Still LIFE IN THE CITY By Hatty Liu

Building artist villages away from the hustle and bustle

走進(jìn)那些城市邊緣的藝術(shù)棲息地

If the 19th-century European stereotype of the artist is a depressive genius in a drafty garret， the 20th-century American cliché is of artists taking over post-industrial urban lofts， scratching out a living in a high-ceilinged warehouse before they are priced out by gentrifying forces.

China is no different.

The 21st-century Chinese art scene has areas like Beijings 798 Art District， whose graffitied fa?ades and rusty pipes can pass at a distance for bohemian Bushwick or Shoreditch， London. However， in the northeast quadrant of Beijings Chaoyang District， there is a set of art communities of a “post-agricultural” character that is unique to the story of Chinese urban development.

The village of Feijiacun （費(fèi)家村） is a 10-minute bus ride from the second-last stop on Beijings Subway Line 14. A dusty road leads from a traditional paifang-style gate past a line of scrappy groceries and diners; the windowless high-rises， cranes， and other signs of Beijings remorseless construction drive are not visible from the middle of the village street， which is instead traversed by stray dogs and bikes loaded with fresh produce， small restaurants， and shops. However， now and then， the road opens onto vine-covered entrances of what seem to be traditional courtyard homes adorned with signs in vivid colors， impeccably spelled English， and sleek typefaces in contrast to the cheap signage of the noodle shop a few steps away.

Feijiacun， though the smallest village by area in Chaoyang Districts Cuigezhuang County， is one of the 10 major art districts of Beijing. Painters， photographers， tattoo artists， and film distribution companies live and work side by side with the former villagers and newly arrived migrant workers attracted to the citys outskirts by affordable rent. In the middle of the village， a former pickled vegetable factory houses the Shangri-la Cultural and Arts Community， one of the larger art communities in the district. There you can find the airy new rehearsal and training center of the Beijing Dance Theater， an internationally renowned contemporary dance troupe， and a number of smaller tenants ranging from potters and sculptors to the Red Gate Gallery international residency program.

“Most regular people dont know about us， but artists have been coming here for a long time，” said Tan， the property manager of the Shangri-la Community who wished to go by his surname. “Most people have heard of 798， and theyre of course a bigger deal than us， but we actually got started earlier. What the artists here are looking for is a peaceful and affordable environment to work in and above all， a quiet place to live.”

Politics of space

Art districts and villages are seen in many Chinese urban areas， including Shanghai， Chengdu and Xian. Beijings art villages， however， are undoubtedly among the most well- known. The most famous village of them all， Caochangdi （草場地）， is actually a little closer geographically to 798 and more used to being the center of the action than Tans earlier generalization would suggest. Located just a five-minute bus ride northeast of 798 in the Dashanzi Sub-District of Chaoyang District， Caochangdi made waves when Ai Weiwei， arguably Chinas most controversial artist， built his house and studio compound， 258 FAKE Studio， in the neighborhood in 1999.

Though considered an odd choice of neighborhood at the time， Ai was soon joined by prestigious domestic and international colleagues like the Peking Fine Arts Gallery and Galerie Urs-Meile from Lucerne. Architects and media alike have been struck by the visual of kooky sculptures， international gallery shows， and Chinas finest avant-garde sensibilities being made in close proximity to chickens， sheep， and the marginal and migratory parts of Chinese society.

“Its under the radar， its not pretentious， and there are the large spaces and freedom to move and do without all the eyes of those living with all the norms of society looking on，” Mary-Ann Ray and Robert Mangurian， architects and urban researchers， told TWOC， explaining the appeal that the village holds for artists as well as themselves.

Ray and Mangurian are the principals behind BASE Studio， a Beijing architectural think-tank， and the authors of Caochangdi， Beijing Inside Out， an architectural and sociological study of the contemporary transformation of Caochangdi. They say they discovered neighbourhood almost by accident， when the project space they leased in 798 was re-appropriated by the district cultural department and they needed to relocate on the fly. In a book lecture given at the London School of Economics， Ray noted that in this way， BASE also became another “illegal” resident in a village made up of mostly illegal construction and “ad-hoc， mongrel architecture”.

The urban village （城中村， village within the city） is a description applied to Caochangdi， Feijiacun and several hundred other locations in Beijing， though they are more prevalent in Southern China. As Chinese cities sprawl outwards， villages located on the outskirts of cities have seen their agricultural land purchased by the government to allow new construction while the villagers themselves were permitted to remain on residential land. The concept of rural collective land-ownership， which has remained after the Maoist period， creates ambiguities for the expropriation of residential village land that lead to higher costs of relocation and compensating and relocating villagers—as well as risk of potential dispute—than is considered worthwhile to many developers.

