The Night Revels: Wang Qingsong in Conversation with Danielle Shang
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The Night Revels: Wang Qingsong in Conversation with Danielle Shang Danielle Shang: I have seen many versions of your biography; they are all slightly different. I want for once to get the correct information from you. Wang Qingsong: I was born in Heilongjiang in 1966. My family moved to Hubei province when my father was transferred to an oil field there in 1969. After he passed away in 1980, I replaced him to work on a drilling platform. In 1990, I went to Sichuan to attend preparation classes for the art academy. I was admitted by Sichuan Art Academy the following year and graduated with an associate degree in oil painting in 1993, and I immediately moved to Beijing. Danielle Shang: When you worked in the oil field, how did you hear about Western contemporary art and the Chinese avant-garde art movement? Wang Qingsong: Hubei was very progressive in the mid 1980s. Many young artists from Hubei participated in the ’85 New Wave Movement.1 I learned about contemporary art from my friends. There were three important art publications at the time that also spread the news: Fine Arts, Jiangsu Art Journal, and Art Newspaper.2 Danielle Shang: In most of your work, you illustrate the diligent pursuit of personal dreams and the uncertain outlook about the future in the big cities of China against the background of globalization and modernization. How was your experience of pursuing your own personal dreams? What were your dreams when you came to Beijing? You said that you considered yourself a “loser.” Why? Wang Qingsong: I took my father’s place on the drilling platform. Even though I enjoyed drilling, I was very aware that the job had a low social status. People looked down upon those who worked in the oil fields. I was not good at schooling either. I took the admission exams for the art school five times before I was finally accepted. It seemed I had failed so many times in my life before I moved to Beijing. After I graduated, I couldn’t even go back to the oil field to work in a more decent department. When I came to Beijing, my dream was to eventually enter a national exhibition. Danielle Shang: You were part of the Gaudy Art movement in the mid 1990s. Why were you interested in that style? Wang Qingsong: Gaudy Art was inspired by pop culture. I was fascinated with pop culture at that time. I realized that our tradition needed to be Vol. 10 No. 5 51 Wang Qingsong, Competition, 1995, oil on canvas, 200 x 175 cm. Courtesy of the artist. synchronized with our contemporary life. Gaudy Art was an attempt to digest what was happening. But the other reason was that in the 90s, Political Pop and Cynical Realism were already very popular. Wang Guangyi, Fang Lijun, and Yue Minjun had a fast and stellar rise. In 1993 and 1994, Fang Lijun was invited to participate in the Venice Biennale and São Paulo Biennale. It was not cool to be a follower. I saw no hope for imitating their styles. I actually wanted to quit painting all together. Danielle Shang: While living in the artist village Yuanmingyuan, you hung out with many artists who were also known as Gaudy Artists, such as Liu Zheng and Xu Yihui. You discussed pop culture a lot. What was pop culture like back then? Wang Qingsong: Pop culture in China was definitely different from pop culture in the West. It started with music. Music was changing in the 90s. Many propaganda songs that once were political and serious were rearranged to become pop songs: not pop songs for the middle class or city dwellers, but folk songs for peasants and truck drivers. The conversion made it easy for ordinary people to digest “high” culture. The repackaging also achieved a commercial success. Many songs about Mao sung by girls with coy voices became instant hits. Danielle Shang: What was it like to live in Yuanmingyuan and later in Song Zhuang? 