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Hong
Kong iMail
Friday,
November 3, 2000
Reality
checked
Zhu
Wei is not only one of the most popular artists in Hong Kong, but his
work also earns him a handsome living. Why then is the artist so
tortured? asks Sherman Chau
'When
I first talked to this generation of artists and found that they didn't
discuss social issues, I thought it was out of fear. Then I realised it
was because they didn't care’
There's
an uncanny resemblance between Zhu Wei's heavy gaze and that of Comrade
Captain #3. The piece could almost be a self-portrait
AZEN-LIKE
calm covers the art gallery like a thick blanket. Noise seems to be
swallowed up by pictures of giant faces that stretch from the floor to
the ceiling.
The
meditative atmosphere is barely disturbed by the hushed tones of
mainland artist Zhu Wei. His exhibition, the Zhu Wei Diary, occupies the
walls of the Plum Blossoms gallery.
With
several canvases and sculptures featuring people in
Mao suits, the question of politics naturally arises.
Suddenly.
the artist sits up in his chair, as if agitated by something inside him.
He screws up his face, he flails his hands around his head, in comic
fashion not unlike one of the Three Stooges. Strange growling noises
emanate from his throat.
Zhu
is imitating the blare of police sirens in his native Beijing. Like the
flash of magnesium in contact with air, the subject of law and order
causes a similar reaction.
"In
Hong Kong, you see policemen on the street. In Singapore, you may see
policemen on the street giving fines. That's OK, they are present and
noticeable, but not overbearing. But In Beijing..."
He
waves his hands about his head and makes the sound of police cars again.
"This!
All the time! When Hong Kong and Singapore police are off-duty, they
don't make a big fuss, but in Beijing, they love making lots of noise
for no reason," he says, shaking his head in dismay.
This
is apparently as close as he gets to talking directly about politics.
His art is no different.
There
is something in the subtle, light-hearted humour that carries a trace of
subversiveness. Yet Zhu's political message. if indeed it exists, is an
elusive one.
The
paintings in the Zhu Wei Diary exhibition bear a resemblance to his last
show in Hong Kong. Diary of the Sleepwalker in 1998. He returns to his
trademark style of distorted faces and vacant eyes that avoid direct
contact with the viewer.
The
sculptural series, China China, features modern figures in "Mao
suits" done in the style of the terracotta warriors of the Qin
dynasty. The figures Jean forward in an excessively polite and courteous
bow.
Art
critics say Zhu's works have a humorous and satirical tone. The artist
disagrees. "The humour is not intended. I'm not a funny person at
all. In fact, I have quite an unstable character. I can't understand
what makes other people happy," he says.
"I
can't control things like my mood. I have depressions."
Is
there anything that makes him happy? Another long pause. "Drinking
beer."
A
second look at his paintings reveals not a single smiling face in sight.
In fact, the large faces with blank expressions are barely contained by
the frame and have a stifling, claustrophobic effect.
It's
weird because Zhu should have every reason to be happy. Plum Blossoms
marketing manager Mami Shinozaki says he is not only the gallery's
top-selling artist, but is also one of the most popular in Hong Kong
today.
His
larger works, canvases measuring nearly two square meters, sell for
anything between $200,000
and $300,000. Plum Blossoms
director Henry Au-Yeung explains that Zhu has simply found the middle
ground between Eastern and Western tastes.
Perhaps
it is his conflicting feelings on the commercialization of the art scene
in China. Born in 1966, Zhu's parents were doctors in
the People's Liberation Army. He remembers his desire for decent clothes
and good food overshadowing his desire to draw. And he remembers crying
when he could not have these things.
"These
are things that are important to a kid, not art." the 34-year-did
artist says.
So
even though Zhu says that artists have more creative freedom than ever
before, and have reaped the harvest of the mainland's economic
liberalisation, he feels there must be something more than materialism.
"The
'art for art's sake' movement that is currently popular is all wrong.
You have to have feelings in your art, otherwise you are a liar. When I
first talked to this generation of artists and found that they didn't
discuss social issues. I thought it was out of fear. Then I realised it
was because they didn't care. Art has to address reality, otherwise it
is meaningless," he says.
With
such a strong social conscience, Zhu is fully aware of the political
context that he paints in. Asked if there is a subject he is afraid to
express, he answers: "I always try to avoid this question. I think
my limitations are most often technical ones. I also know that there are
subjects that make people ... 'unhappy'. But being an artist in China is
not about being safe. It's about being smart."
