PRIMAL SCREAM

PRIMAL SCREAM: AN ONLINE EXHIBITION PROPOSAL 

GRIFFIN FRAZEN, JOSEPH GERGEL, ODILE LIU 

A history of art follows a history of an exclusionary audience. Art reception was historically catered to only those patrons who could afford it. It is no surprise that many people today liken an art museum to that of a church. In many cases, the museum's purpose was to legitimize a certain version of history that spoke to the cultural values of the elite. Today, museums and non-profit institutions attempt to shed this former reputation and try to appeal to a mass audience, with a goal first and foremost to educate. But if this is truly the goal, then we must ask what methods of presentation would be most effective in our increasingly technological world.

The Internet is a medium that has the potential for a truly mass audience.  We propose a new exhibition format that can utilize the existing channels of information on the Internet, but collectively add to it to produce the critical message that Internet information lacks. There is a plethora of information on the Internet about contemporary art, yet often the information is spread thinly in many places. There is also a need for curatorial direction on the Internet, where in many cases the information only amounts to blog post or images, without significant discussion to the meaning of works or their relative importance in a cultural dialogue. An online exhibition would be able to transcend the exclusionary confines of the gallery or museum space and meet the visitor on their own terms. It would be able to provide a database of existing information about the artist and work, as well as attempt to engage these works more critically and as a group. It also has the ability to garner audience participation and feedback, which is something that the spectatorship of the gallery space lacks. We propose the online exhibition as the new way to engage an art audience and see its potential for fostering the kind of dialogue that the modern museum attempts but fails.

CURATORIAL CONCEPT 

Any attempt to examine the critical implications of contemporary Chinese art today takes at its starting point the modernization that is changing the cultural landscape at an unprecedented pace. But while China's curatorial theme du jour expresses China's entry into a period of modernity, it does not take in to account the unique instance where a culture simultaneously experiences the beginnings of post-modernity. At the same time that a faith in science, technology, and progress is shaping the direction of China's future, a generation of artists are already lamenting the psychological and sociological effects of such a dilemma. China is still very much a developing nation, yet the level of critical engagement with this era of development follows more in the pattern of post-industrial societies. At the forefront of artistic discourse in China today are conflicts with the increasing virtualization in every aspect of society, of the effects of mass media and consumerism, and the anxieties of development and an almost post-apocalyptic sensibility. As Shanghai prepares its 2010 World Expo "Better City, Better Life", the artists in "Primal Scream" call into question the very definition of what a "better" city would be. The term "Primal Scream" derives from a form of psychological therapy that is thought to treat emotional problems by encouraging patients to relive traumatic experiencing through screaming or other acts of aggression. In a world where cultural forces are attacking the notion of autonomous selfhood, these artists are trying to assert their existence. Whether with a sense of desperation or of irony, "Primal Scream" asks what direction China is heading and where the individual is to stand facing such a predicament. 

Artists: Zhang Peili, Yang Fudong, Shen Shaomin, Hong Hao, Zhai Liang, Birdhead, Cao Fei, Yi Zhou, Xu Zhen, Yang Yongliang

LIST OF WORKS 

1. Zhang Peili, Undefined Pleasure, 1996, video

The abundance of information and convenience of mass communication in a post-modern world has satiated human's thirst for knowledge. However, do people in modern society always know for certain the accurate meaning of the content presented? Zhang Peili's artworks toys with the idea of uncertainty through the manipulation of time and the repetition of a single motion. Is the scratching in Uncertain Pleasure meant to be a way of relieving uneasiness and anxiety or is it meant to offer the person a tiny sensation of pleasure?  

2. Yang Fudong, East of Que Village, 2007, video installation

Yang Fudong’s six-channel video installation, East of Que Village, focuses on the lives of several stray dogs scrounging for food and fighting for survival in desolate rural China. The artist uses the dogs (which he adopted from various places for the film) to present a bleak depiction of contemporary China and the feelings of loneliness and isolation he associates with his childhood. The piece questions the purpose of existence—if any—in Chinese society. Using a poetic reference to symbolize a larger cultural sentiment, the film installation speaks to the fragmentation of modern experience. The film is beautifully shot, yet with six screens there is an overload of visual information. Contrasting with the cinematic quality of the footage is the pessimistic message of cultural progress. There seems to be no hope in a sense of community. These dogs are all out for themselves, and that proves to be a very alienating kind of existence.

 

3. Shen Shaomin, Bonsai, 2007, sculptural installation

Shen Shaomin presents a simple yet explicit critique of man's attempt to dominate nature. Both elegant and disturbing, Bonzai comments on China's hasty urban development while also suggesting a more ecological approach to intervening with the natural world. Delicate bonzai trees in traditional Chinese porcelain are harnessed by crude contraptions consisting of vices, screws, and wires. These rigs resembling torture devices, force the branches to twist and contort in unusual ways as they grow. Recent natural disasters have once again reminded us that nature is a force to be reckoned with. As urban centers continue to grow all across the world, it is important for us to remember our relationship with the earth. Man is only part of larger systems, and the part can never control the whole. Shen Shaomin shows us the it is possible to facilitate the growth of the environment without damaging it.

 

4. Hong Hao, Mr. Hong Please Come In, 1998, photograph with text

Developed cities and modernized societies pride itself in its material accumulation and capitalistic endeavors. Hong Hao presents here the Chinese version of the "American Dream". This one shot captures the new Chinese generation's notion of the "perfect life", attaining success and thriving in newly acquired material status. It resonate the Europeans' colonial ambitions. Yet, what lies beneath and where does one go after attaining this success? The dog here poses like a trophy and the artist's figure poses with pride, but there seems to be no intimate relation between the man and the dog. In a society of abundance, has material comfort replaced the intimacy of relationships?

 

5. Zhai Liang, Is Death An Entertainment? 2007, oil on canvas

Zhai Liang's Is Death an Entertainment? looks at the notion of spectatorship in contemporary society. In the image, a group of people gathers around a pedestal in an ambiguous setting that resembles an art gallery. While the audience stares, blood streams from the pedestal. The piece could call in to question how we view violence and images of suffering in a blasé way on a daily basis. Image of war come into our living rooms each night, flashing so fast that it does not even give us time to emotionally react. Our emotional senses have dulled by living in such an image savvy world. If every photograph is to depersonalize its subject, then how are we to react?

 

6. Birdhead, Suitcase-1, 2005, suitcase with circa 30 unique photographs, framed

The modern man and woman live in an environment of constant information and data bombardment. There are an abundance of activities in our surroundings yet limited time for us to intake each activity. Birdhead's piece here seems to offer a poetic solution to this modern dilemma. Why don't we categorize all the information being fed to us and file it into a suitcase?

 

7. Zhao Bandi, Bandi Fashion Show, 2007, video

Zhao Bandi is obsessed with pandas. Zhao graduated from the oil panting department at the Central Academy of Fine Arts but quickly transitioned to installation and performance work, adopting the panda as icon and content. Zhao Bandi gained media attention after protesting Jack Black’s Hollywood Blockbuster “Kung Foo Panda”, suing Dreamworks and Paramount Pictures for their depiction of the panda in the movie. More recently, he has created a panda themed fashion show, where a varied group of migrant workers, prostitutes, fashion fans, and beggars all walk the catwalk in Panda-inspired attire. The diverse group was meant to represent 33 different social classes within China. The result is a complete mockery of both the fashion and the art industry, but that is exactly the point. Zhao Bandi takes a seemingly arbitrary symbol of China, the panda, and uses it incessantly in an exaggerated manner. He can then apply this exaggeration to the fashion and art industries and show the absurdity of the current mannerist stage of consumerism that China and the rest of the world are a part of. In each costume, the model’s respective identity is articulated by subtle references in their outfit. In this way, Zhao Bandi speaks to the way we understand ourselves in our contemporary society, as necessary to externalize our personality through the language of consumer culture.

