Scenes

B.A.S.E. Beijing 2012

SCENES TEMPORARY LIVING IN URBAN CHINA

INTRODUCTION

A short bike ride from the heart of the vibrant urban village Caochangdi lays the ruins of Beigao, a comparable neighborhood that was demolished by the government in 2011. In its wake stands a bustling development site for midrise housing complexes. Giant, skeletal apartment buildings rise from the ashes of what was once a homey urban village.

Through our research, we endeavor to expose the affect of this environmental change on the individual, the community, and the vitality of these urban neighborhoods.

‘The demolition and relocation of the densely populated inner-city neighborhoods has become one of the toughest problems facing development agencies and local governments across Chinese cities since the mid1980’s.’ Government issued land clearing ‘targets the urban core for extremely profitable redevelopment projects… it involves the expulsion of the families who have lived there for decades. Our exploration connected us with households experiencing this relocation and revealed to us the human nature of being uprooted and displaced.

Of all the people we documented, not a single one is native to Beijing. Migrant laborers flocking from the countryside in search of work- and housing- comprise a major demographic of metropolitan populations. ‘With rapid commercialization and a booming urban economy in the post Mao-era, nearly 100 million peasants have left the rural hinterlands to seek employment and business opportunities in China’s urban

centers.’ Apartments and storefronts in Caochangdi are packed with working tenants.

This book tells six accounts of people living in or near Coachangdi: a construction worker, a taxi driver, a cosmetology student, a shopkeeper, a deliveryman, and a restaurant owner. These characters represent a variety of lifestyles in urban China, together forming a mosaic that portrays the present condition of metropolitan Chinese living.

As different as they are, the common thread tying these story lines is a shared separation from home. In the name of work, laborers migrate to Beijing to make money for their families; they are here temporarily to oblige their families’ needs.

It appears that this culture of impermanence dominates residential urbanism.

During our research, we spotlighted objects that convey this temporal housing trend. Space is limited and personal objects are sparse; urban residences appear bereft of sentiment and replete with utility. For many people, their living space is just a place to eat and sleep. Furthermore, work is often physically inseparable from the places they live. In the absence of ‘home,’ the idea of ‘work’ and ‘house’ conflate- or rather, the idea of ‘home’ vanishes in the absence of ‘house.’ This book explores what it means to find belonging amidst the belongings that define a ‘home’ in modern urban China.

Zhang, Li. In Search of Paradise: Middle-Class Living in a Chinese Metropolis.

New York: Cornell Univeristy, 2010. p. 140-141.

Zhang, Li. Strangers in the City. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001. Print. p 1.

SCENES TAXI DRIVER CONSTRUCTION WORKER COSMETOLOGY STUDENT DOLLAR STORE OWNER BEER DELIVERY MAN RESTAURATEUR

TAXI DRIVER

“There are a lot of taxi drivers that live in Beigao but they share their space.

Many of them split the cost of one apartment but I don’t want to share; I prefer to live here. I pay 500 kuai a month to live here. I can’t afford to live in Beigao without sharing.”

Mr. X TAXI DRIVER

In the evenings in Caochangdi, taxi drivers can be seen unbuttoning their yellow uniforms and drinking beers with their comrades. After a long shift, they stroll the streets instead of driving, stretching their legs and unwinding from the city rush. Before they can relax, however, a changing of the keys must occur as a second wave of taxi drivers takes to the roads.

A common pattern for these particular migrant laborers to is to share both a room and a car with a partner. While one is driving, the other is sleeping and vice versa. The rooms they share are minimal, measuring about three by five meters. Whole apartment buildings stacked with these rooms act as dormitories for taxi drivers. The streets below are lined with idle yellow cars as their driver’s sleep the night shift off.

We wanted to uncover the insides of these rooms- and lives- so we entered the building and explored the halls.

