|
ASIAN
ART NEWS
Volume 6 Number 5
September/October 1996
Illustration
in the first page under the picture:
Zhu
Wei, China Jazz, No.7, no date given, ink on paper, 62 x 63 cm. all
photographs: courtesy of Plum Blossoms (International) Ltd., Hong Kong.
Illustration
for the two pictures on the top of the second page:
Zhu
Wei, Dream of the Butterfly, No.2, no date given, ink and color on
paper, 66.5 x 66 cm.
Zhu
Wei, The Square, No.8, 1995, ink and color on paper, 129 x 131 cm.
Illustration
for the picture at the bottom of the second page:
Zhu
Wei, China Diary, No.18, no date to given, ink and color on paper, 130 x
130 cm.
Illustration
for the picture in the third page:
Zhu
Wei, Story of Letting Go, No.7, no date given, ink and color on paper,
66 x 88 cm.
World
Within, World Without
By
Karen Smith
Zhu
Wei’s paintings are an idiosyncratic vision of China’s social and
political life.
Painter
Zhu Wei lives in a small apartment on the fringes of Beijing, the city
where he was born and bred. Despite the general problems in finding
housing in Beijing for those without the statutory work unit, the
peripheral location is no fated make-do. It is a clear choice for a
painter who sees himself as being quite different from other young
contemporary artists who have come to the fore in China since the early
1990s. Zhu Wei was “born out of time” although he’s not entirely
clear about how this would have otherwise affected his art except for
suggesting that a decade later and he would probably have been a
musician. His main rub with the present is the association of his work
with the era of political pop which developed at the end of the 1980s.
This is the main reason why Zhu Wei believes he is so misunderstood. As
a loner who largely prefers his own company, he does not like being
aligned with any school of painting or painted images. The fact that
this occurs lies at the root of his reticence, a verbal plaint against
his current success that is aimed at the foundation upon which that
success has been built in foreign eyes.
In
his article on Zhu Wei’s solo exhibition at Hong Kong’s Plum
Blossoms gallery earlier this year, Gunalan Nadarajan said, “[Zhu Wei]
claims his works have neither political nor intent. However, in his
presentation of the political leaders and ideologues of China, it is
difficult to resist such of reading.” In one way Nadarajan is right,
but to succumb to the temptation of that reading is to take the easy way
of viewing Zhu Wei’s art, the instant that one satisfies - or
gratifies - all preconceptions of what young Chinese artists must
be dealing with at the present time in the present climate. Such
preconceptions with regards to China are now well-established, ingrained
in most visions of China, and people have become comfortable with them.
Contradictions disturb Zhu Wei’s art, which is the logical progression
of Chinese traditional ink figure painting, contains recognizable forms,
settings that speak of a stage primed for action, the props minimal or
given undue emphasis. The idea of a narrative is implicit, more so when
the painter explains that scenes and titles from classical and
contemporary literature, film, and music are often used as springboard
for compositions. There are clearly tales being told here.
In
talking about himself and his painting, Zhu Wei is contradictory. He
says he detests people writing about his art, that he is not an
“artist” but a painter and he cannot emphasize enough that his work
is not political in initial concept. Yet, at the same time, he readily
admits that to date, with independence born of success, with two
beautiful catalogues of his work to his name, he is greatly satisfied
with what he has achieved. So much so that he sees no further need for
publicity which he described to me bluntly as being “a waste of
paper.” Refusal to be classified suggests a certain element of
paranoia at work here, an understandable fear of being labeled,
categorized, natural under the circumstances, and a signifier of the
time in which Zhu Wei was born.
In
his paintings, Zhu Wei offers us a cartoon comic strip vision of his
life. They do not form an illustrative blow-by-blow account as
documentary, but are the commentary and reflections of a retiring young
painter with a wryly creative imagination. Perhaps the titles China
Diary and Beijing Story
he gives for various series of his paintings are misleading for the
words imply the kind of China watching carried out by Sinologists around
the world, and thus political or economic concerns. These painted images
are more a “Zhu Wei Diary” that draws almost entirely on personal
experiences for inspiration via which the world outside is afforded a
vision of the world Zhu Wei inhabits. These paintings are given a
special distinction by virtue of Beijing executed in traditional Chinese
ink and wash, painted flat on the floor of his studio on broad expanses
of paper that almost entirely cover the floor space. Comparing himself
to a teenager doodling for pleasure, there are also small works, tall
and narrow works, which are almost more inviting, more private and more
expressive by virtue of their scale.
