Apologies, friends, for the very sporadic posting on my part. Of late, most of my blogging energies have gone into a new project for me, the Chinese version of artforum.com.cn.

Maintaining this already wonderful site is now one of my responsibilities, and finally getting off the AWW manuscript to MIT Press, and the new year hibernation, etc…. The 2010 spring thaw will bring wonderful things, and happily, with most of my editorial energies pouring into the artforum.com.cn site, sinopop can become become more personalized, more suibian, and a place for stories and ideas that don’t fit the scope of the other site.

Please look for us in the future, as we hope to start adding some new Chinese language columns to the artforum site, attempting to add some thoughtful content and commentary to a crowded cybersphere of art news from China, of various qualities.

朋友们、亲爱的读者， 非常抱歉！最近忙一堆事没有更新博客。今年要开始投入美国artforum杂志网站的中文版，担任一些编辑的工作。 如果你还不熟悉，应该过来看，网站上有大量的杂志译文，也有亚洲地区的展评。

随着我的在官方网站的参与，之后sinopop的内容就更加自由， 更随便和主观一些， 我会尽量把“严肃艺术编辑”的精神集中在artforum.com.cn了。（如果您，读者还没有看到此精神，请不要急––之后有人赞助我就好说！哈！）

I haven’t seen the biopic on Confucius, Kongzi yet, but I can already tell it’s going to be a doozy. Chow Yun-fat’s omniscient face looming in the heavens on the film poster, and his self-bemused, wizened sage smirk on the film stills is one hint, and recent dogged attempts at drumming up nationalism through culture and the arts is another.

Since I am not a Chinese, and non-Chinese are simply not allowed to mock things Chinese (especially Kongzi) even in good spirit, I figure I’ll do like other bloggers and just rip off Han Han’s brilliant post this morning, entitled, “Watching Kongzi.” Read the Chinese here: 韩寒： 《看孔子》

“…To tell you the truth, I’ve never thought there was a need to turn these classic stories into films. From a film perspective, the moment such films are born, they become the antithesis filmmaking, strangling creativity. But if you say that China’s movies with classical-historical themes show no creativity, that’s not right either, because those scriptwriters are often writing incredibly counter-historical scenes, the situation is tangled. And thus the reason why a vast majority of big-budget Chinese films are borrowing classical themes and historical figures is because their investors have lack a sense of security, they hesitate to invest such a great amount of money on some plotline dreamed up by some dubious director. Occasionally, there comes along a director who has an enormous investment, and the freedom to write their own screenplay––the resulting films are even worse. And such is China’s tragic history of film. According to Chou Yun-fat, people who watch this movie and don’t cry cannot be human, I can believe this is his delusion, and I’m sure that during the in-house screenings, all of the producers cried. They cried thinking about how many elementary school students and governmental organizations they will have to drag to the theaters just to break even.
Let’s forget about all political reasons and look at the film itself, it is a failure of a film. The sermonizing in the film isn’t infective at all, when Kongzi is talking about propriety and benevolence in the film, the guy next to me was having a ten-minute long conversation on his cell phone. …
…
Finally, I want to say that the film Kongzi, no matter if it’s from the point of view of the significance of film, profits, artistic pursuits, film exploration, educational enlightenment, warning or admonishing the public, audio-visual experience, entertainment, or documentation of history, there is no need for this film to exist. This film could be erased completely from film history.”

Despite all this, I’m still happy that Avatar was pulled from the theaters just to make room for this film.
The illusion of global culture has been shattered by recent events with Google.cn, and Hillary’s speech on the “freedom to connect.” China’s official response to “so-called Internet freedom” makes me shudder, are we truly entering a virtual cold war? At the very least, films like this should prove the national agenda is still filtered through culture, remember Founding a Nation? At the least, its one more attempt by China’s film industry to harmonize ticket sales and pleasing the film censors. Yes, I will see Kongzi, because who can’t appreciate the wry irony of watching the former “God of Gambling” play the sagely man of morals Confucius? It’s like a national face lift. Well, I’ll see in on DVD anyways…

