【英语生活】在现代中国复苏传统生活

Johnson Chang, the man largely credited with introducing Chinese contemporary art to the West, is not difficult to spot in an art-world crowd. At Hong Kong's China Club岸a glamorous venue known for its high-powered clientele, and featuring a riot of artwork selected by Chang himself, many pieces playing ironically with images of Mao and retro communist propaganda岸he can be singled out across the room thanks to his attire: Chinese peasant garments of a type rarely seen outside of historical films, a black cotton jacket with a Mandarin collar, loose trousers, and leather slippers handmade in Beijing.

His fashion statement is deliberate. A champion of the Chinese avant-garde who organized several landmark exhibitions after the Tiananmen Square crisis, Chang is also fiercely dedicated to the idea that ancient Chinese culture can endure today as a vital, relevant force. For several years, he has been pursuing his most radical curatorial project yet, a bold artistic experiment whose ambition is unprecedented in China岸perhaps anywhere in the world. Working with a group of artists in a ruined factory zone on the edge of Shanghai, he has created an entire traditional Chinese village from the ground up, using ancient building methods that were almost lost to living memory. The village is not intended as a tourist destination, but rather as a working center for traditional Chinese artists, craftsmen and musicians, many of whose skills only survived underground during the Cultural Revolution. 'I want to see the revival of Chinese material culture,' he declared. 'Four thousand years of tradition need to be kept alive.' Along with the meticulous re-creation of history, Chang hopes to restore a fading universe of Confucian values to counteract the materialism seeping through the country, which ruthlessly dismisses and discards anything that cannot turn a profit.

Many in the West are unaware that China's ancient artistic heritage, long battered by the excesses of the Communist Revolution, is facing an even more dramatic threat today from frenzied modernization. Since the country embraced capitalism in the 1980s, development has scorched the landscape at a furious pace, sweeping away untold architectural treasures, and with them the last vestiges of art, crafts and beliefs that form a kind of collective memory. 'Twenty rural villages are destroyed by developers every day,' says Professor Ruan Yisan, the patriarch of Chinese preservationists, who directs the National Research Center of Historic Cities in Shanghai, quoting figures provided to him by the government's Ministry of Construction. 'We don't know what is being lost with them.' Johnson Chang feels that China's cultural identity is vanishing beneath an avalanche of modernity, wherein many Western styles and habits are regarded as superior to the Chinese. His project is an attempt to forge a link with the past before it disintegrates entirely. 'The new generation isn't even sure what Chinese tradition is,' he said. 'It's something to be imagined. So it's absolutely crucial to keep the lineage intact.'

Chang's art project is in a suburb called Jinze, but as I discovered after checking in at the Fairmont Peace Hotel岸an icon of Shanghai's 1930s decadence, where Charlie Chaplin kept a suite and Noël Coward wrote Private Lives岸the name isn't listed in any guidebook, and Google Maps was blocked (along with Twitter, Facebook and, in fact, my own website). After I'd tried to arrange a visit for several days, a call came in from Chang: An assistant would pick me up in 10 minutes. 'Bring your bags,' he suggested. 'Stay as long as you like.'

Downstairs, a Chinese hipster in decidedly untraditional clothing was waiting in a beaten-up city cab, and soon we were hurtling through modern high-rise developments and shopping complexes. Ever since the First Opium War of 1839 1842 opened the country at cannon-point, Shanghai has been mainland China's most enthusiastic gateway to the West. Cranes cluster like praying mantises on every horizon, and the shudder of construction work provides a constant soundtrack. The result suggests a more crowded version of Las Vegas, except that many of the skyscrapers are capped with shapes intended to evoke the roofs of Chinese temples岸to the untutored eye, they resemble giant power tools.

Even so, Shanghai remains an architecture student's dream. Hidden among the towers are relics of almost every conceivable era岸Russian Stalinist spires, neoclassical façades, a Gothic cathedral. In its passion for Western styles, the city is also graced with nine surreal New Towns, a series of residential developments that include Thames Town, with artificial Tudor houses; a Holland town; and a German town designed by the son of Albert Speer.

The skyscrapers began to thin as we approached Qingpu district in Shanghai's west. Occasional stretches of farmland could now be glimpsed among acres of decaying industrial parks. Jinze turned out to be a bustling provincial township within the city limits, filled with grimy concrete-block housing and shabby stores. Although traffic was now mostly on bicycle and foot, we got lost in a maze of abandoned factories. Then the taxi stopped suddenly at a pair of wooden gates. A caretaker rushed out to open them, revealing a startling vision of Old China that might have been lifted from a Qing Dynasty vase.