These days， rural collectives in urban areas in China can transform themselves into collectively owned property companies. Villagers who have lost their agricultural land have a new livelihood in remodelling or adding onto their traditional single-storey dwellings， which can be rented out to the “floating population” of migrant workers from the countryside， workers driven out of the urban core by rising costs of living， as well as creative professionals and artists.

Caochangdi and Feijiacun were both once imperial burial grounds of the Qing Dynasty， and later agricultural peoples communes. They also saw semi-privatized industrial development in the post-1978 reform era. Architecture that reflects both the agricultural and industrial development eras can be seen in these neighbourhoods. Feijiacun even has a side street full of studios in barrack-like brick buildings complete with rusty gates and uniformly numbered door-plates， though these turned out to have been built in the mid-2000s by a developer that the village collective contracted due to rising demand from artists.

Because construction in the urban villages is mostly illegal and unregulated， it results in ultra-dense development poorly served by public utilities. In contrast to the slum-like density associated with villages in Guangzhou and Shenzhen， Caochangdi， and Feijiacun still have courtyards， fields and an average building height of less than three storeys. Nonetheless， even in Beijing the term “urban village” conjures an image of lawlessness and poverty. Tan objected to Feijiacun being considered an urban village， however much the shoe technically fits.

“Urban village is not a good concept—I dont want that label to be applied here，” he said. “Artists have been settling here for a long time， before a lot of the development， before there was even much migrant housing， and they come here because its actually a nicer environment than the city.”

Their image problems aside， villages within the urban sprawl have an undeniable economic appeal. Lofts for rent in Caochangdi are currently advertised online for as low as 0.8 RMB per square meter per day， while most cost two to three RMB per square meter per day. In nearby Huantie Arts District and Feijiacun， the prices are even lower， with most spaces currently advertised at below two RMB per square meter. According to Atron， Chinas web portal for art-related news， until two years ago all long-term tenants in Huantie were paying 0.8-0.9 RMB per square meter.

Though artists can spend tens of thousands of RMB renovating their studios before moving in， these prices are a steal in a city where， according to an investigation by the China Office Research Council in 2014， office spaces have rented for an average of 311 RMB per square meter per month.

As Tan noted， theres also an aesthetic appeal for the artist in an urban village as well. Ai Weiweis FAKE Studio responsible for designing the iconic brick-faced lofts in Caochangdi， which， according to Mangurian and Ray， are all illegal. Ais austere， factory-style designs were meant to be a hybrid of the New York loft and the traditional Chinese courtyard house. The land was leased from the village leader taken at the studios own risk of future expropriation. The precariousness of life in the village echoes the disappearing courtyard homes of Beijing that Ais architecture is supposed to evoke.

Planned and unplanned

Caochangdi and Feijiacun， as well as the major art district of Songzhuang in Tongzhou District， are considered to be “natural” art villages. This label， according to Ray in her lecture， means that they sprang up organically to meet some demands of labor， and artists and other groups have since flocked there in search of peace， space， and affordable rent. This is in contrast to places like Chaoyang Districts Jiuchang Art District， the No. 1 International Art District （just 3 kilometers north of Feijiacun）， and 798 itself.

Rather than ad-hoc and illegal development， these districts have seen significant sponsorship from corporations and the local government. Some， like Jiuchang， Huantie Art City， and Tongzhou Districts Dagao Art District， are funded by a single corporation that are purposely seeking to develop art districts and sub-lease workspaces to artists. On the other hand， most of the property in 798 is officially managed by the Seven-Star Electronics Corporation， which was incorporated of collective work units that formerly occupied the factories of the complex， a twist upon the phenomenon of agricultural collectives turned to property-holding companies.

Chinas Eleventh Five Year Plan （2006-2010） identified the development of Chinas cultural and creative industries as a national economic priority and encouraged the development of creative industry hubs in major cities. City governments responded with their own policy outlines. The Beijing municipal governments “11-5 Period Cultural and Creative Industry Development Plan” offered tax incentives and grants to city districts seeking to establish creative industry hubs.

Located further northeast of Caochangdi is one of the unique areas in Beijing. Here， the railroad that runs past 798 terminates in a gigantic circle enclosing a 9000-acre area in which the Huantie （環(huán)鐵， Ring Rail） Art District can be found. “Harmony”-line trains from the Chinese National Railway Track Test Center regularly loop past a motley scene of art galleries and lofts interspersed among working fisheries， vegetable patches， a dairy farm， a golf course， and the national museums of film， railway， and aviation models.

