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Defining “Asian-ness”
The First Asian Contemporary Art Fair ACAF NY 2007
By Dong-Yeon Koh
The special performance by Korean-born modern dancer Sincha
Hong, presented on opening night, effectively summed up the
overall theme of ACAF (Asian Contemporary Art Fair) 2007—
an interesting dialogue between the traditional and the modern,
or between the unique cultural and ethnic heritage of Asia
and artistic idioms shared by contemporary artists worldwide.
In her performance, which appeared to be heavily influenced
by a Buddhist monk dance, Hong wore a black silk robe covered
in traditional floral patterns while holding a skull, the
symbol of death that frequently appears in Western art.
In traditional funeral ceremonies and dances in Korea, the
skull is rarely used; in fact, it is rarely displayed in public.
Moreover, white, not black, is the traditional color of death
and mourning in Korea and most other Asian countries, including
China and Japan. While Hong’s performance took place
outside the fair booths, where the dominant medium was painting,
it served to focus the viewer’s attention on the dual
tasks that most artists and dealers at this ground-breaking
fair needed to manage: How can contemporary Asian artists
draw attention to their distinctive traditions, cultures,
and other historical circumstances while at the same time
catch the eye of international collectors?
Of course, this question is far from being novel; it is limited
neither to our time nor to Asian contemporary art. However,
the question is particularly relevant today, as an increasing
number of Asian artists are featured in international art
fairs and auction houses. The more that Asian contemporary
artists gain critical attention and financial success, the
more complicated and sometimes problematic their relationship
with “Asian-ness” becomes. Indeed, different artistic
idioms and circumstances of Asian contemporary art—such
as the tumultuous history of China under Communist rule, the
perception of an exotic Asia emblematized by doll-like women’s
images, or the traditional concept of art as a disciplinary
process for the artist—appear as both possibilities
and limitations for contemporary Asian artists.
The Asian Contemporary Art Fair (ACAF NY 2007) is the first
art fair in New York to focus specifically on contemporary
Asian art. Other well-known exhibitions of Asian art—the
International Asian Art Fair and the New York Arts of Pacific
Asia Show—have limited their scope to traditional artistic
genres and artifacts. ACAF made its debut at Pier 92 on the
Hudson River, a venue made famous by The Armory Show. Some
ninety-four art dealers and publications participated, coming
from Asia, the United States, and Europe. Most of the dealers
came from Asia, with the largest number from Korea; of the
twenty galleries from the United States, the vast majority
came from New York. A special exhibition called Simulasian:
Refiguring ‘Asia’ for the 21st Century, curated
by Eric Shiner and Lilly Wei, as well as panels, including
a dialogue between Xu Bing, the famous Chinese artist, and
Robert Storr, of the 2007 Venice Biennial, rounded out the
event. While the fair featured noted artists such as Yue Minjun,
whose solo show can be seen at the Queens Museum of Art, most
of the emphasis here was on quality works by young artist
who have little name recognition—as of yet.
The works ranged from traditional craft—so as not to
alienate traditional collectors of Asian art—to the
fine arts. Many of the dealers gave voice to the more progressive
and dizzying currents in contemporary Asian art. Such works
ranged from Warholian adaptations of Mao’s image to
Cyborg characters (mostly female), and Japanese animation
to pieces illustrated other trendy themes and techniques.
Among the many pop icons in evidence, Mao’s image was
the most ubiquitous. Visitors were greeted by Chinese artist
Guangci’s stainless steel replicas of the communist
leader turned-posthumous-pop-star which were lined up at the
fair’s entrance. Mao’s image also replaced the
product logo on a famous oatmeal box—not to mention
his iconic presence in the backdrops of contemporary Chinese
paintings.
Taking a cue from Warhol, who ingeniously adopted Mao and
images of consumerism simultaneously, Wang Zi (at 798 Avant-Garde)
depicts a provocative allegory of western capitalism and communism;
Chinese soldiers are depicted with a blonde (symbol of the
West) prostitute; Li Lihong’s McDonald Golden Arches
(at Beatrice Chang), rendered in porcelain, also pursue unlikely
combinations of the modern (mostly focusing on images of Western
capitalism) and the traditional handcraft.
