Lee Mingwei: Relating to Art and Artists in the Twenty-First Century

Rachel Ng Lee Mingwei: Relating to Art and Artists in the Twenty-First Century t is progressively more difficult to critique and assess contemporary Lee Mingwei, Trilogy of Sounds, 2010, bronze wind art as it is practiced in the twenty-first century. Globalization, the chimes, installation view, Mount Stuart, Scotland. technology revolution, and capitalist expansion drive the positioning Photo: Keith Hunter. I Courtesy of the artist. of artists and artistic practices on international platforms and disrupt traditional art historical categorization with respect to the local and the particular. Is “contemporary art” commensurable with “contemporary Asian art” or “contemporary Chinese art?” The usefulness of such classifications is increasingly debatable. This is not only the result of the extreme mobility of contemporary artists—a trait deeply entrenched in the global nature of today’s biennials, art fairs, and exhibition programming—but also the concurrent flow of curators, critics, academics, and audiences. At the same time, the desire for visibility and exceptionality amid the homogenizing threat of globalization has resulted in resurgent nationalisms and ethnic consciousness.1 Approaches to art are being differentiated by cultural origin, 2 even as diverse artistic traditions and cultures come into greater contact. 6 Vol. 16 No. 1 The increased literacy about non-Western cultures, aesthetics, and histories once relegated to the periphery of Western-dominated art discourses has introduced new registers of meaning, bringing with it issues of translation and reception. Artistic content and form have also come under interrogation. Under these circumstances, understanding both the identity of the artist and their artistic practices is often a meditative process. However, while Western contemporary artists have certainly not been untouched by these new developments, cultural bias toward the West remains deep-seated, and the degree of influence between cultures unequal.3 The necessity of such negotiation falls mainly onto non-Western contemporary artists, such as Taiwanese, US-educated-and-based artist Lee Mingwei. Born in 1964 in Taiwan, Lee Mingwei immigrated to San Francisco when he was thirteen and later studied textile art and architecture at the California College of Arts before earning an M. F. A. in sculpture from Yale.4 Lee Mingwei is known primarily for works that justifiably belong to what, in 1998, French art theorist Nicolas Bourriaud coined as “relational aesthetics”: “A set of artistic practices which take as their theoretical and practical point of departure the whole of human relations and their social context, rather than an independent and private space.”5 Lee Mingwei’s practice, however, is unique among artists working with relational art in privileging private, intimate exchanges over public ones, and in his sustained referencing of Chan or Zen Buddhist meditation and classical Chinese aesthetics. Before immigrating, Lee Mingwei spent six summers in a Chan Buddhist monastery outside Taipei training in meditation and studying Chinese painting, focusing on the Song dynasty.6 Yet, foregrounded in his practice are universal humanistic concerns of trust, intimacy, and authenticity. Lee Mingwei’s background and the open-ended nature of his practice make him a suitable agent for unpacking several pertinent issues, namely, the presentation and negotiation of identity in contemporary art and the reception of contemporary artistic forms such as relational aesthetics or participatory art. The confluence of both in his work opens up a discursive space in which to debate the impact of globalizing, transcultural conditions on contemporary art. Lee Mingwei’s practice has rarely been explored in terms of the contemporary politics of identity and of artistic form. To my mind, this is a lost opportunity in engaging more critically with his art, since most of the contemporary artists working prominently in relational art are from the West.7 It should be noted however, that Lee Mingwei has never really discussed his practice in such wider contexts. The line of inquiry I have taken here serves more as an exercise to mine the issues articulated above and interrogate the framework within which contemporary non-Western artists have been perceived. Lee Mingwei and Identity It is interesting to examine the numerous ways that Lee Mingwei’s identity has been written about, as well as the ways it has not. Identity, as discussed here, refers neither to the artist’s personality nor biography, but to nationality Vol. 16 No. 1 7 and ethnicity, and, thus, cultural identity. Lee Mingwei has been variously Next page: Lee Mingwei, Luminous Depths, 2013, referred to as “a Taiwanese artist,” “a Taiwanese-American,” “a Taiwan- installation view in atrium of Peranakan Museum, born artist living in New York,” “a New York-based artist,” and an artist of Singapore. Photo: Sean Dungan. Courtesy of the artist. “Taiwanese descent.”8 In other instances, mention of nationality, ethnicity, or country of residence is entirely omitted. In another case, he is labeled as