介绍:
For most of us, a train, the metal machine that carries us from point A to point B, is merely another transportation option.
In the eyes of those who cherish their peaceful private space, the ear-piercing screams from little children, yammers from people talking loudly on their cellphones, the idea of spending hours with an overwhelming trainload of strangers, not to mention the claustrophobia-triggered sensation of being stuck in a confined carriage, would render a locomotive ride a loathing, unpleasant experience.
But for Chinese photographer Wang Fuchun, taking a train has never been a problem.
"Once I get in, I feel at home. I will get excited. Instead of settling down for relax, I will prowl through carriages. "
Born in 1943, Wang developed a life-long affinity with trains when he was still a boy.
"I became an orphan at an early age. So my elder brother and his wife took me under their wings. Around that time, my brother worked for the railway administration. So our house was near the rail line. Every day, I watched trains go by and listened to their shrieking. We were pretty poor back then. So in order to support the family, I collected cinders along the tracks. (During the harvest season), to collect grains that have not been harvested, I would hop onto trains to nearby farmlands. It's kinda like the old movie 'Railroad Guerrilla'. My love for trains has grown in me since my early childhood."
In the year 1963, persuaded by his brother, Wang decided to transform his love for trains into a career. The then twenty-year-old got admitted into a vocational railroad training school where he trained as an engineman.
"I applied for that school because I wanted to drive the train. But after graduation, I was assigned the role of car inspector. As you can imagine, I was slightly disappointed. But this episode didn't affect my feelings towards trains. (In the 70s), I became a graphic designer for the labour union of the Sankeshu Railway Administration. Then in 1977, each work unit was asked to elect exemplary employees. For the sake of publicity, the head of the labour union asked me to take some pictures. That's how I started my photography career."
But back then, Wang Fuchun thumbed his nose at photography.
"Before that, I had already tried my hands on photography for many times. I didn't regard it as a form of art. I was convinced that painting was an art whereas photography was merely a matter of technique."
Judging his old photos by today's standards, the earliest subjects under Wang's lens are quite monotonous. Most of them are just some publicity set-ups, aimed at fueling work ethos among rail workers. He took those photos dutifully without much zeal.
Then there was an exhibition that finally helped Wang discover his vocation in photography.
"I remember it was 1980, when Japanese photographer Hiroji Kubota exhibited his photos on China in the city of Harbin. His photos were so big that each one of them occupied nearly an entire wall. It was mind-boggling! (Kubota specializes in documentary photography.) His works changed my mind and how I took pictures."
Subsequently, Wang started carrying along a twin-lensed seagull camera, which he used to record the lives of many temporary tenants on the trains.
"No one ever assigned a topic to me or told me what to do. I didn't preconceive my subjects. As long as there was something that was interesting enough to capture my attention, I would just press the shutter. Around that time, 'documentary photography' was unheard-of. Everything just happened quite randomly."
In contrast to his previous approach, Wang has chosen to furtively sneak around the carriages and snap pictures.
Half-joking, half-serious, the photographer calls himself a thief.
"To take good photos, you have to equip with the gut and a sharp eye of a thief. I call myself a professional pickpocket. But what I steal away is not passengers' money but their images."
Wang admits that his snoopy approach has constantly raised suspicion. The police would always ask for his ID and his camera was once snatched away by a grouchy passenger.
But thanks to his discreetness, we, as spectators, have this rare opportunity to be exposed to some of the most intimate, off-guard moments of many travellers. Through his viewfinder, parents affectionately gaze down at a wide-eyed newborn baby; two lovebirds covered by the same blanket are mesmerized by each other's eyes; and a chubby monk grips his prayer beads and dozes off. All the pictures are in black and white.
In his later photo collection, Wang notes that:
"The carriage is like a multi-faceted prism that mirrors with clarity the larger society, life, family; everyone of us. It also resembles a stage where all kinds of comedies, tragedies, and farces are displayed. In other places, people are usually reserved and disciplined, but on the train, they are so much at ease and self-indulgent."