A tranquil courtyard was surrounded by whitewashed timber structures, all with elegant upturned eaves. Goldfish gathered in a pool, shaded by blossoming trees. Paper lanterns fluttered in the breeze. After the chaos of Shanghai, it was a welcome vision of rural serenity. I was escorted to an empty tearoom, whose wood-framed windows looked out over a broad canal spanned by a stone bridge, and where we were soon joined by Chang himself, smiling in his trademark rustic garb. 'This is our effort to return to the roots of Chinese culture,' Chang explained. 'In Europe, civilization began in the cities, but in China, it was in the countryside. Everything changed with Mao's land reform, which got rid of the wealthy and the intellectuals who were tied to the land.'

Although construction will continue for another five years, the first Shanghai artists, poets, scholars and musicians have already begun visiting and staying for short residencies. The centerpiece is a grandiose Ritual Hall, which has hosted traditional coming-of-age ceremonies, weddings, New Years festivities and birthdays for local villagers and Shanghai residents, using ancient costumes and rites. There are several performance stages for Chinese opera and music, which have so far included concerts featuring the guqin, a stringed instrument favored by Confucius. Accuracy is aided by an extensive network of specialists岸Chinese historians, folklorists and anthropologists, and advisers from the China Academy of Art and the Shanghai Theater Academy岸who draw on surviving ceremonial practices. 'This is not a film set,' said Chang. 'It's a working place. To begin with, artisans in dying trades岸craftsmen who have no apprentices岸have come to pass on their skills to the next generation.'

Other sections lie outside the main gate. 'This dates from the 13th century, when the Mongols ruled China,' Chang said as he stopped to admire a stone bridge with no railings. Several factory spaces have been converted into research centers, conference halls and warehouses, which store antique handicrafts salvaged from remote provinces of China. One chamber contained exquisite hand-woven clothes; another, dozens of ancient stone cake molds; another, wooden statuettes. A larger storeroom contained 20 varieties of wooden loom, all in working order.

We were joined by the Shanghai artist Hu Xiangcheng岸a robust 62-year-old who is overseeing construction of the project. He has been a fixture of the Asian contemporary art scene for decades. Hu and Chang met in 1997 and collaborated on the São Paulo Architecture Biennial two years later, where they bonded over their despair at the number of ancient villages being razed. After decades of grim communal farms established by Mao, most urban Chinese regarded rural areas with disdain. 'We decided to build something so beautiful that everyone would be seduced by it,' Chang said. 'It would be authentic but attractive, and prove that country living is desirable岸which, after 60 years of communist rule, young people don't believe.'

'The idea for Jinze had been in my head since I was young, growing up in Hong Kong,' Chang explained. 'In my imagination, the Chinese countryside always seemed more real and attractive. This vision was derived from ancient landscape paintings, martial arts novels, and the fact that one detested the overcrowding in Hong Kong, with its property-mad economy. But, of course, most Chinese people are now mesmerized by the new and the fashionable.'

The site, funded mostly by Chang and his brother, a successful Hong Kong financier, covers 400,000 square feet, a quarter of which now contains structures whose purposes are quickly evolving. There are 12 guest rooms for artists and scholars, with a dormitory for Shanghai art students under way, and even a working organic farm. 'We want to show local farmers that you can follow traditional agricultural methods and still thrive,' said Hu. He regards this involvement with the villagers of Jinze as crucial. 'Contemporary artists say they want to engage with society, but they aren't doing it hands-on. They only have relationships with museums. Art is cut off from the lives of everyday people. But Confucian philosophy encourages artists to work with society岸officials, businessmen, merchants.' He has already erected five theater stages for villagers in the traditional style and provided musical instruments. 'At night, the villages around us used to be dead. They were dark and silent. Now people are coming out! There's a new sense of happiness.'

Clearly, the project at Jinze doesn't fit any neat categories. It's an arts center, a rural retreat, an academic facility, a community center. But it's also a conceptual artwork in itself岸an implicit protest at the direction China has taken in recent decades. 'The very existence of Jinze is a critique of the destruction of villages currently taking place,' said Professor Ruan Yisan.

According to Chang, the assault on China's ancient traditions岸including its architectural heritage岸began at the turn of the 20th century, when the ancient Confucian social system began to crumble. For 2,000 years prior, China's villages had experienced remarkable continuity: Their wooden buildings were maintained by master artisans who had intimate knowledge of carpentry, lacquer, paint pigments, resins and textiles. But when Sun Yat-sen began the process of Westernization after the 1911 Republican Revolution, wooden buildings were constructed less often, and traditional skills were slowly abandoned. The 1949 Communist Revolution hastened the process, as antique structures were regarded as vestiges of a feudal era. During the Cultural Revolution of 1966 1976, Mao let loose the Red Guards against 'the Four Olds'岸old customs, old culture, old habits and old ideas岸destroying temples, historical relics and tombs. Even Beijing's vast Forbidden City would have been steamrolled had Premier Zhou Enlai not objected and posted troops in its defense.

