Yesterday in the outdoor electronic market in Kowloon, I found myself scrambling to take inventory of everything packed into the busy street. Wires, hardware, old video games and vhs tapes, used shoes, fake jade necklaces, flashing LED lights, outlet converters, tiny metal and clay pots, chestnuts, sweet potatoes, and quail eggs, all cooked over coals in the street, a couple dogs, babies, couples, laughter, quiet moments that seemed like everyone had agreed to just breath for a bit, noodles, dark alleys with barber shops inside, signs for Hong Kong’s first sex store, haggling, people, people, people.
At the Museum of History, in the exhibit for the Silk Road, I completed a similar, but even less comprehensive inventory. Trade agreement notes, clay pots with intricate designs, clay pots with all-encompassing cracks, clay, wood, and metal figurines, homemade toys, someone’s long lost shoes, ceremonial pillows, ceremonial bun towers, tiny statues of goats, many many camel sculptures, intricate metal adornments with carvings of dancers and other performers, drawings and sculptures of dancers, worshippers, and everyday people.
At the museum I noticed that the individual pieces, objects carried on the Silk Road, each hold a piece of the place from which they came. They hold depictions of the people, both extraordinary and average. They weave together symbols to create tapestries of meaning and understanding. They display beliefs and values of the home country while incorporating pieces of other cultures with whom they have interacted through the Silk Road.
I wonder about the purpose of these exports. It seems to me that they were sent, not to cater to the desires and interests of the receiving group, but to share pieces of identity, to answer the question, “Who and what is out there?” I wonder if the vendors in the outdoor markets in Hong Kong, connected to the rest of the world through the narrow streets and alleys that they occupy and activate rather than through an immense trade path, strive to do the same.