Documenting Hong Kong's disappearing cultural practices
For my senior capstone project in media studies and art, I chose to document three of Hong Kong's disappearing cultural practices through a combination of photography, text, and audio. Though photographing the artistic practices in action and interviewing three subjects — a handmade bird cage maker, the owner of Hong Kong's last hand-painted porcelain shop, and a master craftsman in hand-carved mahjong tiles — I sought to understand what it meant to document these specific fragments of society and tradition as functions of fleeting time and space.
Combined with additional research and personal reflection, this project explores how these cultural practices embody the evolution of Hong Kong's past, present, and future. Simply put, this project was born out of my love for Hong Kong, but also out of my nostalgia for what will be lost, and I hope that my photographs and writing initiate a conversation about the significance of Hong Kong's disappearing artistic practices in light of the city's ever-changing identity. As I embarked on and concluded this project, my admiration and fondness for my home city only grew more profound, as did my respect and admiration for these artistic practices and their practitioners.
Find my full project and read my artist's statement here. If possible, please view this project on your PC or desktop.
Handmade birdcages: a swansong for the ages
A multi-coloured parrot perches on a wooden log; two snow white birds endearingly ruffle their feathers; other songbirds give high-pitched chirps of “hello” to unsuspecting passersby. This is Yuen Po Street Bird Garden, otherwise known as the home of the songbirds. It is here that I find dozens upon dozens of lively, energetic birds—albeit many in cages — and it is also where I find, quietly sitting in his stall, Hong Kong’s last known handmade bird cage maker. Continue reading here.
Mr. Chan Lok-choi, Hong Kong’s last known handmade bird cage maker, repairs a broken bird cage at his stall in Yuen Po Street Bird Garden, Mong Kok. (November 2020)
Preserving the craft of hand-painted porcelain
As I walk into Yuet Tung China Works, a lady shouts: “Watch your bag! And your camera!”
One glance ahead and I immediately understand why the caution is necessary—nay, absolutely mandatory. Stacks upon stacks of fragile bowls, plates, cups, vases, pots, and more fill the entirety of the store, maximizing every square inch to leave just enough inconspicuous narrow alleyways for visitors to navigate and weave in between. I quickly realize that this industrial building space isn’t just a packed porcelain shop; it’s also a simultaneous four-in-one. The unsuspecting flat is a store, a workshop, an office, and a storage space. Continue reading here.
Almost every square foot of Yuet Tung China Works is quite literally filled to the brim with dishes, bowls, plates, vases, pots, and more. This picture features antique containers and several hand-painted porcelain tea sets. (November 2020)
Carved in history: the last of Hong Kong's hand-carved mahjong
For someone who surrounds himself with mahjong tiles every day, it may come across as a surprise to learn that Mr. Cheung Shun-king doesn’t actually know how to play the game. “I don’t have time to play,” he reasons.
That’s because he sits and works at his shop every single day—including weekends—from 11 in the morning to 11 at night. One of Hong Kong’s last mahjong tile carvers, Mr. Cheung has been at his Jordan shop for over 20 years, where he has made hand-carving cream and white tiles a quotidian practice. I watch as he moves swiftly, etching characters onto the mahjong tiles with finger-sized blades, dotting paint into the indentations of dice, and cleaning off imperfections with a scraper and remover oil. Continue reading here.
Mr. Cheung cleans up the paint on a custom order of hand-carved dices at his shop, Biu Kee Mahjong, which is named after his father. (November 2020)