Perhaps artists like to think of themselves as harbingers of social change, at least think they like to imagine themselves on the vanguard of something. In China, they seem more like backseat drivers. However, the world’s fasting urbanizing nation is heaving forward in myriad expressions, and relentlessly posing challenges to the entire globe with a host of issues that will shape the next decade.Urban China is a magazine that has hovered on the fringes of the art world since it was founded four years, it examines various urban issues in themed monthly issues, featuring intellectuals, artists and social scientists writing on topics such as Chinese creativity, education, migration, or Chinatowns. URBAN CHINA: Work in Progress (Timezone8, 2009), is a new publication co-edited by magazine founder Jiang Jun and Brendan McGetrick that seems to reiterate the supremacy of the urban machine over the artist’s ego, as the book itself grew out of a series of questions that emerged from UC’s participation in Documenta 12 (2007). (more…)

Sometimes, in the spirit of preserving our mental health (and also following the sound example of many Chinese citizens) we block out the droves of nincompoopery political advertising that  inundates Beijing’s population during political festivals. However, China’s 60th anniversary recently passed, and left behind a rich trail of propaganda and harmonious good-tidings that begs to be deciphered by the twisted minds who are so inclined to pay interest to such mass messages from the state.

Thus it follows, a Chinese lesson for all souls who wish to join the“family,” as delivered to you by the creamy voices of Jackie Chan and favored Party chanteuse Liu Yuanyuan. The first video below was the National Day ‘debut’ of the patriotic song, written especially for the 60th anniversary and sung in The Square complemented by hundreds of jubilant dancers.

Please note the harmonious joy of China’s minorities as they dance happily in unison in The Square, this is very likely the favored past time of all the 56 minorities. This joyous display (which later incorporates Hu Jintao, Wen Jiabao, etc.) of course also indicates that even though we may be wearing different satin costumes, or of economic classes, our common ground is here: dancing below the benevolent face of the great leader.

Which brings us to our lesson, where we focus on three words:
国    GUO    (kingdom––the simplified character is a composite of characters for “jade”surrounded by a “mouth”）
家    JIA     (family, home––literally a “pig” covered with a “roof tile”)
国家     GUOJIA    (nation, country, state––the combination of the above two characters)

The Chinese for “China” is 中国 ZHONGGUO  (中=middle, inside) All of this word dissection is vital to understanding the first two lines of the song. Pay attention!

Now, due to the ingenious word play in this clever song, the appropriate words will be substituted below: GUO, JIA & GUOJIA.

Note that each time “JIA” is sung, one or both singers makes the sign language signal  for “home.” Special note for Cai Guo-Qiang fans, he was the “General Director” of the fireworks display you see at the end of the video.

(China based readers can see it on Sina here)

一玉口中国    Jade inside a mouth––ZHONGGUO
一瓦顶成家    Add a roof tile for a JIA

都说国很大    everyone says the GUO is large
其实一个家    but actually, it’s a JIA

一心装满国    A heart laden with GUO
一手撑起家    a hand props up JIA

家是最小国    JIA is the smallest GUO
国是千万家    a GUO is ten million JIAs

在世界的国    In the World’s GUO
在天地的家    and the JIA of heaven and earth,

有了强的国    having a strong GUO
才有富的家    makes for a wealthy JIA

国的家住在心里    The JIA of the GUO lives in your heart
家的国以和矗立    the GUO of the JIA stands upright with harmony

国是荣誉的毅力    GUO is the perseverance of glory
家是幸福的洋溢    JIA is brimming with prosperity

国的每一寸土地    every inch of the GUO’s soil
家的每一个足迹    every footprint in the JIA

国与家连在一起    GUO and JIA are joined together
创造地球的奇迹    to bring about a planetary marvel
[repeat…]

国是我的国    This GUO is my GUO
家是我的家    This JIA is my JIA
我爱我的国     I love my GUO
我爱我的家     I love my JIA

我爱我国家    I love my GUOJIA!!!

