THE BREAKTHROUGH
A Solo Exhibition by Fang Lijun
March 3 - April 5, 2012
CP Foundation
Jl. Suryopranoto 67A
Jakarta 10160
INDONESIA
Is Fang Lijun a Humanist ?
This essay, a comment on Karen Smith’s essay, “Fang Lijun : A Humanist in an Inhuman World ” is written in conjunction with Fang Lijun’s second solo exhibition at CP Foundation, Jakarta, Indonesia, March 2012.
Despite having to achieve it through art markets, Fang Lijun finally receives recognition within the global art world. A number of texts genuinely attempt to understand the idea behind his expressions. These texts show that his works are no longer seen as a mere commodity in the global art world.
These texts do not stop at recording Fang Lijun’s latest developments. As it is only fairly recently that Fang Lijun receives this recognition, they tend to delve deep into old stories, from a time of his first emergence, when he attracts global attention with his works, related to the great change happening in Eighties China, and the Tiananmen Square incident, Beijing, in 1989.To introduce Fang Lijun to the art world in New York, Karen Smith wrote,
Fang Lijun is one of a small group of iconic Chinese contemporary painters to emerge in the 1990s (the first wave of Chinas ‘new’ artists in the post-Mao era to achieve an international reputation). The first public showing of his work — drawings made in 1988 whilst studying at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing (1986-1989) — took place in Beijing in February 1989, as part of the China/Avant Garde [sic] exhibition. The drawings drew much attention, winning Fang Lijun’s distinctive vision an early taste of critical acclaim. In the coming years, this vision would become a powerful voice in “Chinese contemporary art”, both within China and abroad.
Such “retrospective” texts are no longer influenced by the din of political incidents as found in early Nineties texts that used CNN as reference instead of art discourses. These [newer] texts even tried to correct views from early Nineties. Karen Smith wrote,
Why this should be relevant to a discussion of Fang Lijun’s work today is largely due to the manner by which his images were interpreted then, in the early to mid-1990s, and how that ‘definition’ helped to set an immutable standard for reading Chinese art (abroad), terming it to be politically motivated, anti the State, and full of dissident leanings. Today, one might argue that the political elements in his paintings never really existed at all, outside of the artist’s process of externalizing of his personal experience, which collided with a political moment.
The effect of this correction makes any examination on Fang Lijun concentrate on the fundamentals in the art-making tradition. These fundamentals are part of the conventions based on Western school of thought. However, this convention must be seen as a common denominator in conducting readings, evaluations, and examinations of works within the global art world. The understanding behind this convention does not have to be based on a universal recognition of truths.
Based upon these fundamentals, examinations into the works by Fang Lijun tend to concentrate on his thoughts on an abstract level (philosophical thoughts). Such readings, distorted during the early Nineties, are trapped within socio-political problems faced by many such evaluations. Sympathy-based readings are widely practiced in the Nineties and are applied to more than just works by Chinese artists. These kinds of reading are often used to highlight works by other Asian artists, especially those who come from countries experiencing political revolution. However interesting these readings were, the socio-political issues highlighted at the time could not be considered as abstract.
Karen Smith attempted to discover a philosophical thought within Fang Lijun's works. She arrived at the conclusion that Fang Lijun is questioning humanity through his works,
Ultimately, his work asks us to recognize the social forces that direct human destinies. Today, the broad body of his work is most striking for its incessant invocation of the human landscape: the heart and soul as well as the psyche.
A discussion of Fang Lijun’s work must then acknowledge his references to humanity in all aspects of his artistic expression. Fang Lijun’s art is a visual exploration of human existence; its trials, tribulations, occasional joys, niggling subconscious fears and eternal vulnerability.
True, Karen Smith arrived at this kind of reading through close examinations on the stages of Fang Lijun's artistic developments, as well as the reading of the meanings behind his works. In her reading, Karen Smith emphasized upon the connection shared between the visual language and the message found in Fang Lijun's works—a common way of reading works. We look at an example of her exposition about a head-sculpture installation created in 2005.
