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Cultural industries and creative clusters in Shanghai

Xin Gu ⇑

University of Melbourne, Australia

a r t i c l e i n f o

Article history:Received 20 September 2013Received in revised form date 29 July 2014Accepted 29 July 2014Available online xxxx

Keywords:Creative industriesCreative clustersCultural economyUrban regenerationCreative classCultural heritage

a b s t r a c t

This paper is based on a 3-year (2008–2011) research project (This project has received funding fromAustralian Research Council between 2008 and 2011. Project no. LP0991136. The official title of the pro-ject is ‘Designing Creative Clusters in Australian and China’. This project works in partnership betweenQueensland University of Technology, Shanghai Jiaotong University, ARUP and ‘Creative 100’.) on creativeclusters in China, documenting and investigating the proliferation of ‘creative clusters’ in three cities –Shanghai, Shenzhen and Qingdao. This paper focuses on one of them – Shanghai – the first to adoptthe concept of ‘creative clusters’ in China and which has the largest stock of creative clusters.Most theorizations of ‘creative clusters’ are based on the experience of post-industrial cities in the

West. This paper attempts to add to the emergent accounts of creative clusters from experiences in Asiancities. Using the empirical research in Shanghai, this paper will identify where cluster theories fall shortin application to a very different social, political and culture context.In a different fashion to the ‘organic’ emergence of neo-bohemian cultures, lifestyles and creative

industries zones well known in cities such as New York, London and Berlin, most of the Chinese creativeclusters have been developed by real estate developers in partnership with local governments – oftendirectly invested in by these local governments. This paper examines the basis, development processand the meaning of these ‘official’ creative clusters within the wider urban context.In this paper, I will focus on one aspect – the relationship between these creative clusters and their

urban forms. I choose three conceptual approaches used to explain such relationships in Western creativeclusters. Attempting to operationalize a policy concept borrowed from theWest, Chinese creative clustersassume this can be applied in a different urban and national context. But can they? I discuss three crea-tive clusters: ‘M50’, ‘Tianzifang’ and ‘1933’ in Shanghai, all developed according to western clustertheories.

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Introduction: Creative industries and urban form

Is it naïve to even start thinking about the fact that a cityshould be preserved for the use of small scale and less com-mercially driven creative businesses these days? If not,what kind of reason can we use to argue in favour of sus-taining such creative industries in the city? These are thequestions I had when immersed in my research fieldworkin Shanghai, which started in 2010. In the first twelvemonths, the research project surveyed 120 clusters inShanghai using the Google mapping tool. This was followedby qualitative interviewswith 60 creative entrepreneurs, 25cluster managers, 30 academics and other key informants.

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⇑ Present address: Room 133, John Medley Building, University of Melbourne,Parkville, Melbourne, VIC 3010, Australia. Tel.: +61 (0)403324502.

E-mail address: [email protected]

Please cite this article in press as: Gu, X. Cultural industries and creative clustccs.2014.07.005

Against a background of Western theories on organicallyemergent cultural quarters, cultural zones and culturalmilieus, this research project tried to test these theoriesin a very different urban context. The initial interviewsand observations showed that ‘creative cluster’ carried dif-ferent meanings in China. First, organic clusters are rare inthe sense that most clusters are controlled by the state.Second, clusters often have clearly marked (and oftengated) spatial boundaries. Third, most clusters are managedby companies who assume the responsibility of a body cor-porate. Fourth, increasingly clusters are purpose built tar-geting specific cultural/creative industry (CCI) sub-sectors.

There are over 100 creative clusters across the city – allpurpose built for one or a combination of different CCI. Orat least they all claim so. The project discovered that over80% of the clusters are not self-sustaining – many rely on

ers in Shanghai. City, Culture and Society (2014), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.

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government funding to make up for lack of rental income.On the other hand 95% of small and medium sized CCI busi-nesses in Shanghai are located outside of these official clus-ters. Interviews with CCI businesses suggest that there is adeep skepticism as to the benefits these creative clustersbring to the wider CCI sector. It is hard at first to under-stand why there would be such lack of ‘fit’ between thelocal CCI and these amazingly built/restored clusters thatare purpose built/renovated for them. What’s the problem?

The research fieldwork supplied the following answersfrom amongst the target client group of artists and smallscale/start-up CCI businesses: ‘the rent is too high’; ‘nosocial space within’; ‘public transport access is lacking’;‘no industry connections’; and ‘too much reporting to thegovernment involved’. Many CCI that might have been ableto afford the rent (many could not) choose to go with moreconventional business locations in the CBD.