And here, one more time, you have Jackie’s MV version. It features more happy minorities, students reciting their lesson (“GUO, JIA, GUOJIA”), and even some thoughtful calligraphers demonstrating how to write the characters. Later, superstar pianist Lang Lang makes an appearance for a solo played in the Great Hall of the People. (more…)

Wang Yifan’s latest exhibition is titled “Kan Bu Wan” [which in English means you can’t finish seeing or looking], and is in utter agreement with the works themselves. Primarily video and installation works in this exhibition confront viewers with simply too much to take in, each individual work offering an extreme amount of information, making it possible that not a single viewer could finish “looking” at any single work in the show.Throughout his work Wang Yifan pays close attention to the dimensionality of time, then he confronts it with a challenge, Stakeout on Time––Wang Yifan’s Clock is one of his representative works. In this video, Wang Yifan takes a common quartz clock found in most Chinese households as his prop and then uses digital means to record its state over a period of twenty-four hours. Through this lengthy documentation, Wang Yifan covers the clock’s logo with an obscure symbol for his own name, and in an attempt to establish a new order he establishes control over time.In a general survey of Wang Yifan’s works, it appears he is examining trivial, humdrum things insignificant to mention. But beyond doubt there are minute changes that exist within these works. No matter if he is recording the state of a given space, or employing the thickly congested words of his own novellas written over canvas, magnified by Wang Yifan’s lens imperceptibly minute details are abruptly thrust into the spotlight. As such frivolous commonalities take starring roles in the works, the role of seer and the seen are begin to fluctuate. Through a stealthy hand, time itself is transformed into a character into whose life we peer, and the power of discourse is diverted into the hand of the viewer. Whether or not to look, or whether or not to finish looking are both determined by viewers. At the same time, the established duality and oppositional roles of the artist and audience are subject to change. Wang Yifan’s works provide a link by which the artist and viewer are linked, and by which both can envisage and deconstruct time.Author: Jing XiaomengTranslation: Lee AmbrozyOriginally Published in Chinese on www.artforum.com.cn

In a CCTV documentary titled “798″, photographer Zhu Yan made the comment: “The factory workers displaced the farmers, the artists displaced the workers, and now…” but the director left out what should have followed, “… the tourists displaced the artists.”

Of course, the myth that 798 is a “cultural production zone” is perpetuated by the mainland media, and almost obsolete industrial patches across China look to the success of 798 as a model of “cultural industry”, a revival area preserving the remnants of an industrial past, but where creativity and commerce can meet to copulate and produce healthy economic offspring.

While that may be a lovely image, the fact is, there is some truth to it. The documentary is a rather sobering look at the quickly vanishing former life of “798″––Factory 718. In the 1950s it was a state of the art center of production, a place of national pride, and a household name that symbolized a better future. Workers were hand-picked for their class background, plucked from the fields and clad in blue to make radio electronics, among other classified military gear; they worked with some of the most “avant-garde” technologies of the day. Military components aside, none of this sounds unfamiliar with the tourist “cultural production zone” we know as 798.

Fifty years later, the changes are incredible. In the five-part documentary we meet laid-off former workers who are now janitorial staff, and the dwindling industrial staff (once more than 10,000, now less than 3000) tells stories of the past: homes of the newly-wed were furnished with a bed, a desk and a cabinet (many had never had their own bed), 8 hour shifts were followed by night school, and infants were picked up from an parking-lot sized nursery, while not-yet school aged children were locked in the one-room apartments while their parents “struggled” to build a strong China. “None of this was looked at as strange,” comments Ms. Gao, who still works in th ecomplex. Her last student, Ding Ding, a young worker and his very dour wife are filmed in their run-down apartment; his 700 RMB monthly salary is barely enough to feed them. I don’t think I can stomach buying a substandard 35 RMB coffee there ever again.

With nary a mention of contemporary art, the series is a historical and grimly patriotic portrait of a very different 798; it was filmed in late 2007/early 2008.  The CCTV site has photos and some historical background here. I thought of an article translated last year for the Timezone8 book “Beijing 798 Now” on the former incarnation of Factory 718. It is especially interesting to read how earthquake standards in construction had to be enforced by the East German engineering team. Its a long article, but has some interesting facts. For Chinese, switch languages on upper right.

