I haven't had time to fart much less work on the project that I (use as an excuse to) relocated back to China for in the first place. So in effort to find some space to concentrate I move up to the mountains- a little writer's residency of sorts, a little fresh air, food and clear thoughts. Right.
If I knew what was good for me I'd cut the Internet cords and bury the cellphone. But I do not. I'm in Moganshan - a stupendous mountain range about four hours from Shanghai on the local-relentless hornhonking-bumpydumpy-peasant bus. It's about 2.5 hours by car. I don't have a car nor do I intend to add to China's already dire state of the environment by buying one. Plus I can't afford one. Anyway Moganshan became a hot spot for foreigners and rich Chinese capitalists during the 20's and 30's looking for the same solitude and cool, crisp air. They built all these mighty, stone houses that look out onto the world below- or the bamboo. Some, like the one I'm in resembles a castle, others cottages, all from the same turn of the century, country home, architectural data bank. Either way the architecture helps to create the illusion that you're in Europe far from the honking, bustling, pollution laden air of Zhejiang, China. It is actually an indeterminate space and time in Moganshan- not Europe of 80 years ago and not China today but a dreamy in between. It is funny that while I'm up here in the green hills that I'm asked to write a piece about Shanghai's art scene. Moganshan, ironically, is also the road that Shanghai's premiere gallery district is located on. Most people refer to the district plainly as Moganshan. Truthfully I'd rather think about the birds and the breeze than the sceney, sophisticated hubbub of Shanghai's art scene. and so I procrastinate and the deadline approaches....
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