As an important geographic and cultural unit in China, the Northeast has experienced complex changes, and the historical uniqueness of this land is not only reflected in its geographic periphery. Discussing the Northeast inevitably touches upon the concepts of “periphery” and “center”, “present” and “history”, which are full of tension. The influence of history is like a ghost, invisible but far-reaching. Here, it is not only the past, but also a living existence, permeating the culture and architecture of the city, reflected in daily life and taking its place in cultural expression.
As an architect invited by the “New Voices of Northeast China”, Liang Chen’s dual practice of architecture and art began with an in-depth analysis of the history of urban space in Changchun and Dandong. In his view, local knowledge is a necessary context for contemporary knowledge production, and his personal growth and memories are interwoven with his gradual exploration of the history and modernity of the Northeast region. From images in family albums to the physical forms of urban architecture, from individual life experiences to societal and cultural changes, these elements together form his multidimensional interpretation of the “ghost of history” in the Northeast region. He explores how history manifests its power in modern society, as well as how historical legacies influence the cultural consciousness of the Northeast region.
My first encounter with Liang Chen was at the documentary exhibition which was curated by him in the Yalu River Art Museum in 2023. Among the exhibited artworks was Ge Yulu’s piece “Natural Path,” which featured a segment of a map placing Dandong at the center and it views the historical relationship between Dandong and its surrounding areas from the perspective of Northeast Asia. Ivy transplanted from the Yalu River flood control dam naturally grew and crawled along the map’s pushpins. This work, rich in metaphor and temporality, aims to surpass simple historical narratives and break through the physical traces of history. This is also the core of Liang Chen’s “Boundary Project” initiative. In Liang Chen’s view, creating boundaries is a human instinct, but regardless of the type of boundary, it is difficult to conceal the multiplicity of narratives. It is the openness of moving boundaries that allows questioning to linger like a ghost.
I lived in Dandong from birth until I went to university, then I spent five years in Changchun for university, and most of my life was spent in the Northeast until I was 24 years old. I don’t dare to say that I have a deep understanding of the Northeast, but in the proportion of my life, the Northeast is still quite high in concentration.
Like most people, when I left my hometown, I didn’t realize my relationship with it, and the development of some kind of subjective or authorial consciousness of Dandong was only gradually formed in retrospect after I left. As for the so-called northeastern consciousness, it gradually sprouted during these five years in Changchun, which is closely related to my age and the history of the city I was in. Unlike the traditional industrial cities of the Northeast, such as Shenyang, Changchun is a particularly literary city. Despite being small in size, Changchun has a large number of universities, which injects vitality into the city. In Changchun, people often go to bookstores or to the Changchun Film Archive (formerly known as “Man Ying”), which has a very valuable collection, and I acquired all my knowledge of film history and video in Changchun. I think it was Changchun, rather than my hometown of Dandong, that inspired me to learn more about the history of the Northeast.
My professional background is in architecture, and the theme of my graduation design was the study of urban space in Changchun. At that time, I was not completely satisfied with the traditional design approach because I realized that much of the current state of the city was only superficial, and I wanted to find its roots in history. At that time, I was influenced by Fernand Braudel’s The “The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II”, as he examined the Mediterranean world as a whole historical space from the idea of total history, and this approach inspired me to take Changchun as a specific geographic space, which would become the entry point for historical research, and to explore the process of historical formation and social change within this limited space. I wanted to understand how Changchun has been affected by historical forces and how these forces have shaped Changchun as it is today, and fortunately, I found some clues that could shed light on the historical causes. For example, I realized at the time that the playground of our school was not only used by students, but also turned into a public space in the city, a square for the elderly to dance. Behind this phenomenon is a reflection of the historical changes in Changchun’s urban planning, which was once formulated by the Japanese. Since the beginning of the Reform and Opening up of China, many parks have been built around some of the original residential areas. However, with increasing commercialization, these parks have gradually been converted into commercial land, resulting in the loss of daily recreational space in areas originally used for residential purposes.
