from Niagara Falls, and four fruit baskets from Ontario farms.
Niagara Falls is a Canadian icon, yet few realize that tens of thousands of foreign farm workers labour in the region behind the Niagara Falls. Their presence goes back to the 1960s, but their contributions to the country are often overlooked. The hardworking migrant workers remain unknown and anonymous; yet it is them who bring color and illumination to our Niagara Falls, not the spotlights that are thrown on at night, nor the colored water in the souvenir shops.
After its removal from Gu Xiong: Migrations, “Illuminated Niagara Falls” was installed in Every. Now. Then. at the Art Gallery of Ontario.
Invisible in the Light
The tomato first came to Gu’s attention in the hands of a Mexican migrant worker. The worker was staring intently at the tomato, turning it this way and that. Then he crushed it in his hand.
The agricultural labour is provided by migrant workers from across the world, but the tomato packaging just says “product of Canada.” For the worker, to crush these tomatoes is to transform that lonely existence into something acknowledged by the body of the tomato—the silence contained in the perfect forms let out in an explosion of pent-up anger, frustration and melancholy.
The crushing of the tomatoes symbolizes freedom from the silence, isolation and barely endured existence to something solemn and stirringly beautiful. Their remains assert their presence—the smell, the wetness, and the splattering.
A Bone House
There was a bone house at Harling Point in Victoria, Canada in 1903, where the remains of deceased Chinese immigrants were cleaned and prepared for burial. After being buried for seven years, the remains of early Chinese immigrants were re-excavated, cleaned and dried, wrapped in a white cloth and shipped back to their hometown in China for burial.
This tradition was practiced by Chinese immigrants in Canada until 1937, when Sino-Japanese war sparked in China. Following the closure of this bone house, around 900 stored remains were buried at a cemetery, which replaced the bone house. Their tombstones face towards the Pacific, their homeland on the other end of the ocean.
“A Bone House” was previously exhibited at the Hubei Museum of Art, Wuhan, China.
Intertwined Rivers
“Intertwined Rivers” was previously exhibited as Red River at the Winnipeg Art Gallery. The artwork includes hundreds of paper boats, a four channel video installation, a series of photographs, and a large painting, all of which represent the idea of converging rivers as a metaphor for globalization.
I am who I am
I Am Who I Am tells the history of Chinese Canadian immigrants, their hard work, and their effort to build a social identity in a different cultural background. From the time of gold rush to the construction of railways, Chinese immigrants have spread out across Canada. These photos expose the hardship Chinese immigrants endured, their persistence, and their beliefs. Today, every Chinese immigrant or immigrant descendent, while adapting to a new social environment, is also reflecting upon the culture and self in between the clashes of two cultures. In the process, new cultural identity and space are created.
Campfire
“Campfire” is a video installation about culture shock and the ideas of home and belonging. When it was made, home had just changed from China to Canada for Gu and his family. 5 years after moving they had their first experience camping in Canada. This was one of Gu’s first moments of leisure in Canada. Relaxing by the warmth of the fire and listening to the crackling log, he reflected on common thoughts and issues that he dealt with after moving to Canada. Those thoughts are illustrated in this video.
Pins
Sharp pins represent experiences moments of suffering which are challenging to express in words. In Gu Xiong’s own words: “’pins’ represent all sorts of embarrassment, reluctance, unfairness, or even helplessness immigrants could experience living in Canada. These things make my heart ache. They prick on my heart like pins, yet not to the extent that my heart bleeds; as time passes, they appear even less important. However, these pains keep reminding me that I could not draw back out of fear; on the contrary, I have to advance against hardship.”
This is a small enamel bowl. Our daughter Gu Yu used it as a child. My parents have kept it at their home till this day.One month after Yu was born, her mom had to return to the city where she worked. Every year, Yu’s mom had only one vacation to visit family, for around 20 days. Because Yu seldom saw her mom, Yu often called her mom “auntie” between the age of 1 and 2. I was a graduate student at the time, so I couldn’t take care of our daughter either. I returned home to check on Yu biweekly. Then when I had to leave, Yu often held me and said: “Dad, don’t go, don’t go.” I always left with tears in my eyes. Meanwhile, I made up my mind that I would give Yu a normal home as soon as I could. My parents and my wife’s parents took care of Yu until she was five years’ old. When Yu turned five, her mom finally got transferred to Chongqing. However, around the same time, I left Chongqing to study in Canada. The first time for our family to live together was after we all arrived in Canada.This small enamel bowl witnessed Yu’s first five years of childhood. When a child grows up without a parent by their side, it is a regret that couldn’t be made up for. When we talked to Yu about this experience, she said: “When I have my own child, I would never allow my child to live away from me. I would never allow my child to repeat the childhood I had.”
