论文部分内容阅读
In Chen Wei’s approach to art， either as pictures or installations， her works comprise multiple elements. Individually， the drawings and paintings suggest fragments of a bigger picture， as if viewers are being presented with the pieces of a puzzle – the exact nature of that bigger picture kept beyond immediate visual reach. In recent experiments， she has begun to focus on installation works， and of a scale quite at odds with her earlier work. In this new approach there is a relationship between the subject-matter she chooses to paint and curiosities from daily life. She handles this relationship well. It has become overly common for artists today to create clusters of small paintings and drawings， and hang them on the wall in suggestive spreads that hint at associations between the different individual components， as if these components are cryptic clues for a pictorial crossword. There was surely reason enough the first time an artist chose to suggest narrative using this kind of shorthand visual poetic. Increasingly， however， such groupings now seem to suggest more than they actually say， and have instead become easy – lazy， even – shorthand for the appearance of profound thinking.
Nevertheless， to mix materials and metaphors in this way does achieve a visual rhythm and a layered， spatial air of drama. That is the nature of Chen Wei’s pictorial arrangements： in her groups， and attesting to the successful way she deploys this strategy， the individual painted forms function almost as elements mapped out in a Chinese ink painting. They have an internal logic and point of reference： of nature， for example， or of childhood （and suchlike）， and we read them as we would a novella.
Chen Wei began working in this manner in 2004， while still a student， and a year before being nominated by Zhang Xiaogang for inclusion in the Second Triennial of Chinese Art in Nanjing in 2005. It was an auspicious beginning， yet more than half a decade then passed before her first significant solo exhibition in Beijing， All About Her Songs， which took place at the end of 2011. The show in question contained a significant volume of work， which， despite the casual appearance given off by Chen Wei’s use of discarded box lids and other such random materials on which to paint， was two years in the making. The group was focused and intense. A series of pagodas， each individual piece drawn onto paper or card （or other more random surfaces）， provided a particularly notable departure. Drawn with pencil， ink， or collaged matter， these little assemblages of materials created miniature structures， linked together by threads and fine wires. The ensemble might have seemed simply decorative were it not for a subsequent installation， which she titled A Forgettable Song， in which the pagodas were also featured and that teamed objects with painting， as well as small assemblages of carefully collated objects. As both A Forgettable Song shown in August and the reconfigured Xian City at the Ninth Shanghai Biennale two months later， this signaled a new direction， and a particular focus on daily life as experienced in China during the 1950s.
Nostalgia has become a marked force in art in China in recent years， and again whilst there is reason enough for its use by some artists， it has inevitably become a strategy too. Chen Wei’s images， however， always felt as if they were related to the past – her past and her personal memories of events and experiences. In the case of both A Forget-table Song and Xian City， the past belonged to her parents. Understanding their personal history is Chen Wei’s means of grappling with the complexities of the parent-child relationship in the face of what is， in China of this period， an unprecedented generation gap. These new assemblages were fashioned from various objects – from notebooks to buttons， pens to articles of clothing – that had been gathered from among her parents’possessions， as well as in second-hand markets. All bore the distinctive flavor of the 1950s， primarily utilitarian forms for the daily needs of the masses， as determined by the ideology of New China. The installation unfolded on a suitably intimate scale and was deftly controlled.
Both the form and substance of the installation could be paralleled with the early works of generational leaders such as the painters Qiu Xiaofei （b. 1977） or Jia Aili（b. 1979）， particularly the latter’s deployment of museum display cases containing documents and images from the past and the present， which serve as his inspiration. For Chen Wei， the association was not unimportant， for none of their generation can ignore the impact of change – hence the aura of nostalgia that has filtered through from their parents’ mindsets to their own. And so both A Forgettable Song and Xian City said much about the formative experiences of Chen Wei’s generation， and of the present， as of the past. Chen Wei is too young to have any reliable experience of the era she invoked， but not too young to be curious and fascinated about things she can only channel， or investigate through the physical remnants of that past. “The object is only a carrier，” she says， “an attachment of delicate or vulnerable emotions.” In her choice of title， Xian City suggests that， in approaching recent history in the manner of an archaeologist， Chen Wei’s generation does not want to forget. So it digs with patient persistence， with the goal of piecing together reminders of the past， in the hope that what has been and gone can be uncovered， and to find the full picture – one that might approximate truths that may otherwise never see the light of day.