a practicing Buddhist or one whose art has been influenced by Buddhism.9 Are these geographical and cultural categorizations of contemporary art and artists still useful today, or do they increasingly risk essentialism? Against the late Lee Mingwei, Luminous Depths, 2013, installation twentieth century’s view in atrium of Peranakan Museum, Singapore. Photo: anxiety over identity Sean Dungan. Courtesy of the artist. politics—the subject’s ability, or lack thereof, to determine its own identity and the meaning of its own experiences— and a postmodern reality informed by disorder, ambivalence, and hybridization, identity occupies an uneasy position.10 The tendency to place less emphasis on fixed labels competes with the impulse to assert individual agency in a time when increasing disruption and fluidity in a globalizing society can threaten to diminish the visibility of minority groups and sub-cultures. On the surface, contemporary art seems to thrive on the former. It continues to push the boundaries of what art is, thereby rendering the notion of an artist unstable and almost superfluous at the extreme.11 The identity of the artist is ostensibly less relevant from this perspective, if it is primarily the form of the artwork that imparts its meaning. Moreover, much has been made of embracing cultural plurality and global perspectives in contemporary art; the titles of the last three editions of the Venice Biennale are axiomatic alone.12 The Guggenheim Museum’s recent UBS MAP Global Art Initiative into Southeast Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and Latin America further underpin this.13 Below the surface, however, it has been argued that the growing commitment to presenting non-Western artists—tellingly termed by a Korean art critic“minority artists”—derives primarily from their “exotic otherness.”14 Cultural marginality risks being equated with artistic originality and value, particularly when this marginality is heightened in an international setting, and threatens to colour aesthetic judgment.15 Often, 8 Vol. 16 No. 1 Vol. 16 No. 1 9 the result is a glamourized pseudo or superficial understanding of the Lee Mingwei, The Sleeping Project, 2000/03, wood, artistic and/or sociocultural context whence the artwork is shaped. In an bedding, installation view, Taiwan Pavilion, 49th Venice age when cultural, economic, even aesthetic currencies are largely appraised Biennale. Photo: Kevin Ho. Courtesy of the artist. by the extent of their global reach, it has been suggested that curatorial strategies and vested capitalist agendas are responsible for such shallow translation.16 While warranting a separate discussion, it bears noting, for instance, that the Guggenheim Museum’s aggressive expansion beyond Western art is seen by its Swiss bank sponsor, UBS, as an opportunity to tap into both emerging markets and the art asset class.17 Lee Mingwei is certainly cognizant of the delicate maneuvering of identity and self-presentation that non-Western artists face upon entering the global contemporary art scene. “In reviews, Western journalists mainly focus on my proximity with Zen Buddhism,” he says, “while the Asian media talks more about the conceptual, aesthetic dimensions of my practice. I guess both groups exoticize me in a way that makes me understandable for their audience.”18 He is fond of wearing Chinese silk changpao gowns to events, and speaks regularly about the influence of Chan Buddhism and Song dynasty Chinese aesthetics.19 Lee Mingwei’s work at the Taiwan Pavilion for the 2003 Venice Biennale, The Sleeping Project, featured furniture he designed after ta couch-beds of the Song dynasty.20 The Letter Writing Project (1998–present) consists of pale wooden booths reminiscent of Buddhist temples or shrines, while the table set of The Dining Project (1997–present) bears a distinct Chan-like minimalism.21 Many of the meals documented in The Dining Project (1997–present) are also Chinese- style, eaten with chopsticks and bowls. At the same time, Lee Mingwei is a naturalized US citizen, speaks fluent English with a strong American accent, and is equally conversant with both Chinese and Western culture. 10 Vol. 16 No. 1 Lee Mingwei, The Dining Lee Mingwei is not alone in crafting such a syncretic self-image or being Project, 1997/2007, wood, tatami mats, tableware, beans, conscious of its growing ambiguity. Cai Guo-Qiang, a China-born, Chinese projection, installation view, Museum of Contemporary artist now based in New York, is widely regarded as one of the world’s Art, Taipei. Photo: Lee Studio. Courtesy of the artist. leading contemporary artists. When asked how he perceived himself as a border-crossing artist, Cai Guo-Qiang replied that he qualified for the categories of “international,” “Chinese,” and “Asian” artist, but the most meaningful category for him was that of “New York artist” because there he could be “a normal person.”22 It is possible to read in Lee Mingwei and Cai Guo-Qiang’s responses a fairly relaxed (or conversely, evasive) proprietary attitude toward their identity and, indirectly, the interpretation of their works.

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