In
his studio, completed or working paintings cover the walls. Music is a
constant accompaniment to his artistic activity, and postcards and
photographs of bands, himself, and those sent from friends abroad are
the only concessions to decoration. And the curtains which are designed
to keep out the light. This stark, yet focused space is the physical
extension of Zhu Wei himself.
I
began somewhat cautiously asking Zhu Wei to explain his approach to
painting, the techniques he uses, his artistic concerns, I was not
surprised when he replies “I never tell people how I paint, nor about
any techniques I use.” There was a pause before he added, “I think
it would be better if we talk about something other than art.” The
reason he gave is that art alone is too dry and uninteresting. He
reminded me that for all of the two years I have known him, we have
never talked about art. This is true, for he usually steers the
conversation to film, books, or music which was the first passion of his
life. His relatively recent friendship with Cui Jian is one of the
biggest gratifications of his art for it was his paintings that brought
the two together and led to Zhu Wei to create the massive 19 by 10 meter
backdrop which Cui Jian now uses for all the band’s performances, of
which he is particularly proud. Nothing could have pleased Zhu Wei more
than Cui Jian telling him that his paintings “had music in them.”
“I
always wanted to play music but it was not possible when I was young,”
he said, “I had no money to buy a guitar. Now I’m too old, it’s
too late. I was just born at the wrong time. In my next life perhaps.”
The association between the two, music and painting, inspired such works
as China Diary No.16 (the
image of the blindfold was used by Cui Jian in an MTV video in 1995) and
The Square No.9. “So little
of the art being made in China right now really reflects life in China
in this age. That’s why I have such respect for Cui Jian. What he says
very precisely reflects our situation, he expresses what people are
feeling. This is what I want to capture in my work.”
Despite
all the advances, all the trade, all the new and foreign products, the
flashy cars, the bars and the tremendous upswing in the lifestyle of
people in the big cities, that make these cities seem like cities the
world over, this is still China. Nationalism is more widespread than in
almost any other country in the world. To talk about life within such a
society is to enter a complex minefield of interlinked components. This
we can all appreciate, but there are many aspects of life in China that
are so nuanced as to be virtually invisible to outsiders. It is a
mistake, however, to believe that because people are hard to see they do
not exist. The irony is contained in the phrase “…with Chinese
characteristics” that is much used these days. Defining these
characteristics is a problem for the preconceptions are a barrier that
is hard to challenge.
“From
what I’ve seen written about my works so far, I don’t think people
really understand what I’m doing.” is Zhu Wei’s comments. “They
are too ready to see nothing more than a political stance. How can I
argue against that? There are images of PLA soldiers, famous historical
/ political faces, and on occasion a definite satire, but more important
I paint my own world, my own experiences. I was in the army for ten
years. That was a big chunk of my life and naturally left a deep
impression. But you only have to open your eyes on any street in
Beijing, read the papers, watch TV, to see that I’m not painting
anything that isn’t there for those who choose to see it.”
Herein
lies the difficulty of seeing Zhu Wei’s work as anything other than a
continuation of the role of the literati in Chinese society. This is the
tradition of the recluse executing beautiful images that actually
express dissatisfaction with the society from which he deliberately
withdraws. Zhu Wei has not taken to any mountain, for the city and the
life it contains is the source of all his characters. The exaggerated
forms in Zhu Wei’s painting, the caricatures, the expressions and the
incongruous mixtures of forms, eras and appearances are bizarre but they
are not entirely contrived for it is possible to witness something akin
to them all in a day’s trip around the capital. Take works such as
those in the Box series and
the China Diary series, for
example. But beyond that, there is satirical comment of the most biting
and direct kind, found in such works as The
Story of Beijing No.19 (1993), the series New
Positions of the Brocade Battle, the Tightrope
series, contained between the words and the subtle arrangement of the
composition.