What is interesting about these responses however isthat no one mentioned the design of these clusters, mostof which are listed heritage sites and have undergone sig-nificant transformation. The physical appearance of theseclusters is believed to be the key attraction for CCI busi-nesses – they tell stories about Shanghai which local CCIbusinesses are able to identify with. ‘M50’, a Chinese con-temporary visual art cluster, used to be a textile factorywhen Shanghai was the manufacturing center of China inthe 1920s. ‘Tianzifang’, the Shanghai lifestyle cultural tour-ism cluster, was built to house workers emigrated fromnearby Zhejiang and Jiangsu provinces – many of whomwent to work for the then booming textile industries.‘1933’, a design and exhibition cluster, was a slaughter-house for the international concessions. These buildings,along with many other similar developments, have beenchosen to be re-branded to meet the needs of local CCI.

The ‘elective affinity’ between that many commentatorshave identified between the urban built form of the innercity and the CCI (Hutton, 2006; Van Heur, 2010; O’Connorand Liu, this issue) suggests a complementarity betweenthe ‘hard’ and the ‘soft’ infrastructure in creative quarters.In China, the general feeling is that with the hard infrastruc-ture, comes the soft infrastructure (有了硬件,才能发展软件).However, in the disconnection of creative clusters fromlocal CCI milieus, this paper identifies serious problemswith this kind of expectation.

Before this we need to review existing claims madeabout the correlation of creative industries and theirenvironment.

There is no shortage of Western literature on the builtform of creative clusters. Many have pointed to the waysin which certain areas of the city may embody historicalmemory, local identity and a kind of grainy authenticity.CCI are often seen as exemplary in the way they and theirmilieu identify with these areas and might even incorpo-rate them into the content or branding of their business.CCIs have been seen as highly conscious of, and respon-sive to, the embodied symbolic qualities or aesthetics ofplace (cf. Bassett et al., 2002; Garnham, 2005; Scott,2000). Some suggest that the products of creative indus-tries are reflexive of their surroundings (cf. Caldwell,2008; Drake, 2003; O’Connor, 1997; Scott, 1996). Otherssuggest creative clusters are attractive because the builtform offers the opportunity for businesses within to make

their own physical and symbolic mark (cf. Zukin, 1991,1995).

Scholars arguing the importance of culture to urbanrenaissance have stressed the necessary links to local andregional planning and urban regeneration (Evans, 2001;Garcia, 2004; Hall, 2000; Miles & Paddison, 2005), givingrise to claims for a distinct discipline known as culturalplanning (Bianchini & Parkinson, 1993; Laundry &Bianchini, 1995). These claims emphasized new flagshipbuildings (cf. Tallon, 2010) often involving bringing redun-dant industrial infrastructure back into use: manufacturingquarters, residential areas and heritage building sites.

Artists and cultural actors have been the pioneers in theadaptive use of industrial buildings. In urban regenerationstrategies, the role of artists and other cultural actors canbe prominent – at least in the initial stages. SharonZukin’s (1989, 1995) work on the Soho district of Manhat-tan, Colin Ley’s in Canada (2003), or O’Connor and Wynne’s(1996, 1998) on the arts-led regeneration strategy adoptedin Manchester serve as examples. These works point to themixed use of space including cultural consumption, pro-duction and living spaces that are key characteristics ofsome artistic or ‘neo-bohemian’ (Lloyd, 2006) areas ofNorth American cities (Currid, 2007; Markusen, 2007;Molotch & Treskon, 2009; Mommaas, 2009; Scott, 2005).Richard Florida’s (2002) adaption of these tendenciesthrough turning the presence of the ‘creative class’ into acasual dynamic of urban economic growth are both wellknown and comprehensively critiqued (cf. Peck, 2005).

More recently, Hutton (2010)’s study of the process ofhow creative industries occupy selected inner city urbanspaces tries to make the theoretical transition from thoseconcerned with the materialization of cultural productionin the city (much of the discussions on post-industrial cit-ies), towards the symbolic construction of places. Huttonclaims that this is a new kind of ‘recombinant’ economycharacterized by a complex combination of cultural pro-duction (the core of a robust urban economy based oninnovation and creativity) and consumption services (thepresentation of spectacles and genuine social life).

