Situating the Inaugural Beijing Dashanzi Art Festival – the Gateway of Infinite Wonders in Wang Mai’s Work

By David Tung

 

“A few years ago, while I was attending an art exhibition at Beijing’s Xidan Bookstore, Wang Mai shoved a piece of coal into my hand.  This was my first contact with Wang Mai, or better yet, Wang Mai’s artwork.  This was also the first time in all my life that I walked out of a bookstore without buying a book.  Rather what I left with was the dirtiest piece of artwork that I have ever encountered.  Afterwards, the proposal that Wang Mai would submit for The Long March – A Walking Visual Display again involved coal.  However, this time it was not a piece of coal, but a whole pile of it.”  Lu Jie - Curator and Director of the Long March – A Walking Visual Display and the Beijing 25000 Cultural Transmission Center.

 

 

Although the pile of coal will not be on display at Wang Mai’s solo exhibition, Gateway of Infinite Wonders, opening April 24th at the 25000 Cultural Transmission Center, the exhibition will include ten years of Wang Mai’s fundamental works spanning different mediums including performance, installation, photography, and painting.  Also opening that day with great fanfare is the inaugural Beijing Dashanzi Art Festival.  Amidst the media frenzy and artistic hype surrounding the festival opening, Wang Mai’s work allows us to see what Dashanzi art community, a place that has been likened to New York’s Soho in the 1970’s, really is; a piece of garbage, an abandoned electronics factory turned into a dumping ground for Chinese contemporary art.  The story of contemporary art in China is about displacement and dislocation as well as marginalization.  It is also about constructing a history from the scraps, remnants and debris of both Chinese and Western traditions.  The kickoff of the Dashanzi Art Festival on April 24th could mark yet another chapter in this process of relocation and dispersal.

 

Born in 1972 in the northeastern Chinese province of Heilongjiang, Wang Mai has been actively involved in the contemporary Beijing art scene since 1993 when he moved into the Beijing Yuanmingyuan art community.  However, this stay would be short lived.  In 1995, police forcibly evicted over one hundred artists from the Yuanmingyuan art community due to “questionable behavior.”  Wang Mai was one of the many artists forced to find new residences in which to carry on their work.  He, like many artists would move to the outlying Beijing suburb of Tongxian.  Here the government did not bother the artists, yet many artists found it difficult to thrive in the relative isolation and distance from the urban center.  To this day, there still exists a thriving art community at Tongxian.  However, what were once idyllic sorghum and corn fields has becoming increasingly desert wasteland created by the Beijing’s unquenchable demand for water. 

 

In 2002, Wang Mai, along with several other artists, began migrating back to the city when news of available affordable spaces at Dashanzi became known.  Originally an old military electronics factory, the Dashanzi area has slowly been converted over the past three years into a series of artist studios and art galleries, and has become the center for Beijing’s contemporary art scene.  Despite its rise to prominence both nationally and internationally, the tenants of Dashanzi are facing eviction at the end of next year when their leases expire.  The Qixing Investment Group that owns the property refuses to renew leases and is widely believed to have plans to construct high-rise luxury apartment buildings (like those that dot the Beijing landscape) where the art community currently stands.  Even though the festive mood has been dampened, and amidst rumors that the festival will be canceled, the Dashanzi art community continues to move forward in preparation for the event.  Today, as artists once again face the prospect of dispossession, or gentrification (a different type of desertification), we can perhaps begin to read more into the meaning of the festival not only for the artists at Dashanzi, but for contemporary Chinese art.

 

As Bakhtin formulates in his analysis of “carnival,” festivals are not merely an occasion in which to celebrate.  Rather, their usage in society has been to relieve tensions that arise due to inequalities in the social systems.  While the Dashanzi Art Festival is a celebration that demonstrates the achievements and accomplishments created by the art community in a short period of time, this view is inherently limited in understanding how festivals also function as a means to invert power hierarchies in which the base and degraded become celebrated.  Without a doubt, the art festival serves as a symbol of the continued viability of contemporary art in China and its willingness to challenge established aesthetic systems by celebrating these seemingly “questionable behaviors” of contemporary art that normally receive censure.  However, this is due more to a seemingly antiauthoritarian and antigovernment stance than an actual inversion of aesthetic hierarchies.  Artists have continuously used media to leverage Qixing Investment Group to preserve the area, and Qixing has turned towards governmental organizations to put a check on artist activities, creating this illusionary conviction of the avant-gardism of the art community because it is “antigovernment.”  Rather, it is the combination of abandoned factory space and neglected socialist historic memory used as a forum for contemporary art that should perhaps be seen as the “avant-garde” nature of the festival.  

 

Although the timing of Wang Mai’s exhibition along with the opening of the Dashanzi Art Festival was by chance, his works foil the absurd contradictions that belay the festival.  Wang Mai has been likened to a sorcerer and magician because he takes things and transforms them into something else.  Yet, this is only accurate in the sense that the spell he casts on the audience is the belief that he in fact has alchemic powers.  Rather, Wang Mai is a recycler.  If one carefully examines the “materials” of Wang Mai’s works, be they installation, performance, or drawing, one is continually confronted with the idea of society’s refuse (both physically and metaphorically).  An old wooden cabinet made in a communist factory serves as the primary part of his work Misty Rainbow Pass, cultural institutions ritualized to the point of banality serves as his topic in Spring Festival Variety Show and May 1st International Labor Day, and overflow of news media is refashioned in a series of drawings of Uday (Hussein).  These are society’s leftovers and throwaways.  Wang Mai does not transform society’s garbage into gold so much as he transmogrifies it into art.  Like other artists at Dashanzi, his studio is “remade” from an abandoned factory building; whereas the new high rises that will come to occupy Dashanzi at the end of next year are really a “transformation” of this site.  He does not transform old cabinets or the detritus of media broadcasts into artworks, but like the piece of coal, they are the artworks themselves. 

