Collector hopes to preserve folk art footwear for next generation

For centuries, children in North China wore tiger-head shoes - so named because of the toe cap that resembles the head of a big cat.

That was until about 30 years ago, when the traditional footwear, much like the animal itself, began to go extinct.

Hu Shuqing, 51, from Central China's Henan province, has spent 17 years collecting more than 10,000 pairs of the shoes.

"I will give most of them to public museums, so that the next generation and the one after can see them," she said.

Chinese people began making tiger-head shoes in ancient times, believing images of the animals, which were thought of as the king of beasts, could protect their children from evil.

An old folk tale tells of a wicked official who abducted the beautiful wife of a boatman. Missing his mother badly, her son went to see the official in a pair of tiger-head shoes. The official refused to let the woman go and the shoes suddenly turned into two tigers that killed him, so the family could be reunited.

Tiger-head shoes have many variants. Some people swap the tiger head for frogs or peacocks, while more eccentric designs include spiders, snakes and scorpions.

Hu was born into a family of paper cutters and both her mother and grandmother could also make tiger-head shoes. "My daughter grew up wearing the shoes her grandma made," she said.

But her passion for collecting the shoes did not begin until 2000, when she spotted a pair at a Spring Festival temple fair.

"The tigers on the shoes were embroidered according to paper-cutting patterns," she said.

From that day forth, she has collected the shoes, first in her home county of Qixian, then farther afield in other provinces such as Hebei and Shandong.

Hu often goes collecting between September and December. "Kids wear tiger-head shoes in winter," she said. "They are pretty and warm."

She spends most of her annual income of about 200,000 yuan ($29,000) on traveling and making purchases.

A pair of shoes can cost anything from 12 to 150 yuan, but they are not always easy to buy.

Hu remembers attempting to purchase some tiger-head shoes from a woman in her 70s, who made them for her grandson.

"I visited her three times, but she refused to sell the shoes to me," she said.

"They were handmade and unique."

On the fourth visit, Hu brought gifts for the family. Touched by her persistence, the woman gave her two pairs.

Four bookshelves and two basement rooms in Hu's home are now piled high with tiger-head shoes, mostly colored red and yellow.

Traditionally, the shoes are made by rural women during farming's offseason. One woman can make as many as 10 pairs a year.

As China develops, changing tastes mean that many younger parents no longer buy tiger-head shoes for their children. Even Hu's granddaughter did not wear them when she was a toddler.

"There are less in demand. As a result, fewer people still want to make them," she said.

The most skilled shoemakers are in their 80s or 90s, and even the youngest are older than 60. "They are dying out," Hu said, with a sigh.

Ten years ago, she met a centenarian at a temple fair. Her nephew was selling the shoes she made, with unusual spider and lizard patterns.

"I liked her shoes so much that I bought six pairs," Hu recalled. "The next year I visited her, only to be told that she had passed away."

As an inheritor of cultural heritage, Hu feels the pain. Her 32-year-old daughter is learning paper-cutting, and her five-year-old granddaughter, too. But Hu cannot make tiger-head shoes.

She is worried that the craft may perish along with its inheritors. In the last two years, she has not found a single pair of new shoes.

"Apart from those I am going to give to museums, I will keep some at home, and tell children the stories behind the shoes," she said.