Hutton’s account draws on the earlier work of JaneJacobs and Sharon Zukin. Jane Jacob in her famous bookon the Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961) sug-gested the built form of old buildings supply the stock ofurban spaces for alternative business and cultural activitiesbecause of their unique character, low rent and adaptabilityto new uses. Her work began a long concern with thepotential cultural use of heritage industrial buildings. Forexample, recent research commissioned by the heritagelottery fund in England argued that ‘new ideas need oldbuildings’ (Heritage Lottery Fund, 2013). Heritage build-ings, they argued, have greater links to CCI than other eco-nomic sectors and they are also more popular among smallCCIs. They argue heritage buildings connect ideas withtheir environment, manifesting the authenticity and origi-nality of local creative producers. Such arguments havebeen popular among urban planners faced with the classicdilemma of regeneration: the soaring cost of renovating oldbuildings and the responsibility of preservation. The link-age to creative industries helped soften the planningrestrictions on heritage buildings unlocking potential forthese urban locations to be used by the new CCI.

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Please cite this article in press as: Gu, X. Cultural industries and creative clusters in Shanghai. City, Culture and Society (2014), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.ccs.2014.07.005



Sharon Zukin’s account of artistic life in New York City’s(NYC) creative districts – Loft Living (1981) – provides aclassic account of an unplanned cultural zone. Using SoHoas an example, she showed how a cultural cluster formedin an undesirable neighbourhood in NYC attracted low-income artists to form a cultural scene based on alternativevalues. For Zukin, it was the organic process that madethese cultural zones ‘authentic’ urban places. The alterna-tive social spaces, bars, clubs and restaurants, and quirkyevents created by this process were a central part of anew urban cultural economy. These alternative places werein symbiosis with more globalized cultural production andconsumption spaces in NYC. Famously however, Zukinshowed how the transformation of the city were eventuallyrecouped by real estate. In China real estate dominatedfrom the first.

Richard Florida’s work on the creative class has attractedpolicy makers all over the world. Though strongly criti-cized, Florida’s work reveals how a cultural consumptiondriven urban regeneration strategy can have significantimpact on the cultural landscape of contemporary cities.Florida’s attempt to make a connection between the kindsof consumption activities taking place in quarters or clus-ters and the wider economy, that is, using cultural con-sumption as a proxy for the creativity and innovationcapacity of the city as a whole, has become widespreadamongst policy makers. Florida encourages policy makersto build the amenities and expect the creative class andthe innovation economies to follow. This development-ledapproach suited real estate interests – though how itplayed out in the different context of China I will explorebelow.

Creative clusters in Shanghai: Three scenarios

These three notions of bohemian cultural production,the re-use of old buildings and promotion of lifestyle con-sumption quarters were very much at play when the notionof creative clusters first arrived in China in the early 21stcentury. However, they were set to operate in a very differ-ent context.

In what follows I want to set out three scenarios basedon these three different aspects of clustering. First, the clus-tering of artists’ studios in the historical industrial ware-houses of 50 Morganshan Lu (M50) can be seen toresemble the artist clustering that Zukin described forSoHo. I ask if there is a connection in M50 between thealternative identities formed amongst those artists andthe symbolic meanings to be found in the warehouses ofM50? The second scenario is that of the clustering of life-style cultural consumption in Tianzifang. Described by TheNew York Times as ‘a web of back alleys in the French Con-cession that now house restaurants (too expensive) andartsy boutique gift shops (not always)’, Tianzifang is oneof the most popular destinations for international touristsand locals who are more attracted by the foreigners thanby the shops. The last scenario is the grand renovation ofone of the city’s iconic buildings – 1933, previously knownas the Shanghai Slaughter House. It is a typical case of anofficially managed creative cluster aimed at providinghigh-end cultural (mostly office, retail and exhibition) facil-ities. The exclusion of SMEs from 1933 was deliberate. The

link made by western writers between the generation ofcreative ideas and their environment was replaced by thelink between image and their environment. The intentionwas not to link heritage and emergent industries but show-case the ambition of a powerful city government throughsymbolic display.

