Northern Shaanxi's soul cut in paper

In the rugged mountains behind Qiaozhen township, Ganquan, Shaanxi province, an earthen cave glows softly with the afternoon sun. Inside, Zhang Buhua, 84, bends over a sheet of paper, scissors poised, her fingers moving with the precision of decades of memory. The paper transforms under her touch: an ox trudges across a field, a divine being hovers above, a monkey climbs a tree. Each cut is simple, bold and ineffably alive.

Zhang was born in a family steeped in craft and folklore. Her mother and aunts were adept at needlework and paper-cutting, while her father, a well-respected village healer, spun stories of gods and spirits that shaped her imagination. At three, she began seeing strange humanoid figures hovering near her head at noon — a childhood hallucination she would later call visions that whispered the motifs she now cuts.

By 13, Zhang was engaged to Si Maorong, a young farmer. But a fall in a dreamlike vision left her disabled in 1953, and she moved to her marital home in Qiaozhen. In the earthen cave she would inhabit for decades, she stitched, embroidered and cut window decorations for festivals, weddings and family rituals. She had six children and the care of three elders, a relentless routine that left little time for her artistic pursuit. By 36, she stopped cutting entirely, passing the skill to her daughters while devoting herself to sustaining the household.

Her art, however, never left her. In the quiet of old age, when the house finally fell silent, Zhang returned to paper-cutting with renewed vigor. At 80, a discarded "Oxen" cut caught her youngest son Si Sanbao's attention. An art major, he recognized its originality and introduced it to Wang Yonggang, a folk art researcher. This serendipitous discovery sparked a prolific period: over the next year, Zhang produced more than 200 paper-cuttings, each drawn from dreams, memories, and the rhythms of village life. "Before sleep," she says, "I see the cave ceiling brimming with motifs."

Zhang's work stretches from daily farm life — poultry, oxen, silkworms — to local deities: the "Grandma Who Sweeps Away Dark Clouds" and the "Earth God" who tends the land. Her motifs are archaic and childlike, yet infused with profound observation of human and natural worlds. Scholars note her distinct style: primitive yet modern, original yet timeless. Qiao Xiaoguang, a professor at the Central Academy of Fine Arts, calls her "a book of folk culture", while Cheng Zheng, a senior critic, likens her work to "native rice and the wild ginseng of art".

The past five years have been remarkable for Zhang. During that time, she has created hundreds of paper-cuttings: swallows building nests, celestial figures, camels and monkeys, farmers plowing fields and elaborate rituals of gods and spirits. Her works have been acquired by the Shaanxi Art Museum and the Northern Shaanxi Paper-Cutting Museum, while exhibitions in Shanghai, Nanchang and some other places in the country brought her folk vision to international audiences. In January, her original paper-cutting studio was officially established, ensuring that her creations — and the ethos of northern Shaanxi — will endure.

Through decades of toil, illness and family responsibilities, Zhang remained a silent observer of life, storing visions in the recesses of her mind. Now, in the twilight of her years, she translates memories, dreams and her imaginings into delicate yet commanding shapes of paper. Her hands, once busy with chores and caregiving, now navigate the edges of creation itself, linking the present to a cultural past that might otherwise have faded.

Zhang's story is not only about art but resilience, a reminder that creativity can survive — even thrive — in the quiet persistence of a life lived in the margins. In an earthen cave on the Loess Plateau, an octogenarian woman still cuts, folds and imagines, leaving traces of northern Shaanxi's soul in every silhouette.

Huo Yan in Ganquan, Shaanxi province, contributed to this story.

Contact the writers at lihuixian@chinadaily.com.cn