In studios up and down the camp's little streets, sweaty
sculptors in overalls grappled with greasy lumps of iron while
painters with splattered shirts peered at their canvases.
In the gardens outside, artists and their families drank tea,
smoked and chatted.
It was a beautiful morning, and until the arrival of the van, it
had been a productive one, too.
The mood was shattered as eight uniformed officers from the
urban management office climbed out of the vehicle and swiftly
plastered posters on walls around the Beijing International Art
Camp that warned it would be demolished the next month because it
was an illegal structure.
They may have been there only a few minutes, but the officers
ensured little work would be done for the rest of the day.
A month and a half later, only the tattered remnants of the
notices remain, but an air of nervousness still pervades the
Suojiacun village camp.
The October 10 deadline, which the notices warned would see the
end of the several dozen studios, has passed, but the artists'
unease has not.
About 120 artists, some coming from as far as Europe and the
United States, work here. In between their painting, sculpting and
carving, they drink tea together, eat together and talk. More than
anything they talk about the camp's future. Nobody is sure whether
it will be here next year.
Artist and gallery owner Li Gang, who helped set up the camp in
2002, says many are scared of what the future may hold.
"They threatened to tear down the place on October 10, but in
the end, nothing happened," Li said. "Many of the artists living
and working here fear they will come back. Some have already
left.
"They first came about a year ago. People were just beginning to
relax after that when they came again.
"Now we are all on a knife's edge as to whether it really will
be torn down."
Situated north of Beijing along the Airport Expressway, the
single- storey hamlets of Suojiacun and neighbouring Feijiacun have
been home to a growing artists' community for the past six or seven
years.
About 300 artists live in the two villages today, drawn by the
area's proximity to the buzzing Dashanzi art district, as well as
its low rents.
Li says that with more than 100 artists, the camp at the heart
of Suojiacun is probably one of the biggest art communities in
China.
Its warehouse-type buildings, which Li helped design, have
special dimensions and large windows, ensuring there is plenty of
the natural light painters crave.
But despite their special design, the location means rents are
kept low: A year in the international artists' camp costs 40,000
yuan (US$5,000), less than half the 100,000 yuan (US$12,500) that
Li estimates the average Dashanzi studio now costs.
Yet while the space and design of the camp may be unique, it's the
feeling of freedom and friendship that the artists living here
treasure.
German action painter Sebastian Heiner has been at the camp
since April.
A lone mountain of discarded oil tubes and dirty paint packets
dominates the floor of his studio.
As light from the skylight on the mound of debris casts a
shadow, Heiner stands in the shade, slapping an oblong canvas with
a fly swat coated in titanium white oil paint.
"It's really sociable here," he said. "I can leave my door open
if I want to talk, and people will come in and talk to me. If I
want to paint in peace, I can just close the door.
"Being a foreign artist living in China is not always easy. The
feeling of not being alone that I get here is very important to
me.
"It's such a special place here. It's unbelievable they want to
destroy it."
Li said: "We didn't try to control the artists who moved here,
so everything is very loose, very free, which I'm proud of. Nobody
argues about which direction we should be going in."
He says the artists look after the environment, keeping the
streets clean and tidy. For them it's a point of honour.
"You won't find any litter here like you can in the rest of the
village," he said.
But despite the artists efforts to be model citizens, they are
standing on fragile foundations the camp was built without
permission.
"It's ridiculous," Li said. "The whole of Suojiacun was built
without permission, yet it's us they are threatening to
demolish."
In spite of their pleas, Chaoyang District Urban Management
Office official Dong Hongxin warned the community may find itself
homeless.
With the Olympics in 2008, he said, the office is looking to
clear away illegal structures. The camp could be targeted as it is
close to a railway line, he added.
Veteran artist Hu Shenping's precarious fire paintings seem to
mirror the camp's uncertain future.
Pushing his smoking blowtorch on to a parched canvas, he ponders
the community's uncertain future.
"I like working here," he said with a sigh. "It's invigorating
being around other artists.
"I don't know where I'd go if the camp closed."
(China Daily November 13, 2006)