Monkey business

Sun Huaizhong is 56 and crazy about monkeys.

With his tanned complexion and sturdy build, he towers over his handiwork stall in Wangfujing's Dongan Market, where a folk art exhibition was recently held by the Beijing Chinese Intangible Cultural Heritage Association. Many artists were invited to display and sell their works, and Sun was offered a stage to showcase his maohou, a traditional Chinese toy monkey.

"Kids, come here and let grandpa show you how to make a monkey!" Sun called out.

He takes out a small tin box and delicately produces a magnolia flower bud, which makes up the furry body of the monkey. The head of the monkey is made from the slough of a cicada shell. With a toothpick, Sun scoops up a little bit of baiji gum, a traditional Chinese herbal medicine, and distributes it softly from head to body.

Limbs of the monkey are made using legs of the cicada. The thicker ones make up the monkey's legs, while the thinner ones are used for the pint-sized primate's arms. In less than five minutes, a saluting monkey appears in Sun's hands.

Sun's passion for maohou is driven by his desire for it to escape the fate of many other traditional folk arts that have disappeared altogether.

Monkey see, monkey do

Sun first started learning maohou in 2003, but has loved the small monkeys for much longer.

He dropped out of high school in the 1970s to work and support his ill father.

Since then, Sun has seized every opportunity to sneak into bookstores and read. One book he came across was by Ni Baocheng, which introduced him to the art of maohou.

In 2003, Sun saw a news report on TV that said maohou was on the brink of extinction due to the art form's lack of successors. Sun, who was unemployed at the time, had a solid understanding of maohou from his readings and decided to give it a try.

But the road to becoming a maohou master proved more difficult for Sun than he expected. Nobody knew how to make such monkeys in Central China's Henan Province, where he lived at that time. Sun busied himself collecting cicada shells by night and magnolia flower buds by day.

Sun's wife, Lu Xin'ai, thought he had gone mad.

"I grew so anxious. We had a daughter in college and we all lived on my 370 yuan ($58) monthly salary. I was a door attendant, scrap peddler and street sweeper, while he did nothing but make monkeys," she said.

Lu said sometimes she was so mad she didn't even let Sun eat dinner. But her staunch opposition didn't deter him from make monkeys.

Despite his dedication, the monkeys Sun made failed to stand. Sun showed them to Ni Baocheng, who confirmed what he already knew - his technique needed to be honed.

Late one night as he was tired and making monkeys, he accidentally glued the legs on backwards. When the glue dried, Sun found his monkeys could stand on their own.

He came to Beijing in 2006 for the third annual China Folk Crafts Fair and won a silver medal. However, life remained tough despite his accolade. After the fair, Sun found himself penniless in Beijing and unable to sell his works.

"I remember on the Dragon Boat Festival that year, I looked over Houhai and just didn't want to live anymore," Sun recalled. "But then I thought about the people who helped me along the way, and I knew I had to go on."

He eventually sold his first miniature monkey and cobbled together a couple of hundred yuan. He then rented a stall in Yuanmingyuan and started selling maohou as a daily job.

Artistic virtues at heart

Even though he sells his handicrafts, Sun doesn't view himself as a peddler. Instead, he proudly calls himself an "artist."

Sun said the difference lies in artistic virtues. When vendors sell their wares, they only care about making money. But Sun insists he cares about the history behind the art. He wants to educate anyone interested.

Sun said maohou started in the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911), when an apprentice at a traditional Chinese herbal medicine shop was yelled at by his master. Disillusioned, he decided to make monkeys out of dried cicada shells to mock his master, thus the art of maohou was born.

Back then, maohou only served as toys for kids. But Sun wants his monkeys to be storytellers, instead of merely toys.

He points to a series featuring one monkey in four poses as an example. The first one holds a bundle of skewered candied haws, a traditional Beijing snack, its hand raised over its brow as if looking into the distance.

In the second and third scenes, the monkey runs away, while in the last he sits on the ground and eats the haws by himself.

"The monkey is selling candied haws and looking out for the chengguan (urban management officers). When the chengguan comes, he makes a run for it. Since he couldn't sell all of the snacks, he has to eat them himself. The snacks are bittersweet and so is his heart," Sun explained.

Evolving with the times

Wang Jinyao, executive of the Beijing Chinese Intangible Cultural Heritage Association, said one reason so many traditional folk arts are threatened is that locals have lost touch with them. As generations familiar with folk arts age, so does the appeal of them among younger people.

"This is why we have to continue improving and change with the times," she said. "We have to adjust to the market and make folk arts easier for young people to understand."

Sun shares this view, saying he has even incorporated online slang into his stories to increase their appeal among young people. He also holds free lectures and demonstrations to schools, on television and in shops to raise awareness of maohou.

Asked if he had a successor, Sun laughed his wife is his "only apprentice."

"I want two wishes to come true before I'm 60," he said. "I want maohou to be on postage stamps and I want it featured in an animated film so the public can get to know the folk art better."