China has seen both extreme communism and extreme capitalism in the past 100 years, and Chang feels 'no other country has tried to cut off its history more radically.' The only comparison in the West might be the collapse of the Roman Empire, which shattered Greco-Roman culture. 'The question is,' Chang says, 'having gone this far, how do we rethink our situation? How does one redeem the past?'

The project at Jinze is certainly one of the more creative protests of China's headlong rush to capitalism and modernity. Other artists have raised objections, such as Ai Weiwei, who in 1995 famously photographed himself dropping a Han Dynasty urn and letting it smash on the ground. In recent years, the stray voices have resolved into a more tangible clamor. 'Chinese intellectuals岸academics, architects and planners岸are now in very hot discussion about how best to pursue preservation,' said Li Xiangning, a professor of history and criticism at Tongji University in Shanghai. 'There is a growing sense that we need to slow down our pursuit of money and development. Ninety percent of Chinese society is charging toward the future at an incredible pace, but there must be a few of us who cast an eye backward. If we look to history and tradition, we might be able to rethink what we've done in the past two or three decades.'

Signs of a budding preservationist spirit can be seen even in development-mad Shanghai. Despite its reputation for the unsentimental pursuit of the yuan, the city has had more success in saving its heritage than many others in China, including Beijing. The local government declared 12 'preservation zones' in 2004 to give a modicum of protection to the city's historical neighborhoods. The centerpiece is a waterfront district known as the Bund, lined with majestic art deco buildings such as the newly restored Peace Hotel. Tourists nostalgic for the 1930s can also visit the French Concession, once the refuge of opium lords, gangsters and prostitutes, where restored colonial mansions stand on streets lined by parasol trees. One former home of a wealthy Chinese family opened in 2010 as a boutique hotel, Le Sun Chine, complete with a retro champagne bar. 'In the 1930s, there was a conversation between the cultures in Shanghai,' explained the owner, Sebastian Sun, an entrepreneur in his 30s. Even Chinese travelers are tired of all the 500-room business hotels, he has found, preferring Le Sun Chine's more intimate scale.

Many historical sites that have escaped the wrecking ball, however, have suffered from gaudy restorations catering to China's boom in domestic tourism, which can turn remote relics into fairground attractions almost overnight. 'The Chinese do enjoy visiting their cultural treasures, but they have very different sensibilities to our own,' says Catherine Heald, CEO of high-end Asian tour company Remote Lands, in New York. 'They prefer to go to sections of the Great Wall that have been fixed up and made to look brand new, while we prefer the original, even if it is in ruins.' Ancient sites are regularly demolished and replaced by copies, whose commercialism and lack of fine detail can suggest a dispiriting theme park. 'Luckily, there are still a few far-flung towns and villages that have not been over-restored.'

One of the most impressive岸and symbolic岸is Pingyao, the last of China's 2,000 walled towns to remain entirely intact. Located 850 miles northwest of Shanghai, its survival is a small miracle. Under Mao, authorities in the impoverished Shanxi province lacked the resources to destroy Pingyao's formidable fortifications, which are 26 to 40 feet thick and topped with 72 watchtowers. These stubborn bastions also protected a thriving ancient town, its lanes lined with lavish mansions, temples and even banks dating from the period when Pingyao was the financial capital of the Qing Dynasty. But having survived the Red Guards, the remote town became the focus of a dramatic conservation battle in 1980, when the government decided to plow six roads through its heart for car traffic. Professor Ruan Yisan rushed to Pingyao to halt the steamrollers; given one month by the state governor to devise an alternative proposal, he moved into the town with 11 of his best students. It turned into a grueling assignment岸all 12 of the group came down with dysentery and were plagued by lice岸but Ruan's plan for an adjacent new town was accepted. In 1997, UNESCO declared the entire town a World Heritage Site, and in 2009, the first boutique hotel, Jing's Residence, opened, mixing ancient and modern styles within a former silk merchant's mansion. But strangely, despite its iconic status, few foreigners make the effort to visit it today.

For the moment, Pingyao's 50,000 inhabitants still live in a town that looks much as it has for centuries. But its status is fragile. 'The larger public buildings have been saved,' Professor Ruan said. 'But there are dozens of historic residential houses that are in urgent need of repair.' Pingyao is also being discovered by the first Chinese tourists, who travel in large bus groups and stay only briefly. As a result, the main crossroads has already been taken over by souvenir vendors, selling the same cheap knick-knacks you can find in Shanghai or Beijing markets (or New York's Chinatown). The rise in housing prices is threatening to drive out residents. 'We need to switch from mass sightseeing,' Ruan said. 'People should stay for an extended time so they can understand Pingyao's art, its culture, its cuisine. But it's not easy to control tourism in China, because economic growth is such a focus for the authorities.' Rampant commercialism has the power to destroy Pingyao just as efficiently as neglect.