 

8. Cao Fei, iMirror, 2007, video

In her 2007 documentary iMirror, Cao Fei adopts the persona of "China Tracy" on Second Life and follows a journey through the fictional "RMB City". Along the way, she meets other avatars that are on a similar journey, which ultimately culminates in a video that provides sincere philosophical discussions about the nature of virtualization in our computer age. With Second Life, there is no need for direct human interaction. It is a different sensory experience altogether. Avatars can be whoever they want to be, act however they want to act, and do not have to face the consequences of their actions in the real world. Cao Fei shows us how this mode of behavior might prove to explain more about who we really are than one might first imagine. In fact, it is a language that is able to articulate our insecurities and doubts, as well as a vehicle to live out our fantasies and dreams. iMirror questions the state of social relationships today. Is the Second Life persona a representation of our increasing alienation or does it signify a new form of social interaction?

 

9. Yi Zhou, One of These Days, 2005, video and 3-D animation

One Of These Days, a large screen video animation by Yi Zhou, comments on the impermanence of todays world. The artist worked with a group of architects to build a computer model of an imaginary city from one of her vivid dreams. The video depicts the desolate metropolis being destroyed. Windows shatter and buildings crumble to an orchestral score, as the camera slowly pulls back. Although the city in One Of These Days is fictional, is resembles any modern city and reminds viewers that one day everything will disappear. This uncomfortable reality is particularly relevant to China. The rapid pace of urban growth has in some cases rendered local resident unable to recognize their own city. China's delight in destroying its own heritage stems from its eagerness to modernize. Individuals feel detached from their environment and thus isolated from reality. Not dissimilar to the impersonal virtual city portrayed in One Of These Days.

 

10. Xu Zhen, Shouting, 1998, video

In his 1998 Shouting video, Xu Zhen and a group of friends film themselves shouting in pubic spaces within Shanghai. The gesture could be seen as a desperate attempt at asserting existence. As they film the crowd before they shout, the viewer feels the fast-paced movement of the city. It is the characteristic notion of the modern city: a crowd in constant flux, without engaging or acknowledging one another. The act of shouting temporally disrupts this pattern, forcing the crowd to turn their attention to the camera. But this moment is fleeting, and the artist is once again forced into a position of anonymity. Shouting is essentially an act of desperation. It is the act of pinching yourself to make sure you are still alive. While the artist is successful at a temporary intervention, we are left to ponder how it is possible to make a greater impact than a momentary response.

 

11. Yang Yongliang, Untitled 2, 2008, pigment ink on Epson Fine Art Paper

Where does civilization go now that it has attained such technological advancement and industrial accomplishments? What do we do with the problems created by these modern achievements and how do we get rid of them?

 

Art Similarity--A Life-long Project (Sally&Velvet's final presentation)

Well, I am not going to introduce all these pictures one by one because the professor has already introduced some of them in details. I just want you to pay attention to the pictures which share some similarities.

For example, the familiar Peiking Opera photos by Anhong and Qiuzheng in 1997. They shared the same inspiration of traditional Chinese culture and applied it into their composition. Although one is colored and the other is black and white, we can still notice the similarity between them.

I searched some pictures on the internet and found there are lots of same occasion, like some artists present the same thing in similar way or some even recreate on the bases of famous classic paintings.

Zeng fanzhi created his famous mark series in the mid 90s and one work of this series is called “The last supper” exactly the same composition as the original one. As you can see, he replaced the decorations on the wall with Chinese calligraphy and Jesus and his followers with members of young pioneers wearing white masks. According to the artist, the masks nevertheless possess a peculiar, haunting power, making people looks anxious and fearful. He recreated on the bases of Da Vincci’s work in order to allude the current Chinese society full of undiscovered betray and cheat.

There are some other examples of this recreation type. Like Zhou iehai’s “Placebo series” with the famous camel. Wang qingsong’s Picture of Lao li’s Night party, which copied the famous Chinese painting Picture of Han Xizai’s Night party of Dang Dynasty. Even Yue Minjun gets his inspiration from classic one. You can see he even re-create the background architectures.

Another type is contemporary artists using the similar element in their works, even sometimes they don’t know each others creation. I am not blaming them here to criticize the latter one stole the idea of the former one. I think this phenomenon occurs due to the Internet era we now live in with everything being mass produced. To Chinese artists, their art resources are almost the same—traditional Chinese culture, the common memory of Cultural Revolution and some current daily routine.

That why Anhong and Liuzheng used Peiking Opera costumes and Xu Bing, Gu wenda recreate Chinese calligraphy. And the images of Chairman Mao mushroomed ever since the end of Cultural Revolution. I will show you more examples.

The red wall is a visual motif that has appeared throughout Wei Guangqing’s work since the 80’s. Here, he extends the practice of the double take by encouraging the viewer to look again or reconsider familiar narratives and styles of images. The series “Red Wall” takes as its point of departure the Chinese moral classics The Virtuous Words with feudal maxims of ethical morals and doctrines. Appropriating this ancient illustrated book, he replaces the original text with the dominant visual symbol of a red wall, maintaining only the original illustrations and manipulating them with the flat pastiche technique of pop art.

Some video links:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JjVpRezsW1w

(Sorry the Internet speed in my home is really slow, I will uplond more on youtube later)

The search for hiphop in Shanghai. . .

Here are the uploaded Youtube clips of Hana & I's final presentation. The one for the Source was taken off of Youtube however, because apparently we can't use Lil' Wayne's song it in :( Here is the email they sent me...

Dear vguan,

Video Disabled

A copyright owner has claimed it owns some or all of the audio content in your video Art THESOURCE. The audio content identified in your video is A Milli by Lil Wayne. We regret to inform you that your video has been blocked from playback due to a music rights issue.

:(

But here are the other ones!

Cao Fei Comes to NYU SHANGHAI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZayxYXLf_6c&feature=channel_page

MoganShan Lu French Graffiti Artists
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cUcOuqG5Hw&feature=channel_page

The Lab: Interview with Gary VNutz
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJT9rvzuTTk&feature=channel_page

The Lab: DJ Babu Scratchin' his records
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqFhq2wJzgk&feature=channel_page

Our email with Jellymon will be up shortly...

Beijing Boogie Woogie from Ellen Pearlman

Suddenly Seeking Xu Zhen

Here is an outline of my process of trying to reach Xu Zhen/find out more about his work entitled "Impossible Is Nothing". In light of the insufficient source material on the piece, I attempted to create some discussion and awareness about the work only to find that it is incredibly difficult to do so.

Correspondence: An Attempt to Reach Xu Zhen by Normal Means (Email)

Below is my correspondence with Xu Zhen's assitant, Xiaomo, who rather unsuccessfully attempted to set up a meeting between Xu Zhen. I originally emailed a woman named Alexia (who we saw briefly during our visit to Bizart), but she referred me to Xiaomo. The beauty of email, super-fast communication!

From: xiaomo
Subject:
Date: November 28, 2008 11:17:16 AM GMT+08:00
To: alejandra

Thank you for your mail. Alexia forwarded it to me.
This is Xuzhen's assistant Xiaomo.

