In addition to the spiritual and symbolic meanings, how does the essence of the ‘memorial statue’ evolve over time? In early 20th century British-ruled Hong Kong, colonialism manifested itself through the proliferation of public statues. After going through the Second World War, and the social movements of the 1950s to the 1980s, and finally the Handover in 1997, these statues have gradually become reminders of the colonial era for the proletariat. When the statue is placed in a public space as an ideological manifesto, what sorts of social discourse develop relating to the intertwining relationships between ‘the object’ and ‘the people’ in the space?

Flipping it over, in his story, these fragments that no longer can be pieced together to restore the Queen’s statue, are sent on The Relentless Voyage over the sea; their fate is unpredictable and their hope is inexorable, as they fall into an ever deeper sea of sorrow, as if at this particular moment those bronze statues are more than just a reflection of history.

This open call aims to collect photographs of the public with statues in Hong Kong and their surroundings (e.g. family or friends in front of the statues, from any angle and in any medium (film/digital)). 

With the consent of the contributors, all materials collected by this open call will be used only in this online archives and non-profit public and educational programmes. Each submission will be clearly indexed with the creator, copyright owner, acknowledgement list, location, time, and type of licence (Creative Commons, authorised copyright, etc.). Thank you for kindly sharing your stories by emailing us at phantomarchives@gmail.com.

This open call is extended from the art project The Retrieval, Restoration and Predicament (2018-2020).

Between 1942 and 1945, Hong Kong was occupied by the Japanese. For the sake of saving social resources and population control, the Japanese Occupation Governor ‘repatriated’ many local residents and immigrants from China to the Mainland through compulsory and semi-voluntary means, which was known as the ‘Homecoming Policy’. Tens of thousands of war refugees arrived in Canton (now Guangzhou) and were medically quarantined and detained at the Nanshitou Refugee Camp in the southern suburbs of Canton City, where they were forced to undergo a series of live bacteriological experiments.

During the project, I interviewed a 93-year-old lady who had experienced the refugee camp, the end of World War II, the Chinese civil war, New China, the Communist era, etc. I put her and her interview into the work that was shown in the outdoor screening: The Narrow Road to the Deep Sea, Part V: The Remains of the Night (2020). During the interview and conversation with the woman, she repeated that what had been engraved in her mind was not the misery of the war and the ease with which people could control their fate, but the fact that for the next 80 years after the war, while remaining unruffled having experienced so many ups and downs, the social welfare system was what could comfort her heart. That is her reality, existing outside of the numbers and causes and consequences recorded in the archives. ( Lee Kai Chung, It means I won’t be back, A research project on ‘Sea’ and ‘Diaspora’ (Excerpt),  2020)

This open call aims to collect life stories (experience at the camp and lives after the war) of Hong Kong refugees (their relatives/second or third generation) who were imprisoned at Nanshitou Refugee Camp during WWII. With the consent of the contributors, all materials collected by this open call will be used only in this online archives and non-profit public and educational programmes. Each submission will be clearly indexed with the creator, copyright owner, acknowledgement list, location, time, and type of licence (Creative Commons, authorised copyright, etc.). Thank you for kindly sharing your stories by emailing us at phantomarchives@gmail.com.

This open call is extended from the art project The Narrow of the Deep Sea (2019-2020).

On the green-skinned train, we booked too late to have two consecutive seats, each of us turned into a silent traveller in the crowd. Yet passengers next to us talked of everything under the sun with each other. The hard seats in the compartment are wrapped in sky-blue velvet, which absorb dust, dander, skin oil and sweat over the years, a strong human odour fills the whole compartment. Every half hour, a few people would meet at the end of the train to take a 10-minute cigarette break. Memory hit back, I was once again the kid taking the train back to my hometown, spending hours surrounded by that smell, relieved by a sense of security in the midst of the anxiety. No matter how long the journey takes, passengers on the train could always make friends in the course of conversation, or be surprised to find that they have mutual acquaintances, meanwhile not excluding us who have no idea how to join the conversation. It’s like a small world in a train compartment, where in the slow journey new relationships always emerge.

Says him, “Don’t eat plain buns, I’ve got chilli, super spicy, you take a bite.” 

Says her, “So heavy – A full linen sack of  fresh prunes and melons. Going mushroom picking in a few days. Not well grown yet, a couple of days to go.”

Says him, “I went to Manzhouli to build the railway. We knew nothing about techniques, all were supervised by skilled workers from the south of the Yangtze River. We were manual labour. Food was expensive as tourists crowded there, five bucks for one bun, still feeling hungry after.

Says her, “Mama mia, what a coincidence. I’d been a taxi driver in Manzhouli for 20 years. The world has changed so I came back home.”

Says her, “My seventh cousin-in-law is boarding this train at the next stop, let me buy her a ticket.”

Says him,  “We’re entering the tunnel, signal no good, no rush buying one.”

Says her, “You should believe me, but you don’t listen, getting out at that station, you’ll have to go over mountains.”

Says him, “I led a team to construct the ancient tombs. I haven’t been to Huangpo for ten years, I forgot how to get there.”

Says her, “That place is good, Huangpo’s renowned for its tobacco, other tobaccos are as nothing to compare.”

Says him, “I work on this train every day. Can’t go back to my hometown because it is far away. Not familiar enough to find good tobacco. Can you bring me some next time you take this train?”

Says him, “Comrade, where should I get off?” 

Once the train arrived at the stop, she got off and left the linen sack by her seat. The other lady boarded the train, took that bag of fresh fruit and vegetables home.

The Phantom Archives is now having open call for visual material relating to life stories on the train, including but not limited to personal stories, photographs, memories, scenarios and fiction. 

With the consent of the contributors, all materials collected by this open call will be used only in this online archives and non-profit public and educational programmes. Each submission will be clearly indexed with the creator, copyright owner, acknowledgement list, location, time, and type of licence (Creative Commons, authorised copyright, etc.). Thank you for kindly sharing your stories by emailing us at phantomarchives@gmail.com.

This open call is extended from the collaborative art project The Infinite Train (2020-).