The figures are uniformly rotund, bloated even, with wild eyes and plump ruby lips. Individually or as a group, they are almost hysterically mad. There is an air of burlesque perversion about them, an attitude of pure cabaret that vaguely suggests scenes from paintings by German Expressionist Georges Grosz. The details brought to the execution of the individual figures is staggering — the soft pudgy flesh, finely rouged features and perfectly manicured nails — which is probably why the works are so disquieting. More so, because one senses that the figures are oblivious to the cage that surrounds them. Whilst this might hint at the over-arcing social paradigm of Fang Lijun’s native cultural framework, all contemporary societies are in the grip of some frenetic ambition or another. Here, consumerism and mankind’s lust for materialism might be more pertinent a topic than the constraints of an ideological cage.
Closer scrutiny reveals that the bottom layers are increasingly compressed together such that the figures on each layer have been entirely, or partially, crushed: the material of their substance gruesomely drips down the sides of the metal plates. Because this is art and not real life, it appears more like melted ice cream than pummeled flesh. Even so, Fang Lijun points to the cruelty that Man inflicts upon mankind, even those going about their own business.
Karen Smith's text seems to want to show that the questions highlighted by Fang Lijun are human questions, and are not limited to the lives of humans in China. She expounds, “In Fang Lijun’s personal musing on the state of human civilization today, we find a hard, dark, and frankly bestial nature pervades.” At the end of her essay, Karen Smith wrote,
Today, Fang Lijun’s art goes far beyond offering a simple picture of his generation. Instead, it speaks of universal human sensations: as viewers from so many different cultural and ethnic backgrounds our experiences might be quite different, but we can all identify with the scenes Fang Lijun presents both in his paintings and the sculptural installations. We see journeys unfold across canvas; others suffused with static isolation. We find lonely individuals massed together as a group, and introspective souls alone in ambiguous settings. Each piece is a frozen moment where we intrude upon the lives of a mass of humanity; wrapped in the sweet-sour hues of joy; or the seeping pale waves of frailty. That is the human condition, now as ever; seen in this moment through the humanizing eyes of a boldly original Chinese artist.
In the main, I agree with Karen Smith, in that Fang Lijun highlights the human question within a general understanding. And I also appreciate Karen Smith's efforts to identify the philosophical thoughts within Fang Lijun's works, as well as her efforts to show the world that Fang Lijun's expressions are relevant enough to be examined anywhere in the world. However, I feel the need to make a commentary on Karen Smith's approach, in order to seek opportunities for mediation.
In calling Fang Lijun a humanist, I feel that I cannot stop my thoughts from making a connection to Humanism, a school of thought that was dominant until early 20th century. Presently, humanism, which began in the past, is no longer a relevant issue.
I cannot avoid the sense that the choice to highlight Humanism is connected to a particular perception, which views the thoughts found in Fang Lijun's works as being, in actuality, thoughts from the past. This perception is based on a belief that sees an important connection between visual languages used as media of expression, in relation to the message being expressed. The language used by Fang Lijun is close to the languages that emerge in the development of modern art. In addition, this perception is also influenced by two signs that follow Fang Lijun.
The first sign refers to his emergence through China/Avant Garde, an exhibition held in 1989. “Avant Garde” is not a neutral term. In general, this term is closely connected to the early days of modern art development. The term avant-garde was introduced by French painter, Henri de Saint-Simon, as he established a group that included artists, scientists and industrialists. This group, established in 1825, aimed to build a future with positive thoughts. The conviction behind it was a grand idea of industry-led capitalism that believed in the power of conviction in an effort to build a modern world. Henri de Saint-Simon exclaimed, “We, the artists, will serve the public as an avant-garde, to spread new ideas amongst men, we inscribe them on marble or canvas.”
The second sign is how Fang Lijun's works from the early 1990s are connected to Cynical Realism. This kind of realism is used by art historian Li Xianting to identify the development of art in Post-Mao China. In the early 1990s, Fang Lijun's works—showing smiling humans with bald heads—became icons of this realism.
