China, Children and Calligraphy

China, Children and Calligraphy

When one travels to a country formed over two thousand years ago, that opened its doors to the western world without restriction a mere two decades ago, one should expect to find a few differences. Their iconic language and the challenge of using chopsticks are two of the best known differentiators, but how they raise and educate their children is not something you will find documented at your local takeaway.

So on a recent holiday to China we decided to take the opportunity to learn more about this aspect of their culture, my wife as a head teacher and me as an ICT Consultant. The reality was that we had less spare time than we had hoped for - two weeks to visit a country that size means serious travelling - but we nevertheless came away with much more than we anticipated.

Our first lesson manifested itself in the form of a surprise, or more accurately a double take. We saw a young child toddling along the street with its parents and apparently wearing a pair of trousers in urgent need of repair. The centre seam from front to rear waist band was split and the operational parts of its anatomy were exposed to the chill winds of a Beijing spring day. Being reserved Brits who do not speak a word of Chinese, and as the rest of the family showed no signs of getting to work with needle and thread, we decided to hold fire and quiz our tour guide as soon as we got back to the tour bus. His response tied in with another observation we had made from our first excursion out of the hotel - in the whole of our time in China we saw only two push chairs. Apart from those two instances every other pre-toddler child was being carried in arms or a sling by its parent.

How do these two facts relate? Well, the split trousers philosophy invites all kinds of disasters for the parent of a child who cannot yet ask for a potty. However, the Chinese practice of keeping their children in close physical proximity, instead of strapping them into a buggy out of body or eye contact, means that Chinese parents know their children much better than we do. Rarely do they get a wet arm - or worse - due to an unexpected emission from their infants because they can read their child's facial expressions and body language. During the tour we sanity checked this initial advice and spotted many examples of children being held over a tree root or drain cover to do the necessary. Later in the tour we spoke to another guide who had a pre-toddler infant and he was able to list three signs that his son needed attention, two facial and one body language. He and his wife had never experienced an accident with their infant, and he told us that the Chinese consider it bad for their children to wear nappies all day; they are only used at night. Perhaps students looking into the relationship between parent/infant eye contact and subsequent behaviour management should spend some time on comparative studies here.

In Shanghai we managed to free up a Sunday morning to visit the Children's Palace which is an approximation to our after school clubs. This 'palace' and others like it across China were created to give children relief from the Chinese education process which is formal and highly regimented. This is not due solely to Ministry of Education policy; the graphic nature of the Chinese written language means that their children have to learn thousands of complex characters before they can achieve even a basic standard of literacy. Compare this to the English language which has only twenty six letters that combine to create a mere forty four sounds. In recognition of this pressured environment, and as Chinese schools do not teach music, dance and art to any significant degree, children are allowed to indulge in non-academic activities on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Security was almost non-existent as we walked in through the gates of the grey nineteenth century stone built town house, and we were able to explore most of the building before anyone came out to see what we wanted.

In faultless English a young woman in her twenties came out of a side door and introduced herself as one of two volunteers assigned specifically to look after foreign visitors. After explaining who we were she took us on a conducted tour of the facility and I was allowed to photograph anything or anyone I wanted, including the children. Contrast this relaxed approach with the permissions we would need in the UK in similar circumstances. Ironically, the first activity was a calligraphy class for five and six year olds. It was more like an art class where the only colour available was black. Young hands struggled to copy what their parents considered to be simple characters, with form and the order in which each stroke is made being of equal importance. If this was meant to be a relaxing experience then I would like to see a formal lesson as the children were cajoled and encouraged into producing mini works of art on thin white paper.

Next we were led into a music class where around twenty children aged between five and six were learning to play the Erhu. This is a two stringed instrument, much like an emaciated violin, held vertically and played with a bow. If any of you have suffered 'twinkle twinkle little star' as part of a child's violin practice then you will get some idea of what we sat through. The plus side was that the tune was a pleasant Chinese melody and the class was doing an excellent job of hitting almost every note given the age of the musicians. It was interesting to see the teacher tapping her foot and reciting the local equivalent of 'one two three go' before each session. Next we visited the choir room consisting of a teacher, a pianist and two rows of children singing their hearts out just as you would find in any UK primary school. Unlike the Erhu class, these children were more interested in us strange Europeans, one with a video camera, than they were in singing. Luckily their academic discipline kicked in and the performance continued to its natural conclusion, but it was close!

