Visualizing Dunhuang: The Lo Archive Photographs of the Mogao and Yulin Caves

Abstract

Seventy-eight years ago, James Lo 羅寄梅 (1902–1987), a photographer with the Central News Agency based in the wartime capital of Chongqing, descended upon the renowned but little understood caves at Dunhuang and Yulin with three cameras: a large 6 x 8 field camera, a 4 x 5 Speed Graflex, and a 35mm Leica. Eighteen months later, Lo and his wife, Lucy (b. 1920), left with 2,567 negatives in varying formats.1 By all accounts, this was the first professional photographic expedition to the Mogao Caves focusing on wall painting and sculpture. Lo paid special attention to the site's physical state, its artistic materiality, and the relationship between living rock and wooden architectural elements. This spectacular nine-volume set, edited by Dora Ching, features seven tomes devoted to Lo's 1943–1944 black-and-white photos. Organized chronologically (vols. 2–8), it also includes two additional volumes, one dedicated to reference matter (vol. 1) and one with eleven essays in 397 pages (contributions by Neville Agnew, Dora Ching, Jun Hu, Annette Juliano, Richard Kent, Wei-Cheng Lin, Cary Liu, Maria Menshikova, Jerome Silbergeld, Roderick Whitfield, and Zhao Shengliang). The essay volume is also available in paperback, making it accessible to individual scholars and students.The significance of the Archive lies in Lo's perspective as a photojournalist.2 Photographers had accompanied other expeditions, such as Aurel Stein's initial visit in 1907, but the interests of those other researchers were elsewhere: beyond collecting artifacts, Stein concentrated on mapping and political geography; Paul Pelliot on inscriptions (1908); and Shi Zhangru, an archaeologist, focused on to-scale cave diagrams derived from measurements with a theodolite (1942).3 In those three cases, photography was secondary to other goals. The Russian team under Oldenburg (1914–1915) approached Lo's technical rigor. Although fewer than half of Dudin's two thousand photos survive, some indication of a photographic eye is reflected in a multi-leaf drawing of the cliff facade. Reproduced by Maria Menshikova along with other valuable materials in her essay in Visualizing Dunhuang, the sketch includes photographic touches such as shading and the vertical expanse of the sand dunes referencing the broader desert context (“Dunhuang Collection in the Hermitage,” 9:74–75).4 Lo's capture—singular in its survival and comprehensiveness—coincided with a Chinese reclamation of Dunhuang-area sites beginning in 1942 after a phase of loose administration, and extensive removal of its most precious transitive archaeological materials, 1907–1925. Now the photographic history of the site is a subfield studied as an independent subject.5Ching and Kent provide a much-needed, valuable introduction to James Lo's career and training prior to his northwest sojourn (9:23–67). We learn of his documentation of wartime bombings in Chongqing as staff photographer at the Central News Agency. His reportage of civilian zones documents bystanders numbed and shocked by the destruction; it is evocative of scenes in Shanghai a decade earlier at the beginning of the war.6 Lo displays technical risk and creative vision that later is in evidence in his cave photography (9:30–33). In several cases, he deploys acute angles and a dramatic, elevated point of view, rendering street-level views of refugees, protesters, and laborers in Sichuan and Guizhou into modernist abstraction.7 At Dunhuang, Lo leveraged lenticular options typically deployed in urban photography to a new subject: archaeology. His scenes of Cave 320 and Cave 328 are arguably some of his most renowned and successful of the Dunhuang grottoes (9:56, 62–63, 212). He foregrounds sculpture, and in so doing unexpectedly relegates the murals to secondary subject matter, complicating the studium (elements with cultural and historical meaning). The wall paintings are fully lit but placed in the distinct distance. By upending normative conventions, the extreme perspective along with the icons dramatically form the punctum (surprising point of interest).8 Typically cultural patrimony had been documented with the camera square to its subject frontally, producing detached results. But Lo emphasizes wide-angle views to highlight emotion. Similarly, as Kent and Ching establish, Lo's expansive views in Cave 158 of the Buddha in Parinirvāṇa (ca. 763–820 ce) are some of best pre-3D photographs taken in this grotto.9 Simply stated, James Lo is one