It is true that Cynical Realism can be seen as one type of realism in the midst of many realisms and debates about realism's place in art history, something that has not ended even now. However, when realism is connected to social uprising, our memory is flung back to realism existing at the end of the 19th century, and the Realist Manifesto as introduced by socialist painter Gustav Corbet and socialist poet Charles Baudelaire in 1861 France. This manifesto promoted individual freedom and radically opposed conservative tastes. This manifesto claimed the need for artists to fight for the poor, by highlighting the dark side of life in their works.
These signs, with opposing foundations—one entrenched in capitalism and the other in socialism— both question the fate of the people. This is Humanism. It is not the fate of humans in just one or two nations, but the lives of humans in all of Europe and the United States. The wide scope has made human thoughts within Humanism to become a thought on humans all over the world: Universal Humanism.
In Europe, this thought has a long and storied history, as well as being an entirely complicated process. It found its challenge in the societal structure of the time, divided into nobility, those who had it all and led a good life, and the commoners, the lower classes who had nothing, and led a contrastingly bad life. This condition did not alleviate for many centuries. Many efforts to change these conditions had involved various philosophical thoughts that questioned the truth behind reality (in this case, the moral truth).
The search for moral truth in Europe appeared as far back as the end of the Dark Ages, around the 12th century. It was introduced by a number of Christian clerics, who felt disturbed by the abuse of totalitarian power. Heeding a religious impulse in their soul, these clerics began to criticize totalitarian power wielded by a circle made up of kings, landowners, nobility, armed knights, and even church officials who connected dogmatic politics with politics of power. Here, the embryo of human rights emerged.
he kind of reality faced by these clerics was the grim reality of the lower classes, who were exploited by the self-serving nobles. They faced extortion, threatened by hanging for defying authority, burned alive for perceived heresy against religious dogma, slaughtered like animals, their women raped. Faced with these sorts of reality, the clerics began to kindle awareness that every person is the same in God's eyes regardless.
It needed five more centuries for this kind of awareness to become a way of thinking that could penetrate the center of totalitarian governance and power. In the 17th century, the philosopher John Locke put together concepts of power by delving into the thinking by Stoic philosophers of Ancient Greece (500BCE), regarding doctrines of natural rights of the people with dignity, amongst others: isogoria (equal freedom of speech) and isonomia (equality before law).
This principle was entered into the English Bill of Rights in 1689, passed by Parliament in the same year. However, this system of governance did not gain momentum until a century later, when thirteen American states included it in the 1776 Declaration of Independence, further detailing it in the US Constitution in 1789.
At the end of the 18th century, philosophers introduced a change upon the foundations of human natural rights that was based divine law. It was replaced by a “universally-applicable human morality”. On one hand, this change was meant to avoid the intrusion of Church-based dogmatic politics (also construed as a sign heading towards a secular governance), but on the other hand, there was also a veiled attempt to uphold Godly “traits” (universally-applicable morality). This change was followed by this doctrine: no human rule (including positive laws) is legitimate if it goes against a person’s natural right. Due to its implicit reference to divine providence, this law was well-accepted by both nobility and the common public.
This development is now generally understood as signs of the development of democratic governance in the West during the 18th century. However, in reality, they were not actually visible in daily life at the time. Moral truth did not become the basis of governance in Europe. Centuries-old totalitarian rule remained and continued to persist.
The Industrial Revolution came to signal the emergence of a modern world in the 19th century, though it did not mean prosperity for the people. The lower classes, who were mostly farmers, flocked to towns and cities to welcome modernization and to pursue promised change as laborers. Their dreams did not come to fruition, and they once again found themselves trapped in poverty, especially due to an educational gap between them and those of upper classes. They continued to be exploited and their welfare—their ability to fulfill their basic needs and social security, [as well as avoiding] mortal risk—were far from being met.