Xuzhen really appreciates your attention to BizArt and his own work.
He's looking forward to have a talk with you.

Could you please give me several days to arrange the meetting?
Xuzhen may not be in office lately.

Or you could send me the questions you need to know for the research project, if possible.

best,

xiaomo

Over the next two weeks, I basically sent Xiaomo three pretty desperate emails. The downside to email? The uncertainty of it. I kept checking to make sure I had the right email address, my email account was configured correctly, etc. It was all correct, I was just being ignored (in his defense I'm sure Xiaomo had much more important things to do, but still. Frustrating!) He responded only a week ago, almost immediately after I emailed him for the third time, finally asking if I could just have him forward my questions to Xu Zhen, as it didn't seem likely that Xu Zhen was going to be able to pencil me in.

From: xiaomo
Subject: Re:
Date: December 11, 2008 2:42:50 PM GMT+08:00
To: alejandra

XuZhen would not be in ShangHai this weekend and may be back in the end of next week.
He feels very sorry that could not have a face-to-face meet with you.
It would be great if you two could talk by mail.

If you have prepared the questions, please let me know.
I'll forward him ASAP.

For any question, do not hesitate to contact me

best,

xiaomo

I can't help but wonder if this squirly correspondence was the direct result of my inqiury to film my interview with Xu Zhen. Though I emphasized that it wasn't entirely necessary to my project (just desirable), I think that's what might have scared him away. I didn't think Xu Zhen would be camera shy.

Here is the list of questions I subsequently sent to Xiaomo, who hopefully forwarded them to Xu Zhen. Xu Zhen, if you are reading this, I eagerly await your reply.

1. Did you have any ethical concerns in the installation of your latest work, "Impossible is Nothing"?
2. What has been the public's perception and reception of the piece?

3. What was your goal in creating such a work?

4. Do you feel that the work has racial or political implications? If so, please elaborate on them.

5. What is it about Kevin Carter's photograph that inspired to you to recreate it in your
installation (i.e, why was Carter's photograph a good vehicle to express your message)?

6. In your opinion, what would a viewer gain from seeing "Impossible is Nothing" rather than simply seeing Carter's photograph? Why did your intent call for the creation of an installation rather than a mere two dimensional photograph? What does the "performance" aspect of this work add to your message/the implications of the original photograph?

7. Please elaborate on the title of the work.

8. How did the child's mother react to your work? How was she compensated?

9. How does the nature of this piece challenge typical perceptions of the term "artist"? What I mean to say is that, you are not performing, and this is a recreation of another artist's photograph, so what about the piece leads it to be qualified as authored by Xu Zhen? (*here I am trying to considerately ask if he is really the creator of this work, even though he just brought someone else's work to life in an artistic space.)

10. What were your hopes for spectators' interactions with the child and the exhibition space in general?

11. How do you think this work might be differently received in the West as opposed to its reception in China? Do you have any plans to further exhibit it/recreate it?


Survey- An Attempt at Discourse on "Impossible is Nothing"

I wrote my friends/family a short explanation of what to do (read the article, look at the photos, answer some questions), and provided the following links.

Article:
http://www.artreview.com/forum/topic/show?id=1474022%3ATopic%3A576706

Photos:
http://www.art-ba-ba.com/ShowPost_en.asp?ThreadID=19662&ForumID=10&Category=&lange=cn&pw=read

Here is the survey. I attempted to get people from various backgrounds to answer, but only my friends with art backgrounds decided to participate. However, this was interesting in and of itself, because many of them have backgrounds in performance, theater, and film. Others were painters, or art history majors, or writers. Ironically, a few of my most outspoken critics of Impossible is Nothing were actually the actors, who were quick to differentiate Xu Zhen's piece from the employment of a child actor, who (they argued) is not being manipulated for the sake of a political or social statement. I don't necessarily agree with this, but I think the difference may be the business side of child acting (SAG requirements and all that) that would theoretically prevent any mistreatment on the part of the child, and ensure proper compensation for the role. I would be interested to know how much (or even how) the child and his mother were compensated. I also wonder how Xu Zhen convinced the mother that it was a good idea for her baby to sit in a barren room full of overzealous Chinese spectators for five hours a day (or was money enough?).

Impossible is Nothing: Art or Exploitation?

*1)	Do you have any art background? Interest, training, job experience, etc.

Yes!

Nope!

2)	If you answered Yes!, please elaborate:

3)	Are you....

male

female

*4)	Do you feel that you got a good understanding of this piece through the article and photos I provided? Please support your answer with a few statements (full sentences not neccessary!)

*5)	If you had been in Beijing at the time of this exhibition, knowing what you know now, would you have gone to see it? Why or why not?

*6)	Based on the photos/review, do you feel that the artist's treatment and use of the child was ethical? Why or why not?

*7)	Do you believe this exhibition is racially exploitative? Why or why not?

*8)	Did the techniques used in this exhibition justify its effect?

Please SelectYesNo

9)	Were you offended by this exhibition?

Please SelectYesNo

*10)	If you are interested in art, do you often use the internet as a source for information? If you are not interested in art, simply respond with NO.

Please SelectYesNo

*11)	If you answered YES to the previous question, do you feel that the internet is a reliable source of information on art? If you answered NO, just respond to this question with NO as well.

Please SelectYesNo

12)	Had you heard of Xu Zhen before reading about this exhibition?

Yes

No

*13)	How likely are you to research other works by Xu Zhen after reading about "Impossible is Nothing"?

Very Likely

I might...

Probably will not.

Definitely will not.

14)	Is there anything else relevant you think I should know?

15)	If you would like to provide your name for my reference, please do so below.

For the question that asks if the person would go on to further research Xu Zhen's work, about 80% of those who answered said "Probably Not". No one said "Very Likely", a couple said "Possibly", and the second largest group said "Definitely Not". 95% of those who answered said they felt that the internet was a reliable tool for researching art, and almost as many felt that they got as good an understanding of "Impossible is Nothing" through the article (criticism) and photos I provided. Almost no one felt it was necessary to have seen the exhibition in real life, and even fewer would have gone even if they had had the chance.

This leads me to question the necessity of the recreation of Kevin Carter's famous photograph, and the importance of performance art in general. It reminds me of the whole mix up between Zhang Huan and the people who photographed his performances. Who is the actual author, Zhang Huan, or the photographers? This is more a question of message, however, as I am unsure why someone might need to actually go to the space to comprehend Xu Zhen's message. I think a lot of the benefit of having this as an installation was specifically for the Chinese audience, as I am unsure of how exposed they were to the original photograph by Carter. Most of the people I polled had seen the photograph and were aware of the controversy surrounding it. To a Chinese person unfamiliar with the photograph, however, it might not even be clear that this is a reference to another piece of art. If Xu Zhen were to exhibit this work in New York, for example, I am sure there would be issues of ownership immediately raised, as the average New York intellectual gallery-goer is almost certainly familiar with the photograph. However, here in China, Xu Zhen was sort of free from that whole issue of the piece. I'm sure that by the average Chinese person seen in the photographs that have surfaced of the exhibition, Xu Zhen was merely recreating a stereotypical African scene in a Chinese artistic context. I actually like the implications of this reading better than anything that would possibly come of the whole recreation of the photograph, the controversy surrounding Carter and his ethical responsibilities as an artist, etc. I think from the Chinese perspective, Xu Zhen is raising questions of Sino-African relations rather than merely referencing someone else's work. He is suggesting the lack of exposure on the part of the Chinese to African culture and society despite the recent influx of Chinese companies into poor African countries for cheap industrial labor. In this context, by point to an African baby in a simulated African setting in a gallery in Beijing, Xu Zhen also suggests this phenomenon of reverse colonialism as China begins to see Africa in a new light from its newly seized perspective of an up and coming superpower. Hopefully, the Chinese people who went to see the exhibition and sat there taking pictures of the poor child in hindsight realized how screwed up the whole situation was and were able to apply this perspective to larger issues of globalization and colonialism.