From as early as the 1990s, manufacturing industriesbegan moving out of older industrial areas in Shanghai tosites on the periphery of the city (Dong 2000). Empty facto-ries and warehouses were some of the few reminders of thecity’s industrial past and their existence is now in jeopardyin the new phase of the city’s economic expansion. Shang-hai’s high-speed urban regeneration strategy demandedthat these warehouses be demolished, making way for abuilt infrastructure suited to a financial and business ser-vices dominated CBD. The emergence of artists and small-scale creative businesses in these warehouses was ‘unex-pected’ rather than ‘planned’. Though marginal and unno-ticed at first, a gradual awareness of their potential linkedwith the arrival of western discourses of creative indus-tries, clusters and regeneration put a halt to the demolish-ing of warehouses (Gu, 2012). From 2005, when the termcreative industries and creative clusters were officiallyaccepted by the Shanghai government, and the latter beingthe prime strategic tool to develop the former, there was arapid proliferation of official creative clusters. However thisrecognition also introduced a different development modelfor creative clusters.

The model developed from the initial warehouse basedart clusters mostly located along the older industrial area(Suzhou Creek) to lifestyle based cultural zones scatteredin French Concession next to the CBD, and to a more recentwave of officially renovated iconic buildings aimed at lux-ury end of cultural consumption. This trajectory wasaffected by forces both similar and different to those in wit-nessed in western cities.

My argument here has two dimensions. First, can wetaken for granted the ‘elective affinity’ between built formand social practices in cultural clusters? If not, what con-nections can be made between creative industries and theirbuilt environment?

Scenario 1 – The commodification of ‘Artistic’ life in M50

One of the most famous creative clusters in the SuzhouCreek cultural zone is M50. It occupies around 24,000square meters with more than 50 buildings over 41,000square meters. M50 was among over 100 textile mills builtby Chinese entrepreneurs and international capitalistsbefore 1949 in Shanghai.

It is located adjacent to Suzhou creek – the transporta-tion route used to ship materials and manufactured goodsin and out of the factories to other parts of the countryand the world. The traditional industrial architecture atthe time when M50 was built relies heavily on brick andwood incorporating large industrial windows to providethe light for the workshops. This has been favored amonglocal artists.

M50 was rented out to artists from as early as 1980swhen the factory ceased production and became unoccu-pied. Since then, M50 has been home to over 150 artistscame from all over China and over 20 countries in the

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world. Although there is the tendency for architect anddesign firms to move into the cluster, M50 has remaineda favorite among local established artists.

The clustering of artists’ studios in M50 is owed to alarge extent to two foreign art galleries that took a particu-lar interest in promoting and collecting Chinese Contempo-rary Art – ShanghArt (Swiss) and BizArt (British). Theyserved as nodes and intermediaries between the then lessknown Chinese contemporary artists born in the 1950sand the internationalized art market. There were fewplaces like M50 in Shanghai in the 1990s where Chinesecontemporary art could exist as a pure genre of art andbe linked directly with a global market. Many artistslocated in M50 or nearby warehouses have worked withShanghArt and BizArt and as a result made their interna-tional fame. Amongst them, Xue Song who keeps his studioin M50 till this day.

Interviews confirmed the ‘elective affinity’ theory on therelationship between warehouses and artists’ identity. Butsuch affinities were much subtler than first appeared.Few artists in these warehouses have chosen to focus onthe industrial past of Shanghai as a subject of their own cre-ation. They came to setup studios here not because of thecharacter of the building but because of the prior existenceof the art community and its network. One of the com-ments from artists confirmed this: ‘when my friend askedme to join them in M50, I thought it was a stupid idea.Artists don’t paint together. . .That’s just absurd. But it’sgood for networking, meeting curators and foreign collec-tors as they can find us all in one place.’

The unusual adaptation of warehouses may seem to res-onate with international expectations of an artist cluster,but in fact there was no necessary linkage between theartists’ identity and the symbolic meaning of the space. Infact many of the artists are not from Shanghai and haveno sense of connection with the city or M50. They chooseto cluster in M50 mainly to seek access to the growing net-work of the Chinese contemporary art market.

As a result, the materialization of cultural production (inthis case, art production) does not feed into the symbolicconstruction of space. There are art sculptures, artefactsand posters decorating M50’s public spaces. But there isno sense of a communal space. Only recently has therebeen a teahouse, café and bookshop. They are not the typeof quirky places visitors will make the effort to go to. Theyserve purely as place of necessity. Many artists choose tosocialize elsewhere or in their own studios. The simulationof cultural identity and built forms in this case seemedrather superficial. Without the artists’ own entrepreneurialenergy, M50 remains a place of accommodation rather thana place of interaction.