Our timing was perfect: we encountered a taxi driver just as he was exchanging keys with his roommate. Mr. X invited us inside and we talked at length about his life a driver, his experience of learning a new city as a migrant, and what its like to live in a room that is only used for sleep.

Mr. X was a very hospitable man who was happy to engage with us for an interview. It was cut short, however, because the nightshift was beginning and he had to hit the road. At the end of our exchange, he kindly drove us back to the studio in his cab, free of charge.

TD: It’s like a rent. No matter how long I work for the company, I will not own the car. If I drive a nice and decent car, I have to pay more back per month to the company. I’m 27. I just started this job.

B.A.S.E.: How long have you been living in this spot?

TD: Just one month.

B.A.S.E.: Do you work the night shift or the day shift?

TD: Night. I leave at 6 pm, come back at 4 am or 5 am. Past 1am, the city has no people except in the bar areas. It’s easier at night because there are no traffic jams Eighty or ninety percent of people are drunk.

B.A.S.E.: How do drunk people pay?

TD: When drunk people are paying, they finally wake up. At the moment they have to pay they are sober [laughs].

B.A.S.E.: I prefer taking taxis because black cabs like to take advantage of us.

TD: Yes, but legal cabs also overcharge sometimes too.

B.A.S.E.: [laughs] Do you?

TD: No I don’t do that because people can call my number.

B.A.S.E.: Do you have a partner?

TD: Yes. He comes back and then we trade places to drive the same car. I have a family in Caochangdi. We just arrived; they live in another building nearby.

B.A.S.E.: Do you hang out on the street in Caochangdi in the morning?

TD: I only eat two meals a day. When I come back in the morning I have a meal and drink some bijyou with the other taxi drivers and then at night I do the same thing. I don’t want to eat too much because I sit all day. It’s not an easy job. The bones in my spine hurt and it is dangerous to be on the road.

B.A.S.E.: Do you like the street life in Caochangdi?

TD: It’s a little messy.

B.A.S.E.: Have you ever seen the new apartments in Beigao?

TD: The new construction in Beigao is nicer. They are clean looking. Here everything is a different height. I like the city planning but I don’t like driving on small, narrow roads. I tend to take bigger roads when possible. It’s safer.

There are a lot of taxi drivers that live in Beigao but they share their space. Many of them split the cost of one apartment but I don’t want to share; I prefer to live here. I pay 500 kuai a month to live here. I can’t afford to live in Beigao without sharing.

CONSTRUCTION WORKER

Mr. Sun CONSTRUCTION WORKER

Construction zones are not primary tourist destinations, so our foreign presence on site garnered many curious stares. The air hung heavy with dust, sliced by the shrill whiz of machinery. We biked across dirt roads flanked by wooden scaffolding and skeletal high rises in search of a construction worker to interview for our project.

Beyond the site lay a camp of barracks. It was evening and the area was lively with cooking, splashing, and joking around. The paneled housing was preceded by a dirt foreground that separated us from the workers. At first, they were dubious of our intentions; it took several return visits before we were able establish a relationship.

Eventually we befriended a man named Mr. Sun. Generous and open, Mr. Sun invited us into his home and served us dinner. His “home” however, is hardly that. Originally from outside the city, Mr Sun migrated to Beijing to find a job. His profession in the village is agriculturally based so he had to learn everything about construction from the ground up. With a wife and young child at home, Mr. Sun is obligated to find sufficient work; he has no choice but to live in the migrant camp.

Mr. Sun’s on-site housing is typical of an urban construction worker. His room holds up to ten people at a time. Outfitted with only a wooden panel for a mattress, the bunk beds serve as both a place to sleep and to store belongings. They don’t own much: tools, a few clothes, a duffel, some blankets, and very minimal cookware.

B.A.S.E.: That’s a radio. What do you listen to?

S: Talk shows and music. Like pop songs.

S: What is this?

B.A.S.E.: Shaver. Trimmer.

B.A.S.E.: How many clothes do you have here?