From 718 to 798

Li Yang

Dashanzi: Beijing’s northeast corner

This district has already experienced two drastic turns of fate. First, fifty years ago, when the 718 was constructed and made a name for itself across China, and now, as the rise of the 798 Art District has brought a “renaissance” to the district, carrying its name overseas. Factory 718 was the celebrated former incarnation, and was one just short of legendary. During China’s “First Five Year plan” era, and with the support of the German Democratic Republic and Chinese national professionals, young people from all corners of the nation converged to build this northern Chinese state-owned factory for radio electronics—it was to be the birthplace of China’s electronics industry. In the beginning, Factory 798 was merely the third stage of the larger Factory 718 compound, and it lay on the outskirts of Beijing. However, this district has already been swallowed by the city’s growth, and become Chaoyang District’s first cultural industries zone, and yet still maintains its status as a center of production for Zhongguancun Electronics.

Today, the symbolic Bauhaus architectural complex still stands, the complex has been entrusted with the industrial history of a city. The transformation from 718 to 798 documents the course of urban industrial restructuring.

The Birth of 718

In April of 1951 the second round of Sino-Soviet summit talks were held in Moscow, China’s request for Soviet aid in the building of 156 major projects was on the table for discussion. However, the Soviets felt that China’s request to help establish the foundations for a new radio electronics industry was too unexpected.

(more…)

Recently re-reading Yin Jinan’s two critical responses to the Chinese art world, “Knocking on the door alone” (1993) and “Step-motherism” (2000), two books that should be noted for their critical response and theoretical interpretations on the world of Chinese contemporary art. Both books are published by Sanlian Bookstore, are in their 4th and 2nd printing respectively, and have received much attention from the Chinese-reading world.

Yin Jinan wrote “Knocking on the door alone” as a response to the urgings of many who thought that his position as chair of the Central Academy of Fine Art’s art history department and as a “close-up” observer, warranted a publication.  The second book “Post-motherism” (will follow in separate review) is a compilation of years of art criticism published in his column in duzhe magazine 《读者》also entitled “knocking”, duzikoumen “独自叩门”. The implied meaning of this title is: when we look at art we are always seeking a personal interpretation, and our individual experiences inform our reading.

The essays range from 1988, in an essay on the joint exhibition of Lu Shengzhong and Xu Bing at the National Museum of Art, “新潮美术的转折点” (The turning point of the New Wave), to 1992 (in dialogue with Sui Jianguo). Yin’s connections with art are very influenced by his proximity to the art academy, and to many artists who were making important names, such as Liu Xiaodong and Yu Hong, Wang Guangyi, Huang Yongping,  Sun Xinping and a host of other young painters whom he calls the “New Generation Painters.” These were the emerging generation of artists who were establishing a new POV, moving away from the collectivism of the 1970s and 1980s and depicting personal experiences. Yin’s style is clear and dry, funny at times but aggressively confident when critical.

The book also includes ample writing on Xu Bing,  the outrageously well-attended first nude oil painting exhibition in early 1989, and writings on the China / Avantgarde exhibition in 1989, on Chinese modernism and more. Posted below is an essay from this book on “New Generation Artists”, it was translated for a forthcoming publication on Chinese contemporary art from the Museum of Modern Art.  To read Chinese version, please switch languages on the upper right hand.
NEW GENERATION AND CLOSE UP ARTISTS

Yin Jinan

Modern Chinese art in the early Nineties is endowed with a certain temporal significance. In the moment when our historical imagination collides with actual landscapes, anyone is able to intuitively identify the fundamental elements belonging to the scope of art history. The literary world’s “age of prose” is precisely coincident with the art world’s period of realism without an artistic manifesto, and settling into their peaceful lifestyles, these artists have created an enormous cultural rift from the maddening infatuation with the explosive and dysphoric concepts that before them. This re-examination and questioning of traditional artistic values and art of the New Wave firstly did not arise from within the theoretical world, but from the creative one. A few stirring solo and group art exhibitions that took place in 1990 and 1991 silently expressed a very confident artistic attitude, a group of young artists born in the 1960s thus emerged onto the scene.

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Yang Fan’s <Spring>
until April 6 @ Star Gallery

In a drastic departure from her works on canvas, Yang Fan has produced a carpet of colorful poof-balls that she culled from the storerooms of clothing and toy factories in her native Guangdong. Yang Fan is formerly known for her series of paintings of young women in fashion plate style, the series, ever popular with Asian collectors, did not resonate with Western audiences.