In the 19th century, awareness of the [evils] of capitalism led to the emergence of socialism that spread like wildfire amongst European lower classes. Also melancholy, the fear of sin in the face of life after death, and a phobia of any sort of enjoyment arising from fear of dogmatic politics practiced by religious institutions. It is understandable how their anger at religion as an institution grew into anger towards god. At this time, atheism emerged.
Pressure at the end of the 19th century did not let up. The upper classes who wielded totalitarianism continued their attempt to gain more power. This led to imperialism. The idealism behind this was a need to build a center of metropolitan power with the ability to dominate life in its territories. Not only in political life, this idealism began to rule daily life through dogmatic politics of various religious institutions. The idea was to return to the golden days of the Roman Empire ruling over all Europe, by creating a homogeneous Christian society in a Europe that surrendered itself to a particular center of religious authority.
It is a given that this idealism subscribed to expansionist policies of the Roman Empire, based on military might. Industries flourished, fueled by technological advancement dedicated to producing weapons and strategic equipments—transportation and long-distance telecommunication equipments. Outside Europe, only the Japanese seemed to subscribe to this circle of imperialists.
Imperialism became the reason for the First World War, and it marked the unchanged grim fortune for European lower classes at the beginning of the 20th century. It began with a dispute between Serbia and Austria in 1914, and soon spread outwards to involve some of European's most powerful crowns: Russia, England, Germany, and France—the United States was dragged into this war in 1917.
This war was patterned upon Roman warfare, despite the use of firearms. Each country deployed infantries in large numbers—millions strong. As there were only hundreds of thousands of professional soldiers, there was soon a great mobilization of farmers, mine workers and industrial laborers from all over Europe to supplement as non-professional combatants. This war claimed the lives of 10 million non-professional soldiers and caused the greatest human casualty in Western history.
This costly war destroyed the economies of European kingdoms; its effects were acutely felt by the lower classes. The citizens were not just devastated. Famine went on for years. In Russia, housewives and even their young daughters had to prostitute themselves for a small piece of bread. However, this catastrophe proved to be a turning point.
Even when they were still fighting the war, a social revolution began in Russia. The Bolsheviks, who despite not having a significant role in parliament but had great sway over labor unions and the farmers, spearheaded this revolution. Members of the military, who mostly belonged to the class of laborers and farmers turned against the Tsar and nobility. Destitute commoners raided the lands and riches belonging to the nobility and Russia turned into a socialist country.
When the First World War ended in 1918, European kingdoms began to form democratic governments, partially to halt the spread of Bolshevik influence that had wide following in Europe. However, this attempt did not happen as smoothly as first hoped, especially due to various conflicts of interest between members of nobility. The political condition in these European countries had an impact in the drawing up of a peace treaty to stop another great war from occurring. The attempt at a peace treaty failed and within twenty years, imperialism once again led to another great war, the Second World War.
Imperialism also colored the Third Wave of colonization that began at the beginning of the 19th century (The First Wave was the 15th century age of discovery, and the Second Wave 17th century age of mercantilism). Through imperialism, colonial powers built European-based societal structures in colonized regions, with a dual structure: divided into the nobilities, who had everything and led the good life and the lower classes who did not have anything and led a bad life.
A number of reactions rose to defy imperialism in these colonized regions, allowing Universal Humanism to find its real scope. Universal Humanism laid the foundation for the spirit of democracy, fueled the attempt for a betterment of the lower classes through socialism practiced in the colonies. It also became the basis for these colonized nations to fight for independence.
As such, Universal Humanism finally arrived in China. Its most monumental sign can be found in the thoughts of foremost literary intellectual, Lu Shun. He was the people's champion and fought to change the fortunes of China's lower classes. This led him to support socialism, and in 1928, he introduced the Marxist Art Movement. This movement is credited for the development of graphic art in China, and in the beginning, it was used to create propaganda pamphlets that stirred the awareness of the lower classes.