S: This is all I have. Just three clothes. I have three shirts.

B.A.S.E.: Three shirts? And three pants?

S: When I paint my pants get dirty and it’s hot so I change when I get home.

B.A.S.E.: Do you ever get new clothes or just the same clothes the whole time you’re here?

S: When the weather gets cold [I get new clothes]. I have three shoes: one new for going out, one old for working, and one pair of sandals for wearing at home. I move around a lot. The first thing I always pack is my tools, then my blanket and clothes. That’s pretty much everything. Some of us have some cooking stuff. And just the three shoes.

B.A.S.E.: You keep all your tools in your house?

S: I’m afraid the others will take them away. I bought all this myself.

B.A.S.E.: You had to pay for your equipment?

S: Yes B.A.S.E.: How much did you have to pay for it and where did you get it?

S: It’s cheap; this one on the left is two or three kuai. That one is seven. So, it’s cheap.

B.A.S.E.: Where do you get them from?

S: You can find it everywhere. I wear out a few per year so I throw them away and I don’t take them home.

B.A.S.E.: So you leave them here? Do you get new tools every time you start a new project?

S: No, just throw away the ones that are already worn out.

B.A.S.E.: Once a year?

S: They are not really expensive.

B.A.S.E.: You keep all your tools in your house?

S: I’m afraid the others will take them away. I bought all this myself.

B.A.S.E.: You had to pay for your equipment?

S: Yes B.A.S.E.: How much did you have to pay for it and where did you get it?

S: It’s cheap; this one on the left is two or three kuai. That one is seven. So, it’s cheap.

B.A.S.E.: Where do you get them from?

S: You can find them everywhere. I wear out a few per year so I throw them away and I don’t take them home.

B.A.S.E.: So you leave them here? Do you get new tools every time you start a new project?

S: No, just throw away the ones that are already worn out.

B.A.S.E.: Once a year?

S: They are not really expensive.

S: Those screws are used for tiling. This is a mixer for concrete. It cost 4500 kuai.

B.A.S.E.: Do just sleep on blankets? Do you get mattresses ever?

S: We just buy the blankets.

B.A.S.E.: You use the buckets as chairs?

S: Yes. Also as a shower and to wash clothes.

B.A.S.E.: Where did you get that bag? [points to bag on the bed] It’s a nice bag!

S: The market.

B.A.S.E.: How much did it cost?

S: 30 kuai.

B.A.S.E.: Did you bring anything from home that is sentimental but not utilitarian?

S: Nothing. I had my son’s picture on my mobile phone but I lost my phone.

B.A.S.E.: Do you ever watch TV? Do you have a TV. S: There is a plaza area nearby with two big TVs set up and everyone goes to watch to films and TV. Yes, we don’t have individual TVs. I had a small TV but then some workers took it. I bought it myself.

B.A.S.E.: A movie! Where do you watch that? At the communal movie place?

S: Yes. B.A.S.E.: Where do you cook and clean?

S: We have a communal place to eat. That bowl is our bowl. Everyone eats from this bowl.

B.A.S.E.: It’s communal? So you take turns using it?

S: No, it’s from the compound

B.A.S.E.: Do you have a lot of stuff at home that you didn’t bring? Or do you not have too much at home either?

S: There is no need. I can buy everything here. I really don’t need to bring anything from home…I have a son and a wife.

My son is four years old. My whole family is at home. I miss them. That’s the reason that all the workers left. Once the project is done they go home.

B.A.S.E.: Can you turn the light on an off whenever you want?

S: Sometimes the electricity goes off randomly.

B.A.S.E.: But where is the switch?

S: No, there’s no switch. We sleep with the lights on.

B.A.S.E.: Which job do you like better? Construction work or farm work?

S: I try to become a boss because I can’t do this job when I am older. It’s a very dangerous job, you have to hang outside the buildings. I started from scratch. I learned everything about construction.