of Dunhuang's most technically accomplished photographers of all periods.Lo also brought a sensitivity for what audiences in China would find relevant and compelling. His dramatic angles monumentalize what he surely knew were rare specimens: genuine, relatively untouched Tang-dynasty sculpture (ca. 618–825 ce). Until arriving at the site, he, as most others, would have had few opportunities to view sculpted work of this caliber. Buddhist icons dating to the early and later Tang dynasty were (and are) extremely rare. Only a handful of sites in China had hand-crafted, painted Tang pieces. Constructed of plant material and a wood core, the sculpture of Caves 45, 320, and 328 are period masterpieces, especially when we take into account the unfortunate renovations to icons credited to the late-nineteenth–early-twentieth-century caretaker Wang Yuanlu 王圓籙 (ca. 1849–1931) (Visualizing Dunhuang, vols. 2–5, Early Tang and High Tang). Lo's epic photography of these early Tang caves transformed sculpture of this era into monumental art, tapping into a cultural nationalism much as Zhang Daqian's contemporary mural copies. The virtue of Lo's efforts and the editor's methodical presentation of his photographs in Visualizing Dunhuang is that art of all periods, including renovations and graffiti, is faithfully depicted (vol. 7, Five Dynasties–Qing). As Roderick Whitfield asserts, the palimpsest of historical layers imbedded in the grotto walls—captured in many of the Lo photos before later repairs occurred—allows us to discern religious and artistic distinctions in each era, and increases the value of the Lo Archive (“Buddhist Art at Dunhuang,” 9:129–30, fig. 13).At least fifteen major sets of photographs and descriptive catalogs of the Dunhuang Caves have been published since 1920, many in the past thirty years.10 What distinguishes the Lo Archive from others is the focus on the facade; many of the wooden architectural elements are not extant today (1:105–47). The exposed archaeological data visible in the living rock in 1943–1944 was subsumed into the exterior's consolidation in the 1960s. Zhao Shengliang, the current director of the Dunhuang Research Academy, emphasizes both the necessity of capping the mountain scarp with a layer of pebble dash (small stones, sand, and wet cement) for conservation purposes, and the value of this early photographic record (Zhao, “Significance of the Lo Archive,” 9:94–95). The authors suggest that it is due to James Lo's interest in the wooden-bracketed antechambers and makeshift interior corridors that it is now possible to visualize the site more fully—the way it once appeared in ancient and modern times. This emphasis on envisioning the site during its many periods of development emerges as the main theme of the set (Ching, introduction, 9:17–18). Lo's documentation of Gansu's architectural history and the development of rock-bound religious spaces may be compared with Liang Sicheng's 梁思成 (1901–1972) contribution to the history of freestanding wooden architecture across China. Liang, along with his wife, the architect Lin Huiyin 林徽因 (1904–1955), conducted extensive field research in fifteen provinces during 1932–1941.11 One could argue that James and Lucy Lo were similarly an important couple who contributed to architectural documentation and preservation (9:67, fig. 31). During the Republican period, despite remaining barriers, women such as Lo, Lin, and He Zhenghuang 何正璜 (1914–1994), wife of Wang Ziyun 王子雲 (1899–1990), actively participated in fieldwork. Since the project's inception, Lucy Lo's efforts ensured that the photographs remained together as an archive. A full set of prints were acquired by Wen Fong in the 1960s and made available to researchers at Princeton University (Ching, “From Dunhuang to Princeton,” 1:41–67). Lucy also broadened archival outreach in the year 2000 by making the photographs available in digital form on Artstor. Enormous credit must also go to Dora Ching and Jerome Silbergeld, who brought the project to completion in this impressive, important multivolume set.Conservation remains a priority, as Zhao Shengliang and Neville Agnew indicate. Agnew discusses the success of the “Principles for the Conservation of Heritage Sites in China,” which have transformed the visitor's approach to the site, controlled seasonal flooding and sand movement, and a host of other issues endemic to this UNESCO monument, which becomes more fragile as the number of visitors increases (“Conserving the Mogao Grottoes,” 9:221). Aerial and satellite images of the