However, Lu Shun never became a communist. He was an intellectual who preferred to act independent. In his musings he asked, could the lower classes, who only wanted to alter their fortunes, really understand radical communism that was built upon hatred? This intellectualist stance brought him head to head with communism. Despite Mao Zedong's appreciation of his views, the humanist Marxist Art Movement ended when the Communist Party introduced social realism in 1930.
Reality showed how grand ideas that succeeded in changing the fortunes of people around the world began in the West, be it thoughts on democracy or thoughts on justice that brought about socialism. In the history of humankind, there is no larger school of thought that can show similar results in their attempt to elevate human dignity.
After the Second World War, this grand idea reached its pinnacle and “did not have anywhere else” to climb up to. This idea had reached its culmination point and could not offer anything more. It wasn't just because it had fulfilled its aims. The systems derived from these ideas—either democracy or socialism—have evolved and they are being applied all over the world. As such, I can see no more space for Fang Lijun to enter.
For me, Karen Smith's proposition of the “inhuman world”, does not offer anything in connection to the general human issue. It has become generally accepted that there will always be good and evil in life, there will be good people and evil people, there will be human lives and inhuman lives.
If this “inhuman world” is connected to Fang Lijun's ideas that emerge from his experiences facing the external world, then my question will be: where can we find this “inhuman world”? Can it be found in the ranks of government officials, or in society? I cannot answer this question from any side, because if we look at it from current life systems and conditions, any probable answer will only lead to paradoxes.
Thus, I tend to look at Fang Lijun as asking questions about the systems existing in life today, and not on “inhuman conditions”. This is a new platform to ask about human lives, more appropriately called social life. Humanism cannot recognize this condition because problems found in limited social interactions can no longer be taken to represent the whole of human problems.
These signs can be seen in Fang Lijun's answers given in an interview with Jérôme Sans. His answers form part of the dialog between Fang Lijun and Jérôme Sans on the sculpture installation he created in 2005, which Karen Smith dubbed as a landmark in Fang Lijun's artistic development. This piece was exhibited for the first time at the CP Foundation in 2006.
The head-sculpture made out of bronze each featured a face of an artist from Fang Lijun's generation. Fang Lijun has pasted gold leaves to these bronze sculptures. Fang Lijun explained that these artists are his personal friends. This closeness has allowed him to record their attitudes, views, and daily lives.
For Fang Lijun, his friends are members of the intellectual group. According to Fang Lijun, they are not party members, not working for the government, and belong outside of the system. They are signs of history, in China's development since the establishment of the People's Republic. Jérôme Sans then asked, “What is the importance of this independence? Is independence a kind of power?” To which Fang Lijun answered,
This question has to be answered in the context of recent Chinese history. During the “revolutionary” period, there was no possibility of having independent intellectuals. If they existed, they were locked away in prison, driven crazy, or forced to pretend they weren’t intellectuals. They had no chance of survival. In my generation, society gradually opened up, allowing some people to take on independent stances, independent thinking.
This group includes some key influences on Chinese culture—people like rocker Cui Jian, author Wang Shuo, and all these artists. Being able to record the people around me, documenting these famous friends is a kind of good fortune, and a huge responsibility.
I added the gold, because these people are still living in this time, and so people have varied opinions about them, some very bad. But I thought about it from the perspective of history and decided that these people must be gold.
This installation piece is Fang Lijun's reflection. It shows his views that look at the importance of the intellectual class within a societal system. Fang Lijun's perception of the intellectuals—they are people outside the system—is quite spot on.
In the interview, Fang Lijun denied the label “political artist”. He is consistent in his attitude artists are not supposed to take sides. In my view, this stance is important when we try to sense out Fang Lijun's perceptions of the art and art-making. He views that the artist needs to take an intellectual position when finding meaning for art works.
His position may come as a disappointment to Jérôme Sans who asked, “Is independence a kind of power?” Fang Lijun tends to look at independence as unrelated to power, which pushes for change. This independence is related to a critical position. We can encounter Fang Lijun's stance in Karen Smith's essay,
Wherever you are, the authorities make good things for you to see and conceal what they say is bad, thereby keeping people in the dark. My painting is about a reality we can see, against one we are encouraged to believe in.