I rent a small house in suburban Beijing. All the people who are from my hometown that work on finishing live there. It’s like a base for them. It’s 100 miles away.

B.A.S.E.: Do you have a bike?

S: I have my own mini van. Somebody is driving it right now.

B.A.S.E.: Are you happy living here? Or if he’s glad that this is available as opposed to finding his own.

S: I wish I could stay at home watching TV and use the Internet and stay with my kids in the AC, but I have to make money and kids cost money so I have a responsibility to be here.

B.A.S.E.: Do you miss your family and talk to them a lot?

S: I call them when I have something to say. You guys also miss home too. You guys are on the other side of the earth.

You should go to the richest place in Beijing and the poorest place in Beijing, take pictures and put them together in the book. Then you’re done with your project.

B.A.S.E.: Where are the poorest and richest places?

S: Where we come from is the poorest place. There’s no poor place in Beijing. Even though we have running water now- its very hard to get water where I’m from- we have water coming out of Yellow River. For agriculture, we have no irrigated water. We only wait for rain and if there is no rainfall there is no harvest. This year is not too bad. Half of the people stay home and take care of the crops, the other half go out and work. Some work in the construction site,

some work in a factory.

Roommate: Young people go very far away, older people try to find a job nearby.

B.A.S.E.: Are you bothered by the city life? Do you prefer being where it is rural and natural?

Roommate: If I had money, I would prefer to live in the city.

Things get more and more expensive; even though we earn more money it’s hard for us to save. I have a son and a daughter. My son is in high school; my daughter is in middle school. I wish they can go to college but it’s going to be really tough for me because that costs a lot of money.

COSMETOLOGY STUDENTS

“We are not friendly with

our

neighbors. We don’t know anyone on the floor. It’s a complicated place because there are so many different kinds of people — different ages, different jobs, different reasons for being in Beijing.”

TIAN ZHEN & CHEN JUAN COSMETOLOGY STUDENTS

COSMETOLOGY STUDENTS

We wandered down the corridors of an apartment complex near the center of Caochangdi and knocked on the first open door we encountered. Three young women lived there and were sitting on their beds surfing the Internet and relaxing when we entered.

They told us they had moved in a month before after hearing about the place from a friend. From Southwest China, the three have been friends for four years and are now in cosmetology school together in Beijing. They had just returned from an extended stay in Japan they didn’t bring much from home. Nearly everything had been purchased upon arrival: two beds, one table, a rice cooker, and a wardrobe furnished the room. The sink in the bathroom is used to wash both dishes and laundry.

A common table at the end of the hallway serves as a makeshift kitchen to which each tenant must transport their own cookware.

We asked if the communal kitchenette has helped them create a sense of community within the apartment and they replied negatively; they had not yet befriended their neighbors. The girls were very sweet in sharing their space, albeit reluctant to be photographed. Eventually, however, they acceded.

We moved into this room a month ago. We heard about the place from a friend who lives nearby. We all come from a small town in South West China. The three of us have been friends for four years and now we are in cosmetology school together in Beijing. We opted out of living in the dorms because we are too old for that…too many rules and restrictions. If we find jobs in our home villages, we will pursue those because Beijing feels very competitive and crowded.

It’s easy to keep our room clean because we don’t own very many things. We just returned from an extended stay in Japan so we don’t have much. In terms of buying our things, we shop online because at the end of the day we are too tired to deal with the rush hour and crowds of Beijing.

We wash our laundry by hand in the bathroom; for a kitchen we use the communal table at the end of the hall, but we have to transport our own appliances from our room (our rice cooker and our hot plate). Sometimes we eat together, but usually we just eat whenever we feel hungry.

We are not friendly with their neighbors. We don’t know anyone on the floor. It is a complicated place to live because there are so many different kinds of people all living within the same building- different ages, different jobs, different reasons for being in Beijing.