After that we were led into a smaller room where three loosely grouped tiers of mostly boys were singing along to a video displayed on a large TV in screen mounted high in one corner. Sesame Street look alike characters were providing the lead and each of the boys were singing a part according to some pre-arranged format. In contrast to the discipline of the previous two classes these boys were laughing, shoving and just as cheeky as any British child of that age. It was almost a relief to see that the legendary Chinese inscrutability and formality could still produce children like any other children around the globe. The final session we visited was a ballet class consisting entirely of girls, some slavishly following the simple steps of their teacher, and others taking up impossibly flexible poses against the exercise bar along the side wall. As a great believer in gender equality I asked why there were no boys in the class, expecting the answer that Chinese boys considered ballet to be too 'sissy'. Instead our guide informed us that the boys were too naughty and disruptive to be included.

Our final port of call was their art exhibition were the best works of their six to nine year olds were displayed in a small ante room which also contained pictures and embroidery contributed by former pupils of the Palace. This latter collection had been produced to generate additional funds, and was being offered at a fraction of the price of similar works created for tourist at the official government shops. No doubt a connoisseur of silk embroidery would spot a myriad of quality differences, but to our untrained eyes we saw only beautiful pictures, finely sewn, and we bought two as our contribution to international academic relations! Apart from the grown-up productions, the children's artwork was remarkable. The content, composition and use of colour in their pictures were closer to what we would expect from eleven to thirteen year olds in this country. For example, one highly detailed picture of a stylised tiger in a classical wall hanging format came from the pallet of a nine year old; I initially thought that it was a fund raiser from a former student. Without a basis of comparison our guide was unable to explain why there should be such a differential. But my own guess is that Chinese children are brought up with graphics as an inherent part of their lives. So painting is just a colourful extension of the calligraphy that they learn from day one, unlike the completely separate medium of expression that comprises European art.

So how did this experience leave us? Well, we have both dabbled with the Chinese education process from a distance, my wife via class presentations by Chinese visitors, and myself from helping a Middle School in Beijing to develop their web site (www.bfjdfz.net). But our first hand exposure to not only the academic process and their standard of work, but also to the way that Chinese parents maintain such a close relationship with their children was invaluable. Admittedly the hit to our wallet for the privilege of spending nine hours flying to Beijing with British Airways - thirteen hours back from Hong Kong - was significant. But the reward in terms of the knowledge we gained, and the multimedia material we can now use for class projects, was invaluable.