In Beijing, signs of the past are more elusive. The old city, once as admired as Paris for its beauty, has been under siege since the Communist Revolution, and its charming hutong, or narrow-lane neighborhoods, have been steadily disappearing ever since. Even so, protests were ignited last January when developers demolished the home of the country's most illustrious 20th-century architect, Liang Sicheng, who had campaigned in vain to save Old Beijing under Mao. (After one defeat, he presciently shouted, 'In 50 years, you'll know I'm right!') Thanks to public support, the house was declared an 'immovable cultural relic,' but during the lull of the New Year holidays, a developer moved in and leveled it anyway. The company received a token fine of $80,000 from the government, which provoked a renewed level of outrage. 'Some professors are calling it the Chinese Penn Station Movement,' says Professor Li, referring to the destruction of New York's railway station in 1963, which spurred preservation. 'But I'm not optimistic.'

Chang sees the fight to save historical architecture as one part of a broader mission. 'One of the most drastic breaks with the past has been with traditional rituals,' he said. 'Lunar festivals, ancestral rites, seasonal ceremonies, funerals.' He hopes to revive the Confucian concept of Li, he explained, which goes beyond the English word 'ritual' to include everything from etiquette, education and morality to a cosmic vision of a balanced world order. 'Many people are trying to exploit nostalgia by inventing rituals to fill our sense of loss,' said Chang, 'but they don't carry the weight of authenticity.' The Ritual Hall at Jinze is a setting for correct ancient ceremonies岸or as correct as possible, given the enormous weight of research that surrounds their revival岸and he hopes to create similar spaces in Beijing and Hong Kong.

On the opening night of a symposium Chang held on the study of ritual, a bevy of scholars, artists, and Chang's family and friends (it was also his birthday) converged at a reception at the China Club, the Beijing branch of the Hong Kong club. The setting itself seemed to capture the quixotic nature of the enterprise, since the historic mansion, once in the heart of a hutong, is now the lone survivor, overshadowed on all sides by skyscrapers. The interior was exuberantly traditional. In the banquet hall, guests were entertained by a Chinese opera troupe, as Chang drifted happily from guest to guest, engaging them in conversation and making introductions across continents and cultures.

As the party wound down, Chang stepped from the warm glow of lanterns to the cold streetlight reflected off the surrounding skyscrapers. Standing by the busy highway, it was easy to doubt that an idyllic art project, even one executed at the grand scale of the village at Jinze, could have an impact on the juggernaut of China's development. But Chang was, as ever, hopeful. 'Art has a special role in society,' he said. 'It provides a public space where reflection is possible, and criticism can be launched.' His village offers the disparate voices protesting the government's vandalism of the past a living critique of China's lightning modernization岸a spark that could ignite an equally intense burst of energy to preserve its ancient heritage.

As he returned to the China Club for a last cup of rice wine, Chang and his friends seemed like genteel revolutionaries ready to take on the modern world.

Photographs by Philippe Chancel建于14世纪的平遥古城是现今中国最后一个依然完好无损的古城。1980年，在古建筑保护主义者的努力下，平遥古城躲过一劫。
张颂仁是一位以将中国当代艺术介绍给西方而享誉的艺术家，要在艺术圈里认出他并不难。在香港中国会(Hong Kong's China Club，这是一个迷人的地方，以接待高端客户著称，这里陈列着张颂仁亲自挑选的各种艺术品，其中许多作品是调侃毛的形象以及旧式的共产主义宣传)，张颂仁的穿着让人一眼就能从房间另一侧认出他来，他身穿除历史影片之外很少见到的中国农民服饰：一件中式衣领的黑色棉布上衣，宽松的裤子，还有在北京手工制作的皮拖。

他是有意以这一形象示人的。张颂仁是中国先锋艺术的支持者，在天安门事件后组织了几次具有里程碑意义的展览，他同时也极力倡导这样一个理念，即中国古代文化在今天可以作为一种至关重要、有重大意义的力量得以维系。近几年来，张颂仁一直在推进他最重大的艺术策划项目，这是一个大胆的艺术实验，其雄心之大在中国──也许乃至整个世界都是前所未有的：张颂仁与一群艺术家在上海市郊一个废弃的工厂区进行合作，从零开始打造了一整个中国传统村落，运用的是几乎被世人遗忘的传统建筑工艺。这个村落不是要建成旅游景点，而是作为供中国传统艺术家、工匠和音乐家使用的工作中心，在文化大革命(Cultural Revolution)期间，这其中很多人只能在暗地里保留他们的手艺。他宣称，“我想看到中国物质文化的复兴，必须让四千年的传统保持生机。”除一丝不苟地重建历史外，张颂仁还希望恢复日渐衰微的儒家价值观，以抵制如今渗透中国的实利主义（实利主义无情地否定和抛弃一切不能带来利益的东西）。

