Wander through Beijing's crowded Tiananmen Square and you may come
across Han Bing walking a cabbage on a leash. Han's cabbage is not
a one-act vegetable; it's walked on the Great Wall, along the beach
at the resort town of Qinhuangdao, and in the idyllic village of
Suzhou.
"Walking the Cabbage" -- like all the works by Han, a
performance artist -- is a pointed commentary on China's rush to
modernize and its captive embrace of rampant materialism. "I want
people to see how much of our daily lives are routines that we've
blindly absorbed," says the 31-year-old graduate of the Central
Academy of Fine Arts, China's top art school.
Han is part of a new generation of Chinese artists seeking novel
and vibrant ways to make sense of their country's economic boom.
They are rejecting the political pop imagery that propelled their
predecessors into the global spotlight, instead choosing to present
China as a pluralistic society. Products of the go-go generation,
these twenty- and-thirtysomething artists are too young to remember
the turmoil of the Cultural Revolution. Nor have they had to live
in fear of being persecuted or imprisoned for their art, like many
of their creative forebears, including Zhang Xiaogang and Wang
Guangyi. "China's young creators have gained the self-confidence to
express a brand-new China," says Chinese contemporary art dealer
Michael Goedhuis.
And the world is eating it up. Last year Sotheby's and
Christie's together sold more than $210 million worth of
contemporary Asian, predominantly Chinese, art -- a record sum for
both auction houses. At a contemporary -- art sale at Christie's
London last month, a 2006 portrait by newcomer Zeng Chuanxing of a
young bride dressed in a paper gown attracted ferocious bidding,
eventually bringing the hammer down at 164,800 -- more than seven
times the auction house's estimate. "We had close to 30 people on
the line competing for Zeng's piece," says Pilar Ordovas, a
specialist in Chinese contemporary art at Christie's. "It just had
such a universal appeal."
Art critics and gallery owners agree that China's young artists
are addressing unexplored social themes -- including the greedy
consumerism of post -- Tiananmen China. Greater openness and the
spread of technology mean that photography, video and performance
art are also quickly becoming accepted mediums for China's
multimedia "click, click" generation, just as they are for
contemporary artists the world over. Photographer Yang Yong's
saturated portraits of bored urban youth hang in galleries from
London to New York. "The vapidness of urban life is very much a
dominant imagery in the works by younger artists," says the editor
of Art Asia Pacific magazine, Elaine Ng. "It's very reflective of
what's going on in China now."
Other artists come at this theme from a different angle; Cui
Xiuwen's paintings depict a wounded schoolgirl in the Forbidden
City, whose glazed eyes hint at lost innocence and isolation in the
bustle of contemporary China. China's burgeoning art scene has much
to do with the country's growing liberalization, which has allowed
visual arts, in particular, greater freedom of expression. And Cao
Fei, 28, recently won the best-young-artist award from Uli Sigg,
the world's biggest collector of Chinese contemporary art, for her
schizophrenic video "Chain Reaction," which shows actors dressed in
medical garb performing mechanical movements.
But there are distinct drawbacks to China's scorching art market
and growing international reputation. For one thing, more and more
artists are getting into it strictly for the money. "My students
now make direct links in their heads between the commercial aspects
of painting and learning it as an art form," says Beijing artist Yu
Chen, known for her portraits of babies dressed in Red Army
uniforms, who has been teaching sketching at the Central Academy
for more than 20 years. "When I was younger, the two were very
separate. The first generation of artists didn't paint for
money."
Indeed, there is so much cash to be made that some parents are
pushing their children into art rather than engineering or law.
Competition is fierce; for the current academic year, the Central
Academy received more than 20,000 applicants. Still, only about 500
students managed to pass the stringent two-day entrance exams,
which include a four-hour practical exam, a written theory test and
an English test, on top of having to submit samples of their
previous work. "If a young person wants to become an artist in
China nowadays, all they have to do is show their father the latest
Sotheby's report," says Johnson Chang, owner of Hong Kong's HanArt
TZ Gallery.
Artists and galleries are also trying to cash in on the boom by
slavishly reproducing what they think is the recipe for a
successful sale. If big heads or images of Mao are selling well,
then that's what they'll paint and display. This might make sense
in the short run, but could spell disaster for the future of
Chinese contemporary art, says longtime observer Brian Wallace, who
has been running Beijing's Red Gate Gallery since 1991. He notes
that the art scene today is very different from that of five years
ago. "With so much exposure, it's getting harder to find real
talent," he says. "A lot of artists follow a formula for commercial
success."
Today's artists both depict and mirror China's increasingly
diverse and fragmented marketplace. They're also fulfilling an
important role. "I don't believe that my performance art supplies
answers to life's big questions," says Han, who will be walking his
cabbage across California later this month. "But it can certainly
raise questions in public, provoking people to think." In today's
China, there is clearly plenty to think about.
(MSNBC via Chinanews.cn December 5, 2006)
