MY #103

a performance project

to commemorate Beijingʼs old city texture

samples in text and photo documentation

Initiated by Mi YOU

Artist Yang SHI

Beijing 2008

Talking about the vestiges of Beijing, or any city for that matter, the first thing that comes to your mind would be the horizontal and vertical roads, buildings and ven-ues. When routes are used to showcase the crosses and changes of city space, the vestiges of one’s life memories and cultural trips become boundless.

The No. 103 Bus line used to be No.3 Trolley Bus Line that went into operation in 1957. It originally ran from the Zoo to Chongwenmen, was extended to Beijing Sta-tion in 1969 and was renamed the No.103 Bus Line on May 1, 1976, or 1956 ac-cording to someone else. My memory is kind of blurred on this. Look, here is the route map of Beijing trolley buses as it appeared in 1955 on which the No.3 Bus was already there.

Taijichang

It turned out that I was not Duoergun’s match. At the very outset, I made great contributions to the Qing’s entry of Shanhaiguan and was crowned the Prince Su, one of the eight hereditary princes. But now I end up being deprived of the title and have my life on the line.

Several colleagues and I met Premier Zhou when we had lunch at the Zhejiang Restaurant. He asked us how the construction of 798 Factory was going. We told him about several difficulties in the project which he promised would be resolved soon.

Because of two limericks I had recently learned from Xishenku: "Eat your noodles plain / Blow up Dongjiao Lane. / Add no vinegar / Kill the foreign cur.", I was not in a mood to make noodles that day.

...

Dengshixikou

When I was a child, I saw the play Teahouse and Thunder-storm performed in the Capital Theatre of Beijing People’s Art Theatre. It was quite touching. Later, I graduated from the Central Academy of Drama and became a full-fledged actor in the Art Theatre. Eight years have passed. I am still only al-lowed to play supporting roles.

At 3:30 P.M., I had a bowl of noodles at a small restaurant near the theatre. No one recognized me. Nor did I meet any one I knew. Then I thought I might come here at this time in the future.

Once I helped two foreigners to move paintings and calligraphy-related gifts out of their room. Later the hotel called the police on the charging the theft of their property. The two brothers turned out to be swindlers. They were mixed blood twins of a Chinese intellectual and French national. That’s why they could have easy access to and from the Prime Hotel.

China Museum of Art

In my view, our Museum of Art has returned to its original form after being reno-vated by Mr Dai Nianci who built the Museum to incorporate both Chinese and western building styles. It is quite good. The only flaw is that the floors are too mod-ern. Whenever it rains, people would slip and fall. So the floor needs to be remod-eled.

I took out a gun and shot at my own works at the Chinese Modern Art Exhibit.

I went to see the Yves Saint Laurent Fashion Show and secretly copied the sample to make similar clothes back at home. At that time, people in Beijing wore the mo-notonous, grey uniforms.

Beach

When I entered into Royal College by jiaozi (a sedan chair), Mr. Cai Yuanpei was waiting for me in his office. When the Imperial Civil Examination system was phased out, students enrolled in Jingshi College were tantamount to jinshi, or pre-sented scholars.

I was the only one in Royal College who wore a long robe, a magua (a mandarin jacket) and a long braid. As far as I was concerned, there were only two good men in all of China, Cai Yuanpei and I. Cai Yuanpei had been a revolutionary and he still was. I had been a royalist and I still was.

Northeastern Turret, Jingshan and the Forbidden City

I could do nothing. Looking south at Beijing, I felt that I would rather die in the riot-ers’ hands than see my people hurt and then hang myself. I bid farewell to life in the Palace, walked out of Xuanwumen and recalled King Chongzhen who reigned three hundred years ago.

I saw General He Long sitting happily at the roadside when I was on my way to play basketball in the stadium behind Jingshan Park. I got up early and practiced the high pitch of Bel Canto. Then a boy who trained his voice for Beijing Opera made advances to me.

I used to help Sun Yat-sen handle state affairs in this pious and grand courtyard. The siheyuan (Chinese traditional rectangular courtyard) was where I lived.

I cried. Despite my repeated letters, the archway of the Dagaoxuan Temple was still torn down.