Images of Mother Lake

When the rivers are long, The oceans will seem big. When communication is good, Tribes will have good descendants. When the mothers are intelligent, They will have daughters like Goddesses. Tall strong women row the canoe with confident strokes, their song carries loud and clear across the lake. Lugu Lake, the body of the Goddess itself, no motorboat is allowed to desecrate it. High up in the mountains of Chinas Yunnan province I sit on a log by the lakes shore, listen to the beauty of the song, my friend Meijing translating the words. Ganmu, the lion mountain, watches over her daughters. Those whose feet were never bound. Those who know no fathers. Whose language doesnt have words for marriage, murder, rape, jealousy. The free strong daughters of their mother. Ganmu, lioness, protector, she who is the mother of them all, rests and listens in silence.

Phoenix Van Dyke 2006

The Weaver Your mother, she is well? Her words, spoken in Mandarin, take me by surprise. Three days I have been visiting her shop. Squatting next to her on my heels. Watching her hands move back and forth, back and forth, threading the yarn, moving the shuttle. Every day we sat in silence, she on the floor, me on my heels, watching the shawl grow. My mother died a long time ago, I reply. Brown eyes meet mine. Solemn. Hold fast. Penetrate. Grow soft. I am your mother now. Brown eyes let go of mine, turn back to hands, thread and shuttle. She on the floor, me on my heels.

Phoenix Van Dyke 2006

A mother knows what her sons need He has the voice of an angel. And is aware of it. Young women tourists want him to notice them. Want him to sing one more song, and another. Applause, laughter, more beer. Finally one woman dares to ask for them all. Dont you feel resentful having to hand over all your money to your mother? He puts down his beer, looks surprised. Shakes his head. No, why should I? I am not lacking anything. A mother knows what her sons need.

Phoenix Van Dyke 2006

A Room of Her Own The sound from conch shells fills the room, bounces of walls. Mothers sister has tears in her eyes. Mothers brother presents a silver chain. Fire Goddess and ancestors had a feast this morning; the smell of butter tea and rice sacrificed still strong in the air. The young girl stands tall on dried pig and sack of rice. Not a girl any longer soon, but a woman. Mother dresses her in womans clothes. New clothes, new name, a soul. Born soul-less till at the age of thirteen the soul of an ancestress will enter her body, lured by the sound of conch shells. Mother now puts on the headdress. Conch shells fall silent. Mother speaks the new name. A woman now, no longer a child. She will finally get a room of her own. If the song of a man pleases, the way he moves his head and throws back his long black hair makes her want to bury her face in it, if when he rides past on his horse, proud and confident, desire will fill every cell in her body, then she will tickle the palm of his hand. And that night the man will not share the warmth of the fire with his brothers, but walk into the darkness, cross mountains if need be or row across the mother lake, quietly singing a song in praise of the Goddess Ganmu . For he knows, the door to her room will be open for him tonight.

Phoenix Van Dyke 2006

Sisters Orange, red, blue and purple tightly woven on green grass. A gentle breeze on top of the Goddess mountain carries the scent of pine, burnt in her honour. The young woman carefully places the dishes, some on orange, others on red, blue and purple. Deep-fried slices of pure fat, a chicken, some pork, green vegetables. Eat and drink, she invites and hands a bowl with yak-butter tea. How many sisters do you have? I ask. Nine, she replies and adds: Three born by my mother.

Phoenix Van Dyke 2006

Dreams of the Future Bell ringing. Children running. Young women gathering long skirts and walking faster. A peddler by the lakeshore. Not apples, nor greens, not even a pig, cut in pieces, head saved to put on the altar for the ancestors. This peddler brings books, CDs and posters. Old people turn around in disappointment, the young ones stay. Posters and music of Yu Hongmei, a Taiwanese pop singer, are popular. Dreaming aloud with friends about becoming a famous singer and living in Beijing or even Shanghai makes the journey shorter when rowing across the lake. Peddler leaves again. Young people walk arm in arm, singing Yu Hongmeis songs. Fall silent when passing the shrine of the Goddess Ganmu, circled by old people spinning their prayer wheels. Then someone starts another tune, one picks it up and soon new songs echo across Mother Lake. Old woman stops her prayer wheel, turns to her sister. As moons are passing, will the mountain Goddess, if she still will be here, feel startled by a world so changed?

Phoenix Van Dyke 2006

Lugu Lake and the Mosuo Background The Mosuo are an ethnic minority group in China, living at Lugu Lake in the mountainous region of the northern Yunnan. Province. A population of 70,000, they were relatively unknown till a road was built to Lugu Lake in the mid-1980s. Although it is still a strenuous and dangerous six-hour drive from the nearest city, Lugu Lake has become a major tourist attraction, especially for Chinese men. The Mosuo are a matriarchal society, living in large family groups. Mosuo men and women dont marry, but spend their lives in the households of their mothers. Women make the move when they are attracted to a man, and he visits her after dark and returns to his mothers house for breakfast. Fatherhood is not acknowledged and men are responsible for their sisters children. It is this aspect of what the Chinese call walking marriage, which attracts mostly male Chinese tourists in the hope of getting free sex. The Mosuo are famous for their wonderful singing. Mosuo children usually sing before they speak. Up until recently there was no crime in Mosuo society and their children, old people and disabled are especially well taken care off. 60,000 tourists a year are now visiting the small village of Luoshui at Lugu Lake. Other villages are starting to build roads and hotels. The life and dreams of the Mosuo are changing rapidly. I spent two weeks at Lugu Lake in August 2004, and then returned in January 2005 after I was invited to attend the initiation ceremony of a 13-year old girl. My third visit was in February 2005. Images and Words Roland Barthes1 (1985) in The Responsibility of Form writes that public opinion regards the image as a site of resistance to meaning, in the name of a certain mythological notion of Life: the image is re-presentation. Looking at all the images I have chosen, they certainly could re-present in a dozen different ways and neither of these might be a true representation. It is the text with the images that give MY re-presentation to each image, although even with the text they still might signify different things to different people. They even might signify different things to me on different days and in different moods.

Roland Barthes: The Responsibility of Form. Transl. R. Howard. New York, Hill and Wang 1985. p.21 & 22
Phoenix Van Dyke 2006

The last image, for example could be read in a number of ways. As the loss of a culture, as the curious embrace of new influences to enrich ones culture, or simply as is: A girl looks at a poster that is all there is to it. No further, hidden message or meaning. I have chosen six images in response to Aristotles consideration that there are six parts consequently of every tragedy.2 To me the tragedy of the slow annihilation of a culture is reflected in these images. At the same time this tragedy is also a celebration of what is, and maybe even a glimmer of hope about what might be. The Mountain Goddess, after all, might embrace the new songs.

Aristotle: On the Art of Poetry. Transl. T.S. Dorsah. Penguin: Harmondsworth 1965. p.39
Phoenix Van Dyke 2006