许多西方人并没有意识到，长期受共产主义革命破坏的中国古代艺术遗产在当今狂热的现代化进程中面临着更大的威胁。中国二十世纪八十年代接受资本主义以来，大建设以疯狂的速度将历史景观夷为焦土，彻底摧毁了无数的建筑瑰宝，随之消失的还有最后一些艺术遗迹、工艺和信仰，正是这些东西构成了人们的一种集体记忆。中国古建筑保护元老、上海国家历史文化名城研究中心(National Research Center of Historic Cities)主任阮仪三教授援引中国住建部(Ministry of Construction)向他提供的数据称，“每天有二十个乡村被开发商摧毁。我们不知道会随之失去什么东西。”张颂仁感到，在雪崩般的现代化浪潮下，中国的文化认同正在消失，而许多西方的风格和习惯被视为比中国优越。他试图通过这个项目，在传统完全崩溃之前建立一种与过去的联系。他说，“新一代人甚至都不太了解中国传统究竟是什么，只能靠凭空想象。所以，完好地保留这种联系绝对是至关重要的。”

张颂仁的艺术项目位于上海市郊一个叫金泽的地方，但我入住上海和平饭店(Fairmont Peace Hotel)──这家酒店是上海二十世纪三十年代颓靡生活的代表，卓别林(Charlie Chaplin)在这里保留着一间套房，剧作家科沃德(Noël Coward)在这里撰写了名著《私人生活》(Private Lives)──之后发现，在任何导游手册上都找不到金泽这个地方，谷歌地图(Google Maps)也被屏蔽了（还有Twitter、Facebook，以及我的个人网站）。在我试着与张颂仁联系，安排为期几天的访问之后，我接到了张颂仁的电话，告诉我有个助手会在10分钟内来接我。他建议我“带上你的行李，想住多久就住多久。”

Photograph by Philippe Chancel为了在经历过文革和开发商破坏的现代中国找回些许传统生活的影子，一些人走访古镇，开办带有历史感的酒店，甚至从零开始修建传统村庄。楼下有一位着装风格明显反传统的中国潮人在一辆破旧的出租车里等我，很快，出租车就带着我们疾驰在一幢幢现代高楼和购物中心之间了。1839年到1842年的第一次鸦片战争(First Opium War)以大炮打开了中国的大门，自此之后上海一直是中国大陆最热衷于接受西方文化的门户。螳螂似的起重机随处可见，建筑工地的轰鸣声不绝于耳。上海现在看起来就像一个更加拥挤的拉斯维加斯，唯一的区别在于，许多摩天大楼顶部的设计让人联想起中国寺庙的屋顶──但在外行人眼中，它们很像巨大的电动工具。

尽管如此，上海依然是建筑专业学生的梦想之地。摩天大楼之间隐藏着几乎所有时代的历史建筑──俄罗斯斯大林式尖塔、新古典主义立面、哥特式教堂。出于对西方风格的热衷，上海还拥有九个超现实主义的新城(New Towns)，这一系列住宅区中包括仿都铎风格的泰晤士小镇(Thames Town)；一个荷兰风情小镇；还有由阿尔伯特•斯皮尔(Albert Speer)的儿子设计的德国风情小镇。

快到上海西部的青浦区时，摩天大楼开始少了起来，不时能在绵延数英亩的破败工业园间瞥见一块块农田。呈现在我们面前的金泽是一个闹哄哄的地方小镇，位于上海市界之内，街头满是脏兮兮的混凝土砖房和破破烂烂的商店。尽管街上大多是骑自行车的人和步行者，我们还是在迷宫般的废弃工厂中迷路了。随后，出租车突然在两扇木门前停了下来。一名管家快步出来开了门，我们面前呈现出了一幅令人惊叹的、好似取自清代花瓶的中国古代图景。

一个宁静的庭院四周环绕着粉刷成白色的木结构房屋，所有房屋都有着雅致的上翘屋檐。金鱼池边绿树掩映，树上开着花。纸灯笼在微风中摇曳。在看过乱糟糟的上海之后，这是一派赏心悦目的乡间宁静景色。管家陪我进入一间空茶室，从茶室的木框窗户向外望去，可以看到一条宽阔的运河，运河上架着石桥。张颂仁很快亲自前来会客，他面带微笑，穿着那身标志性的乡土风格服装。张颂仁解释说，“这是我们为回归中国文化本源所作的努力，在欧洲，文明始于城市，但在中国则是始于乡村。土地改革消灭了与土地有联系的富裕阶层和知识分子，在土地改革之后，一切都变了。”