It risks being further commodified into an art marketspace by other players such as the management company,the visitors and art buyers through their imaginary of place.It has attracted many tourists. At first, it was people inter-ested in Chinese contemporary art from abroad. There werealso galleries interested in purchasing works from Chineseartists. The aim for these visits were really about develop-ing an understanding of, and networking within, the Chi-nese contemporary art scene. The most recentdevelopments have seen more local visitors who are inter-ested in how artists live and work in M50.

M50 was made an official creative cluster in 2000 underthe management of Shanghaitex group – a public venturecompany whose activities have been diverted from manu-facturing to property management. Although the managershave shown a certain affection towards the artists, it isbecoming harder for artists to retain their spaces in M50due to rising rents and a new selection process put in placeby the management company.

On the other hand, being an industrial heritage site doeshelp retain artists and their spaces in M50, in the sense thatwarehouses are not the ideal regeneration material forcommercial developers. First, under Chinese policy, it isvery hard to change land use, which makes it impossibleto develop warehouses into residential ‘lofts’. Second, theresponsibility of developers to retain the character of thebuildings make these projects particularly costly and eco-nomically unsound. Third, one cannot change the owner-ship of these heritage-listed sites – this is especiallyproblematic when it comes to investment. A long lease ofthe land will be around 75 years if the developer is reallylucky. This means that the government still owns the landand has a right to decide what they want to do with theland. This presents a high risk for developers. Fourth, inmost of the creative cluster development projects, thedeveloper is responsible for providing jobs for redundantworkers from the factories. Such is the case with M50,which has to employ the redundant factory workers ascleaners and security guards. This presents a problem forprivate developers who would have outsourced these jobsto other companies. All the above problems add to the costsof regeneration, making warehouses much less profitablethan other conventional real estate development projects.

Nevertheless, these warehouse conversion projects areoften spearheads for much larger projects of urban regener-ation. One can always assume that behind the developmentof a creative cluster is the regeneration of the adjacentneighborhoods, often resulting in the displacement of unof-ficial cultural uses. In M50’s case, it was adjacent to theambitious development of ‘zhong yuan two bay city’ – acommercial residential project aimed at replacing one ofthe oldest slums in the city. On the ruins of a migrant work-ers community now rises the fortress of a new residentialdevelopment hiding M50 away in a little pocket of land,whose existence only art dealers and cultural tourists areaware of.

No doubt that M50 will continue on its path as an artcluster, but one might question its authenticity as a spaceof cultural production and its originality as a hub of Chinesecontemporary art as artists’ involvement is continuouslymarginalized. A combined result of market forces (art gal-leries are increasingly interested in opening branches inM50, pushing prices up), tight institutional control of activ-ities and a separation from the adjacent area give a distinctflavor to this Chinese version of art-led gentrification.

Scenario 2: Local lifestyle district as node of globalcultural consumption

Tucked away in an easily missed laneway, Taikang RoadLane 210, is the well-known creative industry park – Tian-zifang (cf. Wang, 2011).Taikang Road was one of many lane-ways in Shanghai that housed a variety of cottage factories





that grew up during the 1930s and 40s serving the imme-diate needs of the industrial city centre. Many continuedproduction after 1949 but most of them were closed downin the 1980s and 1990s in Shanghai. These laneway facto-ries were embedded in local communities as workforceand providing other inputs; they were densely localizedplaces in which domestic life, work and leisure combined.There were six factories operating in Tianzifang includingthe Shanghai People’s Needle Factory and Shanghai FoodIndustry Machinery Factory. It occupies 15,000 squaremeters including the original factory buildings.

Tianzifang became well known as a creative park in thelate 90s when internationally renowned artist Chen Yifeimoved into the area and rented one of the factories as hisart studio. Following him, there was a surge of Shanghaibased artists wanting to rent studio spaces in the area. Thisall happened on an ad hoc basis through informal arrange-ments between the factory managers and artists. From1998, the government of the Luwan district in which Tian-zifang is located, decided to regenerate the area. Unlikemany of the other creative cluster projects, developed onsites that had become vacant and thus open to develop-ment, Tianzifang had a large number of local residentswho were still living in the old Shikumen laneway houses.In this sense, Tianzifang was not an obvious creative clusterin waiting. Development had to be negotiated with the fac-tory owners and every one of the local residents – whoplayed a key role in the transformation of the area into acreative cluster. Tianzifang’s transformation towards a cre-ative cluster entails necessarily a combination of organicand top-down planning processes. The complex ownershipstructures in the area created multifaceted planning issues.

