fluktor -|||- study - office - newsletter July 13, 2005

China Daily 07/07/2005
BALANCING ACT
Tan Rui

When Fang Lijun graduated from the print making department of the Central Academy of Fine Arts in 1989, he made an exceptional decision to most people at that time. In a time when the ideal, yet inevitable, outlet for college graduates was to follow the assigned job positions in various work units, Fang, at the age of 26, did not look for any work unit to take him on, but chose to be an independent professional artist living on his own.

In February of the same year, Fang, then still a student, took part in China's first national modern art exhibition in Beijing, during which he displayed, for the first time, his branded paintings of bald headed figures. Ever since, he has been pressing on with a personalized image of bald heads, both in his paintings and his real life. Nowadays, Fang Lijun has become arguably China's most shining "star painter" with successful popularity both at home and abroad.

"It (being called the most shining 'star painter' in China) has nothing to do with me. I am just an ordinary person," Fang said.

Born in 1963 in Handan, Hebei Province, Fang's life became artistic in 1980 when he entered the Hebei Light Industry School to study china and pottery art. In 1985, two years after he graduated from the school, he became a print major at the Central Academy of Fine Arts, where he met a flood of Western thoughts and images which led to a vigorous "new art movement" in the Chinese art circle.

Fang's art became more personal, tracking every step of his thoughts.

"The fantasticality of humanity is absolutely a huge convulsion and enlightenment to me. Humanity has always been the theme of my works, which I interpreted from different angles in different phases," Fang said.

"Currently speaking, my interest is in this aspect. Humans and humanity always remain a mystery to me."

As one of the early active avant-garde artists in China, Fang is widely labelled as the guru of China's "cynic realism," a coined phrase used to describe a small group of artists who take a playful, mocking attitude toward social life and issues. Whether young or old, students or peasants, exciting or bemused, all men in his paintings feature exaggerated expressions and all are bald-headed.

"I find the meaning of the bald head is a great and ambiguous thing. Bald heads are a bit rebellious, but also unclear. For example, monks, soldiers and prisoners are all bald-headed. The appearance of a bald head can eliminate individuality completely, which is totally different from our education. To me, the importance of a bald head is that it annuls the concept of a certain individual to manifest the concept of a person as a whole in a more forceful way. In art history, seldom did any artist bring the common people to the front of the stage," Fang said.

The artist, who has been sporting a shaved head since college, began receiving attention from both home and abroad soon after his art hit the scene. One of his works was even used for the cover of Time magazine in 1993. Fang found himself suddenly in the spotlight of the art circle internationally, and his works became hotly pursued by art establishments and collectors around the world. Despite disputes and comments, Fang proved himself to be a successful artist representing Chinese modern art with a high reputation. As time elapsed, Fang pulled through the phase of excitement and retained his understanding about success, art and life.

"Compared to my original painting intentions, many things have surpassed my original anticipation. The word 'success' does not have too much attraction to me. It is right for one to just live naturally," Fang said.

Like many other artists, Fang dwells in the so-called artists zone Songzhuang Village, where he bought a house and a two-storey studio prominently covered by flourishing Boston ivy. There, he spends his daytime leisurely, either painting, making arrangements, writing something, managing his painting and restaurant businesses or receiving an interview. Lunch is usually enjoyed with his family while dinner is often devoted to accompanying friends outside.

Different from the general conception of what a larruping life and attitude an avant-garde artist should have, Fang is actually quite "market-oriented." Apart from the wide employment of Chinese elements in his paintings to cater to foreign tastes, Fang also opened a stylish restaurant he regards as a media linking him to the real world.

"I work in the studio most of my time. After a long time, I feel terrible and a strong sense of crisis because a painter can become a madman. There isn't a social relation in that state, which means there is no possibility for others to correct you," Fang said. "But running a restaurant, I have to consider the cost and earnings. It provides me with a socialized space which enables me to be a natural person because you cannot take your art career as an excuse and reason to become a mad dog. Of course, the restaurant has many other functions as a place for me to meet my friends, to make money and to have food. It proves one's business ability and poses an important test to see whether you can cooperate with others."