In the photobook, "Huo Che Shang De Zhong Guo Ren", literally translating to "Chinese on the Train", Wang Fuchun mines into the vicissitudes of life and the dramatic transformation of the Chinese railway network over the past four decades. Forget the glitzy, modern bullet trains that frequently appear in the news today, as we flip through the pages, we are drawn back to the time when "lv pi che", or "green-skinned" train in English, was the top choice mode of transport for long-distance travellers. Steam-driven, those overcrowded, noisy iron horses travelled at 30 to 70 kilometres per hour and could take days to reach the destination.
Wang Fuchun recalls:
"There was no air conditioner (in the late 1970s). Later, fans were installed. But inside the compartments, it was still hot and stuffy. A jumble of people crammed against one another. When the temperature was way up, and the sweat was pouring down, people would smoke or take their shirts off. So you had a good idea of what to expect: a stinky, suffocating ride!"
Yet his images show no anguish nor fret. A man of warm-hearted and easy-going personality, Wang has made his images, be it those of seat-less migrant workers or travellers overloaded with big luggage, that are imbued with a sense of lightness. The relaxed, calm bearing of his subjects definitely sets Wang apart from many other documentary photographers.
"That's because I had experience in graphic design. I had touched upon oiling paintings, prints, traditional Chinese painting, and many others. But what I love the most is comics. Although I gave up drawing for a long time, the visual narratives and humorous elements in comics have been largely involved in my photos. Some people might say that my works are interesting and comical. They don't know if the scenario is not funny, I won't click the shutter at all."
His photo book also serves as the visual chronicle of history. Flipping through the pages, we have experienced how people's dress codes have changed from stiff uniforms to all kinds of outfits; the ways of killing time shift from playing mah-jong with fellow travellers to staring at respective digital devices; and how "green-skinned" trains are replaced by comfortable high-speed trains.
"How Chinese trains have evolved! First, it was steam train, and then it was replaced by diesel locomotive. Coming up, we got electric trains. Now, bullet train has become the norm. As the transportation has improved, people inside the carriages have changed as well. These transformations mirror the tremendous changes of China after opening up to the outside world (since the late 1970s). The transformation was silent and subtle. I am glad that as a photographer, I document these changes and people like my pictures."
Nowadays, the high-speed railway network in the Middle Kingdom measures a staggering 22 thousand kilometres, more than the rest of the world's combined. As China's railway revolution continues to pick up steam, it is expected that by 2020, this sprawling network will cover 80% of the big cities.
But in the eyes of Wang Fuchun, the improvement has also brought some undesirable side-effects.
"Now, walking inside the high-speed rail, no matter how hard I try, I cannot find a good subject to capture. There is no story any more. People either lie down, or stare at their mobile phones. They stop chatting to people sitting next to them. There is no conversation throughout the entire journey. The indifference has become the most significant trait of this day and age."
In 2014, Wang Fuchun was selected by Invisible Photographer Asia as one of the 30 most influential photographers in Asia, joining some of the most established names in the pantheon such as Daido Moriyama and Pablo Bartholomew.
But the man has no intention to stop right there. Besides the train, he has also snapped pictures of people on subways, in his hometown of Heilongjiang and many other locations.
"Documentary photography is an art of human beings. It's meaningless without documenting humans. People are the carriers of social activities. There is nothing wrong with landscape photography. But those images only reflect one facet of life, which is pure beauty. But documentary photos could reveal so much more. They can see something beyond the beauty, such as tragedy, bitterness, and pain. That's what life is really about."
Just like the American bestselling novelist David Baldacci once said: "… most folk who ride trains could care less where they're going. For them it's the journey itself and the people they meet along the way."
It's the same case for Wang Fuchun. With every photo he takes, a little bit of China, gets on and says hello.
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