Immediately striking is the disjunction between the offi-cial model of what a creative cluster should be and whatTianzifang actually became. Tianzifang was popularamongst local and foreign visitors, and small art and designcompanies. Its relaxed, vernacular feel made it a highlyattractive destination. However it was precisely the‘down-at-heel’ feel of the old, un-restored façades, windingalleys and washing out to dry, that grated with the ambi-tion of the district government. They saw it as giving abad image. Creative clusters according to the official modelwere meant to be fully restored, cleaned and present an up-market image. The presence of creative clusters was usedas a benchmark of local economic development by themunicipal government – hence the race for clustersamongst all the district governments in Shanghai. In 2006Tianzifang – as one of the most visited clusters – was topon the list of the Best Creative Industry Parks in Shanghai;but didn’t make to the top 15 of the list in 2010 which wasselected by the government to represent Shanghai to theoutside world. The Luwan district government was thuspresented with the problem – Tianzifang was a popularcluster but it did not fit with the dominant image of theofficial creative cluster. It was even proposed that Tianzif-ang should be knocked down and rebuilt.

Having failed to demolish the area (as result of localresistance), the district government sold the land adjacentto Tianzifang to a private developer for a new luxury shop-ping mall which opened in 2012. This has significantimpact on Tianzifang as an area of bohemian lifestyle. Itbrought mainstream consumers in who have little taste

for art and design goods. Their presence also started tochange the business composition in Tianzifang with moreleisure and lifestyle businesses brought in to the areareplacing the less profitable creative businesses.

In the earlier stages, and unlike other official creativeclusters, Tianzifang had a tendency to attract micro creativebusinesses managed independently by creative entrepre-neurs, many of who were foreigners. According to the gov-ernment’s recent survey, over half of the businesses residingin the area are foreign businesses from over twenty differ-ent countries. Interview data suggested that one of thekey reasons why Tianzifang was particularly attractive toforeign creative businesses at the beginning was the possi-bility of being part of a local community – to observe andunderstand a ‘Shanghainese’ way of life and acquire localknow-how. Ironically, the ‘Tianzifang model’ so successfulin its promotion of cultural consumption and international-ization has received almost no government support in itsdevelopment. The local governments do not accept theTianzifang model as a viable route to building a creativecluster, preferring those they control from the beginning.

Rather than the local district government it was the localresidents who rented out their home to creative businessesthat became the intermediary dealing with creative busi-nesses. It was local residents who resisted the demolitionof the area and convinced local district government to for-malize the area as an official creative cluster. This involvedthe establishment of a management office composed oflocal residents, some of whom volunteers. The manage-ment office is responsible for peace keeping in the areaand negotiating rights for residents and businesses within.

There was an explosion of entrepreneurial energy whichturned Tianzifang into one of the most quirky cultural con-sumption and lifestyle districts in the city. Many residentsrented their houses out directly to creative businesses.Some chose to open creative businesses themselves. A sur-vey conducted by myself in 2010 indicated that around 5percent of creative businesses were run by local residents.They are also one of the most powerful lobbying groups,seeking ways to retain the character of the area throughtheir local knowledge. These local residents are not the cre-ative class that Richard Florida had in mind – most of themdidn’t attend university and a lot of them are redundantworkers from the manufacturing sector.

This process suggests that creative clusters could poten-tially play a role in working with CCIs to create (non-crea-tive) jobs for the local community. This model can be foundin other emergent creative clusters in Shanghai, such as theYong Kang Road art cluster that includes a local street foodmarket.

The organic development process of Tianzifang and othersimilar ones in Shanghai has always been in conflict withthe top down planning ethos of cluster development policy.The increasing commercialization of these clusters alongwith noise, traffic congestion and poor public amenity arecommon problems for some of the short lived organic clus-ters in town. During my many visits to Tianzifang, it wasnot difficult to notice the tension between some of the localresidents and the newer businesses. The district govern-ment was urged to arrange for public safety and noise con-trol guards to be present during business hours. Thisbecomes a threat to the ‘authenticity’ of the area.





These days it is hard not to feel that you are somehowmonitored in the area when wondering through the lane-ways in Tianzifang. The shops are selling more or less sim-ilar things and many are souvenirs. Many business ownersand local residents are worried that Tianzifang faces imma-nent gentrification. But the loss of Tianzifang is not going tobe missed by policy makers, developers or even the creativecommunities because what was there that made it anauthentic place has been lost long ago.