The
more one looks at the paintings, the more one can see of Zhu Wei
himself, represented in uniform amongst the ballooned figures with the
thick lips and pinprick eyes that have become his distinctive style.
Despite the poses, the stances, there is an emptiness, a blank enclosing
the drilled-in actions and an air of despondency. Naturally, the smiles
here have to be those of cynicism for they don’t come from the heart,
from real happiness. “Ever since (current) artists discovered that
they could criticize society in paint, everybody’s been doing it
without any rationale. An artist has to have an individual identity. [In
art now] you see all these inane smiles, but anyone who lives in China
knows that Chinese people don’t smile very much. It’s a struggle to
get by everyday. While the smiles may make people aware of the lack of
real smiles in life, I find them empty, ugly, full of underlying hatred.
While my work may be cynical, it is not angry, it is not born of
animosity.”
On
that point we must agree. I do not feel Zhu Wei paints from hatred or if
he does it is so deeply veiled in color and wry humor as to glide past
the unsuspecting eye. Zhu Wei believes that he still has some way to go
before he achieves the clarity or immediacy of expression he’s after
and in seeking to learn more from the world he begins a degree in
literature - classical Chinese and contemporary Western - this
autumn. “I’m slow to think through ideas, and a slow painter. Often
others come out with things that I would have said myself eventually -
at times, ideas do emerge simultaneously with others. Perhaps that’s
why people draw parallels between my work and others”, “That only
means my language is still weak, that I haven’t yet found the best way
- I’m certainly not satisfied with my painting. That’s why I
decided to study literature. I want to learn more about people but to go
back to an academy would not help me. I have no problem with technique
- I have learned all that academies here have to teach - but people
who write use just a few words to bring a character to life. Their
language is already far more sophisticated than current painting. I want