As for the question of how an artists should balance between art and the market, he simply said: "To me, the market is just an additional value like the sound of wind when you run."

http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/english/doc/2005-07/08/content_458313.htm

***************************

the standard, July 9-10, 2005
Native sideshow
Annie Huang

[images] Above: Yasa T'iehmu, 45, a member of the Taiwanese aboriginal tribe Taiya, in front of one of his many popular paintings in his Nanshih River home. Below: Paintings on plates sit to dry in his home workshop. Coloring a drawing - PHOTO BY AP

In a valley of pristine bamboo and cypress trees, Yasa T'iehmu painstakingly adds tufts of red and yellow flowers to his painting of a slender, nude aboriginal woman.

The woman has long black hair strangely reminiscent of the surging waterfall in the background.

"That's a fellow tribal woman I once saw taking a hot spring bath,'' he says, leaning over a simple wooden table outside his red tin-roofed home in Wulai, a village about 20 kilometers southwest of the Taipei suburb of Xindian.

Wulai sits in the towering Fushan Mountain Range, seat of the Taiya tribe, one of 11 aboriginal groups whose 430,000 members make up a little less than 2 percent of the 23 million people living on this economically booming island. There are about 60,000 Taiya.

Anthropologists say the aboriginals' ancestors came to Taiwan from nearby Pacific islands 6,000 years ago. Other groups - mostly Han Chinese - began migrating from the Asian mainland about four centuries ago, but the aboriginals long kept to themselves, living on hunting and subsistence farming up and down Taiwan's 400km mountainous spine.

In recent years, however, as more of their people have been assimilated into Taiwan's increasingly complex urban society, the aboriginals have been fighting a losing battle to maintain a separate cultural identity.

It is a phenomenon that Yasa says his art is dedicated to reversing.

"I draw from memories,'' he says, leafing through his rich paintings of tribal people farming, weaving, fishing and courting under a tropical moonlit sky.

"Our children barely speak the Taiya language. They look at my pictures and exclaim: `This was how we aboriginals looked in the old days.'''

Yasa is not alone in seeking to preserve Taiya traditions.

Deeper in the mountains, T'iehmu A'yung and dozens of his neighbors are determined to keep tranquil Fushan village isolated from the influences of a tourism center set up 20 kilometers away for visitors who want a look at aboriginal lifestyles.

Outwardly, however, the aboriginals aren't that different any more.

Their bamboo and wooden houses have mostly been replaced by concrete structures equipped with basic modern amenities, although the homes retain traditional slanting roofs to sluice away the frequent downpours in the mountains.

Face-tattooing was once a symbol of aboriginal adulthood, but it has been given up as a remnant of a barbarous past. Many aboriginals reserve their colorful traditional clothes and elaborate headwear for tribal festivals where they dance and sing for days.

Wulai itself has become a gaudy collection of cheap souvenir shops and uninspiring restaurants catering to tourists from Taipei.

Yet tourism is a boon for the Taiya, giving them much needed work as tour bus drivers and small scale retailers - reason enough to stay at home.

T'iehmu, 46, a small sturdy man, takes hikers on daylong treks up and down narrow mountain trails. To supply the small restaurant run by his wife, he raises vegetables, traps wild boar and chops logs for growing delectable wild mushrooms.

He says his three brothers have moved away from the village and he fears his two young children might be tempted to follow them to the bright lights of Taipei.

He points to his latest overnight catch, a squinting boar trapped in a secure wooden cage.

"We don't keep more than one or two of these animals for fear of dirtying the water,'' he says, explaining that the nearby Nanshih River is the main source of tap water for residents in the capital and polluters are subject to severe fines.

He says his own fishing has recently been confined to a distant creek because stocks in the Nanshih dwindled and tribal leaders imposed a ban. Now, he says, he treks over several hills to catch shrimp and indigenous fish in his newfound fishing preserve.

In another part of the village, Kao Chiu-mei is hard at work at the Fumiyo workshop, started with 10 other women to preserve the ancient tradition of weaving floral motifs and other patterns on white linen.

She says she originally learned the craft from her elderly mother and is committed to ensuring it is passed along to future generations.

"We would hate to see the art being lost forever,'' she says.

Still, with many tribal people attracted by the relatively easy life in Taipei and other Taiwanese cities, the battle may soon be lost.