SHOPKEEPER

“Our life in the store is hard to separate from where we live. We all get up at 8 am, but we stay up late- midnight or 1 am. Because the kids go to sleep early, I come back earlier with them.

I also cook, wash clothes- that’s my part of the job”

XIAO YI & HIS MOTHER SHOPKEEPERS

As semi-permanent members of Caochangdi, we became familiar with the venders and merchants we visited regularly. Among them is Xiao Yi, a hard working migrant from Southern China. He and his wife run a small convenience store in the center of Caochangdi, selling everything from chopsticks to luggage. Together they sleep in the storage room of their shop, accompanied by his mother and their two-year-old son who live just next door.

When we arrived to interview the family, it was lunchtime and the shopkeepers were eating stir-fried rice behind register as though they were in their living room. We followed the mother down a hallway next door. She used a keycard to swipe into a dimly lit entryway. In the back were two rooms facing each other. The cramped space contained a rice cooker and hot plate, a washing machine and a toilet. The bathroom was separated from the makeshift kitchen only by a flimsy shower door. On a shelf above the ‘stove’ where spices are usually found sat a cup and toothbrush- evidence of the de-compartmentalization of their condensed space.

The opposing room served as both a storage and sleeping unit. One bed jutted out from beneath a towering heap of belongings. Slits in the stacks of boxes served as drawers out of which tools and toys were visibly tucked. The room was uncomfortably crowded; we could not open the door fully and there was barely space for two bodies to move agiley about. The mother was warm and open in sharing her space. Since the interview, we have returned to buy goods from their store and continue the friendship we established with Xiao Yi and his family.

B.A.S.E.: Where do you keep all your things for storage?

MOTHER: My room is for storage.

B.A.S.E.: So when you cook and eat, do you eat all together?

M: We eat in the store.

B.A.S.E.: Everything in the store?

M: Yes. We don’t have a table; we just sit and eat there.

B.A.S.E.: Do you like living here?

M: I want to go home.

B.A.S.E.: Is that an option?

M: No, because we have a three year contact with this storefront. So for the next three years, if things go well we will stay here. My son and his wife are very busy and so I have to stay here and take care of the kids.

M: My hometown has farmland but people rent it out to others. People who own a big piece of land do this so that it is easy to farm instead of every household farming individually. So most people rent their land out to others.

Our town is by the train tracks and the road- transportation is very convenient so most people started doing business after the economic reform and now they are all doing business‌.I used to make clothes and sell them. That was my job. But not in a factory‌.our family did all kinds of business. I made clothes, sewed clothes, then sold them at a market every weekend- kind of like The Dirt Market.

Everything was laid out on the floor and people came once or twice a week to buy the clothes. Then I started to go to a wholesale market to buy clothes and sell those. Then we started doing many other kinds of business. That is my work.

B.A.S.E.: So besides playing Mahjong, what would you like to be doing for pleasure here?

M: There is no extra time. I need to take care of the kids.

B.A.S.E.: What things in here are for storage and what are your personal belongings?

XIAO YI: [laughs] Almost all storage. We go into the other building every morning to get ready and clean up.

B.A.S.E.: What do you use for a shower?

XY: Sometimes I go to the public bath, they have single rooms but it’s also a social part of Beijing culture. Most of the time I wash in the little bathroom [the one near the grandmother’s and baby’s bedroom]. It’s more comfortable to bathe in public though.

B.A.S.E.: Do you have any closets for your clothes?

XY: [laughs] We don’t have closets, just clothes in bags.

I’m from the South. We dress nice no matter rich or not rich.

BEER DELIVERY

SHI TAO BEER DELIVERY

BASE hosts weekly BBQ’s for which we order a large case of beer. Shi Tao, the man who delivers them every Friday morning owns a convenience store and delivery service in Caochangdi so we asked if we could interview him. Late one night, we arrived at his shop. He offered us some cold beers and we chatted about his life.

Shi Tao is from a small town three hours north of Beijing.