to learn from them.”
Whatever
Zhu Wei may feel, his paintings are successful because they are so very
much of their time. They evoke both the new tide of life in China and
the mysterious aura of the “olds”, that classical side that was
known to the outside world before China closed her doors. Yet these
paintings hinge on those glimpses of the world within China that China
herself afforded the world in the years of closure. This fascinates us.
Of course, we could simply say that Zhu Wei is technically an
extraordinary artist of singular vision who would produce such images
even if no one was looking as he was before he was first discovered.
香港《亚洲艺术新闻》1996年9月/ 10月号
圆形照片说明文字：
朱伟，中国爵士之七，无时间，纸墨，62*63cm，所有照片由香港万玉堂提供。
左上照片说明文字：
朱伟，蝴蝶梦之二，无时间，水墨，66.5*66cm。
右上照片说明文字：
朱伟，广场之八，1995，水墨，129*131cm。
中间照片说明文字：
朱伟，中国日记之十八，无时间，水墨，130*130cm。
下部照片说明文字：
朱伟，放手的故事之七，无时间，水墨，66*68cm。
世界的两面
作者：凯伦-史密斯
朱伟的画作是中国社会及生活的一种奇特幻象
画家朱伟住在北京城外一个小公寓里，北京是生他养他的地方。尽管对于没有法定工作单位的人来说在北京找房子是个问题，但选择住在这偏远的地方对朱伟来说并不是不得不凑合。这明显是这个自认为与其他90年代初在中国崭露头角的当代美术家都不同的画家的个人选择。朱伟是“生不逢时”的，虽然他自己也不是完全清楚这如何影响了他的美术创作，只是在画了10年画之后说他本来很可能成为一个音乐家。朱伟与现实的最大摩擦就是他的作品总被人与80年代末兴起的政治波普联系在一起。这也是朱伟觉得他被严重曲解的主要原因。作为一个不合群的孤独者，他不喜欢被跟任何画派或绘画作品扯到一起。他的沉默寡言正是这种误解产生的根源，也是为什么有人对他目前的成功嗤之以鼻，指责这种成功的基础在于外国人喜欢他的画。
在他一篇关于朱伟今年早些时候在香港万玉堂的个展的报道中，古纳兰-纳达拉坚写道：“朱伟宣称他的绘画既无政治内容也无政治目的。然而，在他对中国社会各阶层人物的展现中，让人很难不这么理解。”一方面那达拉坚是对的，但另一方面人们屈从于对朱伟作品简单诠释的诱惑，是满足或乐于一种成见，即中国的年轻美术家在当前气候和时代必须要去表现什么的预设概念。这些对中国先入为主的成见已经根深蒂固地建立在人们对中国的看法中，而且人们也安于这些成见。矛盾会让人不安。朱伟的美术是对中国传统水墨人物画的合理传承，它包含了可辨认的形状，为情节动作准备舞台而设的背景，极小的或过分强调的道具。叙事的动机是毋庸置疑的，尤其是当画家解释为什么来自于古典和当代文学、电影和音乐的画面及标题经常被用作作品的基础。作品里明显有故事。
在谈到他本人和他的作品时朱伟是矛盾的。他说他厌恶有关他美术的文章，他不是一个“美术家”而是一个画画儿的，他不厌其烦地强调他的作品构思的非政治性。然而同时他又乐于承认迄今为止，自力更生取得了成功，出版了两本精美作品集，他非常满意自己已经取得的成果。如此之满意他甚至不认为有必要再做任何宣传，并直言不讳地称宣传是“浪费纸张。”拒绝被归类有某种偏执狂的因素，是一种可以理解的不愿被标签化，被界定的心理，在客观环境下也是自然的，更显示了朱伟所诞生的那个年代。
在他的作品中，朱伟向我们展示的是他生活的卡通连环画。它们并不构成一部纪录片那样的流水帐，而是一个有着讽刺的创作想象力的年轻孤僻美术家的写照和注释。也许，诸如“中国日记”和“北京故事”之类他给不同作品系列所取的名字具有误导性，因为这些词语的字面意思象世界上那些汉学家从事的所谓中国观察，因而也就多半跟政治或经济有关。其实这些画作更象“朱伟日记”，几乎完全以朱伟个人经历为灵感，凭借这些灵感外部世界被赋予了一种朱伟所栖居的世界的影像。利用传统国画的墨和颜料，把差不多整间屋子那么大的纸平铺在地板上作画，这使得朱伟的作品有一种非同寻常的特质。把自己比作少年涂鸦，他也有小幅的作品，窄长的作品，因了它们的小，这些作品往往反而更诱人，更私密，也更昂贵。
