希望我的坦诚能对年轻艺术家有所帮助

Chinese Art

It has taken only a few years to transform a former industrial area in northeast Beijing from a postmodern refuge for artists with more ideas than money, into today's trendy 798 Art Zone, with expensive rentals and fashionable galleries -- but China changes fast. Huang Rui, one of the 'art zone' founders, had not foreseen such a turn of events, and appears slightly dismayed by it all: 'It is a huge misunderstanding,' he says, sitting in his bar-restaurant at 798, the '@ Cafe,' pointedly crushing his cigarette in the ashtray.

Mr. Huang's opinions are well worth listening to. One of the most recognized names in the Chinese contemporary art scene, he was instrumental in establishing the 798 art zone in the first place, but also in saving it from the wreckers' ball. In 2003, when the whole artists' colony was threatened with expulsion, he launched the 798 International Art Festival, putting the former military compound firmly on the international art circuit.

Born in 1952 in Beijing, Mr. Huang has been active and influential in the Chinese avant-garde for decades. In 1979, just weeks into Deng Xiaoping's economic reforms, Mr. Huang, a former 'sent-down-youth' who toiled as a farmer in Inner Mongolia, launched the Stars Group ('Xing Xing' in Mandarin) in Beijing, thus founding the first contemporary arts movement in post-Cultural Revolution China.

The group caught everybody's attention from its inception: Having been denied permission to exhibit at the official China Art Gallery, the Stars decided to hang their paintings on a nearby park's railings, getting in trouble with the police, of course, and gaining instant renown. Some of the former Stars would go on to become major names in Chinese contemporary art, like Ai Weiwei, one of the architects of the 'Bird Nest,' Beijing's futuristic Olympic stadium; or Yan Li, Ma Desheng and Wang Keping, all figurative painters and sculptors; or Mang Ke, a poet and novelist. Their anti-establishment tactics, however, soon brought trouble from officialdom. The Stars disbanded in 1983 and most of them went into temporary self-imposed exile.

Mr. Huang left for Japan in 1984, and remained there for 15 years, exploring photography, installation, performance art and a variety of other media. Upon his return he felt 'exhilarated' by the new mood that had swept over the country. 'In Japan,' he says, 'it can take forever to get something moving. Here it happens overnight, and even faster than one might have wished. It is absolutely exciting.'

Despite his general excitement with China's art scene, Mr. Huang seems increasingly ambivalent about the direction Chinese contemporary art has been headed in recent years, and by what he sees as an excessive reliance on market tastes. 'We have adopted, for art, the same language that we use when talking about the Olympics. We are constantly exulting over some new 'record,' no matter whether it is the highest price ever paid for a Chinese piece, or the biggest international auction. And in this way, many young artists think that they have already become part of a world movement, but we are not there yet,' he says.

The records he refers to are indeed astounding. Artists like Yue Minjun, known only to a small circle of experts until recently, have been making headlines all over the world after last year's auction sales. In October, Mr. Yue's 'Execution' sold for $5.9 million in London, while Xu Beihong's 'Put down your whip,' a painting from the 1930s, sold for nearly $10 million in Hong Kong last April.

It would be wrong to interpret Mr. Huang's criticisms as rejection of the ebullient Chinese art scene. The increasing commercialization of the Dashanzi area has led him to move his studio elsewhere, while keeping an office -- and his cafe -- here. But as the number of shops and restaurants increases, many artists are again following his lead, and founding newer 'artists' villages' further away from Beijing.

Now, of course, some of the problems encountered in the late 1970s are history. The police might shut down a show occasionally, but a lot goes unchallenged by the authorities, who too seem to be impressed by the volume and the value of art sales. 'Artists today have a lot of freedom,' Mr. Huang says. 'So much so that we are no longer searching for ways to express ourselves in the limits of the possible as we used to. What we do not have, and are not allowed to have, however, is memory: We still cannot talk about our own history, neither recent nor ancient. We can portray Mao in various ways, sure, but we are not allowed to go any further than that. Everything is influenced by politics, but mostly this is depicted as some kind of pop politics,' he says.

'Contemporary Chinese art at the moment is too influenced by the market,' he emphasizes. Indeed, 798 today has countless shops, becoming a good place to snap up unusual souvenirs and little artsy gadgets -- although the tendency of making light of Cultural Revolution themes might be a bit too much for some.

Which is why Mr. Huang's recent projects center around historical cycles, using the Chinese zodiac as a pretext and a tool: 'It is amazing,' he says 'If you believe in these things -- and I do, entirely -- you find some of the most incredible symmetries, political cycles, historical cycles, at times it is as if it all made sense!' As he speaks he draws on the table a design of lines and dots and circles, giving the outline of his next installation, for an Italian museum in Rome.