Other Sources: A Minimal Response from the Blogging Community

The following quote was blown up to full illegibility in my film:

"If Xu Zhen revels in scenes of self-ridicule and awkward, mixed messages, The Starving of Sudan is a new triumph in absurdity. Not only is the work conceptually undeveloped, Xu's failure to address China's current involvement with Sudan begs the question of whether he is even aware of the discussion surrounding China's role in Africa, especially Sudan. To what degree is this work a cognizant reference to the 'mediated fiction' of reportage on Africa in the heavily biased and censored Chinese news media? Xu Zhen will perhaps prove less able to handle the scrutiny of audiences in Beijing than his hired child actor will deal with this strange tableau that will haunt his childhood memories." -Lee Ambrozy ( the full review can be seen here: http://www.artreview.com/forum/topic/show?id=1474022%3ATopic%3A576706)

Amusingly, this review by Lee Ambrozy is reproduced by many sources, none of which actually comment on it so much as simply copy and paste it. There was only one response to his review on all the websites I saw it published on (the review with comment was found on artreview.com). You can see the comment if you follow the link.

The reviewer has his own blog, where he wrote his own review of "Impossible is Nothing", which is similar to Ambrozy's and my opinions as well. However, there are no comments on his blog either. These are the only non "official" reviews/criticisms of the work that I was able to find after hours of scouring the internet, and I contacted "Robin Peckham" through his blog to no avail. Thus, I am beginning to understand why there is little discourse on this work. I mean, there seem to be about three English-speaking, internet using, people (including myself) interested in this piece, and two of them didn't seem particularly interested in initiating discussion on it. This seems to suggest that maybe blogging isn't the best way to share opinions/ideas with the general public (as opposed to friends and family), because there is the issue of credibility (i.e I don't know anything about this person, why the heck should I listen to their opinion/even converse with them on any intellectual topic?) Also, I'm sure that if we were in New York and this work had been done by a famous American or European contemporary artist, there would be a lot of online discourse available on it, namely because its exposure to the public would be a lot greater. I couldn't find any "official" material on "Impossible is Nothing" in English or Chinese (for example newspaper or magazine listings). Most sites that even mentioned it only did so as a "save the date" kind of thing, as the City Weekend listing did, only outlining the exhibition's basics as well as time and date information. I guess I am just too used to being able to read an informed article written by an educated person about a gallery exhibition in the Times before actually going to see it. The presence of such a source won't necessarily decide whether or not this is art that I want to see, but it usually at least provides another perspective and some interesting information about the work that I would otherwise be without. It is also nice to be able to consider other such opinions post-viewing, as I am trying to grapple with the meaning or signifigance of the art that I have seen. However, I think this mindset and practice might be a little too Western for the budding Chinese art world and its participants.

Edit: I have just found a useless blog entry on Impossible Is Nothing, which as far as I can tell is simply a copy and pasted excerpt from an official text on the exhibition, not the writer's own opinion.

http://www.alivenotdead.com/kintrala/Impossible+is+Nothing+by+Xu+Zhen-profile-401626.html

This doesn't even seem like a legitimate blog (if there is such a thing). However, I'm sure that anyone who googles "xu zhen" and stumbles upon this blog will find my ramblings' value equally questionable and incomprehensible as well....

Now there is nothing left to do but await Xu Zhen's responses, which will be interesting thanks to the (respectful) prodding nature of my inquiries. Until then...

ALERT: ZHU YU BABY DRAMA

Please note: Zhu yu in fact did eat a baby and the baby was HIS. It was his ex-girlfriend's aborted fetus.

Thank you!

From the three very HARD-WORKING students: Kevin, Laura, and Michelle :)

Internet as an Artistic Marketing Tool (With East/West Historical Anecdotes!)

For my final presentation, I wanted to reflect on my own impressions of the Shanghai art scene while integrating it with the art historical scholarship that I’ve practiced so far in my undergraduate career. As this class was highly experiential, drawing on numerous gallery visits and meetings with local artists, I have been forced to come out of my ivory tower to a degree and interact with a contemporary art scene in a way I have not before. In this exposure to contemporary art and media, I feel I have acquired a bit of a snapshot of the art scene developing around us. As it relates to our final project criteria, an exploration of how the Internet has affected our ever-changing contemporary art history, I am choosing to concentrate on one focused aspect of how the Internet has affected art. In my time in Shanghai, I have noticed several things about the art scene that really differentiate it from art I have been exposed to in the States: firstly, there is a distinct pluralism to the art here, there is not one central ethos that resonates across media and artistic disciplines, rather there are several influences cohesively creating a pluralist environment. You may recall I discussed this to some length in my midterm: where, speaking generally, the streets of Shanghai are dominated by a cultural pluralism: while the population itself is still overwhelmingly Han Chinese, the cultures the population embraces stem from many outside influences, most notably contemporary western aesthetics. Secondly, I have noticed the artistic community seems very interested in a populist sentiment, that is to say that it seems to be the aim of artists, galleries, and museums alike to appeal to the common man, to break out of the mold of high art appealing only to the literati. Thus, the Internet age affords the art scene a unique opportunity to propagate itself and to promote these two trends in the Shanghai art scene. The Internet is a medium through which these two sentiments are easily promoted, and, simply based on the globalizing principles of Internet and Internet access, are readily encouraged. Gone are the days when an artist needed the exposure of the Salon or the endorsement of the art critic to be successful: with the globalized internet age, artists, exhibitions, and galleries alike can promote themselves more easily than ever before in history. Today for my final presentation I would like to explore the effect the Internet and Internet age have had on the ability of artists to promote themselves. I will address these ideas from several perspectives: I will briefly touch on the history of how artists were able to display their works historically in the western art world, and how that evolved over time. Then I will examine how the institutions established in China in the years since the end of World War II led up to the Internet trend of self-promotion. Finally, I will look at some concrete examples of artist works on the Internet, through blogs and interactive media.

Throughout much of the history of western art, an artist gained employment and notoriety through patronage. The patron was fundamental in the development of art in Europe, where he served as a consumer and initiator of art. The origins of artistic patronage are inseparable from religious iconography: almost certainly until the Reformation, in which Protestantism led to a rise of iconoclastic art, it was a widely held belief that the purpose of art and art patronage was as a devotional object. Thus, a work was meant not only to glorify God, but also to serve as a form of worship for the artist and the patron. We therefore find, in many of these works dated around the time of the Early Renaissance, religious iconography that depicts patrons’ likeness juxtaposed against religious subject matter. So an artist generally did not have a choice of whom or what to paint; the content and execution of the work was dependant on the specific tastes and wishes of a patron.