在他的工作室里，墙上挂满了完成的和正在画的作品。音乐始终伴随着他的美术活动，明信片，乐队的照片，他自己的照片，和朋友从国外寄回来的照片是屋里唯一的装饰。窗帘是遮光的。这刻板又紧凑的空间便是朱伟自己身体的延伸。
我开始谨慎地让朱伟阐释他对绘画的态度，他运用的技巧，及他的美术兴趣。当听到他回答说：“我从不告诉别人我怎么画画，也不说我的技法”时我一点也不惊讶。他停了一会儿说：“我想我们还是谈谈画画以外的东西好。”他的理由是绘画本身非常枯燥乏味。他还提醒我在我们交往的两年中从没谈过绘画。这倒是真的，因为他总是把话题转到电影啊，书籍啊或音乐这些他生活最初的激情上。他和崔健建立不久的友谊是他美术上最得意的事之一，因为正是他的绘画使他们走到了一起，并促使朱伟为崔健制作了19米乘10米的巨型舞台背景幕，崔健现在所有演出都用它，这也使朱伟殊为骄傲。没有什么能比崔健说“你的画里有音乐”更让朱伟得意的了。
“我一直想玩音乐，但我小时候不可能，”朱伟说，“我那时候没钱买吉他。现在我太老了，太晚了。我就是生错了时候。下辈子吧也许。”二者的联合，音乐和绘画，激发了如下作品的创作：中国日记之十六（用布蒙着眼睛的形象曾出现在崔健1995年的音乐录影带中）和广场之九。“现在的美术很少有反映中国这个时代的生活的。所以我非常尊重崔健。他说的话非常准确地反映了我们现在的状况。他表达的是人们真实的感受。这也是我想在我的作品中捕捉的。”
不管大城市有多先进，贸易多发达，新的进口商品多琳琅满目，多少闪闪发光的汽车，多少酒吧，人们的生活品质有多大的提高，使这些城市看上去和其他国际大都会没什么两样，这里仍然是中国。民族主义在这里比大多数其他国家都要盛行。讨论在这种社会里的生活就仿若走进了一个机关相连的地雷阵。这些我们大可以赞赏，但在中国还有生活的其他很多方面，差别如此细微，外人几乎看不见。然而，因为看不见就否认它们的存在是一个错误。反讽就藏在一个当今常用的词语“…有中国特色的”里。定义这些“特色”很困难，因为先入为主的成见是一个难以逾越的障碍。
“从我看到过的关于我作品的评论，我不觉得他们真正了解我在做什么，”朱伟批评道，“他们太习惯于除了政治立场什么都看不见。我又能怎么反驳呢？对，我的作品里有解放军，著名的历史/政治面孔，偶尔一点明显的政治讽刺，但更重要的是我画我自己的世界，我自己的经历。我在军队呆了十年，那是我生活的一大部分，很自然会留下深刻印象。但你只要睁开眼睛看看北京的任何一条街，看报纸，看电视，你就会发现我画的全都是那里头的东西，只是有些人选择看不见而已。”
困难之处就在于，朱伟的作品除了被看成延续中国文人传统角色之外，还能被怎样解读。这是中国隐者的传统，表面上画些美丽的图像，其实却在表达对那个它刻意遁出的社会的不满。朱伟没有逃到山里去，因为城市和城市生活是他人物的来源。朱伟作品中那些夸张的形式，漫画的手法，表情，不协调的形状，时代和外表的怪诞，但这些都不是矫揉造作的，盖因在这首都转悠一天你确实可能目睹与其类似的东西。盒子系列和中国日记系列作品是为例。但除此之外，在诸如北京故事之十九（1993），新编花营锦阵系列，和走钢丝系列等作品中，又能在题画的安排和题词的字里行间看到尖锐而直接的挖苦讽刺。
朱伟的画看得越多，越能从画中看到朱伟自己，隐藏于那些像吹了气的，厚厚嘴唇和细小的眼睛的，具有朱伟独创风格的人物形象中。在人物姿势和举止的背后，总有一种空洞，一种围绕在机械动作之外的空白，一种失望的氛围。很自然，人物的微笑都是一种悲观的，因为它们不是发自内心的，真实的快乐。“自打（当前的）美术家们发现他们可以在他们的绘画中批评社会，每个人都乐此不疲而全然不顾理论基础。一个美术家必须要有他自己的身份认同。（在现在的美术作品里）你总是看到这些愚蠢的笑容，可是每个生活在中国的人都知道中国人很少笑。每天都很紧张。尽管这种笑容可能会让人们意识到生活中是多么缺乏真正的笑，但我觉得这笑容是空洞的，丑恶的，背后充满了仇恨。尽管我的作品可能悲观，但不是愤怒，更不是与生俱来的憎恶。”
在这一点上我们必须同意。我不觉得朱伟靠仇恨画画，或者就算他是，那仇恨也深深地隐藏在作品的色彩和毫无怀疑的眼光中一闪即逝的挪揄讽刺中。朱伟相信他离透彻而直接的表达能力还有段距离，为了充实自己他这个秋季开始修习中国古汉语和西方现代文学的课程。“我思路很慢，画画也慢。经常我跟别人同时有一个想法，别人已经做出来了我还没说出来。也许这就是为什么有人说我模仿别人的作品。这也恰恰说明我的表现能力还弱，我还没能找到最好的方式-
我当然对我的画还不满意。所以我才决定学习文学。我希望增加对人的认识，所以再回到学院去对我没什么帮助。我在技法上已没什么问题
- 学院能教得我都已经会了
- 但文学家能用寥寥几笔就把人物描写得活灵活现。他们的表达技巧已远远超出当前绘画的水平。我要跟他们学习。”
不管朱伟怎么感觉，他的绘画之所以成功盖因它们（所反映的）就是这个时代。它们既使人联想到中国的生活新潮流，又联想到中国“古老”的神秘气氛，那中国闭关锁国之前为外界所知的古典一面。同时这些作品也跟给人一个机会一撇对外界关闭时的中国。这使我们极为着迷。当然我们可以简单地说朱伟是一个有着非凡想象力的技艺超卓的美术家，他创造出了这些水墨画图像。 |
