Take a Pitt Stop
Tibet has always sung siren-like to the Western traveller: 'the roof of the world', its shangri-la and, nowadays, a must-see for those concerned with Chinese imperialism, particularly those tired of hanging around doped up in Kathmandu purchasing preparatory 'Free Tibet!' artefacts to annoy the border guards. I nearly went once. Using it as a bridge from Nepal to China had long been the plan, but once in Kathmandu we realised the full, expensive nightmare it would entail because of the Chinese government's restrictive policy at the time on foreigners visiting the country, and given we couldn't even afford one single protest prayer flag, we were forced to abandon the idea.
The British were made of sterner stuff in the 30s. They may have been similarly seduced by a romantic dream of Everest and Lamas, palaces and monks, but they were also determined to keep their finger firmly in the colonial pie in that part of the world, and to ensure that China did not resume hostilities after Tibet regained much of its independence in 1913. To monitor relations between the two countries, and strengthen links with Tibet, the British set up a mission to Lhasa in 1920. The Pitt Rivers Museum's exhibition, 'Seeing Lhasa' records what they found in the remote mountain state.
Primarily made up of photographs, the perspective it offers on a vanished world is thus utterly colonial. The camera, almost unknown before their arrival, becomes an instrument of the imperial gaze, framing the country and its people according to received ideas about exoticism and otherness. Portraits often have an odd quality, although their subjects confront the lens with pride, they have the air of a creation of "Hollywood...or a fancy dress procession." This paradox seems, to me, to be at the very heart of the exhibition. The British did not go to Tibet with the intention of conquest, but diplomacy. They found there a society which, at the top at least, was broadly sympathetic to their own; the two elites found much to admire in each other. Both were very formal, and meticulous about social ritual and politeness, down to their rigid observance of dress code; it is reputed that Sir Basil J. Gould, the leader of the 1935 mission, dressed for dinner even whilst on camp in the remote countryside of Tibet. Another member, Hugh Richardson, spoke "impeccable Lhasa Tibetan with a slight Oxford accent."
The mutual respect between the two cultures led to extensive and elaborate socialising, in keeping with both tastes. A mildly incongruous photograph records the Lord Chamberlain of Tibet's 1936 lunch in honour of the British Mission, in which five or so dinner jacketed gents brandish chopsticks enthusiastically as they tuck into a menu which contained something for everyone, from an entrée of Jacob's crackers and an hors d'oeuvre of sliced yak's tongue to main courses including shark's stomach and sea slugs. Other pictures record the Tibetan Minister of Agriculture, who had the "rare and enviable accomplishment of being able to pour a glass of beer down his throat without swallowing", and the Regent of Tibet bellowing into a microphone, as "excited as a schoolboy" at hearing his own voice so magnified, as well as the team photos of the Mission Marmots, and the rather less professional looking Lhasa United.
As well as such high jinks on the top of the world, there are exhibits of real historical interest, including one of the current Dalai Lama aged eleven, and another of his parents and siblings at a children's party thrown by the Mission. The Lama was not allowed to attend, so they collected toys to take back to his palace. The British Mission, invited as special guests to his incarnation, were the first foreigners to see the boy, and wonderful watercolours executed by an Indian connected with them remain the only record of the ceremony. Many of the other photographs, mostly taken by Frederick Spencer Chapman - who was at such pains to set up his shots that he climbed every mountain around Lhasa to ascertain the best view of the city - are truly beautiful, and almost certainly offer a glimpse onto a world lost forever. That of the Winter Palace of the Dalai Lama, taken in the early morning from the roof of the monastery Chakpori with monks in the foreground, is almost enough to finally tempt me to join the rucksacked river streaming through the mountain pass and over the border...
Consider this: every time you have a shave, or style your hair, you are participating in one of the very few behavioural patterns unique to humans.
The ability and desire to consciously alter bodily appearance has driven societies across continents and centuries to bind feet, tattoo, scar and pierce - all in the name of beauty.
The Pitt Rivers' new exhibition, although small, really rams home the universality of body modification. It seems our first urge on considering the naked human body is to change it in some way.
The exhibition thoughtfully combines historical artefacts - including such treasures as a 6,000-year-old toupee and a 17th Han Chinese plait, cut from its owner by an invading Manchu - with photographs, diagrams and accompanying notes.
It starts with a display of mirrors from places as far afield as Ancient Peru, Hawaii and Africa, showing how important the ability to see oneself has always been in these diverse cultures.
The exhibition's strong point is to juxtapose old and new methods of body modification. This challenges the widespread conception that only uncivilized or 'savage' cultures participate in body modification. Modern Pakistani glitter make up shares a case with a Victorian corset and a fifties 'bullet bra' (designed to give the breasts a 'torpedo' shape, according to the notes). A breast implant and some shoulder pads provide a counterpoint to the many depictions of tribal painting and ornamentation.
Having been involved in various types of body modification for several years, I didn't find the exhibit shocking, and the display has wisely resisted sensationalising its content. However, the photographs and drawings of dissected bound feet were breath-taking. Visiting the National History Museum at the tender age of seven, I remember the shock of seeing 'three-inch golden lotus' shoes, which even then would have been too small for my feet. And yet millions of Han Chinese women went through life with their feet bent, effectively, in two. Jung Chang in Wild Swans remembers her grandmother coming home from shopping and taking off her tiny shoes to trim the dead flesh, wincing in the agony caused by her toenails, which grew into the soles of her feet.
The reasons why foot-binding became and stayed so popular are too complex to be covered here or by the exhibition. The artefacts chosen do, however, give the best experience you can hope for in an exhibition of human history - that tiniest of windows into the everyday life of people affected by extraordinary circumstances.
For such a small exhibition, the display at Pitt Rivers covers an amazing amount of ground. It shows how body modification has enabled a multitude of social distinctions - some groups carry the same tattoos to prove they are a community, others award grades of modification for specific achievements, and yet more use body art to mark a person's stages of life.
The exhibition's greatest strength, however, is to cover body modification both old and new. The display houses modern piercing needles and tattoo patterns, as well as detailing the ways in which some groups are keeping their traditions alive. Several moko, the traditional chin tattoos of the Maori, are displayed, along with testaments from modern Maori about how the reclamation of traditional tattoos has allowed them to keep their cultural identity in the modern world. Also pictured are the Kayan Kang Kaw, who practice neck stretching by the application of brass rings. Forced to flee from their native Burma to Thailand, they are now reduced to making a living by posing for tourist photographs.
This is a densely packed and detailed exhibition, which raises more questions than it answers, but which should provide a fascinating glimpse at an important, but often ignored, topic.
29th Jan 2004