In 1648 in France, Cardinal Mazarin established L’Academie des Beaux Arts, a school under government auspices intended to educate the most gifted artists in France, with the most promising graduates receiving royal commissions. To be successful as an artist in 17th century France, one had to attend the Academy and learn the strict academic standards deemed appropriate by royal curriculum. Nearly thirty years after the creation of the Academie, in 1673, the Academie held its first semi-public exhibition, known as the Salon Carré. The Salon from that point forward for the next two hundred years was the ultimate aim for any artist in France. In order to gain importance or recognition, one had to be displayed prominently in the Salon. Thus, artists made themselves known through academic shows, and only through approval from the conservative literati could an artist truly gain prominence in France (which, apart from Italy has been home to many of western art’s most treasured artists). When the Salon became public for the first time in 1737, the Salon became a competitive show in which a jury could award individual works for their merit, and the Salon became a spectacle of high culture that greatly influenced all high society involved. Over time, of course, there began to be a movement of artists who sought to gain recognition outside of the Salon and its standards. In 1863, the so-called Salon des Reufesés, which featured works rejected by the Salon for that year and included such influential artists as Daumier and Manet, marked the beginning of an avant-garde in prominent art. With the rise of Impressionism and their independent exhibitions, the era of modernism was slowly ushered in, whose modus operandi was, more often than not, to refute academic or conservative artistic methods.

With the rise of the avant-garde, artists found that through independent exhibitions or independent publications they were able to create an audience and a following in a world previously monopolized by the Salon. Modernist movements that we retrospectively consider the most important or influential: Cubism, Dadaism, and Surrealism to name a few, were in direct conflict with academic standards and required independent shows and funding in order to be seen.

My favorite example of how artists marketed themselves with the rise of the avant-garde is actually from the United States, where the focus of the western world shifted after World War II caused almost all important European artists to flee across the Atlantic. The example I wish to cite is when the highly influential Life magazine in 1949 published a four-page spread featuring the emerging artist Jackson Pollock, posing the question, “Is he the greatest living painter in the United States?” The article instantly gave Pollock, who had previously had his only real exposure in Peggy Guggenheim’s gallery to varying reception, widespread fame throughout the United States and the world, and has since emerged as the face of Abstract Expressionism, what I would argue is the first truly “American” art form. The Pollock story gives an illustration of how I will argue many contemporary artists are choosing to market themselves: through popular media rather than academic shows.

That is really all just a very brief description of how artists gained recognition in the west in the past few hundred years, and I say that to help contrast it to the Chinese story. In 1949, with the establishment of the People’s Republic of China, the communist party brought influence from the Yenan province, introducing a new element to mainstream Chinese art. In 1942, Mao for the first time articulated what he believed to be the function of art in this new Chinese society: that it should be associated with political movements and agendas, and that artists should understand that art is not for art’s sake, it is for the people’s sake. Mao’s artistic ideals do not allow for individualism, but rather should serve the collective good, to portray the country, factory worker, and peasant in propagandistic positive light.

Shortly after Mao’s ascension to power, the Chinese invited Soviet artists and professors to educate Chinese artists. The 1950s and 60s saw the establishment of the Chinese academic art educational system, which was comprised of three parts. The first was the Artist’s Association, which was under the propaganda bureau and handled all art shows in China and served as censors and police in art circles. To become a member was considered highly prestigious for a Chinese artist. The second was the art publishing house, which looked over all art publications in the nation. The third was the art academy, which was responsible for training and education for Chinese artist. The idea for the academy was to graduate artists who would find employment producing art and media for the society. It was not until 1979 that an exhibition not under the auspices of the Artist’s Association was held in China, and it was not until the late 1980s that this structure began to change.

Artists, partially influenced by the influx of western influence to artistic circles, began to work outside of the art association. The focus of Chinese artists has remained relatively on the same train of thought since the end of the Qing Dynasty: how do we modernize Chinese society and culture? The defeat of the Chinese by western powers in the 19th century sparked this drive for western modernism, and it has played out in both the obvious technological and political spheres, as well as in the aesthetic arts.
So where does the Internet fit in to all of this? As I hinted in my introduction, the real significance of the proliferation of the Internet as it relates to our interest in contemporary art is its ability to draw from a plurality of influence brought about by globalization and also for an artist to market himself or his works. China first connected to the Internet in 1994, when it had 10,000 users, and has since catapulted itself as one of the largest subscribers to the Internet by country. 2007 estimates have the number of Internet users in China as 210 million users, a figure that was up 53% from the previous year, which saw 137 million Internet users in China. So China is connecting to the Internet on a massive scale, and as a result there is a real potential for exposure and communication for Chinese artists to advertise themselves online. In effect, the Internet is the Salon of the 21st century, allowing the public to view works and judge them critically, though on a casual, impersonal way.

Scholar Guobin Yang argues that the proliferation of the Internet in China is a reflection of Chinese civil society’s incipient and dynamic nature. He says “the internet facilitates civil society activities by offering new possibilities for citizen participation. Civil society facilitates the development of the Internet by providing the necessary social basis—citizens and citizen groups—for communication and interaction. The internet and civil society have an interdependent relationship.” He later argues that “diffusion of the internet will…enhance pluralism.” And later that “the internet remains a relatively powerful new medium and space for participation in civil society.”

This is particularly interesting when we examine it through the scope of the contemporary art scene, which can achieve a populist status based on the interrelationship between society and Internet interaction. The Internet is not only a platform for marketing, it is a forum of participation for even the most casual art observer. This, of course, can lead to irresponsibility, as the free, impersonal nature of the Internet allows for less-than-scholarly debate on high art. But in creating a venue for all people to interact and debate ideas, works, and exhibitions presented by contemporary artists allows for a dynamic cultural exchange. The Internet promotes populist access to a sect of society that has, since the days of the Salon, been formerly reserved for members of the elite and educated classes.

Let’s look at a few examples. What I wanted to do, essentially, was play the role of someone who is trying to seek out contemporary art in China and Shanghai, so I explored a few different sites, including artist blogs and art forums specifically geared to China, to explore how the internet has affected the art scene here. There, are of course, a few problems, the most glaring of which is my relative illiteracy in Chinese, so I have to employ Google translating tools to really experience most of these sites. Google translator is far from perfectly accurate, so of course there is a bit of a disconnect between me as a foreigner and the original text, particularly in artist blogs. In a way, it’s really a fascinating experience as I can’t really be sure what’s lost in translation, and so I’m sure that in some ways I get something different out of these blogs than a native speaker just by virtue that I don’t speak Chinese very well.

Let’s start with Ai Weiwei’s blog <>. Ai Weiwei is one of China’s most renowned artists, most notably working with Swiss architects to help design the Bird’s Nest Olympic Stadium in Beijing. What has happened, in this case, with the Google translator is that a lot of the text is rendered a little bit incoherent, and it’s difficult to get at what he’s really saying. For example, let’s just look at the first sentence of the post created yesterday, on December 16. The Google translation is “10 days ago went to Miami, Las Vegas from the back.” Which at first I read to be Ai Weiwei attempting a bit of poetic verse, but after looking at the original text and confirming it with a friend who is a native speaker, a more accurate translation would be “10 days ago I went to Miami, today I returned from Las Vegas.” So in this case, we have a really poor translation that really renders foreign readers at a disadvantage, so really all we can take in accurately from this blog are the images he chooses to upload.

For other blogs, such as Xu Bing’s <>, the blog comes with an option for an English translation, which, since it is not done by Google or some other outside site, provides a much more lucid translation from the original text. Xu Bing does a nice job of cataloguing his exhibition history on his website, including with each project information regarding the venue, materials, and a brief description of purpose and background information.