When she began working on the project last year, she mentioned that the idea came to her while visiting clothing factories in China’s south. In what might have evolved from more “crafty” origins, this work culminates in her scouring of southern factories for unwanted bits and bobs, a new representation of the stories behind the cast-offs, and timely with the massive layoffs in the south.

An essay accompanying the catalogue is presented below. I translated it, but also enjoyed it for some valuable insights on her early works. (more…)

Li Zhanyang – ‘Rent’ – Rent Collection Yard
Galerie Urs Meile | 26 April – 24 August, 2008

Li Zhanyang’s solo show is a worthy visit this season, he has modeled his collection of sculptures on an “instructional” collective artwork that was commissioned during the Cultural Revolution. Instead of featuring the landlords, rapists, suffering and poor of the original, substitutes high-profile characters from the world of Chinese contemporary art. His commentary, his drole means of representing these folk, and his skillful adaption of the original is intelligent and timely. Due to the historical and social nature of this work, it is best appreciated through accompanying texts, below are excerpts from the gallery press release and a translation of Ai Weiwei’s response to the artist.

text: Nataline Colonnello (the following is extracted from the gallery press release)

‘Rent’ – Rent Collection Yard (2007) is the title of the largest and most complex sculptural installation Li Zhanyang (born 1969, Jilin Province, China) has ever created. Taking eighteen months of production after nearly a decade of conceptual incubation, Li Zhanyang’s ‘Rent’ – Rent Collection Yard is a humorous and subjective look at the Chinese contemporary art scene. It is informed by the artist’s personal experience. Characters, both local and international, are brought to life. The 34 life-size coloured fiberglass figures of this installation are modeled after the likeness of various people familiar to the artist – among them international celebrities as well as some only known in Chinese contemporary art circles. They include Chinese and Western artists, curators, collectors, gallery owners, gallery assistants, and art students. The gathered subjects were chosen according to their public or professional roles. Displayed on a real stage they were designed to showcase each figure in a striking a pose – dramatic or absurd, some of them with imbuing mordant satire. Following six conceptual themes (Paying Rent, Foot Washing, Raping, Oppressing, Dying a Martyr, and History Observed), the sculptures are spread throughout three exhibition spaces of Galerie Urs Meile in Beijing. The congregation seemingly gathered or juxtaposed is part of a broader and fabricated narrative revealing latent conflicts and power relations – the dirt underneath the high-gloss surface of the art world. The artist places his fiberglass alter ego amidst the other characters, representing himself by gazing intently into the darkness of the spectators. And among the spectators, Li Zhanyang places two exceptional figures in the front row: Joseph Beuys and Mao Zedong (in History Observed). Beuys, one of the most influential figures in the modern contemporary art scene, is expounding on the dynamic and chaotic interplay in front of them with a wild and passionate gesture beside the icon and father figure of revolutionary China.

The work is a contemporary transposition of the story of landlord Liu Wencai. During the revolutionary era, Liu Wencai was a victim of political muckraking and depicted as a brutal exploiter of the peasants.

(more…)

(Beijing, 19 May 2008) Andy Warhol abruptly left the city and the people so familiar to him, the sounds, the colors and their warmth, just over 20 years ago. The moment he was gone the world was changed. This wasn’t an arrow propelled from a bow, but the bow (and the world that held it) falling from the arrow, separated in an instant and forever. 



Everything in Andy’s life seemed pretentious, a kaleidoscope of colors and extravagance. Like a prophet who can truly see through the confines of time, long before the true arrival of the era that he prophesized, anything within his sight was magnified, duplicated over and over and thereby rendered emotionally and mentally fractured and emptied. Time and men could be equally splendid and extraordinary, and at the same time so insignificant. 



Andy was attached to that world so filled with uncertainty, even though the same world similarly distrusted him. Till the very end they shared a hard to define mutual resentment; together temporarily, and likewise forever separated, something like a remarkably original decree blurted out but swallowed back up, all it leaves behind is astonishment. 