This research experience made me realize that urban and spatial issues faced by architecture are ultimately historical issues. Only by deeply understanding the root causes of problems can we effectively intervene and design in order to solve them. The entire graduation project laid the foundation for all my subsequent work methodology. Whether it was architectural design, interior design, contemporary art creation or exhibition planning, I had a concept of spatial history. Whether it is a redesign or a new intervention, it is all based on the understanding of the history of this space. From the macroscopic urban space to the microscopic small room, this working method works just as fine.
Usually, architects are better at designing buildings in urban environments where there are more references and constraints. I was responsible for the design of the Anaya Lonely Library project. In that completely pure natural environment, without any artificial context or clear clues, it was instead very challenging for architects and required more thinking and research. From then on, I began to study the concept of earth art and the artists to understand how they dealt with the relationship between nature and art. The practice of earth art has influenced and inspired me in ways that are even more lasting than architecture itself. I’ve noticed that whether it’s architecture or art, it’s actually intervening in a certain time and space or a specific place and time. In this process, I realized the importance of locality, although I don’t want to limit my work to a specific local scope. Some criticize me for conducting a lot of local research, but why does my design language still lean towards mathematical abstraction or simplicity? This is another issue worthy of further discussion.
While delving into the urban history of Changchun, I also began to realize the special and interesting aspects of the history of the Northeast. The process of delving into Changchun’s urban history has also connected many issues of modern Northeast history, such as the pseudo-Manchukuo and the Middle East Railroad. What is special about Changchun’s cities and buildings, in particular, is that they show a coexistence of a post-colonial state and modern reality. For example, the buildings of the former pseudo-Manchurian State Council and the eight ministries of the pseudo-Manchurian government are still in use today. It is often said that architecture is a relatively timeless art because it lasts longer than others, even across centuries, but I am skeptical of this idea of architectural security. Once a building is erected, it has the potential to be transformed, whether into a school, a home, or an art gallery. However, the construction of a building often carries a political imprint, which may be a symbol of colonialism or imperial power, and stems from a context that may be politically incorrect. The fact that the baggage of history is sometimes heavy and complex makes me question the purity and timelessness of the art of architecture. And if these buildings are deemed politically incorrect, then much of the urban planning in the Northeast may need to be revisited and re-planned. When history becomes a ghost of space, the past is not static but dynamically present in the present.
As a geographical region of China, the Northeast area, though vast in size, has a relatively short modern history. From an external perspective, the boundaries between the three provinces of Northeast China may not seem distinct, and once North-easterners leave their homeland, they often identify themselves simply as “North-easterners,” which demonstrates a cross-provincial regional identity. However, in reality, historical layers are still clearly visible here, especially during the period of Manchukuo, where significant differences existed between “Southern Manchuria” and “Northern Manchuria.” Southern Manchuria, with Japan’s access through Dandong and Dalian, was primarily influenced by Japanese culture, leaning more towards a post-colonial Japanese context. Northern Manchuria, on the other hand, was deeply influenced by Russian culture, largely due to the “T”-shaped intersection of the Chinese Eastern Railway at the Songhua River, which shaped Harbin. Changchun, situated at the boundary between Southern and Northern Manchuria, held significant geographical and cultural importance, thus becoming the capital of Manchukuo. This also explains why people from Liaoning may lean more towards Southern Manchuria, while those from Heilongjiang may lean towards Northern Manchuria, and people from Jilin may be more neutral. These influences may not be as significant today, but they still exist, subtly affecting various aspects of life in Northeast China such as architecture, urban planning, and dietary habits. For instance, Dandong, as an example, shares similar dietary habits with the Korean Peninsula and Japan, such as consuming fresh seafood and eating raw fish, while the dietary culture in the northern parts of Northeast China may be completely different. Cultural differences within the Northeast region exist, with areas near the border with North Korea possibly influenced by Korean culture, and areas near the border with Mongolia possibly influenced by Mongolian nomadic culture. From south to north, from east to west, different regions may exhibit different cultural characteristics.
