It is unavoidable. It is the eternal game between predator and prey. When a friendly guy of about my age approaches me in the middle of Tiananmen Square, instantly the fishdar goes off. The fishdar is my sensory organs’ combined detection of all things fishy. While at first we exchange niceties (where we are from, what we do), he goes on to explain that he is an “art student” and that his class is displaying artwork at a “gallery” and that perhaps I would like to see some art- -free of cost, no less. At this point we magically had veered off my intended course and arrived near the eastern side of the square in front of some large museum. He explains that the gallery is being held in a side room of the National Museum. At this point, his story gained some legitimacy; what scam operation could be run out this stolid institution? Oh yes, and today is the last day of the exhibition of course, so it would be impossible to come back later….of course….
As I enter the gallery, my dutiful host shows me several large paintings by his teacher, and to be fair, they are quite beautiful scenes of classical Chinese landscapes. Similar to what you would imagine if someone told you to conjure up Chinese art. Impressive. We make a beeline to his four contributions to the gallery. He explains, his English being quite good having brought hundreds of victims before me, that his four paintings represent scenes from the four seasons…blah blah blah. At this point a gentle looking girl excuses herself to hand me a cup of tea. Yes, butter me up some more please. I catch a glance at the “madame” at a large table with a cash box and calculator. Ah yes, I think to myself, I will just play along and wait for the hook. As I feign interest in the art I’m being shown, I think about how the paintings were most likely produced–probably in some sweatshop with a big bare-chested man pounding a big deer-skin drum. Playing along, when the time comes, I learn that since today is the “last day,” I have the unique opportunity to purchase these handsome wares. The price is not much, about $8 for most of the works, slightly more for the larger formats. I glance again at the madame at the large table and think I see a forked tongue as she speaks to invite me over to her. At this point, I really want to get to the Forbidden City, my original intended destination. But then it is as if I am not in control of my thoughts, and I reach for my wallet and order two prints…”What is going on?” I think to myself as my hands pull out a 100 yuan bill. My fishdar is being jammed!!! The ophidian madame rolls my purchases into a long green box to protect the precious art. As I exit the gallery, which shows no signs of shutting down later in the day, my fishdar returns and my nostrils fill with the smell of rancid, rotting trout. To this day I have no idea what sophisticated fishdar jamming technology those “art students” have, but I do know that it works.
It is somehow unavoidable for a tourist in China to be hunted. That night as I return to my hostel, I see my bunk mate has the same green box as me. When asked, we confirm our fishdars were both jammed and laugh it off. Ha Ha Ha. Ah well, once in a while, the predator deserves a kill.
And now the big question, what to do with my art? Hey mom, want one?
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