	When one travels to a country formed over two thousand years ago, that opened its doors to the western world without restriction a mere two decades ago, one should expect to find a few differences. Their iconic language and the challenge of using chopsticks are two of the best known differentiators, but how they raise and educate their children is not something you will find documented at your local takeaway. So on a recent holiday to China we decided to take the opportunity to learn more about this aspect of their culture, my wife as a head teacher and me as an ICT Consultant. The reality was that we had less spare time than we had hoped for - two weeks to visit a country that size means serious travelling - but we nevertheless came away with much more than we anticipated. Our first lesson manifested itself in the form of a surprise, or more accurately a double take. We saw a young child toddling along the street with its parents and apparently wearing a pair of trousers in urgent need of repair. The centre seam from front to rear waist band was split and the operational parts of its anatomy were exposed to the chill winds of a Beijing spring day. Being reserved Brits who do not speak a word of Chinese, and as the rest of the family showed no signs of getting to work with needle and thread, we decided to hold fire and quiz our tour guide as soon as we got back to the tour bus. His response tied in with another observation we had made from our first excursion out of the hotel - in the whole of our time in China we saw only two push chairs. Apart from those two instances every other pre-toddler child was being carried in arms or a sling by its parent. How do these two facts relate? Well, the split trousers philosophy invites all kinds of disasters for the parent of a child who cannot yet ask for a potty. However, the Chinese practice of keeping their children in close physical proximity, instead of strapping them into a buggy out of body or eye contact, means that Chinese parents know their children much better than we do. Rarely do they get a wet arm - or worse - due to an unexpected emission from their infants because they can read their child's facial expressions and body language. During the tour we sanity checked this initial advice and spotted many examples of children being held over a tree root or drain cover to do the necessary. Later in the tour we spoke to another guide who had a pre-toddler infant and he was able to list three signs that his son needed attention, two facial and one body language. He and his wife had never experienced an accident with their infant, and he told us that the Chinese consider it bad for their children to wear nappies all day; they are only used at night. Perhaps students looking into the relationship between parent/infant eye contact and subsequent behaviour management should spend some time on comparative studies here. In Shanghai we managed to free up a Sunday morning to visit the Children's Palace which is an approximation to our after school clubs. This 'palace' and others like it across China were created to give children relief from the Chinese education process which is formal and highly regimented. This is not due solely to Ministry of Education policy; the graphic nature of the Chinese written language means that their children have to learn thousands of complex characters before they can achieve even a basic standard of literacy. Compare this to the English language which has only twenty six letters that combine to create a mere forty four sounds. In recognition of this pressured environment, and as Chinese schools do not teach music, dance and art to any significant degree, children are allowed to indulge in non-academic activities on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Security was almost non-existent as we walked in through the gates of the grey nineteenth century stone built town house, and we were able to explore most of the building before anyone came out to see what we wanted. In faultless English a young woman in her twenties came out of a side door and introduced herself as one of two volunteers assigned specifically to look after foreign visitors. After explaining who we were she took us on a conducted tour of the facility and I was allowed to photograph anything or anyone I wanted, including the children. Contrast this relaxed approach with the permissions we would need in the UK in similar circumstances. Ironically, the first activity was a calligraphy class for five and six year olds. It was more like an art class where the only colour available was black. Young hands struggled to copy what their parents considered to be simple characters, with form and the order in which each stroke is made being of equal importance. If this was meant to be a relaxing experience then I would like to see a formal lesson as the children were cajoled and encouraged into producing mini works of art on thin white paper. Next we were led into a music class where around twenty children aged between five and six were learning to play the Erhu. This is a two stringed instrument, much like an emaciated violin, held vertically and played with a bow. If any of you have suffered 'twinkle twinkle little star' as part of a child's violin practice then you will get some idea of what we sat through. The plus side was that the tune was a pleasant Chinese melody and the class was doing an excellent job of hitting almost every note given the age of the musicians. It was interesting to see the teacher tapping her foot and reciting the local equivalent of 'one two three go' before each session. Next we visited the choir room consisting of a teacher, a pianist and two rows of children singing their hearts out just as you would find in any UK primary school. Unlike the Erhu class, these children were more interested in us strange Europeans, one with a video camera, than they were in singing. Luckily their academic discipline kicked in and the performance continued to its natural conclusion, but it was close! After that we were led into a smaller room where three loosely grouped tiers of mostly boys were singing along to a video displayed on a large TV in screen mounted high in one corner. Sesame Street look alike characters were providing the lead and each of the boys were singing a part according to some pre-arranged format. In contrast to the discipline of the previous two classes these boys were laughing, shoving and just as cheeky as any British child of that age. It was almost a relief to see that the legendary Chinese inscrutability and formality could still produce children like any other children around the globe. The final session we visited was a ballet class consisting entirely of girls, some slavishly following the simple steps of their teacher, and others taking up impossibly flexible poses against the exercise bar along the side wall. As a great believer in gender equality I asked why there were no boys in the class, expecting the answer that Chinese boys considered ballet to be too 'sissy'. Instead our guide informed us that the boys were too naughty and disruptive to be included. Our final port of call was their art exhibition were the best works of their six to nine year olds were displayed in a small ante room which also contained pictures and embroidery contributed by former pupils of the Palace. This latter collection had been produced to generate additional funds, and was being offered at a fraction of the price of similar works created for tourist at the official government shops. No doubt a connoisseur of silk embroidery would spot a myriad of quality differences, but to our untrained eyes we saw only beautiful pictures, finely sewn, and we bought two as our contribution to international academic relations! Apart from the grown-up productions, the children's artwork was remarkable. The content, composition and use of colour in their pictures were closer to what we would expect from eleven to thirteen year olds in this country. For example, one highly detailed picture of a stylised tiger in a classical wall hanging format came from the pallet of a nine year old; I initially thought that it was a fund raiser from a former student. Without a basis of comparison our guide was unable to explain why there should be such a differential. But my own guess is that Chinese children are brought up with graphics as an inherent part of their lives. So painting is just a colourful extension of the calligraphy that they learn from day one, unlike the completely separate medium of expression that comprises European art. So how did this experience leave us? Well, we have both dabbled with the Chinese education process from a distance, my wife via class presentations by Chinese visitors, and myself from helping a Middle School in Beijing to develop their web site (www.bfjdfz.net). But our first hand exposure to not only the academic process and their standard of work, but also to the way that Chinese parents maintain such a close relationship with their children was invaluable. Admittedly the hit to our wallet for the privilege of spending nine hours flying to Beijing with British Airways - thirteen hours back from Hong Kong - was significant. But the reward in terms of the knowledge we gained, and the multimedia material we can now use for class projects, was invaluable.