Northeast China is often perceived as a primarily agricultural region, a perception reinforced by cultural works such as Zhao Benshan’s sketches and the TV series “Country Love Story.” In fact, Northeast China is a plain enclosed by three mountain ranges—Changbai Mountains, Greater Khingan Range, and Lesser Khingan Range—located near North Korea, Russia, and China’s mainland, respectively. These mountain ranges not only form natural geographic boundaries but also shape a unique mountainous culture. However, the borders of Northeast China are not simply delineated by the highest peaks of these mountain ranges but are based on the direction of the rivers behind the mountains. This geographical characteristic results in the uniqueness of the borders in the Northeast region. Particularly, the Northeast border is distinctive as it is both a plain and differs from the plains in the inland Northeast. This is why I chose to study the Northeast border—this distinctiveness holds significance not only geographically but also influences various aspects such as culture and history.
The concept of the “Boundary Project”, which I initiated, was inspired by the lockdown during the pandemic. Creating and eliminating boundaries is one of the most basic needs of human beings. Architecture itself is also a way of creating boundaries. From the first days of living in caves to the construction of simple shelters, human beings initially build houses for the purpose of protecting themselves, which is the essence of architecture. However, no matter what type of boundary, multiple states are created. I have curated three exhibitions about the Northeast, including “Edge as Center” at the Golden Eagle Museum of Art in Nanjing, which started from Dandong and focused on the boundary rivers in the Northeast. The national border of Northeast China is divided by six boundary rivers, and Dandong is one of these riverside cities. In these border areas, whether they are villages or cities, they often form a common center with settlements on the opposite bank. In the case of Dandong, for example, although its location at the end of China’s transportation routes is somewhat of a disadvantage, border cities have been able to form and continue to develop in large part because they have far more communication with the opposite shore than with inland, a phenomenon not limited to the northeastern border. This subverts some people’s impression of the border, which is not a cold frontier and the end of the world. My research shows that the reason why most cities on the border can remain dynamic is because they have formed a joint center of close connections with the cities on the other side.
The exhibition embodies the relationship between the center and the periphery, showing a rich sense of layering in space and time. In fact, these artists are not limited to creating works within the borders of their own countries, and the cooperation between them goes beyond the limitations of national borders; North Korean artists may come to China to create works, Chinese photographers go to North Korea to shoot, and there are even South Korean photographers who shoot scenes of North Korea in China. This phenomenon reflects the particularity of the border area and shows a state of symbiosis and coexistence. Something interesting happened at the opening of the exhibition, a South Korean artist was very concerned about whether there were North Korean artists exhibiting and present at the exhibition, and his political sensitivity even exceeded that of North Koreans on formal occasions, while North Koreans may not care much about these political details. In Dandong, ethnic Koreans, North Koreans, and South Koreans can all coexist. So the border may seem marginal, but it creates in many cases a sort of unique field that happens to be more open.
Indeed, discussions about Dandong inevitably involve issues of national, ethnic, and colonial history, and this is beyond doubt. During the Russo-Japanese War, Dandong was a significant battlefield, and Japan’s victory and subsequent presence led to a longer period of colonial rule in Dandong compared to other areas in Northeast China. Dandong’s railway construction can also be considered one of the pioneers of railway development in the Northeast region. The influence of the colonial period is like an open door, and Dandong’s urban planning still retains traces of the Manchukuo period, reflecting the importance of history and culture in urban development. In terms of the relationship between Dandong and Northeast China, Dandong is like a gateway to the region. Japanese forces entered Northeast China through Dandong, and after their defeat in the war, they withdrew from here. Therefore, Dandong became an important subject in many Japanese literary works related to the Manchuria region, such as Kazuhiro Okada’s “Manchuria Peace Hotel,” which tells the story of the evacuation after Japan’s defeat in 1945. Dandong is like a checkpoint, often referred to as the “Casablanca of the East.” Many people passing through Dandong while fleeing Northeast China believed they were heading to Korea or Japan, only to find themselves in Dandong. In comparison, Manzhouli in Heilongjiang was also the first stop for the Russian railway entering China, and these two cities share similarities in their status and role in the Northeast region, both serving as gateways.