"Life is difficult here even if we do have a great natural environment,'' says Lin Chao-hui, a town official in Wulai.
(AP)

http://www.thestandard.com.hk/stdn/std/Weekend/GG09Jp05.html

__________________

with kind regards,

Matthias Arnold
(Art-Eastasia list)

http://www.chinaresource.org
http://www.fluktor.de

__________________________________________

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	July 13, 2005: [achtung! kunst] Fang Lijun - Taiwanese Aboriginal Art: Taiya

	China Daily 07/07/2005 BALANCING ACT Tan Rui When Fang Lijun graduated from the print making department of the Central Academy of Fine Arts in 1989, he made an exceptional decision to most people at that time. In a time when the ideal, yet inevitable, outlet for college graduates was to follow the assigned job positions in various work units, Fang, at the age of 26, did not look for any work unit to take him on, but chose to be an independent professional artist living on his own. In February of the same year, Fang, then still a student, took part in China's first national modern art exhibition in Beijing, during which he displayed, for the first time, his branded paintings of bald headed figures. Ever since, he has been pressing on with a personalized image of bald heads, both in his paintings and his real life. Nowadays, Fang Lijun has become arguably China's most shining "star painter" with successful popularity both at home and abroad. "It (being called the most shining 'star painter' in China) has nothing to do with me. I am just an ordinary person," Fang said. Born in 1963 in Handan, Hebei Province, Fang's life became artistic in 1980 when he entered the Hebei Light Industry School to study china and pottery art. In 1985, two years after he graduated from the school, he became a print major at the Central Academy of Fine Arts, where he met a flood of Western thoughts and images which led to a vigorous "new art movement" in the Chinese art circle. Fang's art became more personal, tracking every step of his thoughts. "The fantasticality of humanity is absolutely a huge convulsion and enlightenment to me. Humanity has always been the theme of my works, which I interpreted from different angles in different phases," Fang said. "Currently speaking, my interest is in this aspect. Humans and humanity always remain a mystery to me." As one of the early active avant-garde artists in China, Fang is widely labelled as the guru of China's "cynic realism," a coined phrase used to describe a small group of artists who take a playful, mocking attitude toward social life and issues. Whether young or old, students or peasants, exciting or bemused, all men in his paintings feature exaggerated expressions and all are bald-headed. "I find the meaning of the bald head is a great and ambiguous thing. Bald heads are a bit rebellious, but also unclear. For example, monks, soldiers and prisoners are all bald-headed. The appearance of a bald head can eliminate individuality completely, which is totally different from our education. To me, the importance of a bald head is that it annuls the concept of a certain individual to manifest the concept of a person as a whole in a more forceful way. In art history, seldom did any artist bring the common people to the front of the stage," Fang said. The artist, who has been sporting a shaved head since college, began receiving attention from both home and abroad soon after his art hit the scene. One of his works was even used for the cover of Time magazine in 1993. Fang found himself suddenly in the spotlight of the art circle internationally, and his works became hotly pursued by art establishments and collectors around the world. Despite disputes and comments, Fang proved himself to be a successful artist representing Chinese modern art with a high reputation. As time elapsed, Fang pulled through the phase of excitement and retained his understanding about success, art and life. "Compared to my original painting intentions, many things have surpassed my original anticipation. The word 'success' does not have too much attraction to me. It is right for one to just live naturally," Fang said. Like many other artists, Fang dwells in the so-called artists zone Songzhuang Village, where he bought a house and a two-storey studio prominently covered by flourishing Boston ivy. There, he spends his daytime leisurely, either painting, making arrangements, writing something, managing his painting and restaurant businesses or receiving an interview. Lunch is usually enjoyed with his family while dinner is often devoted to accompanying friends outside. Different from the general conception of what a larruping life and attitude an avant-garde artist should have, Fang is actually quite "market-oriented." Apart from the wide employment of Chinese elements in his paintings to cater to foreign tastes, Fang also opened a stylish restaurant he regards as a media linking him to the real world. "I work in the studio most of my time. After a long time, I feel terrible and a strong sense of crisis because a painter can become a madman. There isn't a social relation in that state, which means there is no possibility for others to correct you," Fang said. "But running a restaurant, I have to consider the cost and earnings. It provides me with a socialized space which enables me to be a natural person because you cannot take your art career as an excuse and reason to become a mad dog. Of course, the restaurant has many other functions as a place for me to meet my friends, to make money and to have food. It proves one's business ability and