Scenario 3: The distorted argument of cultural heritage:1933

1933, at Shajing Road No. 10, is a latecomer to creativecluster scene. It also presents a strictly top down modelof creative cluster development that is typical in many Chi-nese cities. Covering an area of 31,721 sqm, 1933 is a land-mark building of the Hongkou district, situated in the oldInternational District. The building got its name from theyear in which it was built, designed by British architectsBalfours. Balfours used the then most fashionable architec-tural techniques in the building of the most ‘modern’ meatproduction factory in the Far East – ‘the Municipal Commit-tee Butchery’. It was taken over by the Communist Partyand became Shanghai No. 1 Meat Production Factory in1945. It ceased production in 2002 when the factory wasrelocated to the outer suburbs. And the building hasremained empty ever since.

The discovery of 1933 as a building with cluster poten-tial was in line with the general approach to the restorationof colonial properties since the early 1990s. Where previ-ously the colonial past had been seen as shameful, anincreasingly resurgent Shanghai rapidly mobilized this her-itage as sign of its early exposure to international flows andthus its unique ability to seize a global future (Abbas, 2000;O’Connor, 2012). The story circulated was that a retiredsocial scientist discovered that the building was the firstslaughterhouse in the Far East! Further Research confirmedthe story and the Shanghai Creative Industry Centre (SCIC)– a government department in charge of the disseminationof creative industries related policies – was brought in toplan for the restoration of the building. However, thetimely intervention to preserve the building also coincidedwith the privatization of SCIC.

1933 was the first project that SCIC entered into as a pri-vate developer under close supervision of the local govern-ment. The ambitious vision for this large project wellillustrates the priorities embedded in city’s strategy for cre-ative cluster development. The building work took overtwo years and cost more than 10 million RMB to complete.The SCIC justifies this hefty investment in the restorationby stating that the future creative business tenants wouldguarantee big returns. However the large rents requiredfor return on investment meant that the focus rapidlyshifted to cultural consumption – of high-end design prod-ucts and exhibitions of expensive goods (including Ferraricars). Over 60% of the businesses occupying 1933 duringmy recent visit in 2012 were in catering and services. Therest were mostly display shops for big design firms in fur-niture, fashion and other products.

Unlike the focus on small creative business in manywestern creative clusters 1933 shows better than any other

Shanghai cluster how it is impossible for creative producerSMEs to occupy these buildings. In fact, it was renovatedand re-designed in a particular grand style in order toexclude SMEs. The developers did not allow flexible andadaptable uses of the building. The original building itselflacked the affordances required by adaptable creativespaces. Early on the developer decided that the spacewithin the building was mostly unsuitable to normal busi-ness needs, and that it should act as an exclusive exhibitionand consumption location.

Its process allows us to reflect critically the restorationof heritage buildings for use as creative clusters in China.

First, the connection between historic buildings and cre-ative industries has been made forcefully in the case of1933. The historic past of 1933 and the story of its rediscov-ery were mobilized to underpin the authenticity of thespace. Creative industries are about originality and authen-ticity and they thrive in authentic places. 1933, howeverraises the fundamental question as to whether we can cre-ate ‘authentic’ places without ‘authentic’ production indus-tries and related scenes.

Second, the aesthetic character of the buildings pro-vides the only source of cultural expression in this clus-ter. There are successful cases of purpose built buildingsfor artists around the world. In the 19th century, studiosin places such as Paris and London saw focus on the sizeof the window, high ceilings, large studio rooms and soon. Since the 1960s – and here SoHo was a pioneer –such generous proportions were available only in oldindustrial buildings. Purpose built studios and creativespaces tend to be large, under-determined flexiblespaces open to adaption by the tenants. However, notadopted as drivers for urban regeneration the focus inthe last twenty years has shifted to the exterior specta-cle of the building and location near cafes, bookstores,restaurants and other consumption facilities. 1933 wasa grand exercise in exterior spectacle and the integrationof high-end leisure consumption. But creative spaces arealso successful because they provide the possibility ofchange – the beauty of uncertainty just like those occu-pying M50. The aesthetic appeal is not a one-off refur-bishment but an ongoing process involving theparticipation of creative businesses themselves in remak-ing the spaces. This self-produced ‘atmosphere’ is animportant part of the production aesthetics and ethicsof creative clusters.

