caoliwei

Many believe that the ideal creative environment for artists is self-imposed isolation, which in measured doses is not a bad thing, but you shouldn’t go too extreme. You need fresh air—unless you can create fresh air.

We all have personal experiences, but not everyone's experience is personal.

Making art is a simple thing for me. It's like writing down something I see or feel in a journal, even though I'm not a journal kind of guy. I like look at the works of other artists with the same mindset, such as those of Francis Bacon, Friedrich Einhoff, and Marlene Dumas. In this way, I feel a kind of connection.

After all, personal experience is the only thing that artists can rely on. Being influenced by others is inevitable, and sometimes beneficial, but most of the time it does more harm than good. Just look at Cezanne—although countless people were inspired by him, countless were ruined because of that influence.

Tradition is a double-edged sword. It either slaughters or hones a new artist.

Cezanne has mesmerized many artists, at least in China, and people believed that he was the golden standard in the art world, forgetting that the artist was but an eccentric recluse residing in France. The elements in his work that move me the most, like his stubbornness and anxiety, aren’t unique to just his work, are they now?

It disgusts me when I hear people say that Anlsem Kiefer’s art represents the revival of the German spirit. His are represents not the revival of the German spirit, but rather his own.

In my eyes, traditional Chinese art has a subtle kind of elegance and always seems to be at peace with the world. It rejects crudeness and violence, even though war and violence is present throughout China’s history. This baffled me and I had suspected that these artists had become unhinged from reality, although this changed quite a bit when one day many years ago, in a small temple courtyard of temple somewhere in Shanxi province, I came upon a mural on an old and dilapidated wall. It depicted a historic battle, where the famous general Guan Yu was galloping on his horse, wielding a broadsword and surrounded by severed heads. The sight was ghastly indeed, but the work was executed in such a way that you could sense a joy in each brush stroke and delight in each line. The temple was located in a remote area, the mural painted anonymously and completely absent from history books. The experience cast some light on the past and present issues in Chinese art.

Contemporary art in Europe and the U.S. seeks the “exotic”, but here in China, we fall head over heels chasing after the “Western ideal.” And now since the West has set its sights on “indigenous” art, we are scrambling to return to our roots and traditions as well. Now isn’t that something?

Whatever the meaning attached to a work of art, no matter how great and how universal it is, will only fade with time. It's like the gradual change of a person’s face as they go from child to adult. Similarly, the meaning of art will morph and evolve with time and I believe people in the future will view the art we make now from quite a different perspective. The more time passes, the more unrecognizable that initial “meaning” may become, and perhaps there will be a point will people will think the art before them was made by aliens. You never know.

In the West, works of art are usually recognized for what they are, but in China, people value artwork based on the artist’s authority. The higher up you are, the higher regard attached to your work.

Perhaps until Kandinsky, Western artists would often obsess over the “essence” of each subject they depicted in their works, constantly looking to capture that illusive something. We Chinese artists seem quite unbothered by all of that. This could be an example of either our maturity as artists, or our shallowness.

Recently, the term “jie di qi” (connect with reality) has become popular. But the saying is just a pretense, since no one actually has the guts to do it. Even so, this artificial saying has also become part of our collective reality. Ironic, isn’t it?

It’s not a bad thing if we become sick and tired of looking at the works of masters. It means you are breaking out of the mold to look for that something else. But the problem is we were raised and fed with the works of the masters, taught to imitate their every stroke, until we become not only sick of the artists, but sick of art itself…

As matter of fact, boredom is the mother of inspiration.