The independence of the intellectual class is related to the critical stance in society as they face domination, and domination is not always related to socio-political power. As such, the independence of the intellectual group is needed in both a socialist system and a democratic system, where domination does not necessarily obscure itself.
In Julian Benda's views on the intellectual circle, the critical position in society is not presented as society's [overall] stance. It occurs in a small part of society that is attuned to this concealed domination. They are the intellectual groups who must face the public because their views of dominance cannot be understood by the public. Their views on justice, especially when there's a certain stability in society, can be seen as a discussion of an entirely different world and life. As this happens rather often, the intellectuals find themselves in a position of being people's champions who are often criticized by the people. However, history shows that great changes in civil life often stem from the realizations and awareness fostered by the critical stance of these intellectuals.
Fang Lijun's emphasis on the context of his expressions, i.e. recent Chinese history, shows how he faces the problem of the position of the intellectuals in a societal structure in turmoil-driven China. He affirms that during the revolutionary period, there was no place for intellectuals. Fang Lijun's reflections can be connected to the China's winding changes that are often considered as a phenomenal reality.
In (Western) view, China's openness in the Eighties can be seen as a sign of a changing system, from a socialist system to a democratic one that respects human rights conventions. Meanwhile, the Tiananmen Square incident, which occurred in the midst of this openness, is seen as a counter-issue: an anti-democratic action and a violation of human rights conventions. As such, China's openness also demonstrates a paradoxical condition. There has been no analysis that tries to look at a possible correlation in these two events, as seen through the roles played by the intellectuals existing within China's socialist system.
It is a common knowledge, that the changes of Eighties China was influenced by the critical stance taken by these intellectuals, although it is not exactly clear who they were or what their exact position was. That they had been present and had wielded enough influence could be seen from prior developments. The intellectuals were targets of the Cultural Revolution that raided universities and dragged the intellectuals into prison, or throwing them to remote places.
In this political upheaval with all the signs of a power struggle, the intellectuals' influences emerged as the victor and ushered in China's “open door politics”. Their position went into limbo once again when the Tiananmen Square incident broke in 1989. Their roles could only be guessed at, considering that the great demonstration leading up to this incident was led by students moving from one campus to another. It is not evident whether the intellectuals, who were the figures who stood behind these students, were following up on their critical stance of the socialist system. Or, whether they were being critical towards the application of the kind of democratic system being developed by the technocrats, the dominant group in the Chinese government at that time. We cannot say for certain what their relationship with the government had been like when the incident occurred.
The close-lipped governance in China made any analysis on these events unlikely to get any confirmation, and as such, nothing is definitely open to the public concerning any historical accounts. Fang Lijun tries to create a historical account on these events. These records, which he dubbed “documentation”, are “off history” records that aim to demonstrate public participation in historical determination.
Fang Lijun is aware that these events are part of a global change, where there are high-risk experimentations involved, that is the amalgamation of diametrically-opposite democratic and socialist systems beginning in the First World War. As such, Fang Lijun's works seem to be speaking of humanity. Here is the kind of problematic that appears in the world now, and has become Fang Lijun's platform for thought. Such problematic appear in the shape of problems derived from systems that began upon Humanism's truths. Prior to the discovery of a new system, all anyone can do is limited to tinkering with what system was available at the time. However, it can be seen for certain, that the search for a new system cannot be reapplied to Humanism.
Half a century ago, radical historian Theodore Roszak wrote the controversial book, The Coming of The Counter Culture — which grew in parallel with the New Left movement and the Frankfurt School. This book was first published in 1968, in the midst of a growing student-demonstration that stretched for years. It began in Europe, then it spread to the United States and even Asia.