As far as sites other than artist blogs, we have community sites such as Art Ba Ba http://www.art-ba-ba.com which allows users to post items in a blog-like fashion that pertains to contemporary Chinese art. So, just leafing through a few of the pages, we see announcements of Michael Lin’s upcoming show, we see information regarding the Guangzhou Triennial, we see a biography of Wang Gongxin, all of it with the option of both Chinese and English as means of expression. Art forum <> works in a similar fashion, although art forum’s English offering is not exclusively focused on Chinese information, that is, they don’t translate their Chinese page, they simply redirect you to the American page.

Finally, we have sites that allow artists to share their own work in a free, anonymous way. <> Hi Pic is a site in which you register and are able to upload your own pictures, while being able to see other people’s photographs anonymously. This site is really just for exposure, it doesn’t allow users to buy images from the site, it is merely using the Internet as a platform for expression and exposure.
In closing, I think it’s clear, even from these very few examples that I’ve shown today, that the internet has really changed the artistic landscape simply by looking at its impact on the artist’s ability to market himself. It’s amazing that an artist today really needs nothing other than a computer to make his work available to the masses, where a generation ago in China an artist was required to go through academic circles to make a career out of art, and that art was dictated exclusively by government and societal demands. Make no mistake, we are not at the point where artists can rely on the Internet exclusively to gain notoriety: the most successful artists in China today still rely on exhibitions to truly make their mark on the art scene. But now an exhibition can be marketed via the Internet, and visitors can respond via blogs or message boards. Because of the Internet, the accessibility of the artistic community has largely increased, and as a result we see a scene that is increasingly pluralist and increasingly populist.

YOKO

http://mabzchina.blogspot.com/
Unedited version of the Artforum Diary pages, which were so glossed
up. This text is tad more critical than the final version.

Over the past two months Shanghai has experienced a flurry of
international art visitors. It started when Christian Marclay and
Eliot Sharp flaunted their NY downtown grandeur at the second
incarnation of the city government run eArts Festival; then there was
Shanghart's "Involved" exhibition, in which Bern Kunshalle curator,
Philippe Pirotte was accompanied by the likes of Luc Tuymans, Knut
Åsdam and many others for the opening festivities; just last week
James Cohan Gallery presented its third exhibition in Shanghai giving
the space over to Folkert de Jong and his jolly, Styrofoam sculpted
simians, who along with his entourage from the Office for
Contemporary Art in Amsterdam, met everyone that was anyone in the
local scene during their extended stay. But nobody was more
anticipated than the crowned queen of conceptualism, Yoko Ono whose
China debut took the form of FLY, a retrospective of her
instructional works dating back to the early sixties at the, barely
two year old, Ke Center for the Contemporary Arts.

"I feel like Marco Polo must've felt when he first came to China,"
exclaimed Yoko Ono during an anecdote of her arrival at Shanghai's
hypermodern Pudong Airport last Thursday. Besides being Ono's first
exhibition in China it also Ono's first time visiting mainland China.
Ono who, like most Japanese, was raised on classic Chinese culture,
admitted that she learned her strategies for life from Sun Tze's Art
of War at the lively press conference which ended with the artist
painting her Chinese name, not on the paper prepared for it, but on
the window curtain instead.

The next day's opening was even more comic when a twenty person per
viewing rule left hundreds stampeding the artists' Ex It, 1997 wood
casket pieces, which had been installed in front of the museum's
entrance, while overhead an Ono world peace promotional video blasted
John Lennon's Give Peace a Chance through a steadily building
drizzle. In the rear of the crowd Shanghart gallery's Lorenz Hebling
and artist Zhou Tiehai shook their heads at the potentially hopeless,
rain soaked wait and opted to head off early to the dinner instead.
As the evening's drizzle developed into a downpour the museum's doors
swung open and the wet masses funneled into an already overcrowded
exhibition. "A typical Shanghai scene" joked one local standing above
the crowds on a platform built into the gallery space.

While hundreds participated in Ono's instructional pieces including
the Blue Room Event, 1966 and Wish Tree, 1996, Ono herself was
upstairs in the museum's lounge area dancing "like a chicken on acid"
as artist, Rutherford Chang observed. Her short-lived dance
performance for the masses changed to a more serious tune at the
exclusive dinner attended by a select few at the recently opened Kee
Club. This Hong Kong nightlife classic had recently been transported
to Shanghai's Dunhill mansions complex, a spectacular courtyard in
the center of the city, which besides being blessed by the presence
of Jude Law just a few weeks earlier also sports a very handsome,
very Zen, Shanghart Gallery outpost.

After dessert Ono descended to the post-dinner cocktail for one last
photo op with the locals before heading back to her hotel to sleep
off the jetlag, leaving the dwindling crowd to soak up her blessings
of universal love—and also the pouring rain.

Critical Horizons – On art criticism in China

http://www.aaa.org.hk/newsletter_detail.aspx?newsletter_id=592

Pauline J. Yao

Pauline J. Yao is a curator and scholar based in Beijing and San
Francisco and co-founder of Arrow Factory, an alternative art space
in Beijing. She was the inaugural recipient of the 2007 CCAA Art
Critic Award and author of In Production Mode: Contemporary Art in
China (2008).

The most frequently heard refrain around the proverbial water cooler
of the Chinese contemporary art world (next to the lament that there
are no real curators) is that there are no real art critics. This
position has been widely echoed in international art circles where
every year we hear the exhortation that criticism is dead and then a
panel is quickly thrown together (usually at an art fair) to discuss
the 'crisis in art criticism'. But while in the West people seem to
lament the relevance or efficacy of art criticism, we inside Asia
seem hard-pressed to locate it in the first place. Leaving the aside
the question of what constitutes 'real' for the time being, let us
first consider what is at stake with regards to terminology. Are we
talking about the lack of qualified individuals writing on art, or
the lack of such writing to be sufficiently critical? Or are we
lamenting the visibility of a certain kind of discursive criticality
in itself? I would wager all three. Indeed there is a global feeling
that art criticism is irrelevant, eclipsed by the activities of
dealers, collectors, and curators. Within China where the
contemporary art system is still in its nascent stages,
infrastructure-wise, and ties to an over-hyped and speculative market
have driven critical thinking aground, art criticism is all but
nonexistent. The reasons for this are multifold, and the complaints
are all well-rehearsed: the publishing industry is flawed and too
market-driven; the education system antiquated; the Chinese language
ill-equipped; and the dominating presence of the market breeds
indifference and slack ethics. But these concerns only serve to mask
deeper issues at hand, namely the absence of a localized discourse
that fosters independent thinking and critical depth.