Third, extracting the building from its surroundingcommunity in the process of urban regeneration wasprobably the most disturbing fact about 1933. More than5000 local residents were removed from the surroundingarea leaving 1933 in splendid isolation. A bustling areaof everyday city life is now the exclusive glamour destina-tion of models, film stars and Ferrari Cars. Visiting 1933 atnight gives an ‘international hotel’ feel of a place in whichlocal civic life has been removed to a safe distance out ofsight. Recently, as a way of generating interaction withthe public, the management has opened up the unusedattic space for use as a flea market. This has been a suc-cessful strategy for 1933 to bring local visitors. But apartfrom admiring the beauty of the building itself, 1933 hasfailed to impress on them a clear message as to what is1933 after all?





Conclusion

Since the late 1990s, the Shanghai government copiedthe various notions of ‘creative clusters’ as replacementsfor the city’s declining manufacturing industries and to findnew uses for the city’s industrial heritage. Creative clusterswere seen as a remedy for both old infrastructure and neweconomic growth (O’Connor and Gu, 2012). The two prior-ities – developing the infrastructure and developing theeconomy – had been kept apart till then. Unsurprisingly,there was some disjunction between what was neededand what was built. Many clusters were built accordingto the science park model, already are familiar to local gov-ernments and developers. But this heavy function-drivendevelopment model was not suited for CCI whose activityis a far cry from the organized laboratories the Chinese sci-ence parks are designed to accommodate.

In this paper, I presented three different scenarios inorder to explain the disjunction between the infrastructureand the needs of creative industries. I set these within awider question concerning how creative industries shapeurban spaces. According to western cluster theories CCIhave an intimate connection with their urban infrastruc-tures – an ‘elective affinity’. Moreover, certain cities andlocations are right for certain kinds of creative industriesto emerge, like silicon alley for new media (Indergaard2004; Grodach 2011) and Hollywood for films (Scott,2005). It is often taken for granted that CCI, through theirunique practices, are able to significantly help shape theway cities perceive and understand themselves (cf.O’Connor and Gu, 2010 for Manchester; Grodach, 2011for Austin, Texas).

In this research, I discovered some different processes atwork. First, creatives within creative clusters in Shanghaidon’t assume ownership of the place and they can’t makechanges to the physicality of creative clusters. In fact theydon’t want to draw attention to themselves. In Shanghai,CCI can be found in any physical settings where space isaccessible and not under total control by the government– residential units, food markets, cafés, office buildingsand so on. The temporal and fleeting nature of these usesmeant that they have little impact on these urban loci. Sec-ond, the aesthetic and symbolic meaning of the creativesites does not necessarily make a connection with the cre-ative businesses. And creatives don’t necessarily want toinvest their entrepreneurial energy into making theminteresting places. This coupled with the fact that most ofthe restored creative clusters are not occupied by creativebusinesses means that cities like Shanghai have limitedpower in shaping the locational geographies of the CCI.

This ‘dropping out of sight’ by small-scale creative indus-tries, passing through spaces leaving aminimal mark, mightbe interpreted as a very unique Chinese scenario. But it alsooffers an interesting counterpoint to western trajectories.This disconnection or disassociation from occupied spacewas a deliberate strategy based on ingrained – perhaps cyn-ical – understanding of local urban planning and regulationdynamics. The creatives understand that these forgottenplaces can only be sustained if they remain forgotten. Inother words, the creative communities have tried not to fallinto the culture-led urban regeneration trap which mightwell cause them to lose autonomy and eventually their

space. This trap is sprung by policy recognition rather thanreal estate interest.

In M50, their reluctance to transform the physicalappearance of the building, to remain silent and not drawattention to themselves, meant that management had tobegin the process of a more aesthetic refurbishment –though often in consultation with the creatives. In Tianzif-ang, the creatives relied heavily on the local communityas an intermediary agency, rather than directly engagingwith a cluster manager. The negotiation of power playedout in the transformation of Tianzifang was a strategy ofdisguising grass roots creative activities. It also explainsthe problem of grand restorations like 1933. Creatives don’tlike to be associated with glamour and success for they fearthis leads to institutionalization and displacement.

These strategies have negative impacts too. On the onehand, creative clusters remain a generally unsuccessfulintervention in policy terms (O’Connor and Gu, 2012). Thisrisks alienating government enthusiasm for preserving her-itage buildings hoping they might attract CCI. On the otherhand, SMEs in creative industries remain marginalized.Their needs and appearances are dictated by other agenciesnot by themselves. As a result, their shaping power overurban spaces – a temporary flow invisible to most observ-ers – is as marginal as their position in the general creativefield which remains dominated by state-heavy regulationand access to official guanxi networks.

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