Transcriber: Muna Muhaureq Reviewer: Denise RQ
A man walks down a road.
The sun is setting and the man is tired
from working in the fields all day.
He passes a tree, and he notices a bird.
It sits motionless on one of the branches.
The bird stares at the man,
the man reaches out trying to catch the bird.
In a flash, the bird jumps up and flies away.
"Why?", the man asks himself.
"Why does that little bird carry the gift of roaming the skies
going wherever it wants to go,
while I'm here with my feet stuck to the ground for the rest of my life?"
So many people, including myself, share this frustration and dream of flights.
But all over China,
the most unlikely of people are doing something about it.
Farmers are building their own aircrafts.
They don't work in fancy hangers
with all the equipment one could wish for;
they simple play around in their backyards
recycling scrap metal and using household tools.
They are self educated, self employed, and penniless.
They partly call themselves aeronauts, literally meaning being born into air.
They are not looking for fame or recognition,
all they care about is following their passion.
By actively seeking alternatives,
always attempting to do things cheaper, faster, easier, step by step,
they are creating a whole new way of moving forward.
I was immediately gripped by the magical and fairy-tale qualities of the subject.
Fascinated by their romantic quests,
in contrast to their poor existence,
I wanted to know how they deal with the conflict
between their reality and their imagination.
What makes them continue? Where does the persistence come from?
And where will the dream lead them to?
So in early 2015, I traveled through China for months.
I visited eight villages spread over three provinces.
I met eight aircraft builders, listened to their stories, took pictures,
and collected many original sketches and technical documents.
One of the aeronauts is 75-year-old Cao Zhengshu.
He has never succeeded to take off.
Because he is illiterate, he struggles to find the cause of the problem.
But he is still trying.
Most of the materials he is using are bought from the recycling plants.
The fuselage is made of light aluminum tubes,
the motor is from an old car,
and the wheels are originally from kids' bikes.
He said to me, "Making aircrafts is a sort of entertainment
in the same way people love playing Mahjong.
I just feel so happy when I build an aircraft."
His dream is that one day his plane will fly high enough
to pass over a field of canola flowers.
The other aeronaut, Xu Bin, was 20 years old
when he decided to build his first helicopter in 1994.
The reason is simple:
the small size of his backyard wouldn't accommodate an airplane runway.
After 20 years, he is now the idol of a lot of aeronauts.
His gyro planes have even started to bring about financial benefits.
Companies invite him for aerial photography,
and he also sells his gyro planes and their parts.
Last year, the first Chinese Civil Aviation Museum,
his long-awaited dream, was finally opened.
The museum has a collection of around 30 aircrafts made by fellow aeronauts.
In the future, he wants to set up a runway and hold an airshow in front of museum
to give the flight fans a chance to talk and meet each other.
I can identify myself with their mentality.
I emigrated from China to the Netherlands when I was 14.
As a teenager, I felt trapped by my new surroundings,
locked up in my home-sickness and longing for China.
This changed when I came across photography when I was 22.
Everything suddenly fell into place.
A world of creativity and expression opened up to me.
In photography, I find the medium to tell my stories in a natural way.
The camera has become my voice;
where words fail, I communicate with pictures.
Photography for me is more than a passion or obsession;
it's a necessity.
As a photographer, I persist with my own dreams.
The same for the aeronauts;
they spend months, years, decades to experiment
and some of the planes can only fly 20 meters high.
For them, it's not about spending 20 years of their lives
in order to fly 20 meters.
It's about spending 20 years of their lives
turning the impossible into something tangible.
At the end of my travels, I decided to join Xu Bin on a flight.
I got into his two-seater gyro called the "White Dragon."
We taxied for around 150 meters before the aircraft was airborne.
Before long, we were flying at an 200-meter altitude.
The aircraft has an open design.
I felt the wind through my hair
and saw the houses, mountains, lakes, and fields passing by below my feet.
A feeling of dizziness took hold of me.
Fear set in, and I started to picture how we exactly were going to crash.
But then, I spotted Xu Bin looking down below
with the curiosity of a little boy.
He shone with intense happiness.
I began to appreciate just how much enjoyment he gets out of flying.
Despite the noise of the propeller, I almost reached a moment of Zen.
My fear faded, and I looked out to enjoy the view with him.
The lakes below were reflecting the light of the setting sun.
Everything seemed to glow and soften.
We made a few rounds in the sky.
After 15 minutes, we had landed again safely.
I have the utmost respect and admiration for these farmers.
Their perseverance, optimism, and creativity
has given them the gift of freedom.
They are transforming science-fiction into reality,
as well as offering us a handbook in fulfilling our dreams.
Thank you.
(Applause)