Taiwan Today

Migratory birds visit different parts of the world depending on the season of the year, but Taiwan-born photographer Suen Kai-yuen is always there to observe them.

Five years ago, Suen Kai-yuen (孫啟元) took his wife on a second honeymoon to an unlikely place. Driven by a spirit of adventure, they arrived in Africa for an exciting safari. Being surrounded by creatures that were genuinely wild amazed Suen. There was such a wealth of different species, and they were so tangible, so near. The intensity of their energy captivated Suen, and he wasted no time trying to photograph them, his camera's shutter clicking away as fast as it would go. Later that same trip, Suen described his experience to a French photographer he met in Kenya. The latter just grinned and said to him, "I bet no pictures will come out the way you remember the original image." The prediction later proved to be accurate.

Even now, as he recalls those first attempts at wildlife photography, Suen Kai-yuen still seems overwhelmed with disappointment. "It was a total fiasco," he says with embarrassment. "What was meant to be clear turned out fuzzy. I ended up with a shot of the back of an animal's head when I had meant to capture its facial expression. Body movements became a twisted mess." Yet the experience only fueled Suen's resolve. In fact, he plunged head-first into wildlife photography and, as if to return to the scene of the crime of his original disappointment, he chose to focus his camera on African subjects.

The first thing Suen did, however, was upgrade his photographic equipment. The result of his purchases saddled him with nearly eighty pounds of gear--well over the luggage-limits of many domestic African airline companies. Because of this, he found later that he was often unable to travel to destinations that appealed to his nascent photographic sensibilities without chartering his own personal airplane. Another thing he began to do was study animal behavior. Why? "The only way to capture the fleeting moment of an animal's spontaneous, reflexive and instinctual responses is to be able to predict what its next movement is going to be," Suen explains. "Hence the necessity of studying zoology."

Yet these preparations were trivial compared with the task of actually shooting pictures. "Out there, in the wilderness- -that was the real test," Suen says. "It took physical strength as well as mental will. Patience, most of all. Once, I went to the Mara River in Kenya, hoping to see gnu swimming across the river. I got up early one morning, and found a herd of them. I sat down to watch, but the gnu just stood there lollygagging around the bank of the river. I sat there sweating, but nothing happened. Twelve hours went by. I was restless beyond imagination, as if the wild beasts were playing some kind of joke on me. Then I remembered Craig Packer's Into Africa and Jane Goodall's Through a Window: My Thirty Years with the Chimpanzees of Gombe. I reminded myself of how these great researchers had suffered. That gave me the determination to persevere. The next morning, I waited for another six hours. Then it happened-- hundreds of gnu jumped into the river all at the same time, creating huge waves. I was so entranced by the sight that I almost forgot to click the camera."

Regardless of the hardships and the sweat, and despite vowing many times to give up, Suen continued with wildlife photography. He describes himself as "addicted" and "possessed by a fever that never seems to subside." Artists' obsessions are hard to understand, and the inner workings of the imagination are unique. In Suen's case, he regards his awareness of his own racial identity as one of the forces that initially drove him into photography. "When I was getting started, top-notch photographers of different races, nationalities and ethnic groups were gathering regularly in Africa to capture the most beautiful scenes on earth. It was like a miniature Olympics. But I was the only Chinese person. Somehow, I thought I should distinguish myself."

Suen carried on. In the three years following his first visit, he traveled back to Africa ten times, staying for at least two weeks each time. The visits were fruitful. Suen launched his first personal photo exhibition, entitled Wildlife of Africa, in Hong Kong in 1996. Local media lauded him as "the first Chinese to bring African wildlife to the eyes of his compatriots."

Suen was born in Chiayi, southern Taiwan. Like many other kids on the island, he was compelled to get good scores on examinations and pushed to become something that would bring his family honor, perhaps a doctor or lawyer. His parents and teachers believed that sparing the rod would've spoiled this child. As a result of these constraints, Suen always felt out of place--a condition that did not subside until he was twenty-one years old. By then, he had graduated from a local commercial college, completed his compulsory stint in the ROC military, and moved to Hong Kong with his parents. There, in a land full of challenges and opportunities in which entrepreneurs and tycoons were strutting their talents, he was determined to test his mettle.

Success did not come overnight to Suen, however. In his first few years in Hong Kong, he survived by doing manual labor and contributing an occasional article to one or another of the local tabloids. In 1981, mainland Chinese authorities relaxed restrictions on Taiwan publications, and Suen seized the opportunity by investing all his savings in the publishing industry. At the time, however, the ROC authorities were not ready to allow PRC publications into Taiwan, and so the things Suen tried to bring into Taiwan were initially confiscated and banned here. These restrictions were not eased until the late 1980s. Outrage over the 1989 Tienanmen Square massacre meant that residents of Taiwan and Hong Kong bought more mainland publications. The upshot: Suen made a fortune. He subsequently expanded his business, and now publishes about a dozen magazines in addition to running a printing house. This business, headquartered in Hong Kong with a branch in Taiwan, has been the financial support of Suen's pursuit of wildlife photography.

