Arriving in Beijing at pinnacle of worst air ever (technical term: “beyond index”) a while back I must confess it never occurred to me that a wholly different “view” was right in front of my eyes (they were in fact largely closed because it hurt to have them open):
Of course, I’m not responsible for them. These are from Zhong Biao’s microblog. Source of all that’s good.
Given that so much of Zhong Biao’s art resides in the 妙 (a hard word to translate–“marvel-ful”?) of his juxtapositions, the unifying force of many of his images can be found in the title. Zhong does not use “untitled,” which might seem a reasonable approach given the degree to which the images seem to speak for themselves. Still, he chooses to name each one, and this process is itself worthy of note.
I think the titles can be roughly stratified into two general categories or better yet poles between which we could situate individual cases on some point of the continuum. The one side of the equation would be the relatively obvious correlation: a painting of a building entitled “building;” the other side the less obvious–a mess of strokes entitled, well, just about any—-thing. Most of what Zhong paints resides in a comfortable grey area in-between, with titles adding something to the experience of the painting, but rarely too much. Take, for instance, “Veil of the Road”
Referentially speaking, I wonder if the “veil” of this painting signifies to the blanket of pollution that covers most of China most of the time in recent decades. Zhong Biao is certainly a student of the sky, of light, of atmosphere, and he paints the limpid blue just as he paints the grey haze, with an exacting eye. This one, clearly, goes beyond haze, but also figures, in mad swirls, the kind of conditions that come with breakneck speed development.
Taking the matter a step further, into completely (?) abstract, is “Humid Season”:
Then there are the images which seem to conform in some obvious way, but on reflection one realizes that they are at odds, pulling the image in another direction entirely. Such is the case in “Roiling Landscape”
The landscape of “Roiling Landscape” is, literally in Chinese, “mountain water”, which suggests a posture vis a vis that natural environment that has a long history in China. Such a position is imbued with a philosophy, a way as well as a subject of painting. To shift to an urban scene, a snarl of highways, buildings, is to modulate out of this philosophical position entirely. This is particularly true in the prominence of the human figures swinging above it all, figures who from the classical painting point of view rudely upset the diminished, often nearly imperceptible place humans are supposed to occupy on the landscape.
Again, this image captures China’s development beautifully. The experience, which Zhong often paints, is not only one of flying, but one of falling, backwards, perilously perhaps. This was the joy of the swing when we were children (not to say they can’t still be enjoyed), although part of that joy was also knowing the thing was securely fastened. In the case of Chinese urban development that may be too much to assume. Thus, in translating 荡漾 I’ve chosen “roiling,” where something more like rippling would be more common. I think this image is a case where Zhong’s naming, his abstractions, and his urban theme come together for maximal effect.
Just returned from close to three weeks in China. Terrific trip, one of the highlights of which was watching Zhong Biao actually begin one of his canvases. Here a short video
Continuing my theme of artists and architects. It is well-known that Ai Weiwei was involved in the creation of the “Bird’s Nest” structure for the Beijing Olympics. In my most recent trip to Zhong Biao’s studio, I find that he, too, has invested in architectual building software and is “advising” on, if not flat out creating, designs for structures himself. In this case, it is a small development on the banks of the Lake Erhai in Yunnan Province. The lake is increasingly trendy recreational spot, particularly for cultural producers in the Southwest. Here a typical photo:
Zhong Biao was kind enough to share with me the current version of his work on the project. At the moment, it appears as follows:
I find most intriguing are the glass cubes which occupy the top floor and center of the structure. The same from another vantage point:
shows how one could pass beneath the glass-encolsed sitting area. Another intriguing question is how the structure would function (as far as I can tell the developers are still wrestling with this issue). The children and dog in foreground of second image (no doubt selections from a template provided with the program) would suggest (perhaps?) single-family? The various configurations of chairs and tables, meanwhile, suggest outdoor cafes, or other types of recreational spaces.
But perhaps more than the facts of contemporary architecture itself (interesting enough), I find artistic engagement with the built environment to be one of the most compelling in China right now. Contemporary artists whose language is even in part urban imagery have at their disposal a wealth of chronotopic possibility that is, because of China’s scale and pace of development, unprecedented. Zhong Biao, whose work I’ve mentioned elsewhere in this blog and whose success depends in large part on how he is able to provide acutely real and yet highly stylized versions of contemporary urban experience, often features buildings as ideological structures. They are “figures” of China’s modern history, whether as traditional compounds slated for demolition, skyscrapers symbolizing the arrival of new economic policy (and prosperity), or just piles of rubble, whose implications are rich but rather difficult to paraphrase. In the following, entitled “Catchers in the Rye”, a classic urban-rural contrast is in effect:
More subtly, the detritus of rapid development is first caught in his digital camera (one of the major elements of his creative process) as follows:
and then rendered, charcoal, and acrylic on canvas, in the image: “Body Temperature”
Zhong’s approach is to combine images like the recently destroyed building above and an unmade bed in striking combination. I’ve described (Yishu: Journal of Contemporary Chinese Art Vol 9, #2, pp 8-21) the effect of such juxtaposition as uncanny, as the artist manages to tap deeply and simultaneously into what is both strange and also oddly familiar. His ability to achieve such resonate combinations has a lot to do with growing up in this particular generation of China’s urban development.