He has been living in Caochangdi for five years and is well established in the community. During the interview, friends and customers passed in and out of the store, taking drinks without paying and marking their names on a tab behind the register. Though he is content here, he said he misses his family greatly. His wife and two young children still live in his hometown. He calls them every day. They visit once a year, staying for two months in the summertime and returning to grow taller in his absence.

Beyond the aisles of soft drinks and snacks was a thin door that lead to Shi Tao’s sleeping quarters. One double bed protruded from beneath a teetering pile of stacked cardboard boxes. Heaps of clothing cluttered a table that also served as a cooking area and desk. A pressure cooker and a few knives comprised the kitchen; an obsolete computer monitor idled uselessly nearby. The room was lit by one lamp clipped to the top bunk and a stale odor wafted perceptibly from an unfinished bowl of soup on the table.

The space felt slightly sullied, but evidence of Shi Tao’s love of his family brightened his home. His wife’s leopard print dress hung near the door, waiting to be worn; an epic poem for was children was handwritten and mounted on the wall in place of a headboard. Shi Tao’s story of separation in the name of labor is quintessential of a working urban villager.

ST: That’s an ancient poem called ‘Three Words.’ Each line is made of three words. When my kids were here, I wrote this down for them and asked them to memorize it.

B.A.S.E.: You wrote that? It’s beautiful.

ST: Thank you.

B.A.S.E.: What did you do in your home town?

ST: I worked as a traveling agent, helping people get VISAs. B.A.S.E.: Why did you move to Caochangdi?

ST: I read in the newspaper that this storefront was available. It’s better to own your own business than to work for someone else. Being the boss by myself is good but its hard work. I keep a beard because I don’t even have time to shave.

B.A.S.E.: There are a lot of things in here, but what is most important to you?

ST: I don’t have anything particularly important.

B.A.S.E.: Where’s the bathroom?

ST: It’s public. The shower is also outside the building.

Four or five people share it.

B.A.S.E.: Do you know the neighbors really well?

ST: I know everyone here. I’ve been here for five years.

B.A.S.E.: If you have a shop and a home for your family, why don’t they come here to live with you?

ST: I pay 1,500 kuai per month for the store and the room.

This shop does not earn me enough for all of us to survive here.

B.A.S.E.: Do you talk to your family much?

ST: They call me everyday.

RESTAURATEUR

“Here for me is a place to sleep. Most of my time is spent in the restaurant. I eat there, I drink there. Most of my energy goes there. I design the food, the service, everything. Basically my life is over there�

Jason Zhao RESTAURATEUR

As a local friend of Mary-Ann and Robert, restaurant owner Jason Zhao agreed to be involved in our project. Recently, Jason relocated from a small home near Caochangdi to a mid-rise apartment. With a baby on the way and his inlaws living in house, he needed to find housing that was affordable and functional, however generic it may be.

We arrived at Jason’s apartment by taxi late one afternoon with voice recorder and camera in hand. He greeted us on the first floor and escorted us ten flights up to his apartment. He hospitably offered us orange juice and we sat on his couch to converse.

The design was bland; the rooms very sparse. Hardly any misplaced objects cluttered the shelves or drawers. The walls were white; the floor was made of flimsy wooden paneling; the furnished house appeared clinical its lack on inhabitation.

In Jason’s case, the majority of his cookware is kept in his restaurant so his kitchen was particularly minimal. Not only is his food outsourced, but his entire livelihood, it seemed.

We later photographed his restaurant, Fodder Factory (a regular place for lunch). With cozy knick-knacks and art pieces, his restaurant’s aesthetic is vastly differently from that of his apartment; the two do not register as belonging to the same person. As a creative human being, Jason is more at home in his restaurant than in his house.

Here for me is a place to sleep. Most of my time is spent in the restaurant. I eat there, I drink there. Most of my energy goes there. I design the food, the service, everything.

Basically my life is over there.

