Beijing bowmaker takes refuge in ancient art

BEIJING, Feb 6 (Reuters) Sheltered from the frantic sounds of a city desperate to modernise, Yang Fuxi sits serenely in his workshop in central Beijing, whittling a stick of bamboo into a hunter's bow, just as his ancestors did 300 years before.

But Yang has plied the trade for only eight years. He took it up only after failing to make a living as a chemical worker and cab-driver in the cut-and-thrust of modern Beijing.

The sole remaining heir of a family business that supplied imperial officials with exquisitely carved weapons, 48-year-old Yang's only workshop colleagues are a group of kittens.

They crawl over the bearded craftsman's lap as he explains the difference between bows favoured by Manchu and Mongolian troops, how feathers plucked from eagle tails line his arrows' fletchings, and how he fears his art may die with him.

''Young people aren't willing to do the hard work, to eat the bitterness of this craft,'' he said.

He has failed to interest his 19-year-old son in the craft: ''He's always sleeping or playing with the computer.'' Another group of young people had come to him to learn, but he didn't feel they were ''cut out for such work''.

''They all have higher degrees,'' Yang said.

With a lazy eye and a shaggy pile of hair, the cardigan-wearing bow-maker looks every inch the life-long devotee to an obsolete craft with little hope or expectation of recognition or reward.

But his commissions sell for 3,800 yuan (9.8) -- well over a month's wages for an average Chinese city-dweller, even in affluent Beijing.

STRINGS ATTACHED From starting out selling the hunting bows as a hobby for a few hundred yuan, Yang is now kept busy by a steady stream of commissions from local collectors and enthusiasts.

Foreign buyers have also targeted Yang's workshop -- and not just for a curio to hang over the fireplace.

''I have sold to foreign friends in 30 or 40 countries,'' said Yang. ''Many use my bows to hunt.'' Buyers need to be patient: the bows can take over three months to make and the waiting list is long.

''Customers need to book a year in advance,'' Yang said.

The health of Yang's business is nonetheless a rare exception in China, where traditional folk arts and crafts are gradually dying out with the passing of their makers.

While Chinese medicine and fine arts have been buoyed by foreign demand, less bankable trades like wooden and paper toy-making, metalwork and filigree are in decline.

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