In my creative work, discussing personal history narratives allows me to study these histories from my own perspective and methodology. Being born in Dandong is a stroke of luck because the history it carries is somewhat different from other fourth or fifth-tier cities. For people in Dandong, the other side of the Yalu River represents another country, leading to an early formation of a sense of otherness or international awareness. Its unique geographical location gives it greater fluidity. For instance, Jack London, the author of “The Call of the Wild,” visited Dandong in 1904. He attempted to deter the Russo-Japanese War as a pacifist and also worked as a journalist, capturing numerous photographs. Despite being a marginal, remote, and niche place, it attracted many people, making it actually more active in external exchanges and richer in information than inland areas. For example, in the 1990s, my parents ran a business selling surplus goods from Japan and South Korea, including opening a video store. This allowed us to access Japanese and Korean pop music faster than inland areas by about one or two weeks. Essentially, we grew up listening to what was HOT or EXO at the time.
Thinking about my hometown of Dandong came after my research of Changchun. When I wanted to explore the history of Dandong’s formation and even the specifics of my home downstairs, I realized that I knew very little about it, and this cognitive gap inspired my desire to dig deeper. As I began to incorporate the role of the individual into my work, inspired by the work of Braudel and the artists Charles and Ray Eames, I began to think about the construction of three dimensions within historical time: geographical time, social time, and personal time. Among these dimensions, are the personal and memory dimension, such as finding individual memories, experiences and emotions. My approach started from the image information in the family photo albums to reconstruct the childhood space with the knowledge of architecture, a process that dug deep into a large amount of historical and material information including specific details of architectural elements such as floors, walls, windows, ceilings and doors. This kind of evocation is very interesting, every tiny detail may trigger a chain of memories and history, presenting an open state, starting from the room of my childhood, gradually expanding to the building I lived in, then to the neighborhood downstairs, and finally extending to the history of the whole city of Dandong, forming a layer upon layer reference system. Dandong has become the origin of my creation, guiding my approach to architectural practice, and this logical relationship is important.
Personally, I am not inclined to conclude my study of Dandong to simply nostalgia, although there is undoubtedly a certain autobiographical quality to it, it is more than that. It is somewhat similar to the architectural discussion of “Chineseness”, which is often related to how Chinese architects reflect “Chineseness” in their work. Chineseness is also a kind of locality, and the architectural world responds that Chinese wooden buildings and Jiangnan gardens are Chinese traditions, but for me, the so-called traditional Chinese architecture does not seem to have been involved in my life experience in Dandong, and all I have ever seen are large-scale factories, sleek facades, and modernized grid-like urban streets. I can only reacquaint myself with the so-called Chinese tradition through reading and travel, but it never resides within my blood. Through my study of Dandong, I aim to find a true starting point that belongs to me.
In exploring the connection between individual and regional identity, the historical communities and cultural characteristics under the geographical concept of “Northeast” have also provided a foundation for my reflections. The indigenous people of the Northeast may have been the Manchu or even earlier ethnic minorities. The majority of the present Han population in the Northeast immigrated in the mid to late 19th century, and immigration can be seen as a process of modernization. For example, Shandong is heavily influenced by Confucianism, but from my personal observation, North-easterners are not as bound by conventions. Faced with immigrants from different cultures, North-easterners typically adopt an attitude of mutual respect and are willing to set aside some rules for the sake of coexistence and inclusivity. They don’t cling too much to cultural roots, and you rarely see the presence of ancestral halls or clan cultures, which is markedly different from Henan, Shandong, Guangdong, or Fujian in terms of family consciousness. Some open cities in the Northeast and southern China are similar to some extent. Cities like Guangzhou and Shanghai, due to their port status, began the process of modernization early on. Additionally, the overall level of modernization in the Northeast is relatively high because railways and modernization developed simultaneously, creating a state of both surface and network modernization.
