Bashige Blog
She Works Only One and a Half Days a Week: Notes from a Photographer’s Talk
The first micro-interview at Chuangwan Club — art school, quitting a university job, and turning life itself into a work of art
The Evening It All Unfolded
October 21, 2026, a Wednesday evening. After finishing the day’s work, I signed up through Cumen, an offline socializing app, and made my way to the first micro-interview event of the Chuangwan Club. The founder, Xuewei, had said she hoped everyone could relax here — no sitting rigid like a classroom, just friends connecting deeply. And tonight’s guest was a teacher with enormous charm in both the photography and fine art circles: Li Qiufang.
Listening to her tell her story felt like watching a brilliantly colored autumn scroll unroll. She did not just teach us photography — she showed us how to “shoot” life itself so it stays clear and full.
From Skipping Class to Art School
She laughs at herself now: in middle school she was hopeless at physics and chemistry, so she skipped class to draw. She painted from morning to night every day, and after just three months of that sprint she tested into a key high school. When the college entrance exam came around, almost by accident she signed up with her best friend and got into the photography program at the Tianjin Academy of Fine Arts — one of China’s eight great art academies.
University did not go to waste. From her second year she worked part-time at a cafe and did photo retouching, becoming financially independent early. Art education, she told us, changes people the most by making them tolerant and rich inside. “Don’t put it on a pedestal — art is life.” Visiting a museum, she said, is really a conversation with yourself. Photography is not just recording, either: it is a way of expressing yourself, just like writing. The secret for ordinary people to improve their artistic sense is simply to feel the joys and sorrows of life.
The Courage to Quit: Do the Math on Your Life
After graduating she opened a photography studio in Tianjin, and later, through a connection, became a university lecturer at the Hebei Institute of Communications. To most people, a university post looks dignified, stable, and respectable. Yet two years ago she resigned without hesitation.
Her reason was refreshingly honest: “Universities are too involution-heavy. Getting promoted means pursuing a PhD, and the cost-benefit is terrible — and I simply cannot stand the tedium of academic work.” She jokes that she was a “coward” to quit, but it is actually a form of ruthlessly clear-headed life calculation. She knows exactly what she wants and refuses to do things that are painful and nourish nothing in her. That nerve — to overturn the whole card table at any moment and reshuffle — won my deep admiration.
Seven Seconds Per Exam Paper: Knowing What to Let Go
As a former grader for the art-track college entrance exams, she shared a remarkably blunt insider’s view. “The fastest graders spend seven seconds on an image-analysis answer sheet of over 1,000 words.” Under that kind of pressure, neat handwriting alone can swing a score by tens of points — and the path to the high mark lies in studying the scoring rubric (the syllabus): read the first and last paragraphs and grab the core scoring points.
One of her remarks hit me like a bolt of insight: “The full 100 points are not meant for everyone to reach.” Good students analyze the paper, spend their time where the score is fat, and know what to give up. Whoever wants everything usually ends up holding nothing. That is not just exam technique — it is a philosophy of life.
Fangmuju: Half-Day Leisure, Whole-Life Art
After quitting, she and her husband — also a painter, Teacher Qiao, who specializes in calligraphy, painting, and seal carving — run a studio called Fangmuju. What everyone envied most was their state of life: both are freelancers, and they schedule only one and a half days a week teaching children to paint. That income covers their daily expenses. Everything else belongs to them.
Her own interests are wide: she has won a national-level award in seal carving and a provincial award in calligraphy, and lately she has taken up handicrafts and painting porcelain. Her studio carries zero commercial air — only a comfort that relaxes you. “Life and work are not separated. Do whatever feels comfortable. Only when you are relaxed can you express anything.”
Her Photography Guide for Ordinary People: Act First, Aesthetics Later
Her advice for beginners is delightfully plain: “Step one is to go shoot.” Do not fear ugly photos — quantity precedes quality. And “brush through” great work often, absorbing a “visual history” into your brain.
Right now it is deep autumn, and she urged us all to go street-shooting. “Autumn’s colors are too rich — a single leaf carries red, yellow, and green layers. Miss it and you must wait until next year.”
For portraits she gave two practical mantras:
- Always focus on the eyes — most people forget to tap the screen to set focus.
- Turn on the phone’s portrait mode. The wide aperture blurs the cluttered background, so even at crowded tourist spots your subject comes out clean and prominent.
When the evening ended nobody wanted to leave. Xuewei was already teasing the next event: a group street-photography outing through the autumn light. I am looking forward to it.