Forget about the billionaires and let’s look at Chinese art
Growing up, my image of oracles were of three, shrivelled old women sharing an eye and predicting the future. Who would’ve thought they were actually three spunky, energetic Taiwanese singers rapping about the growing influence of Chinese culture? As prophesised, mainland China has rapidly become a colossus of the modern world, but in a mostly economic sense. It’s easy to imagine Chinese billionaires speaking before some economic seminar in an alien language about things like REITs or FAANGs which frankly, just turns my brain into soup. But it’s harder to imagine a mainland Chinese celebrity advertising a hatchback to make me buy it on impulse, as if buying it will make her love me.
The point is, Chinese culture just isn’t cool. The biggest reason to care about it at all is economical. People don’t learn to speak Chinese out of an appreciation for the culture, but for unemotional, calculated pragmatism (remember the Speak Mandarin Campaign? Me neither). Sure, there’s undeniable mystique that naturally follows any allegedly 5000 year old culture. But unless you’re a history enthusiast or care about looking cultured, it’s hard not to simply confine it to the history books. Admittedly, there are singers and television series that have gone beyond mainland Chinese shores. But even then, Chinese singers from Taiwan and Hong Kong command more star power, while shows are mostly ancient dramas (which I can picture my grandma watching more easily than someone my age).
What about art then? It would be quite natural to assume that under the famously heavy censorship of Beijing, the art scene would be stale and shackled to suffocating legal structure. It would border on delusional then, to even think that someone born into the Cultural Revolution in China could even succeed in the imaginative and ever-changing landscape of modern contemporary art. Funnily enough, not only is the market for Chinese art widely reported to be one of the most in-demand and fastest-growing in the world, plenty of today’s Chinese contemporary artists grew up under the Orwellian period of the Cultural Revolution. One of these artists is Shen Jingdong, famous for his Heroes series.
Born in 1965, Shen Jingdong grew up being surrounded by propaganda, which depicted the larger-than-life idealisation of soldiers, workers, and of course, Chairman Mao. These characters were portrayed as heroes, and were glorified as such at the time. Years later, he was conscripted into the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) where he served for 18 years in the battlefront art troupe of the Political Department of the Nanjing Military Region, mainly painting the backgrounds for stage shows.
All these experiences combined, along with much experimentation and practice, shaped his approach to art. While his work does contrast against the socialist realist imagery he was exposed to since birth, it doesn’t serve as an attack against it through edgy irony. Rather, he makes the usually heroic and awe-inspiring characters more accessible and seemingly humanising them. The porcelain sheen of the characters symbolises the aesthetic appeal of heroes, and also as a reminder of their underlying human fragility. This is all done in a matter-of-factly way, as if the only thing we can do is accept our mortality, but at the same time they are painted with vibrant and sunny colours, and carrying an unassuming smile, making his at times heavy metaphors easy on the eyes.
While many of Shen Jingdong’s peers use their art to express their criticism towards the Chinese government (unlike him), they have one thing in common: what they create came from within. Every individual colour and brushstroke hold no inherent meaning. Both artist and viewer confer meaning onto the art these individual elements make up. In other words, we have the ability to give meaning and value to our surroundings; believing is seeing, not the other way around.
As I write this, I cannot help but recall the controversy about labelling artists as non-essential professions here in Singapore during the Covid-19 pandemic. As fundamental as food and water is to our survival, it’s ludicrous to deny the importance of the content-creators keeping us sane while being cooped up in our homes during the lockdowns of our respective countries. Being well-fed alone doesn’t sustain our souls. Unfortunately, the importance of the arts surfaces only when we are deprived of them. But as long as we value our humanity, art can come from and thrive anywhere, even the most unexpected of places.