Having achieved some success with African wildlife photography in the mid-1990s, Suen was ready to accept a new challenge: birds. "Out of their instinct for survival, birds are ready at any time to attack or defend at a speed faster than the prey or enemy can discern. Moreover, birds tend to form a very wide and tight warning network. If one bird detects danger, the signal will be instantly transmitted to every other bird. The whole flock will then disappear in the blink of an eye. This type of network is in place even among birds of different species, and it explains why birdwatching often becomes bird -listening. If you're not able to see them, you might as well just listen to them as an alternative. Timing is precisely what makes birds the most difficult subjects to photograph."

Suen decided to start his bird photography in a place called Maipo, in Hong Kong. Maipo is a vast swamp of about a hundred acres. Dotted with mangroves and reeds, and full of fish and shrimp, it is an ideal resting-place for migrating birds. Suen's first week of work with birds was extremely frustrating. "This is how it went. I'm perched here in some trees in Maipo with my camera, and suddenly a grey heron lets out a shrill, piercing sound. A sudden commotion ensues, and all the other birds fly away. I was at a total loss. My heavy, expensive and high-tech equipment didn't do me any good," Suen sighs. The turning point came after a whole week of sleep lost, mulling over how to break through the deadlock. Suen continues, "At last, luck knocked on my door. I spotted about fifty black-faced spoonbills, standing on single feet, asleep, their heads in their wings. Restraining myself from the excitement of seeing this endangered species (there're only about six hundred of them left on earth), I pushed my shutter-button as quietly as I could."

Over the years, Suen has learned that he needs to be unobtrusive, and yet to get as close as possible to his subjects. His photos show birds in groups of hundreds flapping their wings, frolicking in the water, searching for food, and fighting to protect their territories. These shots tell us something about how far from the madding crowd Suen must be when he plies his trade. Helping him capture candid moments in the lives of the birds is his wildlife "photography blind," the equipment shield he uses to camouflage himself in the wilderness from the gaze of birds easily scared away by human presence.

Looking through all the pictures he has taken in Maipo, Suen can identify fifty species of migratory birds. Although he is a long way from being able to recognize the 340 species once recorded in Maipo, Suen is quite satisfied. Having gained a knowledge of the behavior of the different species, he can judge what the birds will do next, based on his observations of the weather, the rise and fall of the tide, the way the wind is blowing, and the sounds the birds are making. Suen says he cannot help but praise the Creator for making the size and shape of each species suit the exigencies of its particular environment. The pelican's large beak, for example, makes gulping fish quite convenient. But in territorial disputes, these beaks double as swords. Suen also notices the changes in appearance each species undergoes at different times of the year. For example, black-faced spoonbills grow yellowish feathers in contrast to the original white ones on their heads and breasts during February and March, before they fly north.

The more Suen understands about his feathered companions, the more he can capture not only their forms but their minds, not only their actions but their intentions. He cultivates a sensitive awareness of bird culture. "My days with the migratory birds of Maipo opened my eyes," he says. "One day, walking across [Hong Kong's] Victoria Park, I saw a beautiful magpie singing in a treetop. I felt so much joy! I wouldn't even have noticed it before. Another time, when I was driving, I saw a hawk chasing a pigeon. I thought the pigeon was about to meet its death, but suddenly, another pigeon had the nerve to rush out and attack the hawk. The hawk finally gave up its prey. The whole thing seemed to defy logic--two helpless little pigeons against one big hawk."

After Maipo, Suen traveled around the world to other habitats of migratory birds. The saddest thing he has seen in the process is the destruction of the environment. "The mangroves are withering away in many places. Industrial waste is polluting the rivers and swamps," he says, shaking his head. "And there isn't enough being done to save the birds." On the cover of the guide to his photograph exhibition at Taipei's National Museum of History in July of this year, he wrote, "If we continue to ignore protection of wildlife and the natural environment, someday humankind, like creatures who have no longer survived, will face a similar danger of extinction. In fact, such a process has already been initiated." This is the message Suen would like to convey with his photos.

This message apparently matters more to Suen than does his personal status as a photographer. He has published three books in which he discusses all the photographic equipment and techniques he has experimented with over the years. When asked why he is so generous about sharing the lessons he learned with such difficulty instead of keeping them as his own trade secrets, he explains his conviction that "photography in Taiwan was for a long time dominated by such masters of orthodoxy as Long Chin-san (郎靜山). These masters bequeathed their insights to their disciples alone. Their practice suppressed the talents of many young artists. Of course, nowadays more and more photographers have their own style and are breaking the bondage of tradition. I don't mind sharing what I have learned with the next generation."

Suen calls migratory birds "the visitors" because of their extensive travels. He finds the phrase also a proper description of himself. Many of his life's turning points have been initiated by visiting new places--first Hong Kong, then mainland China, then back to Taiwan, and eventually on to Africa and the rest of the world--not unlike a migratory rara avis.

Whether he is in Taiwan, Hong Kong or Africa, however, Suen is a constant "visitor," always on the move. His latest project is to penetrate the remote mountains of mainland China's Shaanxi province, in search of pandas. In exchange for permission to enter the wildlife reserves there, he has promised to donate his works to the PRC authorities. Suen does not consider this too much of a sacrifice. As he explains, "I don't feel I am entitled to any form of 'ownership' of these beautiful creatures. I consider myself lucky enough to have bumped into them during my life. Human beings, perhaps, care too much about ownership to leave room for other species."

Copyright 1998 by Anita Huang.