I was studying in Beijing at the end of 1997 when my mother suffered a mild stroke while at home in our family apartment in Taiyuan City, Shanxi Province. By the time I rushed back home, friends and relatives had already arranged mother's hospital stay. The potential damaging effects of the stroke were alleviated by the emergency treatment she quickly received. However, she had lost her ability to speak and her movements were greatly impaired. And there really wasn't anything else the doctors could do to help her. Her overall health was affected, and it seemed that she was also suffering from other internal illnesses as a result of her weakened health leading up to the stroke. In the hospital ward, I saw my mother lying in the bed, staring up at me with a look of hopelessness, eyes filled with tears.  She was trying to say something to me, her lips were moving, making weak and inaudible sounds. My heart was broken. I understood completely what she would say. "What happened to your father?" My father had already been seriously ill for several years at the time my mother had her stroke.  I knew she was thinking, "Who is there to look after your father when I am in hospital like this?"

　　In 1976, just a few days after retiring from military service, my father suffered a cerebral hemorrhage that was believed to result from over-work and the stress of his work post. A doctor saved his life, which was really in danger at the time. Father was only 42 years old when he became disabled.

　　Meanwhile, while my mother was in hospital recuperating from her illness, at home, my father's health suddenly began to deteriorate. He was unable to go to the bathroom without assistance, and he began to lose weight at an abnormal speed. His eyes became hollow and inexpressive as if he was staring far off into the distance. My heart was bleeding for him in this sad situation. Most of the time, while my father was never a big talker, he always possessed a strong-willed character. However, at that moment, what he expressed was only desperation and heavy sadness for a lifetime lost or soon to be drastically curtailed. These feelings were hardly things he could keep hidden. I knew my father loved life and was usually eager to live as much as he could. But what could I do? I could only arrange for his immediate check-in to the hospital for emergency treatment. He had to join my mother there......

　　For a long time, I thought about depicting the life of my parents in a series of paintings. I would try to do so despite the sad and painful reality of what I would be painting. However, I was blocked each time I tried to paint their story. I hadn't anticipated this emotional block. Each time I sat in front of the canvas, I felt like I was directly facing my parents' tough reality. Very often I had to stop painting due to these attacks of desolation and bitterness. So, my work went on with very little progress, largely due to my own prolonged moments of heavy sorrow and distress. Unconsciously I was deeply trapped in this vicious circle of wanting to record my parents' suffering on canvas and not being able to, without any resolution. All of my plans of artistic renderings and creative output were quickly dissolved and instead what tended to come into my mind were endless thoughts of desperation and sadness.

　　My parents were admitted to the hospital just before the Chinese New Year's Day of 1998. At the beginning of their hospital stay, I was so busy helping them go through medical examinations and treatments, that I was often left in an awful mood, feeling like my head was lead-filled and too heavy to hold erect. After a period of treatment, their illnesses were stabilized and then my tightened heart felt somewhat relieved. I got the idea then that I should gather some materials so that I could create artworks based on the life of my parents. Some time earlier, I had taken random photos of their everyday activities without any particular aim. In the hospital this time I had also taken some black and white photos. Despite my lack of expectations, I was still shocked when I saw the developed prints. The black mood of the works hurt and stung me. Suddenly the topic of death came into my mind. Somehow, up until now, I had never felt the specter of death creeping up so closely to my beloved parents. At that moment, I felt as if there was only a thin layer of ice separating life and death. Frankly speaking, the photos were so graphic and revealing that I had a hard time facing their inevitable outcome.  By the end of 1998, I rediscovered the photos when sorting through some of my belongings. They gave me a kind of new and special inspiration at a time when I was under the double pressures of a tough personal life situation and a tough work life. Those very dark pictures reflecting the real life of my parents and my own overwhelming life situation have inspired me with true feelings and ideas. As a matter of fact, the photos have completely expressed what I would like to say in a very appropriate and persuasive way. In a real sense, I had witnessed the power of photography. Immediately an idea came to mind, "Why shouldn't I use my camera to make my art works?" This was the source of my initial motivation to become a photographer. Moreover, taking photos became a means of communication between my parents and I.  We made good use of our time remaining together, despite the pressures of battling illnesses.

　　From 1998 onward, I spent the bulk of my time recording the hard life of my parents with the camera. In my series of photo portraits of my parents, there is one image where I reprint their wedding photo, taken when they were young. It is a photo I know well from my childhood, a photo that had left me with the deepest of impressions. I remember the photo was printed in different sizes large and small, some nicely framed. It was obvious that this wedding photo was the favorite of my parents. I would even say that this wedding photo embodied the hopes and dreams of our family as we strove for happiness. It is also the photo that taught me what it meant to be a father. However the strong sense of responsibility and the heavy duty undertaken by a father is something that can only be perceived step by step, as I got older and older. The iron-like shoulders and the duties and responsibilities they likely carried are the basic qualities of my mother as a teaching professional and my father as an army man.

　　In an era characterized by the creation of "People's Heroes", each of us was admonished to learn from these "Heroes". We were told that at decisive moments one must be ready to sacrifice all and be the "hero", a hero that quietly gives and offers to others without asking anything in return. People were educated time and again not to think about themselves in terms of happiness and unhappiness. For instance, at that time, everyone was asked to make new contributions to society but not expect to live off of their own accomplishments. We were told to be vigilant in the fight against individualism; to seek inspiration from the Red Army's hardship on the Long March when facing difficulty; to recall the tough experiences of the old revolutionaries when facing exhaustion, and so on and on.

　　My parents belong to a generation without thoughts of individualism or in more conventional terms, the generation with collective spirit. I recognized that their precepts were linked by questionable, man-made ethos: Regulations - Bound with morality - Upgrading one's morality to virtue -- Developing one's virtue to social values obeyed by all - Making social values into a sort of collective creed or spirit. Having observed their life for many years, I concluded that my parents were almost up to the high standards accorded to this rigid paradigm, except for the disappointments and sorrows of their final stages of life.

　　I am not a good son, since I was unable to help change the life situation of my parents. My solution was to unveil to others the horrible living situation that could be regarded as my family skeleton. To have opted for this solution, I beg my parents' pardon.

　　I wanted people to know that the happy life of today, of a modern prosperous economy enjoying a rapid pace of development and productivity, is the result of the personal investment of my parents' generation, who sacrificed so much with so little personal reward. Behind the happiness, prosperity and rapid economic development of today, how many others' parents are living like mine; ignored and abandoned? I opt to use my artworks to express my concern for all of them and respect for their genuine and ordinary lives as anonymous members of our society. My works are a kind of memorial to all of these unknown lives.

　　And I hope my parents have found peace and happiness in Heaven.

Song Yong Ping, July 14, 2000

Edited by Meg Maggio, Beijing, July 2004

作者：Song,Yongping