I have a few friends who all moved here before I did. When they moved it was basically the same; the floor, simple furniture, bathroom, kitchen, everything. And that’s it.

But they made their houses look very beautiful. They bought their own furniture and arranged their own lights, decorations. I like their houses and yeah, I want my house like that. But, from deep in my heart I…I feel like this is not permanent. I don’t want to spend too much money on it.

Even though I am from Beijing, I am from the countryside.

So in the city center where I work, I have nothing. Only a job; I used to sleep in the dormitory with college students.

I really wanted my own space. I spent 200 kuai a month to rent a little space- not even 10 square meters.

But now, to have your own bathroom, shower… it’s like heaven. Before, I had to go outside. I mean the outside- it’s not like out of the room it’s out of the courtyard. So I’d have to go through one two, three, four five doors. Last door: the bathroom. You have to open five doors before you can use the bathroom.

Wow! It’s like heaven. My own space.

When I got my own kitchen, I could finally cook, eat with my friends, that’s like a real life…but it’s still not my own space. I rent it.

I just want everything to be very convenient. You want to buy something—supermarket. You need medicine— drugstore. Your bike is broken— bike repair. I just want it very convenient.

I think local people want the new buildings… they’re like a money making machine. If the government wants to tear down the building or the village and make something new, they would love to do that. They can get a lot of money out of a few new apartments like this. But I think the local people pray for the life like this. Yeah. I think they do.

B.A.S.E.: What has your interaction with the other people who live here been like? Is there a sense of community?

JZ: No. I don’t even know who lives next door to my bedroom.

B.A.S.E.: What about in the urban village you lived in before?

JZ: Everybody. Everyone. This place is very sad to live in.

It’s more like a concrete, a comfortable concrete jail.

B.A.S.E.: There are bars on the windows.

JZ: The people here, their house or village was torn down and they were moved to a new building but they still know each other. Every morning it’s very loud downstairs people play ping-pong or play bat mitten or whatever. They all know each other because they come from the same village or the villages around.

B.A.S.E.: What do you think of yourself? Are you a businessman? An artist? Or do you have another idea?

JZ: My good friend once said to me, ‘Jason you have the spirit of the peasant, the ideas of an artist, and the thinking of a business man.’ I think he’s right.

B.A.S.E.: You created Fodders, right? Decorated with all those knick-knacks? Is that your artist side?

JZ: When I saw something, I would just pick it up and feel like it would be useful. ‘This would be really nice for something, I’m just not sure for what.’ When I work with something, I think, ‘oh this one is good for here.’ So that’s why the bass is hanging. Before I wanted that area for

FODDER FACTORY

drinks, for whiskey. The kitchen door is where I hung the bass. I’m thinking, ‘where should I put this big instrument?’

Suddenly I feel like the size of it seems perfect. It looks really good. I mean without the bass the bar is nothing.

I start to buy the old furniture and old stuff in the market nearby. It was very cheap at that time. Can you guess how much I paid for the bass? 150 kuai. Everything used to be very cheap.

That’s my process of work. It really makes me so excited. I feel very successful. I feel surprised. .

My ideas, my mind is totally open for crea

I don’t know what else or what other jo

passion for? The restaurant as it is right n height of my career — my best work.

r creating the restaurant. It makes me feel‌

er job I can do that I could have so much

ight now is, at least for now, is probably the

.

B.A.S.E. 2012 Robert Mangurian Mary-Ann Ray Philip Lee Echo Xiang Jason Zhao Zhang Fang Candice Ammori Katherine Asher Andrew Baird Hannah Dean Efrie Friedlander Indhie Georges Danielle Gray Peter Halquist Josh Harks Claire He Steven Hien Daniel Kobran Nina Levin Yao Ma Bryan Madrigal Michael Morris Bao Nguyen Max Obata Steven Scharrer Matthew Strong Bradley Taris Andrew Wald Yao Wang Clayton Wenrick Kyle Wyatt

B.A.S.E. Beijing,a laboratory devoted to projects related to architecture and design in urban and rural China was established in 2005 in the urban village of Caochangdi by Robert Mangurian, Mary-Ann Ray and Robert Adams. The projects for B.A.S.E. 7.0 2012 were carried out in collaboration with B.A.S.E. Beijing associates Echo Xiang and Philip Lee. B.A.S.E.

