TONY MAK
The profound expanse of the distant sea is a kind of temptation. Once you start to ponder that incredibly faraway place, you will be infected with a sea-going sickness. It drives you from your homeland, sets you adrift on restless seas, until you meet your end in lands far, far away.
In 1552, the missionary Francisco Xavier, having traversed most of the globe, arrived at Shangchuan Island off Guangdong's coast. Fourteen kilometres from the mainland, over two hundred from Guangzhou, the island was barred by China's closed gates. The merchant who had pledged to ferry him to Guangzhou never came. Eventually he passed away, a figure of forlorn hope, on that desolate isle, waiting for a boat to carry him to China.
Photographer's Note
The sea contains hundreds of rivers, a Chinese motto I cherish deeply. It is a testament to the boundless inclusivity of the ocean, which embraces all waters without prejudice.
We once believed the world was becoming more inclusive and open, but now it seems to drift in the opposite direction. Nations, politics, religions, and cultures have become walls that divide us. We fixate on our differences, and in our fear, we grow isolated.
Five hundred years ago, Francisco Xavier, a missionary from a far, faraway land died on Shangchuan Island, so close to my home, yet so far from his own. He never reached mainland China. Not long after, the Portuguese leased Macau, eventually turning it into a colony, and thus began the intricate dance of conflict and connection between China and the West. I hold deep admiration for this brave voyager, and find myself haunted by his story and unfulfilled dreams.
The Portuguese named Shangchuan Island Ilha de São João, meaning St. John’s Island, a serendipitous echo of its Chinese name. Though it may never be its official title, I let this name spark my imagination of a dreamlike world—an island cradled by the sea, where East meets West, where diverse religions and cultures intertwine. A place where souls connect, converse, and ignite sparks of understanding.
In these past few years, I've wandered with my camera along the coastlines of Guangdong and Portugal, seeking the connections forged between these two lands during the great Age of Exploration. I search the landscapes once seen by ancient seafarers and look to the sea for traces of divine presence. Journeying across the hemispheres in modern times, I immerse myself in the contrasts and harmonies of both places. In Lisbon, I discovered porcelain that had traveled thousands of miles to reach here, and in Macau, I found traces of the Portuguese who once walked these streets. Strolling through the alleys of Lisbon and Macau, I created a dialogue between the past and present. Inevitably, I journeyed to Shangchuan Island, standing on the sands where the emissary’s journey ended, seeking to resonate with his journey and legacy.
Through these years of journey, I have also sought to capture my inner world in the landscapes—a realm that belongs to both East and West, yet is a solitary island, never quite touching either shore. In a world growing more isolated and fraught with conflict, those of us who embrace the sea’s call feel an even deeper solitude. Land dwellers erect walls, while we, the ocean’s wanderers, drift with no place to anchor.
The sea, in its vast expanse, calls us to look beyond our fears, to rediscover our curiosity, and to seek understanding. While we may come from different shores, we are all connected by the same waters. It is not a barrier, but a bridge that brings us closer together.