The absurd thing is that one day in 1982, Andy arrived by happenstance in this unfamiliar nation. The people here were still drowsy under the artifice of a communist government, every face wore the same simple shyness. At these geographical coordinates, not a single person expressed interest in the artist. No one recognized that mask-like face infamous throughout the rest of the world. And although Andy made innumerable portraits of famous figures, the most famous among them was ironically the archetypical representation of this transitional national leader in China, a portrait that he painted hundreds of times. The ubiquitous portrait caused Mao Zedong to be looked upon as a god in China. However, in Andy’s rendering, the allegorical force of Mao’s portrait was made conventional, its enormity made neutral, objectified, emptied of its moral value as well as its aesthetic intent. 

 (more…)

Joy Art: April 19-May 30

Curatorial text / Liu Ding

For many years Sui Jianguo has used his art practice to contemplate and expand upon sculptural concepts and forms. He also employs related media, video, installation and performance to reflect and discuss the changing patterns in our social lives and the forces and mechanisms that shape our social patterns. In Joy Art’s second project “Revealing Traces” Sui Jianguo unfolds his research through the extracting and presentation of molding and the enlargement process of a small clay model; he also examines the social phenomenon that is the transformation of individual will into the public will.

Generally, in the sculpture creation process, the sculptor first makes a complete small-scale model, workers then enlarge it to the artist’s specified dimensions, and lastly it is molded into an artwork in a different material. In the “Revealed Fragments” project, Sui Jianguo personally created small-scale clay models of three different forms, he then intentionally covered their surfaces with his fingerprints. According to the general procedures for modeling and enlargement of these small sculptural models, Sui used workers to first mold his clay models into silica gel molds, then from these molds they were molded into plaster; following this, a laser mapped out the appearance of the plaster model and marked coordinate locations on a grid. This “virtual grid” of the plaster model was then enlarged more than 10 times according to an actual and comprehensive positioning system; these circular coordinates were blown up according to a “circular enlargement” process. An iron frame and wooden supports were constructed according to the requirements dictated by the new dimensions; then wooden rings were built around the wooden supports. Accordingly, the sculpture’s clay frame was built upon these wooden rings, thus completing the basic mold for the enlarged model. The workers then completed the model according to the now enlarged circular coordinates, accurately representing the handprints of the artist’s original model. Ultimately, the artist’s clay sculpture is perfectly enlarged ten times its original size; it becomes an enormous sculpture with monumental quality.

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Wang Di and Mao-era architecture

text / Yin Jinan

Architecture always employs its historical presence to construct our landscapes, and the “objectivity” of architecture is not always reflected in its mere functionality. As a historical relic itself, it already is the target of every observer’s objectivity; even if the person is imaginative, architecture remains a realistic departure point for the machinations of just such a person.

I often think: what would it be like were a historian or a sociologist to take up a camera and photograph architecture as a historical entity? Undoubtedly, the camera is a more “objective” tool then other recording methods, and this is precisely what historians and sociologists strive for––though none of them are capable.

Wang Di has photographed some of Beijing’s structures. These buildings have their own history; they were all built in Mao’s era, and the spirit and culture of Mao Zedong’s era are embodied within them. From them we garner a visual sense of people in the Mao-era, their class concepts and their historical relation to these buildings. Wang Di’s motivation to photograph these buildings is derived from his personal experiences growing up as well as a special fondness for them. Through his photographic process he has gradually merged into the world of sociological methodology and perspective with these historic buildings that bear the weight of Mao-era cultural ideology with their physical form, and they are dying off–– (more…)

text / Ar Cheng

Let me describe for readers a brain process: we see an image, our retinae take the image to the thalamus, and the thalamus converts it into code (as a computer would turn the same image into binary code of ones and zeros), it is then saved in the hippocampus (which is shaped like a seahorse, whose scientific name is Hippocampus). At the same time the Amygdala (which is shaped like an almond, whose scientific name is Amygdalus) saves correlated emotional memories such as fear or joy. Thus when we see a wolf, for example, we feel fear. If the Amygdala of a certain person is removed or damaged, when such a person sees the same wolf their brain will not produce fear, they would only know that there was a wolf. The normal person would run, but this person would not. We ordinarily call people whose emotional response is different than ours a “fool.”

Our brains are linked to the images we see, and many memories are correspondingly stored, smells, tactile sensations, sound and temperature for example.

Under normal circumstances, our judgment of images and emotions is linked; the issue is really, what emotions are associated with which images. (more…)