If on a Winter's Night a Traveler
In a book, truth is as elusive as mist. (Italo, C, 2012 p13)
Italian novelist Italo Calvino's If on a Winter's Night a Traveler is a novel about ‘interruption’, where every story of the book is interrupted at its climax. Calvino takes the narrative interruption as a structural feature of the book. He once said, ’We live in a world made up of stories that have a beginning but no end’, the ’closed and calculated works’ that characterize our era are ’absurd bets’, while the interrupted novel conveys ‘the meaning of an unstable, fragmented, and uncertain world’. (Italo, C, 2012 p18)
As I read the novel, I couldn't help but draw parallels to my own approach in painting, where I frequently use the technique of cropping image materials to create my compositions. On one hand, I'm captivated by the compositions formed within these ‘close-up’ shots, shifting the viewer's gaze away from the face and towards the lines of the body, the textures of objects, and more. On the other hand, like Calvino, I see this as a resonance with the themes of my creative work. The gray areas of the human psyche that I explore and focus on always manifest as hesitant, fractured, and ambiguous states with no definitive conclusions, and I aim to peel away the certainty of narrative through this process.
It's truly a wonderful confirmation.
References
Italo, C. (2012) in If on a Winter's Night a Traveler. 南京: 译林出版社.
Capture the Moment
The exhibition Capture the Moment that I saw at Tate Modern in June can be counted as one of my favorite exhibitions of the year. It's not because of the exploration of the dynamic relationship between painting and photography in the exhibition itself, but because of the wall adorned with works by Peter Doig, Marlene Dumas, and Luc Tuymans, as shown in the image above.
For a long time, I've been surrounded by discussions about the position of painting in the context of contemporary art, its relationship with other art forms, and how to push the boundaries of painting. Also, New artists are constantly introducing new materials and media. Faced with all this, I often find myself somewhat anxious. Not by a deliberate choice, but it seems I've unconsciously placed myself on the side that's relatively more traditional, especially when it comes to materials. I believe in the creative possibilities that can be built using traditional materials like canvas and oil paint, and there is still so much to explore. As a result, I find it hard to get interested in material experiments or cross-disciplinary explorations with other art forms. It's like being a child in a room filled with plenty of toys. the room itself is captivating enough, and I don't want to leave to explore other rooms. But I also have a nagging worry that this mindset, seemingly going against the current, might create a gap between my creative work and the broader contemporary art scene, turning me into something of a ‘relic’.
However, that day, when I stood in the exhibition room and saw this wall, I felt a sense of joy and a kind of courage to stand on the side that's relatively more traditional. These works were undoubtedly outstanding, whether it was Peter Doig constructing unsettling dreamscapes with intricate textures or Marlene Dumas subtly introducing a small area of high saturation green into her portraits with extremely low saturation… When they are placed together, all you can experience is a profound sense of awe.
There is still much potential for being ‘traditional’, and also still a long way to go, I told myself.
Daido Moriyama
In October, I visited the Daido Moriyama retrospective exhibition at The Photographers' Gallery. Housed in a five-story building, the exhibition featured over 200 pieces of artwork, large installations, and many photobooks and magazines by Moriyama.
One unique aspect of the exhibition was a separate room with three LED screens, cyclically displaying his works. While this isn't an uncommon exhibition format, when I entered that room, took a seat, and found myself surrounded by Moriyama's artwork, I unexpectedly noticed a speaker in the corner. It was softly and faintly transmitting (perhaps) the sounds of Tokyo, the city itself—footsteps, conversations, street traffic, subway announcements, and more. These sounds instantly transported me back to my memories of Tokyo, and as the photos shifted before my eyes, they overlaid with my memories, creating new narratives.
I’ve always tended to view my work as something very conventional, and quietly hanging on the clean white walls of an art gallery is where they find their best home. But that room seemed to spark a new idea in me, making me want to incorporate background sounds when exhibiting my own work—high-heeled shoes clacking, hushed whispers, the sound of a television, creating resonance and interaction with my paintings. These background sounds are also somewhat blurred, perhaps even imperceptible, but to those who hear them, they will feel familiar, like a switch that suddenly connects with personal experiences and memories.
(Metaphors in) Nymphomaniac
In Lars Von Trier's film Nymphomaniac, towards the end of the first part, the male and female protagonists, stemming from the female lead's three different types of sexual partners, engage in a discussion that extends to topics such as Bach's polyphonic music, the Fibonacci sequence, the golden ratio, the Pythagorean theorem, and the concept of the Holy Trinity in religion.
This kind of metaphor runs through the Nymphomaniac, using rational knowledge and scientific analysis to juxtapose extreme sensuality and desire. The theme of temptation is thus dissolved, injecting a sense of calm and ration, making you feel like you have to sit upright and treat it seriously.
Eroticism is also a significant and recurring theme in my work, and I have always aspired to portray this sense of seriousness, even a philosophical depth in its depiction. I had previously hoped to achieve this emotional and atmosphere transformation through limitations in color (black and white) or through temperature contrasts (warm and cool), but the effects were not very pronounced. However, (Although I haven't yet figured out the specifics), I began to think about borrowing from Lars Von Trier's approach and incorporating this (probably rational, scientific, even philosophic) parallel metaphor into my own work.
After Frieze 2023
After attending Frieze for two consecutive years, this year felt somewhat underwhelming. The booth at the entrance featuring Damien Hirst's solo exhibition was surprisingly ugly:). The two pieces by the talented young artist Issy Wood, whom I was eagerly looking forward to seeing, also fell short of expectations.
However, after this somewhat unsatisfied experience, plus graduation approaching, I've dedicated significant time to pondering questions about my ongoing artistic journey and how it fits into the broader contemporary art context. I've been wrestling with questions about how emerging artists are assessed within the art world, where my place is in this vast landscape, and how I can accurately carve out my niche in the market while nurturing a sustainable and gradual progression in my career.
Last year was entirely devoted to studio work, and now, finally, it is time to step out and I probably need to find the answer as soon as possible.