He Who Barks Last
by Ben Moger-Williams
There are African fertility statues, Chinese dragons, and Native American totem poles. Hundreds of paintings, sculptures and ceramics are strewn about or lined up neatly on a wall.
The pieces, all of different styles, create a literal world folk art museum. What makes them unique is that they were all made by Han Meilin.
Han, a young 63, is unpretentious and congenial, and speaks with a slight Shandong accent. He enjoys writing freestyle essays, and even more, he loves to talk and tell stories.
Han says the secret to his youthful manner is that he was cheated out of 20 years of his life during the tumultuous years surrounding and during the Cultural Revolution. He only thinks of himself as about 40.
Han has been through more than most. He joined the army at
12, entered the Central Academy of the Arts at 17, was accused of being a spy, tortured,
jailed for more than four years and went through two divorces. But has that made him
bitter? Not really.
"I have no regrets," Han muses. "There is no time. Besides, sometimes disaster is a great opportunity."
However, a light sardonic undertone is also present in some of his thoughts. One theme that occurs again and again in his writings and stories is the fact that oftentimes animals are more worthy of friendship than people.
He tells of when he was first sent to the countryside for labor reform, nobody would talk to him and he had to eat by himself.
But a local dog came over and barked a greeting. Han repayed the cur's kindness with a portion of his food. "Sometimes people's personalities can't compare with a dog's 'dog-ality', " he says.
When the Red Guards came for him, a baying crowd gathered around in traditional Cultural Revolution style. Only the loyal dog showed any affection, climbing up on his shirt and leaving friendly muddy paw marks.
In jail, the pawprints kept Han company for eight months until the mud finally flaked off while in isolation. Upon his release, he immediately sought out man's best friend.
After prison, Han weighed 36 kilograms and he had a hard time explaining his intentions to the dog's owner, who was shocked to be approached by a barely human figure.
The dog was dead. The owner explained that after Han's arrest, the angry crowd turned on the animal --a capitalist roader hound --beating it senseless.
Over the next three days, the dog didn't eat,
only howling out occasional agonies before death.
Such innocent contrasts and personal experiences naturally led to small furry creatures featuring prominently in his paintings. Han says he does not fear death any more.
One night, his captors dragged him and two others outside and had them kneel on the ground.
They had already slashed the tendons on his wrists when the three were all blindfolded. One of the guards took out a gun, said "Time for re-education," and shot the two men on either side of Han.
At that point, he had suffered so much he would have welcomed death.
But it didn't come for him that night. He was dragged back to his cell, covered with the blood and brains of his fellow inmates.
At that point, Han realized that he was going to get through it all. Despite all of his ghastly experiences, or because of them as Han might say, Han has created a very lucrative career for himself.
Han has been to America, and has just returned from teaching a course at Yale University as a guest professor. A giant bronze dragon sculpture of his resides in Atlanta Square, and was commissioned for the 1996 Olympic Games held there. Incidentally, a smaller version of the dragon is perched watchfully on Han's balcony, its thousand-pound heft a formidable watchdog.
Another of Han's impressive works is a 40-meter-long stone sculpture of a group of tigers weighing in at 4,800 tons. Much of Han's work is inspired by regional folk arts of China. He has spent years traveling to different areas of China collecting materials and learning local art forms.
But he has not merely taken from these areas, he also believes in giving something back: He has also spent a time and money going to poor mountainous regions of the country helping to build schools, train locals and build art workshops.
Han continues to be inspired. Once he was haunted by the thought of owls, and how they are lovely creatures, but are an inauspicious omen in Chinese superstition. With this thought, he got up at midnight and spent two days and one night painting 300 pictures of owls, which resulted in him having to spend a half month recuperating in hospital.
Han's undefeatable spirit and enthusiasm have made him a well-known and well-loved artist in China and other countries too.