Lunyu Fu x Mantoto x Hei Family

Song of the Parting Son is a well-known Tang poem in China. When I had just moved to London, my mother always expressed her anxiety and love through this poem. Dealing with parental oppression is a lifelong task for many Chinese children. Due to the early coming out and other gaps, I feel increasingly stressed about building communication with my parents in these years. Meng Jiao's Song of the Parting Son is what my mum wanted to say to me, and my Song of the Parting Son is what I want to tell my mum.

Another motive that made me want to make a piece for my mom was the high cost of studying aboard. When students in other majors expect a promising future and higher income after graduation, I worry that I will not be able to repay my parents as an art student. Even though we have no agreement, this idea was deeply rooted in my cultural background and family education.

No money, no normal sexual orientation, what can I repay for you? May I tell you I am a kind and happy person doing my favourite work and living with my favourite girl, going to the park every day to see my favourite trees and dogs? When I experience these good things in life, I always think of you... Even if you refuse to learn about them, just like I don't want to know why you called me son when I was little.

Mantoto is a silly little dog, 

With a big head and four short legs. 

Never jumps high or pees high. 

A wisp of wind could evaporate his urine,

Before the big dogs come.

Mantoto needs a piece of urine which is earth-shattering!

Which shows our favourite earth, grass, and spring.

The line and the points were the original Mantoto provided to me,

I know he was drawing a sprout,

A sprout who wants to be a big tree.

Just like the forever ancient shepherd puppy Mantoto,

Always waiting to grow tall!

The project plans to print 365 pieces to create a one-year life narrative for the little tree. There are 150 pieces already, of which 120 will be displayed in the RCA Degree Show on the Battersea South campus.

Xiaohei was a guard dog of an embroidery factory in Shibing, Guizhou Province. I met her when I was filming a documentary about Miao embroidery. As a big German Shepherd, almost everyone in the factory feared her even if she was tied. However, I ran to her for the first meeting, she lay on the ground without doubt and let me rub her belly. We have become good friends since then.

When I went to Shibing for the second time, Xiao Hei was pregnant. Having seven puppies somewhere people don't care about puppies is bittersweet. I worried about the future of Xiaohei and her babies and nailed the puppies' photos on Xiaohei's house to attract people's interest.

On the last day in Shibing, I took pictures of Xiaohei's house roof with her babies' photo cards again. After the film was developed, I found that the faces of Black One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven were all in vogue. I felt pity for I didn't focus on their faces, but after a while, I realized, in June in south China, it was already a miracle for the cards sealed in wide tapes to be kept for more than one month, and they will continue to be faded until becoming seven pieces of white paper. Just like the elegiac couplets affixed on the closed doors in the deserted village we saw on the road to Suoga.