尽管该项目还要再过五年才能建好，但第一批来自上海的艺术家、诗人、学者和音乐家已开始到这里造访并小住了。处于中心位置的是一座宏伟的礼堂(Ritual Hall)，这里曾为当地村民和上海居民举行过传统成人礼、婚礼、新年和生日庆祝活动，典礼上采用古代服饰和仪式。这里设有几个可表演中国传统戏曲和音乐的舞台，到目前为止已经举行过包括古琴（一种受孔子喜爱的弦乐器）演奏会在内的一些演出。大批专家──有中国历史学家、民俗研究者、人类学家，还有来自中国美术学院(China Academy of Art)和上海戏剧学院(Shanghai Theater Academy)的顾问──通过借鉴现存的仪式来尽力这些保证仪式的精准性。张颂仁说，“这里不是电影布景，而是工作场所。首先，掌握濒危手艺的工匠──他们没有徒弟──已经到这里来把他们的技艺传给下一代了。”

项目的其他部分位于正门外。在经过一座没有栏杆的石桥时，张颂仁停下脚步，一边欣赏石桥一边说，“这座桥建于13世纪，当时中国由蒙古人统治。”几处厂房已被改造成为研究中心、会议厅和仓库，用来存放从中国偏远省份抢救出来的古代手工艺品。有一个房间里放着精致的手工制作服装；另一个房间里有数十件古代石制点心模具；还有一个房间里存放着木质小雕像。一间较大的储藏室内有20个形态各异的木制织布机，全都可以正常运转。

上海的艺术家胡项城随我们一同参观──这位62岁的艺术家精力充沛，负责管理该项目的施工。几十年来，胡项城的身影一直活跃在亚洲当代艺术界。胡项城和张颂仁结识于1997年,两人在两年后举行的圣保罗建筑双年展(São Paulo Architecture Biennial)上进行了合作，在那次双年展上，对众多古代村落受到破坏的绝望让两人结下了友情。毛泽东建立的糟糕的合作社体制在中国推行了几十年，如今中国多数城市人都有些瞧不起农村地区。张颂仁说，“我们决定建一个很美的东西，让所有人都会被它吸引。它原汁原味但富有吸引力，能证明农村生活的魅力──在中国共产党统治60年之后，年轻人已经不相信农村生活有什么吸引力了。”

张颂仁解释说，“我是在香港长大的，有关金泽项目的想法从我小时候就有了。在我的想象中，中国农村似乎总显得更加真实，更有吸引力。这种印象来自古代风景绘画、武侠小说，也源自对香港过度拥挤、房地产经济疯狂发展的厌恶。不过，当然啦，大多数中国人现在都醉心于新潮和时尚。

该项目主要由张颂仁和他的弟弟──香港一位成功的金融家──出资兴建，占地40万平方英尺（约56亩），其中四分之一的建筑物用途目前正在得到迅速改造。这里有12间供艺术家和学者使用的客房，一个供上海艺术专业学生居住的宿舍正在建设，甚至还经营有一个生态农场。胡项城说，“我们想为当地农民做出示范，告诉他们按照传统农耕方式也能生活得很好。”他认为，与金泽村民进行这种互动是至关重要的。他说，“当代艺术家说他们想参与社会生活，但他们并没有亲身去做。他们只是和艺术馆有联系。艺术与普通人的生活是割裂开来的。但儒家哲学鼓励艺术家们介入社会──接触官员、企业家、商人。”他已经为村民们搭建了五个传统风格的戏台，并向他们提供乐器。他说，“以前一到晚上村里就死气沉沉。又黑又静。而现在人们开始走出家门！他们有了新的乐趣。”

显然，金泽这个项目是无法简单地进行归类的。它是一个艺术中心，一个乡间度假村，一个学术场所，还是一个社区活动中心。但它本身也是一件概念艺术品──是对中国近几十年来发展方向的无声抗议。阮仪三教授说，“金泽的存在本身就是对近年来毁坏村庄之举的批判。”

张颂仁说，对中国古代传统──包括建筑遗产──的破坏是从十九、二十世纪之交开始的，当时传统的儒家社会体系开始瓦解。在此之前的两千年中，中国的村落文化一直得到很好的延续：木结构建筑由精通木工、漆工、颜料、树脂和纺织工艺的能工巧匠们维修保养。但孙中山在1911年辛亥革命(Republican Revolution)后开始推进西化进程，木结构建筑建得就比较少了，传统技术也慢慢被抛弃了。1949年的共产主义革命更是加快了这一进程，当时古代建筑被视为封建时代的残留。在1966年至1976年的文化大革命期间，毛泽东放任红卫兵(Red Guards)破“四旧”（旧风俗、旧文化、旧习惯、旧思想），摧毁了寺庙、文物和墓地。如果不是周恩来总理反对并派军队驻守，就连北京的故宫(Forbidden City)也在劫难逃。