52 Vol. 10 No. 5 Wang Qingsong: In Yuanmingyuan, it was about survival. The living conditions were primitive. Most of us were outsiders of society. Nobody had a steady income or a stable job. A few people hung out in Yuanmingyuan because they enjoyed the bohemian lifestyle. Song Zhuang was a scene of prosperity at that time. Yue Minjun, Fang Lijun, and Liu Wei had enough money to build their own studios. I didn’t have money, so I rented a place to live in Song Zhuang, and after that I was forced to move five times in 1995 and 1996. Danielle Shang: In 1996 you stated that you were unable to continue painting and finally quit. What did you mean by that? Wang Qingsong: I hit a dead end. If I had continued painting, I would have ended up being a copycat. I could not make painting work, and you will notice at that time other practices such as performance art, installation, and photography were beginning to appear in China. I started to experiment with photography and photo collage. You can see the cutouts I used from magazines and calendars in my images from 1996 and 1997. Wang Qingsong, Our Life Is Sweeter than Honey, 1997, photocollage, 75 x 240 cm. Courtesy of the artist. Wang Qingsong, Last Supper, 1997, photocollage, 75 x 240 cm. Courtesy of the artist. Danielle Shang: Our Life Is Sweeter than Honey (1996) and Last Supper (1996) were all photo collage? Wang Qingsong: Yes. The former was made out of the propaganda poster for Hong Kong’s handover and the latter was made of a calendar: one girl from each month, plus me in the middle. Thirteen of us. Danielle Shang: Were you aware that the Last Supper was from the Bible? Wang Qingsong: Of course. I learned about it when I was taking art classes. Everyone was copying Western masterpieces and making sketches of Western statues: Caucasians with curly hair. All the artworks we studied were European church-related. Such is our art education system: completely borrowed from Europe. It was first introduced to China by Xu Beihong. Vol. 10 No. 5 53 Danielle Shang: I know that Li Xianting was influential in the 1990s, and you were friends with him. When was your first solo show? Did Li Xianting have anything to do with it? Wang Qingsong: My first solo show was at Ludovic Bois’s Chinese Contemporary Art in London in 1997. It was a painting show. Li was not involved. Danielle Shang: I want to talk about Night Revels of Lao Li (2000). Was Wang Qingsong, Night Revels of Lao Li (detail), 2000, colour there a particular reason to choose Li Xianting as the protagonist? And photograph, 120 x 960 cm. Courtesy of the artist. what is your experience in China as an intellectual? Do you think you are carrying out the responsibility for social reform and political progress? Or do you think that you are resigning yourself to the state of Han Xizai3 because you feel disappointed and powerless about China’s reality? Wang Qingsong: I didn’t intend to involve him. He was so famous and idolized, and I was nobody. I was actually intimidated by him. Before the photo shoot, I had a conversation with Li Xianting, and when he heard about my project, his eyes lit up. He told me that he just finished an article on the destiny of Chinese literati and Night Revels of Han Xizai. He volunteered to play the role of Han Xizai for my shoot after our talk. I originally hired someone else who had a long beard and looked very much like the figure in the original painting. But Lao Li had something that nobody else had: his manner, his emotional depth, and his experience in life. He was the perfect Han Xizai. After I developed the film, I was profoundly impressed with his expression of powerlessness and stoicism; it was precious. You know, what happened to Han Xizai a thousand years ago is not different from what happens to today’s intellectuals. Li Xianting was not acting. These were his true feelings. In 2000, when the Chinese government began to become involved with contemporary art, many renowned artists collaborated with the government. Li Xianting never verbalized his disapproval, but I could see it on his face. Once I spent the 54 Vol. 10 No. 5 night on the sofa at his home. He asked me: “Do you know who has slept on this sofa before? From Luo Zhongli to Fang Lijun to Wang Guangyi. They all have slept here. Now you.” His sofa was a metaphor for the Chinese contemporary art scene. He saw enough of coming-and-going and was skeptical about the clueless illusion of success. Danielle Shang: You sold all your paintings by the end of the 1990s. You don’t have any paintings left, do you? Wang Qingsong: Technically I didn’t sell anything. Nobody bought my paintings. But I begged and put pressure on a few people to pay for my paintings because my mom was fatally ill and I needed money for the hospital bills. In 1999, I let three of my biggest paintings go for only 10,000 RMB. I raised about 20,000 RMB for my mom. Danielle Shang: Before 2000, when you were beginning your photography, you could only afford to take pictures of yourself. How were you able to rent large film studios, hire numerous models, and build elaborate sets after 2000? Wang Qingsong: Money was tight in the 1990s.