Beijing

gratefully

acknowledges

the

tremendous

support

it

has

received

from the University of Michigan’s Taubman College of Architecture and Urban Planning, the Graham Environmental Sustainability Institute, the Office of the Vice Provost for Research, the Center for Chinese Studies, the Confucius Institute, Center for Global Intercultural Studies, and the International Institute, the Beijing University of Technology and the leadership of the Pearl River Valley Township and Shang Shui Guo Village.

B.A.S.E. Beijing sees itself as playing a role in rethinking and reinventing the project of education within architecture.

EPILOGUE: BASE LOFT

“We could have lived in Star City, luxury aparments, but it wouldn’t compare to BASE Loft. Here we can fully immerse ourselves in the culture through Caochangdi. The scene, the people, the food, we love it here. We wouldn’t trade it for anything else. Plus we save some dough.”

Josh, Bryan, Bao, Mike, Steven, Brad BASE LOFTERS

Finding student housing near Coachangdi for the duration of BASE proved to be a challenge. We thought there would be space for all of us in the luxurious Star City apartments.

There was not, however, so some of us were relegated to 7 Days Inn, which is only comfortable for about that amount of time. We needed a better solution for the extent of the program.

A room near the front of the studio was vacant so Robert and Mary-Ann rented it out. Double doors opened to a large space, flanked by two smaller rooms, one with a sink and toilette and one with a bathtub. A ladder near the shower ascended to a nook upstairs, which looked out from a height into the main area. With its rough walls and dusty ceilings, the loft was in bad condition. In order to make it livable, we had to construct the interior from the ground up. At the beginning of the summer, it wasn’t much, but it held great potential for becoming something spectacular.

First, we assembled scaffolding, scraped and sanded the walls, plastered them smooth, and painted them a clean white. We changed the light bulbs, wiped the mini fridge, fixed the armoire, and set up the hot plate and propane tank that had been idling in the nook. The room already had plumbing and electricity, but the shower needed to be connected to the water line. With six pairs of working hands, it took less than a week to prepare the space for furnishing.

Using preexisting tables and bunks from the studio, we assembled shelving and three beds. We still needed mattresses and bedding, however, so we purchased blankets from IKEA and padding from a local furniture vendor. The mattresses were akin to those we had seen in the migrant labor temporary housing quarters; basic, albeit comfortable.

A dollar store in Coachandi supplied us with all the household goods we needed: a shower curtain, a doormat, a rug, a stereo system and more. The decorations on the walls were products of our tourism, including traditional hand held fans from The Dirt Market as well as an unlikely sign appropriated from a local donkey-meat restaurant. We washed our clothes at a local Laundromat and hung them to dry wherever we could find space: on the roof, from the top bunk, or in the nook upstairs that stored our empty baggage. The entire operation cost approximately 3,000 kuai. In no time at all, our space- and our lives- had become quite comfortable.

Living as a local in Coachangdi was an unanticipated aspect of the BASE curriculum. An accidental self-ethnography in Do-It-Yourself urbanism, the experience gave us true insight into day-to-day life as an urban villager.

Beyond that, it helped us build a rapport with our neighbors, some of whom benefited our research by being features in our assignments. The dollar store owner, for example, became a friend who we greeted daily and who allowed us to inventory his shop. Likewise, the man who delivers beer did the same. The loft enriched our relationship with Caochangdi and furthermore, this project allowed us to utilize architectural skills in our personal lives. The collaborative effort produced a place to live and an enhanced experience of BASE.