I harbor an inclination to think about culture (especially in modernity) in terms of image versus identity. It seems that the modern tourism discourse is overly interested in image and would invariably prefer to frame destinations in a pure and especially ‘attractive’ set of images. On the other hand, local identity would be better considered in terms of experience. What experiences are going on, collectively, in a community? Is it not, in this context, where identity is being revitalized, reproduced or even transformed. The irony of an image/identity dichotomy, however, is that as those experiences within that community are taking place there are already certain participants or observers taking photographs, writing, or otherwise representing events by employing certain mechanisms of image-making. So the real question of identity would seem to not be in the image itself but in its making.
So what would be the fundamentals of a politics of image and identity? Must one be a member of a particular community in order to be qualified to make certain representations? Or can one resort to her or his credentials – as a journalist, a sociologist or a policy maker? Perhaps the qualifications would have something to do with participation, understandings or even social roles. No matter what it may be, every image has its politics, whether it be officially ordained or stealthily procured. And none is without its implications.
I am thinking about Matsu right now and some experiences that I had there during 2002 to 2004. I had met some people who invited me to the islands to have a look around, to join in some meetings and festivals and maybe, to paint. For many years the islands had been a focal point of military tensions between China and the Republic of China on Taiwan. But as relationships were improving, tourism was being considered as the new economic base to replace the military economy as troops were being radically reduced.
Some good people in Matsu were becoming very interested in ensuring that the community’s traditional culture could at worst, be ‘preserved’ and at best, become an important tourism resource (or attraction) for the islands. We decided that a series of site visits, community discussion forums and other locally based activities could be a good set of catalysts for a potential public mural featuring local culture instead of the ubiquitous military and political slogans dotting the landscape.
And it worked out wonderfully. I spent a lot of time there, and I wanted to spend more. The old stone walls of the original buildings and those surrounding fields are amazing. The traditional festivals and local lifestyle are colorful and contrast the surely lonely and isolated reality of these remote islands. The sea defines this place as it does all islands – Matsu is the name of the goddess/protector of the seafarers.
I went about meeting people, talking about this and that. I was interested in how the general sentiment was that life on Matsu was ‘nothing special’ and certainly ‘out of touch’ with the modernity and prosperity of Taipei. I knew then that the pride of culture is also its shame… of not being something else, of not being cosmopolitan (the extreme absence of culture).
There was, no doubt, an extreme reservation about letting me, an outsider and a foreigner no less, have his way with paint and brush in a public space where no murals had ever been painted concerning culture – only military slogans were found. By the time I finished the mural (or at least, stopped painting) in February 2003, what was left on the wall was a set of representations, of my impressions of that wonderful place and time. I had proceeded from an expression of pure emotion, to a set of experiences with people, to the representation of their images and back again to something more abstract.
The mural features impressions of the walls of Matsu, the town of ‘Niou Jiao’ (Bull’s Horns) where it is located, the winds and clouds and boats, and Matsu the goddess and most visibly, a Sword Lion in the center. But the beauty of the mural is not in its representative capacity. Any outsider looking at it for the first time would be unlikely to have the background knowledge necessary to interpret it visually. Instead it is abstract enough, with the right colors, to complement the community surrounding it. It is subtle enough to pay homage to the stories that only some people know. It is the result of a happening and as such, has earned its place to rest.
The mural in Matsu is not so much a cultural representation as it is an inscription of events. It belongs to the community. It is set of markings that connote, rather than denote, the effects of an experience. It symbolizes events in the construction of culture rather than in its representation.
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