Though arguably even more rural and settled by a more “ad-hoc” crew than Caochangdi， Huantie encloses both ad-hoc villages and a large area known as Huantie Art City， an art community that is legally leased from the Chaoyang District by Huantie Times Art. This is a corporation formed in 2005 with the specific aim of seeking out land to lease to the art community. Its development strategy is a familiar one in Chinas housing construction boom： the corporation first built faux-vintage lofts and even some a bizarre-looking post-modernist structures， then waited for tenants to arrive. Due to the areas low cost and proximity to 798， the plan worked.

However， in 2014， reporters for Atron found that by the early 2010s， the district was becoming so depopulated that some tenants paid less rents now than when they had first moved in. The “bizarrechitecture” appeared empty or were not occupied by long-term， live-and-work tenants. This was attributed to new construction that impeded transportation in and out of the district and degraded the peaceful， communal rural character that artists had been seeking from their exodus from the city. Atron reporters estimated that only 45 percent of Huanties tenants were still traditionally conceived artists. More commercialized creative industries， such as game design or film distribution firms， have moved into the area as artists moved out.

Nonetheless， many artists expressed a willingness to stay even as the neighbourhood character changed， as the legality of their lease gave them stability compared to fellow artist based in ad-hoc villages elsewhere. It seems not all artists can be generalized as chasers of marginal and precarious conditions.

Even in an ad-hoc village like Caochangdi， which has traded on a marginal and countercultural character from the start， government support can have benefits. Threatened in 2010 with developer interest， Caochangdi was rescued from demolition by a round of media events and petitions from the international art community whose success was signalled when village leaders got the art district designated a Cultural Industry Zone. This slotted Caochangdi into the category of urban communities that the nation pledged to support and actually increase under the Eleventh Five Year Plan. According to China Culture Daily，?a number of tenants in 798 have also petitioned for greater governmental oversight and “education” among landlords of the goals of national creative industry development， due to shady sub-leasing practices.

Imitating life

The dusty road leading from Feijiacuns gate terminates in a T-crossing resembling a scene out of a?ganji?（趕集）， weekly market days that county towns across China host for their surrounding villages. Amidst a row of butchers， rotisseries， and small restaurants， there are vendors hawking shoes in screaming colors and music pounding from a stereo outside a tiny， two-chair hair salon. As with many urban villages， there are also coal burning furnaces， trash， and the detritus of numerous illegal constructions dotting the roads. In this part of the neighborhood， there is not much of the serenity Tan spoke of， and nothing that recalls the aesthetic as the vine-covered courtyard or wicker tables in front of the Beijing Dance Theatre.

The village certainly seems like a world apart from the loft of co-owned by actor-turned-photographer Weng Yang and his friends， newcomers who moved to Feijiacun only four months ago in search of an affordable space for their new business， Su Studio. The studios interior is made up of pristine white walls， floor-to-ceiling windows， and a few choice Apple electronics. The courtyard and the low walls of the compound block out most of the noise from the street. Yet Weng stresses that his attraction to the village is not just owing economic and other considerations removed from the life of the neighborhood outside.

“Id say economics are still the primary reason—here the rent is lower， even lower than some other art villages. But theres a bigger context： whether you do photography like us， or sculpture or painting， as an artist you look for a certain ambience （氛圍），” Weng said. “You cant set up a studio like ours in a housing estate （小區(qū)）; you cant create where theres no ambience.”

Though not a primary motivator for his move to Feijiacun， the community of artists and villagers is something Weng said he has come to appreciate since setting up the studio.

“Everybody here walks the same path， as artists， and theres a lot of opportunity to exchange—though youll find our work a little more commercially oriented than some of the other artists，” he admitted. “But the village ambience is what I aspire to creatively： creation comes from life， or actually， it depends on life. Were not holed up in [the studio]， thinking of the villagers as these rustics that dont go with our image.”

For the Beijing Dance Theatre， the village ambience has also brought practical benefits. Parents and adult students arriving for the companys weekend recreational ballet classes said they were impressed by the two 600-square-meter rehearsal studios， which speaks of a level of professionalism not conveyed by cramped studios inside malls and housing estates in the city. “Ambience” is also used to describe the vaulted ceilings， sunlit corridors， and wooden slide taking up one whole storey in the waiting area—visitors expect these touches from a contemporary dance troupe. Theres even parking inside the compound， like nowhere else in Beijing.

“In a village， theres nothing more or less than the basics of life around us， and as artists put that toward our creation， whatever it is we do，” Weng reflected. “So its really us that depend on the village， not the other way around.”