在过去100年里，中国既经历了极端的共产主义，也经历了极端的资本主义，张颂仁感到，“中国在割断本国历史这一方面的所作所为比任何其他国家都更激进。”西方唯一可比的例子也许是罗马帝国(Roman Empire)的衰亡，罗马帝国的衰落破坏了古希腊罗马文化。张颂仁说，“问题在于，我们已经走了这么远，现在该如何反思我们的处境？我们该怎样挽回过去？”

金泽的项目显然是针对中国向资本主义和现代化鲁莽跃进的最有创意的抵制行动之一。其他艺术家也表达了抗议，比方说，艾未未1995年创作的著名摄影作品记录了他把一个汉朝古瓮扔在地上、任其摔成碎片的过程。近年来，这些零星的声音已经汇成较大的呼声。上海同济大学(Tongji University)建筑历史与评论教授李翔宁说，“中国的知识分子──学者、建筑师和规划师──目前正在热议如何对建筑进行最好的保护。”他说，“有越来越多的人认为我们应当放慢对金钱和发展的追求。中国社会百分之九十的人在以惊人的速度迈向未来，但也必须有那么一些人向后看。如果我们审视历史和传统的话，我们也许能够对过去二、三十年中做过的事情进行反思。”

就连在疯狂发展建设的上海，我们也看到了文化保护意识萌发的迹象。尽管上海有着冷酷追求金钱的名声，但这座城市在保护历史遗产方面比包括北京在内的许多其他中国城市做得更成功。地方政府于2004年宣布划定12片“历史文化风貌区”，让这座城市的历史区域获得些许保护。其中最重要的区域当属傍水而建的外滩(Bund)，外滩有一座座壮观的艺术装饰风格建筑，新近修缮的和平饭店就是其中一座。怀念二十世纪三十年代风格的游客还可以造访原上海法租界(French Concession)，这里曾是鸦片贩子、匪帮和妓女的庇护所，路旁是经过修缮的殖民地时期大宅，掩映在梧桐树丛中。2010年，一座富有中国家庭的故居被改造成为精品酒店向公众开放，该酒店名为绅公馆(Le Sun Chine)，内设一个复古香槟酒吧。绅公馆掌门人、30多岁的企业家孙云立(Sebastian Sun)解释道，“二十世纪三十年代，不同的文化在上海展开着对话。”他发现，就连中国旅行者也厌倦了那些有500间客房的商务酒店，他们更喜欢绅公馆这种温馨的小型酒店。

然而，为迎合中国国内旅游业的蓬勃发展（几乎可以在一夜之间让偏僻的废墟变成人头攒动的景点），许多侥幸逃脱拆毁命运的历史建筑却又遭遇了俗气的重建。总部位于纽约的亚洲高端旅游公司Remote Lands首席执行长希尔德(Catherine Heald)说，“中国人确实喜欢参观他们的文化瑰宝，但他们的观念与西方人非常不同。他们更喜欢去长城(Great Wall)上修缮一新的部分，而我们则更喜欢保持原貌的东西，哪怕是废墟。”中国的古迹常常被拆掉，以仿造品取而代之，这种商业化和工艺的粗糙让人联想到索然无味的主题公园。希尔德说，“幸好还有一些偏僻的乡镇没有被过度重建。”

这其中最引人注目──也是最具象征意义──的古迹当属平遥，这是中国2,000个古城址中最后一个依然完好无损的古城。平遥位于上海西北850英里处，它的幸存是一个小小的奇迹。在毛泽东时代，贫困的山西省政府缺乏资源，无力推倒平遥强大的城 ，这些城墙厚度在26到40英尺，顶部建有72座了望塔。这些坚固的堡垒也保护了一座繁荣的古镇，平遥的道路两旁建有豪宅、寺庙，甚至还有当平遥还是清朝金融之都时建立的票号。但这个从红卫兵手中幸存下来的偏僻小镇在1980年成为一场引人注目的保护行动的焦点，当时政府决定在平遥的中心开辟出六条道路供汽车通行。阮仪三教授火速赶往平遥制止拆迁；省长给他一个月的时间设计出一套替代方案，于是他带着11个最好的学生进驻平遥。这项任务极其艰巨（12个人得了痢疾，而且饱受虱子折磨），但阮仪三教授在附近修建一座新城的计划得到采纳。1997年，联合国教科文组织(UNESCO)宣布整个平遥古城为世界遗产(World Heritage Site)，2009年，平遥第一座精品酒店锦宅(Jing's Residence)开业，这座集古代和现代风格于一体的酒店曾是一名丝绸商的大宅。不过奇怪的是，尽管平遥具有偶像般的地位，现在却很少有外国人到这里旅游。