In China, as elsewhere, the unrelenting force of the market has made
the situation facing art criticism an increasingly grim one. Jerry
Saltz, art critic for New York Magazine, once famously complained:
'At no time in the last 50 years has what an art critic writes had
less effect on the market than now.' [1] Such a statement only
partially applies to a context like China where critical voices are
simultaneously drowned out by the cacophony of hype and marketing and
employed superficially as 'academic packaging' to prop-up or
otherwise validate an artist's work for commercial ends. The
usefulness of art criticism may always be in question, particularly
in times of economic strength, but defining it poses an even more
difficult challenge. The panoply of contemporary art magazines on the
newsstand today in China, with English names — Art Issue,
Contemporary Art, Art China, Artmap, Contemporary Art and Investment,
Art and Value, World Art, and Hi-Art — present a dizzying array of
verbiage on contemporary art, but pandering to popular demand (and
therefore market interests) they can hardly constitute venues for art
criticism. Sadly, a large amount of what passes as art criticism in
China is based on reviewing or reporting rather than criticism. It is
necessary to maintain a distinction between an art exhibition
reviewer and an art critic, yet in China's current landscape
squabbling over these divisions seems a futile exercise. Add to the
mix the recent invention of the curator-critic and such distinctions
are soon obliterated. Few inside the contemporary Chinese art world
would self-identify solely as an 'art critic', including myself, the
recipient of a newly established art critic award. This is not only
because income sources extend beyond those generated by critical
writing, but because to do so implies a self-appointed position of
authority and — perhaps my own bias — suggests a level of civic duty
that is nearly impossible here in China. The fact that 'art critic'
is a label more often bestowed by others rather than self-selected
should immediately send up warning flags as to who is deciding and on
what grounds. This is but one reason why the designation gets tacked
onto the end of a list of other professions and titles whenever
someone deems it convenient, itself a leading indication of the loose
status it confers.

During the 1980s, the so-called heyday of criticism in post-Mao
China, it was art historians who doubled as art critics. The tightly
bound community generated a vibrant discourse that not only valued
independently held views and progressive thinking but carried out
these discussions in largely public forums. Today, there is virtually
no discourse to be found and what does manage to qualify is thin and
lacking in critical depth, or in Lee Weng Choy's words, 'discursive
density' [2]. What's more, the increased levels of self-interest at
the heart of the contemporary art print publishing industry have
effectively steered art writing in China away from any semblance of
independently reasoned criticality towards a landscape of tedious
journalistic reporting and weak jargon-filled 'academic' fluff.

Let's be clear about this: contemporary art in China is run by the
art market. Independence from it exists only in shades of grey. Some
of the most widely reputed 'art critics' in China accept either money
or artworks in exchange for their texts, or worse yet, act as brokers
and dealers for artists on the side. Magazines run by art spaces or
private investors feature articles and advertisements that promote
their own shows and artists; and writers, in the absence of strict
editorial criteria, compromise their credibility by repeatedly
endorsing their own close cohort of friends, partners and associates.
Moreover, the level of critical objectivity that comes from a truly
independent position is not without its financial burdens, and given
the value placed upon wealth in Chinese society, the situation is
especially challenging for those art critics who want the authority
and status that comes with money but have to compromise themselves
ethically to get it.

But again, these are just 'levels' we are talking about: true
financial independence and true critical objectivity is a myth.
Critics can only do as good as the context they work in, and in China
the current environment is weak on infrastructure and strong on power-
driven personal politics. Non-existent institutions and unbiased
writing may be one issue but more pressing is how these obstacles
hinder the capacity for independent thinking that allows a
'discursive density' to emerge. Chinese art criticism is encumbered
further by the fact that it fundamentally lacks its own language and
vocabulary. Critical traditions that exist in the west have no
similar counterpart here, and transplanting philosophies and theories
from outside China may only inhibit efforts to develop and nurture
home-grown methodologies.

Aside from worrying about who has power and authority in the arts
scene — and I think we can agree it is certainly not art critics at
the moment — I seriously wonder if anyone is worrying about the
nature of art itself. Why do we make art? Is it merely a vehicle for
expressing one's inner self, or to understand one's place in society?
What are the ways in which we can assess or recognize its value to
society? I would claim that the real dilemma facing art criticism in
China today transcends the superficial lacks within the publishing
industry and the market and points to something altogether deeper:
responsibility. A question often levelled at artists — whether they
know why they make art — can be equally applied to critical writing
and the field of criticism. Just as art is not about making something
pretty or fashionable, criticism is not just about words on the page
sounding good. There exists a responsibility not only within one's
social or political milieu, but to art itself. Criticism also
requires a responsibility to its own discourse, since the critical
analysis of a work of art relies not just on descriptive analysis but
an articulation of the cultural complexities that lie behind it and a
sophisticated awareness of other artworks, theories and ideas that
precede and follow it.

Art cannot exist in a vacuum without criticism, nor can criticism
expect to survive upon art that is produced solely for commercial
gain. Contemporary Chinese art has turned into spectacle, overly
reliant on visual impact and style and short on ruminations that
reveal critical depth and substance. Excessively mediated by the
market and self-interest, it has lost its way with regard to
political economy and the social context of its own creation.
Following the logic of Debord, it is the passivity induced by
spectacle that is the real problem, not the spectacle itself. We as
viewers have become passive witness to the spectacle. But might we
expect more of art critics, whose job it is to offer insights and
analyze the relationship between life and art, to impart meaning and
value through articulations that engage with broader, deeper beliefs
about the nature of human individuals and societies? What is
criticism if not a way to become aware of the political, (and by
political I mean in the way our lives are organized socially, and the
power relations this involves) and to take up a position on the
beliefs and ideological values that surround the tension that pushes
art towards 'life'? Some young artists in China today may resolutely
reject politics and ideology entering their work but such a position
is nowhere more clearly ideological than in its attempt to ignore
history and politics altogether. What one chooses to accept and
reject theoretically or intellectually depends on what one is
practically trying to do, but without a clear purpose in mind, and
without forms of critical art to enlist artists in a dialogue of
transformation and change, criticism can only go so far.

With the recent economic downturn in the market, everyone seems to be
hailing the return of art criticism. It is time to reassess the
damaging effects of the market on creativity in the Chinese art world
and revisit the importance of scholarship and art criticism, so it is
said. But what form this will take remains to be seen. The efforts of
collector Uli Sigg and Hallam Chow who have ventured to establish
awards for art criticism are noble enough, as are publications like
The Critic, which in a style reminiscent of October, has eliminated
all advertising in favour of a 'text-only' format [3]. But only
truly alternative models can provide a place for criticism and for
discourse to emerge and exist by and for itself. Change might be in
the air, but only time will tell whether these steps will translate
into a true realignment of values, or more importantly, can overcome
the vast intellectual abyss facing Chinese art criticism today. These
things are not easy to grasp, they take time and have to be worked
at. This is in part what criticism tries to do. It is also where a
fruitful and lively engagement between art and life begins.

1. Saltz, Jerry, 'Silence of the Dealer', Modern Painters, September
2006, p.35.
2. Lee Weng Choy, 'In Search of Discursive Density', Art IT, #21,
Fall/Winter 2008, p. 95.
3. Uli Sigg, the founder of the CCAA (Contemporary Chinese Art
Awards) established the CCAA Art Critic Award in 2007. Hallam Chow's
Central Academy of Fine Arts Young Critics Award was established in
2008. See Stacey Duff, 'Does China have Art Critics?', in ArtZine
China online, http://www.artzinechina.com, undated. Also, see The
Critic, Sichuan Fine Arts Publishing House, first edition August, 2008.

Oh, Yoko…by Ben Houge

Oh, Yoko…
December 2nd, 2008

Let me say first that I’m coming at you as a Yoko Ono 小野洋子 fan. Back in Seattle, the composers collective of which I was a member, Seattle School, did a tribute show to her and other Fluxus artists, named for her 1964 book Grapefruits. One of my pal Korby’s prized possessions is the letter from Yoko Ono’s people authorizing us to use her image in promotion of the show. Check out this article that ran in the Seattle Weekly.

I think a lot of the poetic little text pieces that comprise Grapefruits, notwithstanding a strand of dark deadpan humor, evince a certain optimism, the idea that by simply unhinging your brain a bit, you can see the world with fresh wonder. So I headed out to the Ke Center to catch her Fly show opening last weekend with this mindset, in a spirit of goodwill and hope—hope that was mercilessly dashed almost upon arrival.

