I felt an urgency to capture this scene. In the shifting sand of Chinese culture, there’s a stretch between the lifestyles of young men and their grandfathers and I wonder how long this pastime will last. 

I arrived in time to see an elderly man lean his bicycle against the bushes in the park and lift the cage, hooking it over a branch. As I drew, one bird called out in song and another, trapped in the tree beside, replied. And the men approached in ones and twos, chirping over my shoulder, exercising their role as elders to tell me how I could improve my rough sketch. 

As I filled in the details, they wandered between me and their group on the benches by the bushes. I could hear their daily banter now centred around the foreigner who entered their world. In months to come if a foreigner passed, I imagined, they’d dig up the story of this day, of the girl who drew the caged songbird.

An hour of chirps, critiques, and as I continued, compliments. 

The sun reached it’s peak. The men rose on cue and I filled in last details as they reached for the cages. This bird was the last. The man said good-bye to his friends then reached, not for the hook, but for my drawing. There was a tenderness in his face as he touched the outline of the cage, the cups, the bird. And as he cycled away, with birdcage in hand, I knew I captured a treasure.