Nevertheless， to mix materials and metaphors in this way does achieve a visual rhythm and a layered， spatial air of drama. That is the nature of Chen Wei’s pictorial arrangements： in her groups， and attesting to the successful way she deploys this strategy， the individual painted forms function almost as elements mapped out in a Chinese ink painting. They have an internal logic and point of reference： of nature， for example， or of childhood （and suchlike）， and we read them as we would a novella.
Chen Wei began working in this manner in 2004， while still a student， and a year before being nominated by Zhang Xiaogang for inclusion in the Second Triennial of Chinese Art in Nanjing in 2005. It was an auspicious beginning， yet more than half a decade then passed before her first significant solo exhibition in Beijing， All About Her Songs， which took place at the end of 2011. The show in question contained a significant volume of work， which， despite the casual appearance given off by Chen Wei’s use of discarded box lids and other such random materials on which to paint， was two years in the making. The group was focused and intense. A series of pagodas， each individual piece drawn onto paper or card （or other more random surfaces）， provided a particularly notable departure. Drawn with pencil， ink， or collaged matter， these little assemblages of materials created miniature structures， linked together by threads and fine wires. The ensemble might have seemed simply decorative were it not for a subsequent installation， which she titled A Forgettable Song， in which the pagodas were also featured and that teamed objects with painting， as well as small assemblages of carefully collated objects. As both A Forgettable Song shown in August and the reconfigured Xian City at the Ninth Shanghai Biennale two months later， this signaled a new direction， and a particular focus on daily life as experienced in China during the 1950s.
Nostalgia has become a marked force in art in China in recent years， and again whilst there is reason enough for its use by some artists， it has inevitably become a strategy too. Chen Wei’s images， however， always felt as if they were related to the past – her past and her personal memories of events and experiences. In the case of both A Forget-table Song and Xian City， the past belonged to her parents. Understanding their personal history is Chen Wei’s means of grappling with the complexities of the parent-child relationship in the face of what is， in China of this period， an unprecedented generation gap. These new assemblages were fashioned from various objects – from notebooks to buttons， pens to articles of clothing – that had been gathered from among her parents’possessions， as well as in second-hand markets. All bore the distinctive flavor of the 1950s， primarily utilitarian forms for the daily needs of the masses， as determined by the ideology of New China. The installation unfolded on a suitably intimate scale and was deftly controlled.
Both the form and substance of the installation could be paralleled with the early works of generational leaders such as the painters Qiu Xiaofei （b. 1977） or Jia Aili（b. 1979）， particularly the latter’s deployment of museum display cases containing documents and images from the past and the present， which serve as his inspiration. For Chen Wei， the association was not unimportant， for none of their generation can ignore the impact of change – hence the aura of nostalgia that has filtered through from their parents’ mindsets to their own. And so both A Forgettable Song and Xian City said much about the formative experiences of Chen Wei’s generation， and of the present， as of the past. Chen Wei is too young to have any reliable experience of the era she invoked， but not too young to be curious and fascinated about things she can only channel， or investigate through the physical remnants of that past. “The object is only a carrier，” she says， “an attachment of delicate or vulnerable emotions.” In her choice of title， Xian City suggests that， in approaching recent history in the manner of an archaeologist， Chen Wei’s generation does not want to forget. So it digs with patient persistence， with the goal of piecing together reminders of the past， in the hope that what has been and gone can be uncovered， and to find the full picture – one that might approximate truths that may otherwise never see the light of day.