Former businessman Liu Chunhua covets his collection of ancient Chinese ceramics - so much so that he only opens the doors of his private museum to those who share his deep passion for their beauty and an abiding respect for the skilled craftsmen who made them.
In a private museum on Yan'an Road, a former businessman now devotes his time and energy to a delicate collection of ancient ceramics.
Having made a tidy sum selling electrical wiring, Liu Chunhua, the museum's owner and curator, can afford to engage in what began as a hobby.
While other successful businessmen spend their fortunes on new cars and homes, Liu invests in these earthen objects of desire.
At the museum, there are 200 pieces on display, ranging from Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) vases to Qing-era (1644-1911) cups. The value of the collection has rocketed to more than 180 million yuan (US$21.7 million) from about 40 million yuan, when Liu started collection years ago.
"I didn't get into collecting antique ceramics for profit," says the Shanghai native. "To me, these works are priceless, and it disturbs me that some people think my motives for collecting them are profit-oriented."
Despite his seeming altruism, Liu concedes that he spends a great deal on his cherished objects, dropping roughly 3 to 5 million yuan on antique ceramics at auctions every year.
But like most serious collectors, money seems almost irrelevant to Liu - price is no option if he sees a piece he wants. He is obsessed with the beauty and craftsmanship that went into making these cultural relics.
Liu travels throughout China and the world looking for rare pieces. For example, he once found a Qing-dynasty vase in a farmer's house in a remote province. "I felt like a Spanish conquistador discovering Eldorado," he recalls.
Apart from favorite collection, Liu lives a modest life.
"I eat a simple lunch in a takeout box at noon, then cook for myself at night. I smoke the cheapest cigarettes," he smiles with obvious pride in his thrift. "I have no desire to live in the lap of luxury. Even when I was an ordinary worker earning 36 yuan per month in the late 1970s, most of my income went to buying antiques on Fuyou and Dongtai roads."
"I clearly remember the first antique I bought," he continues. "It was in the late 1970s, a small earthenware pot from the Warring States Period (476-221 BC). I paid 79 yuan for it - a steal."
Liu's interest in collecting came from his father, also an antique collector. He took over where his father left off, showing a similar zeal for beautifully crafted cultural relics.
To satisfy his desire for better and older pieces, Liu knew he needed money. He worked at a wiring factory for years until he could afford to open his own company, also involving electrical wire, in 1993.
"I did quite well financially, and could finally afford to buy antiques that were previously out of my price range," he says.
When he started collecting, Liu admits he was duped into buying some fakes. "I look back on that as a learning experience," he says, adding "... a rather expensive learning process. I spent around 5 million yuan on fakes before my eye for antiques became discerning."
To avoid getting taken, Liu educated himself by visiting museums and reading books and magazines related to ceramics.
He also credits Cai Guosheng, one of the top ceramic experts in China, with helping him learn to assess antiques. When Cai visited Liu's museum, he remarked that it was an amazing collection " without a single fake."
Chen Xiejun, deputy curator of the Shanghai Museum, once joked that Liu's museum "is like a mini Shanghai Museum of Ceramics."
Last year, Liu sold his wiring company and invested the money in real estate.
"Now I have more time to be with my ceramics," he says. "I treasure every piece on display. Even if I'm in urgent need of money, it would kill me to sell any of them."
Like some other collectors, Liu is a bit of an eccentric - his museum refuses visitors.
"Yes, only my friends and ceramics experts are welcomed," he says. "I prefer to share them with those who really appreciate them and those who love ancient Chinese ceramics."
When asked about the future of his house of treasures, Liu says he has prepared two alternatives.
"If my son shows an interest in ceramics when he grows up, then I will leave it all to him. If not, I might donate the collection to the Shanghai Museum," he says, with a distant look in his eye, a look that would forever postpone the day he and his collection are separated.
(eastday.com April 18, 2003)