In this book, Theodore Roszak criticized conventional history recording that was held hostage by official documents, as such, this type of history recording tends to review history from a ruler’s point of view, because only ruling classes and governments have the [consistent] habit of accumulating documents. This history tends to ignore the role of the public, those who are unable to take account and accumulate such documents. Theodore Roszak doubts the truth of these accepted histories because he feels that members of the public must participate to determine the course of history. Based on this conviction, Theodore Roszak has attempted to record student-movements that appeared in the form of student-led demonstrations in campuses and on streets at the end of 1960s, as historical accounts.
These student demonstrations were triggered by the critical attitude adopted by the intellectuals in European universities in the face of technocracy that managed these universities. Technocracy emerged in Germany in the Sixties as an attempt to overcome funding difficulties faced by university management. Due to its success, technocracy began to spread to the rest of Europe. Since then, European higher education institutions have been dominated/controlled by scientists with a good grasp of administration and management. They are called technocrats (technologists who go on to become bureaucrats). Another important historical note: these technocrats would then enter into government, and their inclusion has become a model for governance almost everywhere else.
For scientists, especially intellectual scientists, these technocrats are not considered as true scientists. [Quite apparent they are not intellectuals.] Criticisms began to emerge as the management styles practiced by these technocrats were thought to hamper the development of science. For instance, they cut down on allegedly-excessive research funds. They erased research works with no evidence of immediate benefits, and were suspicious of new sciences that may be beneficial for future developments. Still in the Sixties, scientists and intellectual groups began to launch campaigns against these technocrats from their lecture podiums.
These intellectuals launched harsh criticisms against the technocrats wherever they can, because they [the technocrats] exploited public trust on science. Through scientific authority, they forced truth based on scientifically-proven objective truths. This “myth” of scientific truths extinguished other views. There emerged a dominant action where the public would provide approval to various politics based on their trust in science, without really understanding what these politics entailed. The argumentation behind these politics was structured based on specific sciences that were impossible for the public to understand. These critical intellectuals saw how subtle domination could be used by the government—even those working under a democratic system—to develop a regime that violated democratic systems.
History would later note that the new breed of science most curtailed by higher education technocrats in the 1970s was environmental science. This type of science was subsequently nurtured by scientists and intellectuals outside higher education institutions. They went on a campaign to raise environmental awareness in mass media, especially television—earning them the nickname, “green collars”.
Their campaign was successful and environmental science is finally upheld. It has since produced several branches of science that were “readmitted” into higher education institutions. Environmental awareness quickly gained ground amongst societies around the world, and has empowered the people to force even industrial developments to find ways to stop environmental pollution. In Europe, this kind of environmental awareness has developed into a solidarity movement, the “Green Party”. This movement is not a real political party and does not have any [real] official representation in European parliaments. However, this solidarity movement has an upper hand—through a chain of demonstrations throughout Europe—which they use to control government policies everywhere in Europe.
In a note he has prepared in line of a historical account, Fang Lijun names his peers—literary figures, rock singers, painters—as “key influences in Chinese culture”. Fang Lijun himself belongs in this circle, and the Chinese culture he mentioned is not in reference to an ancient Chinese culture. Rather, it refers to today’s Chinese culture, which is currently in turmoil because of various processes of negotiations and renegotiations, as well as other interpelative practices. Here, Chinese artists of the Nineties are engaged in a cultural interaction with their public.
This perception shows that Fang Lijun and his works must be discussed based on currently emerging art discourses. It is now generally understood that art is a cultural activity. This belief is connected to the “art world” concept that features in almost all art writing and discussions. This concept shows how examinations into current values are no longer determined by any particular authority (modernism as an institution), that claims to have purview on the search for truth in human life, as an abstract group of people, and thus “mute”.
In an “art world” concept, the examination of values come to the surface because there are interactions between three art world components: the artist, the institutions that conduct these readings, and the art world public. These three components “fully exists” and as such, all of them are able to open their voices and speak their minds.
Jim Supangkat | Curator for CP Biennale I, 2003 and CP Biennale II, 2005
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