From the former post-colony to the center of the country’s industry, and then the changes experienced after the Reform and Opening up, the Northeast’s “despondency” is obvious. As a Northeasterner, I know this all too well. Someone who grew up in a place that benefited from reform and opening up might think, “Huh, why is the Northeast so run-down?” But you’ll find that North-easterners generally hold an optimistic attitude, and this mentality is also present among contemporary artists in the Northeast. They don’t avoid reality, but express it through their creations, whether it’s literature, movies or contemporary art, exploring and confronting these issues, acknowledging and digesting the sense of lassitude that exists. In fact, for North-easterners, even if my generation has not experienced those changes, my father’s and grandfather’s generations have, and a three-generation Northeastern family will basically digest these experiences with great ease. I’ve discussed these topics with the writer Banyu, and we realized that the Northeast today could be the future of the rest of the country. The process of centering and marginalization is ongoing, and the Northeast can be seen as a place that foretells the future, and North-easterners can be thought of as a kind of future people. Of course, this does not refer to the exact future, but rather, due to the high density of political changes, the condensed experiences in individual lives, and the various sufferings in the surrounding environment, such as wars, the Northeast has become a microcosm of the times and sufferings.
This environment inevitably fosters art, whether it’s literature or contemporary art, it creates a fertile ground. In fact, the arts have always been continuously present in Northeast China. Even during the puppet state of Manchukuo period, the arts did not cease to exist. For instance, the film production company Manying produced the longest film in China at that time, with a staggering amount of materials. There were also independent photography magazines, architectural magazines, literary magazines, poetry magazines, and so on, indicating abundant artistic resources. Although Northeast China is considered a peripheral region, it is located in the geographical center of Northeast Asia, constantly experiencing processes of marginalization and re-centering. If you take the time to understand the Northeast, you’ll find it similar to a nuclear bomb, an extremely condensed presence.
In the field of contemporary art, the post-colonial scenario of the Northeast can actually be discussed all the time because it is quite a special phenomenon that many scholars and researchers have not fully realized. Japan left behind rich historical materials when it colonized the Northeast, and both China and Japan are rather oblivious to the issue due to political reasons, but South Korea is very willing to discuss it. But of course South Korea has its limitations. Regarding the historical materials of Northeast Asia, there are many documents, which have documentary advantages in research, and the space for research is also very broad. For the study of Northeastern studies, I think that starting from the daily life of Northeast Asia is a good entry point. On one hand, it circumvents political sensitivity, and on the other hand, daily life can show the real cultural state and humanistic landscape, which is one of the reasons why Northeastern literature can receive attention.
The establishment of a document repository in Northeast Asia is something that I look forward to, and it seems to me that the solidity of the documentation may be demonstrated by the fact that it will not only contain publicly available material, but will also encompass information that has not yet been made available to the public. In fact, over the past century, Northeast Asia has witnessed numerous complex and significant events. This document repository can serve as a relatively internal resource to better preserve and manage these materials. I believe that policies and review standards often change over time and are thus fluid. When we engage in work, especially in literature-related tasks, we shouldn’t abandon our collection efforts just because certain activities are not permitted today, as the situation may differ tomorrow. Without accumulation, there will not be documentation. We need to maintain a neutral and objective attitude, while also considering self-protection. I believe the document repository should be objective, and in handling certain issues, we can choose to temporarily retain rather than completely block them. This approach ensures long-term accumulation, avoids fragmentation, and provides a more comprehensive and objective perspective for the study of the historical culture of Northeast Asia.