'To live in Beijing is a little like being in the center of a wheel turning at full speed. It is fascinating, and it uniquely belongs to this moment in time in Chinese history, yet it is hard to describe: Finding how to successfully represent change is the biggest challenge Chinese artists are now facing.'

heuristic / / 试探的，启发式的

就在几年前，位于北京市东北角的一片老工业区还是创意十足而囊中羞涩的艺术家们扎堆的地方，充满着后现代气息，而如今却摇身一变成为寸土成金、画廊林立的798艺术区，不过鉴于中国日新月异的发展，这一变化便不足为奇了。黄锐是798艺术区的创始人之一。当初他并未想到会发生如此翻天覆地的变化，不过他对此也感到有些失望。在798黄锐自己开的@ Cafe酒吧里，他一边把烟头死死捻灭在烟灰缸中，一边说，这是一种严重的误解。

黄锐的见解很有些份量。他是中国当代艺术界的知名人物，不仅参与了798艺术区的创立，而且还使之免遭拆迁的厄运。2003年，当这个艺术家部落面临被逐出的危机时，他发起了798国际艺术节，使这个从前的军工厂稳稳地站在了国际艺术舞台上。

黄锐1952年生于北京，已经在中国的先锋艺术圈中活跃了几十年，有着相当的影响力。文革期间，他成了下乡支青，去了内蒙古农村“锻炼”。1979年中国实行改革开放后不久，黄锐就在北京发起了“星星画展”进而为文革后中国当代艺术运动奠定了基础。

“星星画展”始一成立便受到了各方的“关注”：因未能获准在中国美术馆进行展览，“星星”的艺术家们决定把画挂到附近公园的栅栏上展出，虽然后来被警方取缔，但也因此一夜成名。“星星”的一些早期成员逐渐成为中国当代艺术界的重量级人物，比如未来派建筑奥运鸟巢的设计师之一艾未未，中国画家和雕塑家的代表严力、马德升和王克平，以及诗人兼小说家芒克。不过，他们这种反体制的做法很快就引起了政府的注意。1983年，“星星画展”解散，很多成员开始了短暂的自我放逐。

1984年黄锐去了日本。在日本的15年中，他探索摄影、装置艺术、表演艺术等各类艺术形式。回国后，他对全国各地出现的新气象感到兴奋不已。他说，在日本要想做件事，可能需要花很长的时间，而在中国很快就能办成，甚至比你希望的还要快，这太令人激动了。

虽然中国的艺术氛围令黄锐感到振奋，但他似乎对近年来中国当代艺术的走向既喜又忧，他认为中国当代艺术过分迎合市场的喜好。他说，现在评价艺术时就像是在讨论奥运会体育记录一样，为刷新“记录”而欢呼雀跃，无论是创造了中国艺术品有史以来的最高拍卖价，还是在世界规模最大的拍卖会上亮相。很多年轻的艺术家以为自己已经登上了世界舞台，但其实我们还没有。

黄锐提到的艺术品拍卖记录确实令人咋舌。去年10月，岳敏君因油画《处决》在伦敦拍出590万美元的高价后，之前名气一直仅限于艺术圈的他开始受到媒体的广泛关注。去年4月，徐悲鸿30年代创作的《放下你的鞭子》在香港拍出了近1,000万美元的天价。

如果将黄锐的评论解读为对中国艺术欣欣向荣的排斥，就大错特错了。由于大山子艺术区日益商业化，他把自己的画室搬走了，而只在这里保存了一间办公室和酒吧。不过，随着该地商店和餐馆的不断增多，很多艺术家再次追随他的脚步，在离北京更远的地方建立新的“画家村”。

当然，上个世纪70年代艺术家们遇到的一些问题已经成为历史。现在，警方偶尔可能会取缔一场展览，但也对很多展览开了绿灯，政府似乎也被艺术品拍卖的数量和价值所震撼。黄锐说，今天的艺术家更加自由，因此我们自我表达的途径不像从前那么有限了。不过，现在我们失去的、而且不能拥有的是──记忆：我们仍然不能讨论中国的历史，无论是当代史还是古代史；我们的确可以用各种方式描绘毛泽东，不过这也就是极限了；所有艺术品都受到政治的影响，不过大部分表现的都是通俗政治。

他强调说，目前中国当代艺术受市场的影响极大。的确，现在的798艺术区里店铺比比皆是，成了纪念品和小艺术饰品的淘宝之地，虽然淡化文革主题的趋势可能会让有些人难以接受。

正因为如此，黄锐最近的一项艺术创作围绕历史循环，用中国的12生肖作为表现手法。他说，这太不可思议了，如果你相信这些──我完全相信──你有时会发现一些非常令人难以置信的对应之处，政治循环、历史循环，就都好理解了。他一边说，一边在桌子上画出用点、线和圈组成的设计，勾勒出他在罗马一家博物馆即将展出的装置艺术品。

他说，住在北京，有点像是处于一个全速转动的轮子的中心。这确实令人着魔，而且只属于中国历史长河中的这一个特定时刻，不过却很难加以描述：找到成功表现变化的方法是中国艺术家目前面临的最大挑战。