poses an important test to see whether you can cooperate with others." As for the question of how an artists should balance between art and the market, he simply said: "To me, the market is just an additional value like the sound of wind when you run." http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/english/doc/2005-07/08/content_458313.htm *************************** the standard, July 9-10, 2005 Native sideshow Annie Huang [images] Above: Yasa T'iehmu, 45, a member of the Taiwanese aboriginal tribe Taiya, in front of one of his many popular paintings in his Nanshih River home. Below: Paintings on plates sit to dry in his home workshop. Coloring a drawing - PHOTO BY AP In a valley of pristine bamboo and cypress trees, Yasa T'iehmu painstakingly adds tufts of red and yellow flowers to his painting of a slender, nude aboriginal woman. The woman has long black hair strangely reminiscent of the surging waterfall in the background. "That's a fellow tribal woman I once saw taking a hot spring bath,'' he says, leaning over a simple wooden table outside his red tin-roofed home in Wulai, a village about 20 kilometers southwest of the Taipei suburb of Xindian. Wulai sits in the towering Fushan Mountain Range, seat of the Taiya tribe, one of 11 aboriginal groups whose 430,000 members make up a little less than 2 percent of the 23 million people living on this economically booming island. There are about 60,000 Taiya. Anthropologists say the aboriginals' ancestors came to Taiwan from nearby Pacific islands 6,000 years ago. Other groups - mostly Han Chinese - began migrating from the Asian mainland about four centuries ago, but the aboriginals long kept to themselves, living on hunting and subsistence farming up and down Taiwan's 400km mountainous spine. In recent years, however, as more of their people have been assimilated into Taiwan's increasingly complex urban society, the aboriginals have been fighting a losing battle to maintain a separate cultural identity. It is a phenomenon that Yasa says his art is dedicated to reversing. "I draw from memories,'' he says, leafing through his rich paintings of tribal people farming, weaving, fishing and courting under a tropical moonlit sky. "Our children barely speak the Taiya language. They look at my pictures and exclaim: `This was how we aboriginals looked in the old days.''' Yasa is not alone in seeking to preserve Taiya traditions. Deeper in the mountains, T'iehmu A'yung and dozens of his neighbors are determined to keep tranquil Fushan village isolated from the influences of a tourism center set up 20 kilometers away for visitors who want a look at aboriginal lifestyles. Outwardly, however, the aboriginals aren't that different any more. Their bamboo and wooden houses have mostly been replaced by concrete structures equipped with basic modern amenities, although the homes retain traditional slanting roofs to sluice away the frequent downpours in the mountains. Face-tattooing was once a symbol of aboriginal adulthood, but it has been given up as a remnant of a barbarous past. Many aboriginals reserve their colorful traditional clothes and elaborate headwear for tribal festivals where they dance and sing for days. Wulai itself has become a gaudy collection of cheap souvenir shops and uninspiring restaurants catering to tourists from Taipei. Yet tourism is a boon for the Taiya, giving them much needed work as tour bus drivers and small scale retailers - reason enough to stay at home. T'iehmu, 46, a small sturdy man, takes hikers on daylong treks up and down narrow mountain trails. To supply the small restaurant run by his wife, he raises vegetables, traps wild boar and chops logs for growing delectable wild mushrooms. He says his three brothers have moved away from the village and he fears his two young children might be tempted to follow them to the bright lights of Taipei. He points to his latest overnight catch, a squinting boar trapped in a secure wooden cage. "We don't keep more than one or two of these animals for fear of dirtying the water,'' he says, explaining that the nearby Nanshih River is the main source of tap water for residents in the capital and polluters are subject to severe fines. He says his own fishing has recently been confined to a distant creek because stocks in the Nanshih dwindled and tribal leaders imposed a ban. Now, he says, he treks over several hills to catch shrimp and indigenous fish in his newfound fishing preserve. In another part of the village, Kao Chiu-mei is hard at work at the Fumiyo workshop, started with 10 other women to preserve the ancient tradition of weaving floral motifs and other patterns on white linen. She says she originally learned the craft from her elderly mother and is committed to ensuring it is passed along to future generations. "We would hate to see the art being lost forever,'' she says. Still, with many tribal people attracted by the relatively easy life in Taipei and other Taiwanese cities, the battle may soon be lost. "Life is difficult here even if we do have a great natural environment,'' says Lin Chao-hui, a town official in Wulai. (AP) http://www.thestandard.com.hk/stdn/std/Weekend/GG09Jp05.html __________________ with kind regards, Matthias Arnold (Art-Eastasia list) http://www.chinaresource.org http://www.fluktor.de __________________________________________ An archive of this list as well as an subscribe/unsubscribe facility is available at: http://listserv.uni-heidelberg.de/archives/art-eastasia.html For postings earlier than 2005-02-23 please go to: http://www.fluktor.de/study/office/newsletter.htm