香港《香港iMail》2000年11月3日周五刊
审视现实
作者 雪曼.萧
朱伟不仅是香港最受欢迎的艺术家之一，而且他的作品也给他赚来不错的生活。为什么他还是那么痛苦？雪曼.萧问
“当我第一次和这一代艺术家聊天时，我发现他们根本不谈社会话题，我以为是因为害怕。后来我才意识到，那是因为他们根本就不在乎。”
朱伟凝重的目光和他的作品《上尉同志3号》出奇的相似。这幅作品几乎可以称作他的自画像。
一种禅宗般的宁静如厚厚的毛毯一般笼罩着画廊。噪音似乎被墙上从天花板到地面的巨大面孔给吞噬了。
大陆艺术家朱伟的沉静的嗓音丝毫没有破坏这种冥想的气氛。他的展览，“朱伟日记”，占据了万玉堂画廊所有的墙。
由于画面和雕塑都出现了中山装，自然而然就提起了关于社会的话题。
艺术家忽然坐直了，仿佛被内心某种东西刺激，他脸一沉，双手抱着头，像是《三个小丑》里的滑稽人物。他嗓子里传出奇怪的咆哮声。
朱伟正在模仿的是他的家乡北京的警笛声，就像镁接触到空气时的闪光一样，关于法律和秩序的话题也引起了他类似的反应。
“在香港，你很少在大街上看到有警察。在新加坡，你可能会看到警察在街边写罚单，那没关系，他们是有点显眼，但不专横。要在北京……”
他在头顶上挥舞双手，又开始对警车声的模仿。
“这个！什么时候都能听到！香港和新加坡的警察下班以后安安静静的，他们不闹，但在北京，警察喜欢无理取闹，”他说，沮丧地摇着头。
这显然是他最接近直接谈论社会的程度。他的艺术也是一样。
有些东西是很微妙的，轻松的幽默也可以带着颠覆性的轨迹。然而朱伟的社会信息，如果有的话，却是晦涩难懂的。
展览“中国日记”中的作品与他上次在香港的展览“梦游手记”的作品有几分类似。他又回到他标志般的风格，即扭曲的面孔和避免与观者视线接触的空洞的眼神。
雕塑系列《中国中国》，把现代的“中山装”与秦朝的陶土战士联系起来。人物都向前倾斜，过分谦卑地鞠着躬。
艺术批评家们说朱伟的作品带着幽默和讽刺的语调。艺术家则不同意这种说法：“幽默不是故意的。我根本就不是一个有趣的人。事实上，我的性格很不稳定。我不能理解人们为什么能乐得起来。”他说。
“我不能控制我的情绪。我有时会抑郁。”
那么有什么东西能让他高兴起来吗？一段长长的停顿，“去喝个啤酒。”
看他的作品第二眼，就会发现他作品中的面孔没有一个是笑脸。实际上，那画框几乎承载不了的巨大而无神的表情几乎可以让人有一种沉闷到幽闭恐惧的感觉。
这很奇怪，因为朱伟应该可以为任何一个理由高兴。万玉堂画廊的市场部经理Mami
Shinozaki说他不仅是画廊销量第一的艺术家，而且是香港现在最受欢迎的艺术家之一。
他的大作品，尺寸近两平米见方，售价在200,000港币到300,000港币之间。万玉堂经理亨利.欧阳解释说这是因为朱伟找到了在中西方品位之间的平衡。
也许这是因为他对中国艺术界的商业化怀有矛盾心理。朱伟生于1966年，他的父母是解放军军队的医生。他记得当时他对好衣服好吃的的渴望要超过对画画的渴望。他还记得当没有得到这些东西的时候自己还大哭来着。
“这些东西，而不是艺术，对一个小孩儿来说才是重要的。”这个已经34岁的艺术家这么说。
所以尽管朱伟说艺术家已经有了比过去任何时候都多的自由，大陆的经济自由化也有了收获，他仍然觉得某些东西比物质主义要来得重要。
“现在很流行的那种‘为艺术而艺术’的运动根本就是错的。你必须对你的艺术有感觉，不然你就是一个骗子。当我第一次和这一代艺术家聊天时，我发现他们根本不谈社会话题，我以为是因为害怕。后来我才意识到，那是因为他们根本就不在乎。艺术必须与现实相关，不然就没意义。”他说。
朱伟有如此强烈的社会意识，他也充分意识到他作品中的社会关系。被问到是否他有不愿去表达的主题时，他回答：“我一直努力回避这个问题。我想我的限制都是技术上的。我也知道有些主题让人……‘不痛快’。但在中国作一个艺术家不是要安全，而是要够聪明。”
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