 

What these works reflect is the lot of contemporary Chinese artists.  Contemporary Chinese art is still seen as inferior copies of Western art.  This viewpoint arises from a stagist and progressivist understanding in which modernity flows outwards from the centers of Europe and the United States, and reaches these outlying regions in mere echoes of “pioneering European gestures.”[1]  What is not sought is how modernist forms reformulated and produced in these supposed “third world” centers have contributed to and even at times initiated modernist movements in the “West,” or at least how they are interrelated processes.  At the same time, the word “modernization” in China is increasingly becoming aligned with official discourse; modernization is made to appear as if it permeates out from the central government (the irony that some of these ideas are borrowed from the West is perhaps lost) and people are expected to fall behind the government’s authority.  Therefore, contemporary Chinese artists are caught in a liminal space, not only do they sit on the fringes of the postcolonial world awaiting judgment from the “modernist” centers of Europe and the United States, but they must also conform to the modernist discourse that is generated by the Party.  One aspect of this discourse has been to eradicate signs of “backwardness” in an attempt to create a modern and cosmopolitan Beijing by destroying old structures and replacing them with new shiny ones.  Bao Pagoda on Mountain Top metaphorically encompasses this idea by having a Communist hammer break the famous Yan’an Bao Pagoda in half.  In this environment, Chinese artists are increasingly squeezed out of spaces internationally as well as locally.  From these marginalized positions, they are asked to refashion themselves with the remains and refuse of what society no longer wants, desert wastelands and old factories being the most visible signs. 

 

In this regard, the art festival is a showcase of the remains/garbage of these marginalized positions.  This “inferior” art is in fact celebrated.  However, rather than use this as a departure point for reinterpreting modernist aesthetics, the festival falls into a self-glorified manner that attempts to say, “look, we have contemporary art here in China, that proves that we are modern too.”  The framing of the festival in such a manner is an attempt to align contemporary art practice in China with an “advanced” culture (implicitly Western) and therefore another step in the progression towards China’s modernization (as is evident by the “Soho” label that everyone has seized upon as a reason why the factory should be preserved).  Unfortunately, while promoting artistic endeavor in China, the festival falls back into the modernist trap that figures things temporally through stages and progress.  Said more crudely, the festival attempts to call for a preservation of a site by equating itself to Western art communities rather than utilizing the garbage heap that is Dashanzi to engage in a social indictment that exposes the short comings of modernism’s drive for all encompassing consumerism.  The ironic nature of this position undermines the true power of the festival itself and its ability to invert power structures by elevating that which is base, the celebration of a garbage dump.  Yet, it is exactly this contradiction that needs to be exposed and played out.  It is not that the artists are holding anything valuable, but that they are holding the final remains of what once was valuable to society stripped of its glossy aura that is important. 

 

One should not read Gateway of Infinite Wonders as a cynical criticism about the empty “selling-out” of the Dashanzi art community to the commercialized interests of the art market in order to preserve what amounts to a landfill.  Rather, Wang Mai’s art shows how garbage is also “power laden” by recycling both icons, many which have lost their lustrous exterior, and restoring them to (and sometimes creating for them) a fetishized and posh nature.  In Outdoor Antenna, the viewer is presented with a woman sitting atop a television screen.  With a cigarette in one hand and a microphone in the other, she rules over a giant mound of garbage.  The amount of garbage we generate, as we are reminded by Shohat and Stam, is a signal of wealth; the power elite can also, “gentrify a slum, make landfill a ground for luxury apartments, or dump toxic wastes into a poor neighborhood.  They can even recycle their own fat from rump to cheek in the form of plastic surgery.”[2]  Wang Mai’s work is not just a reflection of this absurdity being played out in the form of the Dashanzi Art Festival.  Rather, it is an imitation of this process that calls it into question through simulation.  The dregs of the media and the leftovers of a factory are beautified art that masks the true nature, or perhaps in the inverse process of subaltern studies, elevates the base and menial to the highest esteem, only to break them down by contradictions that they hold within themselves.  This is the reversal, the upside down aesthetics that Wang Mai presents in his works; the beauty of the base that is presented beautifully.  His art attempts to question the idea that we actually know that which we intend to know.  While Dashanzi Art Festival seeks to show the world the emergence of contemporary art in Beijing, Wang Mai’s solo exhibition asks us to look beyond the glossy nature of contemporary Chinese art and see the beauty of garbage as garbage, to see coal as art.

 

Names:

王迈 – Wang Mai

卢杰 – Lu Jie

大山子 – Dashanzi

 



[1] Shohat, Ella and Stam, Robert.  Narrativizing Visual Culture – Towards a polycentric aesthetics in The Visual Culture Reader.  ed. Nicholas Mirzoeff, Routledge; New York 1998; pg 27.

[2] Ibid. pg 43.

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