site, in addition to a survey of the Getty's many-faceted engagement, will be of great interest to the reader.Lo's visual timeline of the site's appearance complements Cary Liu's deep dive into the founding of Dunhuang and its origin tale (“The Mogao Caves and Mount Sanwei,” 9:149–89). An extensive discussion of the “Li Yi” Stele (dated 698), the founding monk Yue Zun, and the “Record of the Mogao Caves” (dated 865) leads Liu to highlight the view of the Sanwei Mountains from the northern caves. At sunset, the mountain—due east from the northern residential caves—is ablaze in color. He concludes that this spectacle of golden light might have inspired the construction of the initial caves in ca. 366 ce (other founding dates are also discussed: pre-303 ce and 353 ce). Central to that discussion is the “original appearance” of the earliest caves and their horizontal organization. He demonstrates how the later addition of the colossal Buddha in Caves 96 and 130 and the stupa-like tiers above the sutra library (Caves 16–17, 365, 366) altered the facade's structure. The earliest grottoes may have lacked porch superstructures (9:164–65). This is borne out by the ground plan of one of the earliest caves, no. 268, dated to the Northern Liang. That antechambers may have been added at a later date is supported by tenth-century evidence that includes inscriptions on the facade and written documents from the library cave.Tenth-century wooden additions are found at the entrance to Cave 427 (interior dated to the Sui dynasty). An inscription dated to March 970 ce indicates that the ruler Cao Yuanzhong and his wife Lady Zhai renovated the cave's exterior as an act of merit-making (3:273–85).12 In another project four years earlier, in 966 ce, the couple further restored the nine-story cave-shrine (now Cave 96). Cao and Zhai donated large sums to renovate interior stairs and corridors in addition to the colossal icon. This type of repair, which impacted the facade, involved procuring an extensive amount of (scarce) wood that was accessible only by government leadership. We can infer that the two renovation projects in 966 and 970 were part of a string of opulent restoration efforts carried out by the Guiyijun jiedushi 歸義軍節度史使 (Regional Commander of the Guiyi Circuit), which ruled the Gua and Sha prefectures from 848 to 1036.13Authors in the volume do not commit to a collective understanding of standard cave types: the vihāra (residential, communal space with meditation cells) and the chaitya hall (congregational worship). If Cave 268 cannot conclusively be considered a meditation cave because of damage, and Cave 285 has cells that are too small for meditation despite its perfect vihāra shape, perhaps monastic residences were not located in the Mogao Caves as they were in Indian and Central Asian prototypes. Instead, meditation caves might have been individually separated in the northern section (as Liu speculates). Living quarters might have been situated in temples in front of the caves. The Reference volume (vol. 1) includes a non-chronological array of 3D designs, though some important types that lie at the heart of Chinese Buddhist archaeology are omitted.14Lin Wei-cheng eschews standard cave types and argues for a more fluid understanding of grotto design (“What Did ‘Architecture’ Do in Visualizing Dunhuang?,” 9:191). He proposes a novel framework for reading Cave 61. Mt. Wutai's four gates and central temple suggest an ascent of five peaks in the west wall mural. Transposed to an understanding of this cave dedicated to Mañjuśrī—who resides on Mt. Wutai—the act of circumambulation would involve a conceptual ascent to those peaks (9:208). Scenes of travel in the narrative vignettes that cohere with contemporary pilgrimage literature in Henan and Shanxi Provinces support this interpretation.15 Annette Juliano provides a masterful, nuanced reading of early Caves 275 and 285 and their link to Ajanta, Gandhara, and Kizil icons; she considers connections to decorative motifs in Yili, Xinjiang, and Palmyra, Syria (“Textiles, Thrones, and Crowns,” 9: 237–63) as part of a larger argument regarding the textile motifs and their circulation in iconic depictions. Hu Jun explores Cave 420 dated to the Sui dynasty and proposes that the opulence of the “hovering canopy” overtakes “narrative clarity.” He deftly distinguishes this earlier style from later Tang styles, when workshop practices standardized compositions and reigned in the expression of religious content (“Narrative, Architecture, and Figuration in Mogao Cave 420,” 