This story is also available in 繁體中文.
For years, whenever I traveled, I liked to bring along a bear made especially for that destination.
There was Matsumoto Bear, Paris Bear, and a few others whose journeys I never had the chance to write about—such as Dunhuang(敦煌） Bear and Ancient Architecture Bear.
It was never something I planned too carefully.
Whenever I came across a fabric I loved, had a spark of inspiration, and happened to have enough time before a trip, I would make a little bear to accompany me on the journey.
Its travel journal is still waiting to be written.
Interestingly, New York Bear wasn’t originally designed for New York.
Looking back, though, it somehow feels surprisingly American—with its deep blue body and bright red Christmas scarf.
For a long time, I had been fascinated by Liangbu, a traditional textile handmade by the Dong people in southern China.
Reference images of traditional indigo dyeing and Dong shining cloth.
Many years ago, while visiting Dong villages in southeastern Guizhou, I saw rows of freshly finished Liangbu hanging under the sun to dry. That image has stayed with me ever since.
I couldn’t resist reaching out to touch the fabric.
It wasn’t as plain as cotton, nor as glossy as silk.
Instead, it carried a quiet, gentle sheen.
At that moment, I remember thinking,
“One day, I’d like to make something with this fabric.”
Images courtesy of Yishanren Handmade Living (倚山人手造生活).
The most distinctive characteristic of Liangbu is its naturally soft luster, which is exactly how it earned its name.
This sheen doesn’t come from any artificial coating.
It is created through a long traditional process involving natural indigo dyeing, starch finishing, and repeated hand beating.
Traditionally, artisans also brush a thin layer of egg white onto the cloth, giving it another charming nickname—Egg White Cloth.
The rich blue created by fermented indigo, together with that quiet glow, made me wonder:
What would a bear look like if it were made from this fabric?
That was how this blue bear came into being.
It turned out even more beautiful than I had imagined.
Because Liangbu has almost no stretch, every curve of the bear’s body is beautifully preserved.
At the same time, the turning, sewing, and gentle handling naturally leave subtle traces on the fabric, allowing the blue to develop delicate variations in tone and texture.
The moment it finally rested in the palm of my hand, I knew this would be a bear that would only become more beautiful with time.
I made it small enough to wear on a bag or around the neck, so it could travel like a little companion rather than simply sit on a shelf.
For this project, I also worked with silver clay for the very first time.
It’s a fascinating material.
The silver clay after firing and polishing.
I never managed to photograph the hand-sculpting process.
After shaping it by hand, the clay is left to dry before being fired at high temperature.
During firing, the water and binders burn away, leaving behind only pure silver fused together.
After polishing, the result is a genuine silver ornament that still carries every handmade mark.
Since it was my first attempt, things didn’t go entirely according to plan.
The little silver loop on the bear’s head didn’t turn out exactly like my original sketch.
But somehow, it became charming in its own unexpected way.
I often find myself thinking that if there were a way to reproduce these tiny handmade hearts and silver loops in small quantities, I’d love to do it.
After all, silver clay is wonderfully magical—but also wonderfully expensive.
To finish the bear, I knitted a bright red Christmas scarf with tiny pom-poms.
And then, it traveled with me to New York.
At the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art, it quietly stood in front of one masterpiece after another, happily marking its own little “I’ve been here.”
Although most of the backgrounds in my photographs are softly blurred, I still remember exactly where each one was taken.
And somehow, this little blue bear seemed perfectly at home among every work of art.
After taking so many photographs, I was probably the strangest photographer in the entire museum.
After returning from New York, I changed its strap to a shorter one and started carrying it on my bag.
Just as I had once imagined, its blue surface has quietly deepened with time.
—— OVER ——