当时平遥的五万居民就住在一个风貌和几个世纪前差不多的古城里。但平遥是脆弱的。阮仪三教授说，“较大的公共建筑已经得到保护，但有几十幢具有历史意义的民居亟待修缮。”平遥也是被最早的一批中国游客发现的景点，他们组成巴士旅游团，大批大批地前来旅行，只在平遥待上很短一段时间。其结果就是，平遥的主干道已经被旅游纪念品店占领，他们卖的廉价小饰品同上海和北京的市场（以及纽约的唐人街）都是一样的。房价的上涨也有可能迫使居民搬出平遥。阮仪三说，“我们必须改变大规模观光模式，人们应该在这里多住一段时间，这样他们才能了解平遥的艺术、文化和饮食。但在中国管控旅游业并不是件容易的事情，因为政府把经济增长看得很重。”疯狂的商业化和疏于保护都有可能毁掉平遥。

在北京，历史的痕迹更难找到。这座古城曾像巴黎一样因美丽而备受仰慕，但1949年以来北京一直不断遭到破坏，北京城内富有魅力的胡同也在逐渐消失。尽管如此，去年1月份开发商拆毁梁思成故居时还是引起了人们的抗议。梁思成是20世纪中国最杰出的建筑师，在毛泽东时代，梁思成曾呼吁保护老北京风貌，但他的努力流于失败（在一次失败后，他喊出了这样一句具有预见性的话，“五十年后，历史将证明我是对的。”）在公众的支持下，梁思成故居被认定为“不可移动文物”，但当抗议声在新年假期期间平息下来的时候，一家开发商还是把故居拆除了。这家公司被政府象征性地处以八万美元罚款，令公众的怒火升级。李翔宁教授说，“一些教授把这件事称为中国的‘宾夕法尼亚州火车站保护运动’(Penn Station Movement)，但我对此不抱乐观态度。”李翔宁教授指的是1963年拆除纽约一个火车站所引发的保护运动。

张颂仁将挽救古建筑的努力视为一项更大使命的一部分。他说，“我们与过去之间最严重的割裂是在传统风俗方面，比如阴历节日、祭祖仪式、季节性仪式、葬礼等。”张颂仁解释道，他希望能复兴儒家的“礼”，“礼”这一概念的内涵要比英语中“礼仪”一词要广，涉及礼节、教育、道德乃至有关和谐世界秩序的宇宙观等方方面面。张颂仁说，“很多人试图利用我们的怀旧情结，通过发明仪式来弥补我们的失落感，但这些仪式并不正宗。”金泽的礼堂是一个以正确的方式举行古代仪式的场所（或者说尽量做到正确，因为他们为恢复传统礼仪进行了大量研究），张颂仁还希望在北京和香港也建立类似的场所。

在张颂仁主办的有关礼仪研究的研讨会开幕晚会上，一群学者、艺术家以及张颂仁的家人和朋友（当天也是他的生日）汇聚香港中国会北京分会所的一间接待大厅。活动地点本身似乎反映出了这项事业堂吉诃德式的本质，因为这座有历史意义的大宅曾位于一条胡同的中心，而现在则成了这条胡同中唯一的幸存者，被四周的摩天大楼所遮挡。大宅的内部装饰极为传统。宴会厅里，一个中国戏曲艺术团为来宾进行着表演，张颂仁在人群中兴奋地穿梭着，与来宾进行交谈，介绍来自不同国家和文化的客人相互认识。

随着派对接近尾声，张颂仁从灯笼温暖的光芒中走到与周围摩天大楼交相辉映的冰冷街灯下。站在车水马龙的公路旁，让人不由怀疑一个田园诗般的艺术项目（即便是像金泽这种大规模的项目）能否对中国的发展巨轮产生任何影响。但张颂仁一如既往地满怀希望。他说，“艺术在社会中扮演着特殊的角色，它提供了一个公共空间，让人们能够进行反思，提出批评。”他的村庄发出了迥然不同的声音，向政府肆意破坏历史的行为提出抗议，是对中国如闪电般迅猛的现代化进程的现实批判──这束火花可以激发出一样强烈的能量来保护中国的古代遗产。

张颂仁返回中国会去喝最后一杯米酒，他和他的朋友们看起来就像温文尔雅的革命者，正准备与现代世界做一番较量。