9:284–85).Jerome Silbergeld assumes the herculean task of surveying the field of Dunhuang art-historical studies, charting shifting scholarly opinions from Stein to Wong. A century of scholars have focused on the art and materiality of Dunhuang; in the last twenty-five years a methodological turn has shifted conversation away from style (“Dunhuang's Contribution to Chinese Art History,” 9:287–351). With a gentle hand, Silbergeld navigates some of the earliest conversations about quality (“inferior” objects were regarded as Dunhuang manufacture, superior items were fabricated in other centers). With the benefit of transcultural studies we can now put to rest earlier, less productive debates; practices shifted as objects (raw materials and finished works) moved easily between communities. (Further, the wall paintings were undeniably constructed at Dunhuang, making it very much a cultural center in its own right.) Readers will be interested in the Japanese origins of the term Dunhuangology (9:342). I propose retiring this awkward English translation of the Japanese term Tonkōgaku and instead simply use “Dunhuang Studies.”Regarding the concept of “Visualizing Dunhuang,” the editor and publishers creatively combine Lo's photographs to suggest how he might have envisioned each cave and sequenced his shooting of each grotto. One issue that is not addressed in the volumes is the question of digital capture. In 1999, with the advent of the digital Kodak professional camera and the first digital project at Dunhuang, approximately 100,000 digital photos were taken. Now, two decades later, 260 caves have been photographed digitally in the Dunhuang Academy project; the number of official digital photos stands at approximately 1.9 million. Which is to say, the capture of Dunhuang has changed considerably since the remarkable trip of James Lo when, according to Sun Zhijun, the Deputy Head of the Dunhuang Academy Art Research Department, the total sum of Dunhuang photos was less than 5,000. Photographic files are radically different now; high-resolution textures are a composite of hundreds of images, comprised of overlapping images and stitched together to form seamless textures. 3D imaging is essentially the same principle.16 In this new century we are at a critical junction in photographic technology.The reference volume is filled with auxiliary charts and diagrams to assist the researcher. A useful, double-sided foldout elevation of the Mogao cliff facade is inserted. A condensed version of the same elevation appears on the recto along with a schematic drawing of the northern section. A modern, composite photograph reproduced from a Chinese joint publication with National Geographic appears on the upper register (1: opposite page 32). This photo—while perfect and flat—lacks the animation of Lo's own panoramas (1:74–75). The specialist may welcome the additional elevations and facade photos, but the surfeit of details may confuse newcomers to the subject. This is also true for the duplicative concordances. Three cave-number concordances are provided where one might have been sufficient (1:191–219). That is, the same information is repeated thrice in separate tables (cave numbers assigned by the Dunhuang Research Academy, Zhang Daqian, and Paul Pelliot), while a fourth lists the caves according to historical period. The thirty pages of separate concordances published in Visualizing Dunhuang might be useful to dedicated researchers, especially graduate students and Dunhuang specialists, but others will only find minor differences. Cai Weitang's comprehensive guide to grotto numbers appeared in Chinese in 2005; he consolidated his data in one, legible table.17 That said, it is valuable to have detailed versions of the numbering system available in English.One wonders about the organization of the photos themselves. They are arranged according to dynasty, when they might have been organized according to cave number. The editor probably made the right call in arranging them chronologically; regardless, it is not easy to locate photos of a particular cave. On balance, we might observe that some of reference matter is structured for the insider. The dual subjects of Dunhuang and James Lo, whose 2,736 photographs are reproduced in this remarkable set, vie for primacy. That is not necessarily a bad thing. Lo's perspective of the caves in 1943–1944 is what renders the material so fascinating. The nine volumes deliver brilliantly on the promise to assist the reader in visualizing Dunhuang and invite further research.