As we entered the compound, we were engulfed by a huge sea of people waiting to enter. Evidently we had missed a formal welcoming address from Ms. Ono, delivered to the throng from on high in a makeshift podium erected on the gallery’s third floor balcony. But the gist was reiterated in a video that played repeatedly on the side of the building as we waited to be granted admission. The concept was simple: “I love you, Shanghai.”

To transmit this simple phrase, Ms. Ono employed an algorithm of her own devising to encode her message of love into an abstract sequence of flashing lights. She adroitly counted the number of words in the expression “I love you” (there are three), and assigned each word a number corresponding to its position in the sequence of words that comprise this short phrase. Using this system, “I love you,” can be rendered on a flashlight as, “flash,” “flash flash,” “flash flash flash.” In case you didn’t bring a flashlight with you, small souvenir “Onochord” keychain flashlights were distributed to certain lucky attendees.

It’s hard to explain why this is so dumb, but let me try. First of all, the act of encoding this message in lights does nothing to increase its potency or tweak its meaning, so there’s really no reason to do it in the first place. I mean, you could imagine using flashing lights to suggest some kind of emergency message or beacon or whatever, but she didn’t do anything to develop the idea along those lines; she was just flashing lights at people she could just as easily have been talking to. An even bigger problem is that there’s no coherence (let alone elegance or robustness) in the method of encoding she employed; it’s simply a blunt, arbitrary assignation. If you want a binary, human intelligible, time-based encoding system, either do the work to develop a complete and meaningful system yourself (and accept the fact that no one will take the time to learn it), or adopt an existing system, such as Morse code, so you’re at least deferring to other on matters in which you yourself lack competence.

This system belies a fundamental lack of understanding about how language works. Further, it actually erects an artificial barrier between people, because who, outside of the small subset of humanity who crammed into this show, will recognize a sequence of 1-2-3 as meaning “I love you?” (By contrast, you would touch a significantly larger percentage of humanity by simply speaking the words in English, or Mandarin or Spanish or Hindi, for that matter.) It serves only to obfuscate what is apparently intended to be a very sincere and meaningful message. And on top of that, what is the need for this kind of communication in today’s environment of high speed digital communications, when a voice can be relayed vast distances on a laser?

I suppose that what Ms. Ono was trying to achieve with her light code is related to a story she recounted in the video being screened to the impatient masses outside the museum. She talked of how John Lennon once invited her back to his home in rural England and requested a piece she had listed among her works in “Ono’s Sales List,” a catalogue raisonné from 1965 that was appended to the 1970 expanded edition of Grapefruits. In category E, “Architectural Works (priced according to contractors’ arrangements and cost of property),” type A is listed as,

LIGHT HOUSE-a house constructed of light from prisms, which exists in accordance with the changes of the day.

A footnote informs readers that, “Patents applied for, machines, and models for Architectural Works, may be viewed by appointment, only written requests accepted.” Of course, there were no plans, and when John Lennon asked her to build one in his backyard, she responded, as she said in the video, that she had no idea how to build a lighthouse.

The video then flashed us forward to the 21st century, and the LIGHT HOUSE has finally been constructed on Viðey Island, Reykjavik, Iceland. (I don’t know the details of construction, but at a certain point it strikes me as goofy to claim authorship for a work in which all you said was “build a lighthouse,” and someone builds one for you.) It’s clear from the video that Ms. Ono views this as a way of finally granting Mr. Lennon his request. Throughout the video, “Imagine” played over archival footage of the doting couple (raising the uncomfortable suggestion that Ms. Ono’s work couldn’t stand on its own without invoking the music and likeness of the great rock star), suffusing the whole endeavor in a nostalgic and completely backwards-looking sentimentality. Here she was in Iceland, 2006, flashing her coded “I love you” into the sky, hoping that the man who wrote “Imagine there’s no heaven” will hear and smile down on us.

(And let me say for the record that I wouldn’t mind if I never hear that stupid song again. Give me “Glass Onion” any day.)

It’s clearly a very lopsided kind of love that Ms. Ono is promulgating. Nothing about the show suggested equality between lovers; instead the very architecture of the show enforced power relationships, as when Ms. Ono delivered her opening speech from a pedestal high above the crowd, or when the selective bouncers in the third floor lounge limited entry to her performance to VIP’s only. But most egregious was the 1-2-3 encoding that was also the crux of the show. Instead of promoting free love for all, Ms. Ono was saying that we could only love her on her own terms by adopting her goofy and arbitrary code, and she even had the audacity, as an artist in a position of privilege and power, to suggest that we should use this same meaningless code to express our love to each other, as if the love of others required her mediation in any way.

In any event, the message of love was clearly lost on the crowd gathered at the entrance, where the scene was less like a 60’s love-in and more like the frenzied mob scene that erupted when Comme des Garçons launched their fashion line at H&M a week or so prior. There were flashes of anger, name-calling, and pushing as the guards attempted to regulate the flow of people into the gallery. And when she made her hurried exit later on, a crowd pressed upon her all the way from the elevator to the waiting car outside.

(And let me pause to ask at this juncture, What is up with you fickle people? Prior to her arrival in Shanghai, I didn’t know a single person who would voluntarily go on the record, as I did above, as a Yoko Ono fan. I, for one, think the Beatles ruined Yoko as much as the opposite may have been true. But in general conversation, if her name comes up, it’s usually with a mocking grin and a rolled eye; she’s blamed for the Beatles’s demise, decried as the queen of caterwaulers, and made to embody the disconnected capriciousness of “avant-garde art.” Yet on the night of her opening, the place was thronged with people. I can only attribute this to Shanghai’s insatiable obsession with celebrity in all its guises.)

And once the antsy crowd was inside, what spectacle greeted them? A sparse and cursory retrospective show. Photographs of women’s breasts with the caption “My Mommy Is Beautiful.” A wall on which people could write about how much they love their mommies. A tree on which people could hang their wishes. Selected works from Grapefruits enshrined in frames on the wall (which strikes me as somewhat contrary to the spirit in which they were meant to be experienced, but maybe that’s just me). As for her performance, I didn’t make it into the third floor VIP area to see it for myself, but Jutta did, and what she demonstrated to me later was a kind of half-hearted Chicken Dance.

Just inside the door was a new instruction piece entitled “Mend Piece for Shanghai,” which looked disappointingly as though it could have been torn right from the pages of Grapefruits. I really can’t be bothered to go back to the gallery to copy it down verbatim, but it was something along the lines of

Mend piece for Shanghai
Mend.
While mending, think of all the people in the world.
Think of how much you love them.
Mend the world.

Or some such fluff.

And the fact that this piece sounds fresh plucked from Grapefruits illustrates the biggest problem with Yoko Ono’s work. There’s none of the depth or maturity that you would expect from a renowned 60-year-old artist. It seems she’s been living in a bubble since the 60’s. Since her catapult to celebrity, her youthful efforts have been alternately enshrined and reviled, and she never grew beyond them. As often happens with celebrities, the very fact of fame costs them the frisson of interaction with peers that can hone great ideas, for who dares to argue with an established star? But the price is great, for it is this contact with people (as equals), the experience of the quotidian, where real love (I’m tempted to add, “the John Lennon kind,” in reference to that song from the Beatles Anthology, but that would probably come off as a bit hokey) truly springs.