Just like I couldn’t quite understand why I began to make documentary films, the idea of shooting something about deserts arrived without any sense of reasoning. One of those days, images of ancient ruins half buried in the sand came and got a hold of me. That was enough.

My soul is more in tune with mountains. It takes no effort to feel good in the mountain, like it takes no effort to feel good getting pampered by everything one loves. But all that that makes me feel comfortable seems to be gone in the desert. No singing brooks, no moss-covered tree trunks, no smell of the pine tar.  It takes extra attention to find beauty in the desert. I want to practice that kind of attention.

There are wisdom of resilience in the desert, no matter what medium it is carried through,  two-legged, four legged, moving or stationed. How to survive and live happily in the scarcest of condition? I want to touch the still standing remains of a tear-drop tree, hoping that it will take my thought back to it’s beginning days a thousand years ago and tell me stories of its journey. The desert is not to be fought, but to be lived in with patience, persistence, and joy. I want to feel that joy, down to the very basic of our existence, the kind of joy that came from embracing the unchangeable ugliness of our lives.

The deserts are expanding in many parts of the north and northwest China. What does it mean to be facing the probability that one’s home will be buried in the sand? So many civilizations came and gone within the life-time of one tear-drop tree. I want to show some images of this glimpse of civilization.

Have I lost my mind?