This enamel cup is my dad’s. He has used it for many years. In 1957, he was labeled a “Rightist,” and sent to labour camp. During the time, he was a member of the Sichuan 415 Detachment of labouring civilians, building the railway between Chengdu and Kunming. The Detachment initially had over 5,000 labourers, most of them are intellectuals. Because of the harsh conditions, over 2,000 died during the construction. My dad is one of the survivors. He once told me that, when he was sent to dig up pebbles in the river, he thought of committing suicide more than once. Yet when he thought of his three young children, he decided to live in the end. This enamel cup has witnessed many ups and downs, many unknown hardships in his life, eventually becoming a symbolic item of that age.
An answering machine, is the first electronic device we bought after we came to Vancouver. It was undoubtedly a “valuable” object for us at the time, because we had almost nothing. Back then, my wife and I had to work every day, weekday or weekends. We couldn’t stay home to keep our daughter company. That’s why we bought this answering machine, and told our daughter not to answer unless she heard that it was one of us. Whenever we were on break at work, we called home to check on our daughter. Our bodies were at work, but our heart was with our daughter. We were kept worried this for quite a few years, until our daughter grew up. The tapes from those years are still in the answering machine, recording a life of struggle during our first years living in Vancouver.
In China, I had a kite. It was in the shape of a butterfly. It had an antenna on its head and its wings were decorated with the velvet colors of maroon and red and rimmed in the sky blue. Every day that was windy, my mother and I would fly it. Every day that was windy, we would set it free. But I think my butterfly wanted to be truly free. It wanted to fly without the force and pull off my hands. One day, with the wind as its ally. It tore away from my grasp. My mother and I watched as my kite, my butterfly disappeared into a cotton cloud.
– Gu Yu
When we first came to Canada, language barrier was the first thing we had to confront and got over. We couldn’t understand what others were saying, nor could we express ourselves. Despite the language barrier, we worked hard to survive. I took evening English classes, and I always carried this Junior English-Chinese Dictionary with me. Whenever there was a word that I didn’t understand, I would check its meaning in the dictionary. When my co-worker said something that I didn’t understand, I would hand him/her the dictionary and ask them to point to the word they said. My wife cried every day because of the language barrier. It felt as if we were pressed into a cramped space, pressed to the bottom of the society because of it. It was especially painful when I couldn’t explain my art works in words. The whole experience was filled with grievance and sorrows. I remembered once, I got on a bus. An old lady sitting in the front turned around and passed me a note. The note says: “Your zipper is open.” I reached for my dictionary, and realized I had left it at home. I sat there thinking for a while but couldn’t figure out the meaning of “zipper.” I pat on the shoulder of the old lady, and asked: “What is open?” The old lady blushed, but she pointed to my pants. I looked down and figured out the meaning of “zipper.” I have never forgotten the meaning of “zipper” since.
Eight years after I came to Canada, I published my first book. After several years of struggling with culture shock, we finally settled down and started a new life here. But our experiences in Canada are always linked to our past in China. We continually weave the old and the new together through our bodies and souls, destroyed and reborn in the clash of two cultures. I draw objects and family friends, both of which surrounded us in our daily life, and have accompanied us through our cultural transition and our search for an identity in our new homeland.
In the 1980s, young instructors at the Sichuan Fine Art Institute did not have their hair cut at the barber shop. Instead, we cut each other’s hair, because we couldn’t stand the barbershop haircuts. My wife Ge Ni later said to me: “Alright, I’ll cut your hair.” Since then, Ge Ni has always cut my hair. Gradually, she got better at hair cutting, and people complimented her on her skills. In 1990, Gi Ni and my daughter Gu Yu came to live with me in Vancouver, and this pair of hair cutting scissors came with them. Once again, Ge Ni started to cut my hair. This pair of scissors, traveling from one continent to another, carries with it so much personal experiences and the deep affection Ge Ni has for me. My wife has long been acquainted with the hairstyles I like – she keeps my hair shorter in summer and longer in winter. From 1982 to present, Ge Ni has been cutting my hair for as long as 35 years.
