The collector who thinks outside the box
Fang Binghai, a collector of antique boxes.
There’s an ancient Chinese proverb about a businessman in the Chu state who asked a craftsman to make him a jewel box for an exquisite pearl he was going to sell. The box was made of lily magnolia, decorated with gems and the feathers of kingfishers, and infused with fragrance. In the end, the buyer bought the jewel box and shunned the pearl.
The tale is referred to in “Han Feizi,” an ancient Chinese text attributed to philosopher Han Fei.
The proverb has long carried the implication that the buyer’s judgment was poor and the seller was guilty of over-packaging. Fang Binghai, 77, a collector of antique boxes and a member of the Shanghai Collection Association, has another twist on the old tale.
While Fang was wandering in an antique market in the early 1990s, he encountered a vendor peddling a pair of “ivory” chopsticks. Although Fang knew that they were imitations, he nonetheless bought them for 80 yuan (US$11.9). The vendor snickered at Fang’s gullibility, ignorant of the fact that Fang was not attracted by the chopsticks but rather by their lacquer box.
“The vendor sold a pair of fake chopsticks but I bought a genuine box,” said Fang.
Not everyone would realize that the value of a box might be higher than that of a pearl. Only those familiar with antique boxes, like Fang, know their true value.
“I am fascinated by boxes because of their auspicious meaning,” Fang explained. “The Chinese characters for ‘box’ and ‘combination’ are homophones. Therefore, the boxes imply unity.”
Before showing me his collection of boxes, Fang took a porcelain statue out of a display cabinet. The statue called “He He Er Xian” portrays two Taoist immortals of harmony and union. They are depicted as children holding a lotus flower and a round box.
Under the influence of his family, the seeds of interest in collecting were planted in Fang as a young boy. His grandfather ran a restaurant in Hongkou District in the 1930s.
“My mother told me that there were more than 200 pots for hotpot in my grandfather’s restaurant,” recalled Fang. “It was quite a big business.”
The successful businessman spent most of his money on collecting, though the artifacts were destroyed in 1937 when the Japanese bombs rained down on Shanghai.
Leaving his hometown, Fang joined the navy, serving on Liugong Island at the mouth of Weihai Bay. Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) architecture there, built by the Beiyang Fleet during the reign of Emperor Guangxu, impressed Fang deeply.
“I don’t smoke, drink or have any other hobbies,” he said. “I am devoted to collecting antique boxes, which are part of Chinese furnishings. They embody the essence of Chinese furniture.”
His home is crowded with exquisite artifacts. Apart from boxes, Fang has also collected vintage European clocks, porcelain, silverware and paintings. But his more than 200 boxes are his largest and perhaps most prized collection.
The box stores Qing Guanmao, the headwear of officials in the Qing Dynasty.
One of Fang’s boxes is an “ancient water dispenser.”
The boxes vary in size and design. They are made from metals like gold, silver, copper and iron, and from other materials such as bone, leather, porcelain, enamel and rosewood. They were variously used to store ornaments, toiletries, books, stationery, incense, glasses, pillows, hats, medicine, seals and kettles.
During my conversation with Fang, his most frequent comment was, “This box may look very ordinary, but if you open it, you will find its distinction.”
Fang showed me a wooden box he calls an “ancient water dispenser.” The rectangular box has two layers. The upper part contains a kettle, while the lower part stores a bowl with cinder that is used to keep the water warm. The two parts are connected by a spindle.
Sitting in a display cabinet, the box does look a bit pedestrian, but Fang revealed its secret. Made during the Qing dynasty, it has 18 hidden compartments. Only with the help of a tool can all of them be opened.
Another antique box, measuring 20 centimeters long and 24 centimeters wide, also comes with its own secret. I tried several times unsuccessfully to open the box, which has no knob and switch. Then Fang placed the box at a 45-degree angle and pressed the bottom part of a panel with both hands. Bingo! The box easily opened. The outside is engraved with bone and the inside hides five tiny drawers.
“I often visited ‘ghost’ markets on Dongtai, Fuyou and Kuaiji roads at dawn in the 1980s to seek hidden gems,” Fang told me. “Most of my collection was purchased from the markets, but the experience of buying a box storing imperial edicts was different.”
The box in point was made in the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644). He bought it from a stall in a Beijing back alley when he was in the capital with his daughter on a trip rewarding her for gaining admission to Yucai High School.
The dusty box was hidden in the corner of the stall. Dusting it off, Fang found the four Chinese characters chi ming er zhou, which translate as “two imperial edicts.” He paid 200 yuan for the box.
“We had planned to travel on to Qinhuangdao but failed to do so because I spent all my money on the box,” said Fang.
Apart from Chinese boxes, Fang also collected foreign ones. In the 1980s, he found a teakwood box made in 19th century Europe at a market in Shanghai. It contains an improved patent magneto electric machine used to treat people with nervous disorders. The yellowed paper stuck on the lid gives directions on the machine’s use and lists the prizes it won.
“It still works,” Fang said. “The box represents the historical cultural and technical exchanges between Shanghai and foreign places.”
The box is used to store imperial edicts.
One old box contains a 19th century contraption once used to treat nervous disorders.