Dear mom and dad,
Hello! I just finished my exhibition, and now finally have some time off to write to you. We just had a heavy snowfall. What is it like at Gele Mountains? Yuyu fell sick the last couple of days. She says she misses her grandparents, misses your love and care. Tears well up in my eyes when all I can do is to look at the ocean as I sigh out my lament! We plan to come home to visit next year at the end of June. It’s hard to believe that we haven’t been united in eight years. Xiaowei and sister wrote to say mother had aged lately. Why so? I hope mother could take care, lighten up a little, and do some leisure activities. Do what you enjoy to do, don’t let your mind grow old. I really hope you could write your autobiographies, so we can pass down our family roots generation after generation. Mother could dictate and father could transcribe the life experiences of you and your parents. All of our friends admire you. You are the role models for our children, our grandchildren and us, to have survived a difficult time of struggles. I must write about what your generation and mine have gone through. A publisher has showed much interest. Please ask He Gong to bring the correspondence between Ge Ni and I (it is inside the wooden box) along with other letters. If you could find my negatives (black and white, and the color ones), please bring those too. I need them for painting. Missing you, From Gu, Ge Ni, and Yuyu. November 22, 1996
Dear Dad:
Who are you really? Today is your birthday. A year has gone by, and you are a year older. But age isn’t just about math, is it? Did many things change in the past year? Or did you change, not the world? After all, you and mom didn’t escape the fleeting time. Like water, time embraces you, takes you wandering in the river of life, in an anonymous and invisible order. Yet, people try to grasp it, to control it, because knowledge is power. I am among these people. I have a lot of questions for this world, but not too many answers. Consider answering these questions below:
1) What is “love?” What is “hatred?”
2) Does “truth” exist in this world?
3) What is “beauty?” What is “ugliness?”
4) Why do words fail to express the thoughts in our heart?
5) Do you think mankind only has a few narratives, and we are simply repeating the past?
6) Why do people think eternity is the best? Everlasting love, never-ending worries, and eternal life? (Isn’t “eternity” a hoax?)
Yu Gu
2001
Dear friend,
What a pleasant surprise it was to receive your letter when I returned to the North Pole after delivering gifts to children in Canada and around the world. I was still a little chilly from my flight in the sleigh, but your kind words warmed me right away.
As you know, the spirit of Christmas is all about giving, and as much as I give to my friends at Christmas, I find that I get so much more in return – like all the letters I receive.
The past few weeks have been very busy, but fun. Up here at Santa’s Workshop, the elves, the reindeer, Mrs. Claus and I all pitch in. It’s what makes our little community special. After my visit on Christmas Eve, I know that your neighborhood is a special place too.
Well, even though Christmas is almost a year away, I have to start getting ready now. I had a lot of fun giving this year, and I hope that you too remember the spirit of giving all year long.
Thank you for your wonderful letter. I do hope you’ll write again next year.
Your good friend,
Santa Claus,
Santa’s Workshop
North Pole, Canada
H0H 0H0
Four Videos on Four Immigrant Families
Gu Xiong and Ge Ni during an interview briefly talk about their personal experience of immigration. Gu moved to Canada in 1989 and his wife, Ge, and their daughter, Yu joined Gu later in early 1990s. During this interview they explain how they dealt with cultural shock and build up their new identity and lives.
A couple sharing their story of immigration from east to west. Li Wenyue and Zheng Yuzhen moved to Canada from China in 1970s. The couple in an interview describe their story of finding themselves a new place to call home, Canada.
A short documentary narrated by Dr. Ying Ying Chen, an archaeologist, who is also an immigrant from China. This documentary unveils the story of migration of Chinese immigrants to North British Columbia during the gold rush. Dr. Chen explains the origin of China Town in Barkerville, BC.
An interview about a man in China explaining his experience after moving from a small town to a mega city in with population of over 30 million people. Ling Jing Huo talks about his love for books and how he started a bookstore as a small business where his primary goal is to promote art and reading culture.
Shock Culture
This piece was performed with Henry Tsang in 1992 at Western Front in Vancouver. It deals with the early stages of Gu’s culture shock, his experience being placed between two cultures, having to determine where he belongs.
A Girl from China
In “A Girl from China,” video, music, and storytelling unravel the emotional story of three generations. From the Cultural Revolution in China, to life as immigrants in Canada, their past sufferings, present hardships and triumphs are retold through the eyes of Gu Yu, a girl who doesn’t want to be a copy or a reproduction, but the original.
In February 1989 Gu participated in the China Avant-Garde exhibition in Beijing at the China National Museum of Fine Arts. The first Chinese contemporary art exhibition in China, it featured around 250 artists. Gu’s contribution was “Enclosures” a performance and installation about the importance not only of physical liberty, but of psychological freedom as well.
Crushed Cans
Gu Xiong’s Crushed Coca Cola Cans embodies the contrast of his Chinese heritage and the cultural transformation he experienced after moving to Canada, with the universally recognizable Cola cans showing both English and Chinese text.
“Crushed red Coca-Cola cans have made a deep impression on me. A lifeless object, in the process of being destroyed, finds a new life. No two crushed cans are the same, each one is unique. My past was crushed by realities beyond my control, but my new life was born from this devastation. Common objects made alike come to life when they are killed.”