If the Warholian adaptation of Mao constitutes one dominant
theme within contemporary Chinese art, the message underlying
its self-mockery and subtle parody appears to be ambiguous.
A scene showing extremely impoverished Chinese children with
Mao’s picture in the background by Tiangbing Li (at
Kashya Hildebrand) is particularly disturbing. Painted in
black and white, blown-up (aka German painter Gerhard Richter),
and situated inside a rundown house, Li’s children stir
the viewer. Is this work intended as a critique of modernization?
Or is Li using the image of poor Chinese children as an exotic
spectacle for western viewers?
Equally interesting yet problematic are the images of the
Asian Cyborg often found in Japanese animation, or manga (a
type of cartoon, originally developed in Japan but popularized
internationally). In her series Candyland, Hye-Rim Lee (at
Kukje), an artist from South Korea, creates a hybrid character,
blending seemingly incompatible features of man and machine.
In postwar Japan as well as in South Korea, technology, along
with western popular culture, has become highly fetishized.
The extremely polished surface of the artificial body in these
works might belong to the fantasy world of “candy land.”
What is more, despite her cute and innocent face, the character
turns out to be quite bold, exposing her body to the viewer’s
ogling gaze, and the placement of her image is inside the
round frame suggest a view through a peephole.
The Candyland character was but one of many sexually tantalizing
images of Asian women in abundance here. Such images comprise
another recurring theme in contemporary Asian art. The fair
introduced a range of female imagery, including more traditional
ladies such as Junghwa Cho’s geishas from Korean history
(at Gallery Yeh); Jungman Kim’s Nippie (at Gallery Gong);
a futuristic girl by Noriko Yamaguchi (at Mem), also featured
in a special exhibition; and the schoolgirl variation represented
in works such as Xiuwen Cui’s Angel (at Goedhuis Contemporary)
and Kaoruko’s Tokyoko (at Ethan Cohen). The women in
these depictions are different in age, appearance, and source
material, but they also have something in common—namely,
an ambivalence between being modest and bold, distanced and
readily available. More importantly, these images derive sustenance
for the Western man’s fascination with Asian women as
mysterious and exotic.
Kim’s photograph Nippie is the most problematic in
this regard, as the work indeed plays with viewers’
voyeuristic fantasies. The woman pictured in Nippie exposes
her breast through a small gap in her “Hanbok,”
a traditional Korean garment that symbolizes women’s
virtue and modesty. On the one hand, the exposed breast could
represent her boldness and her desire to overcome conservative
sexual mores. On the other, her image does not appear to be
liberating, for her dual nature—exposed and hiding—intensifies
her tantalizing effect. Compared to Nippie, Kaoruko’s
Tokyoro series [The Tokyo lady] has an ambiguous quality.
The woman depicted in Tokyoro is less fantasized than humorous.
She goes out on her own and appears to enjoy her life. However,
her exaggerated “cuteness” and awkward posture
are reminiscent of a certain type of Asian schoolgirl, similar
to Cui’s Angel, who stands in front of famous tourist
attractions in China with half-embarrassed and sometimes half-bold
postures.
The third major category at ACAF was art based on traditional
techniques. This category was the most comprehensive, for
most contemporary Asian artists strive to combine their artistic
heritage with images, issues, and ideas drawn from contemporary
society and art. For instance, Li Ling’s representation
of the McDonald’s logo is a straightforward mixture
of western consumer culture and traditional porcelain. Le
Quoc Viet (at Art Vietnam) introduced Buddhist symbols and
images in a traditional scroll painting. Unlike artists who
superficially recycle traditional artistic idioms, Bae Lee
(Hakgojae) changed Chinese ink for traditional calligraphy
into the combination of acrylic and natural pigments it originated
from. Lee’s calligraphy is the result of his search
for an innovative artistic medium and process that requires
tremendous time and patience—not to mention craftsmanship.
In a way, he has creatively revisited calligraphy while observing
traditional aesthetics, understanding art as a means for the
artist to discipline his or her mind and body. By blowing
up the details of brush stroke, he also modified the overall
format and shape of calligraphy—drawing the viewers’
attention to energy found in the ending and beginning of each
stroke.
Works in the final category at ACAF were replete with various
displays “Asian-ness,” from Warholian Mao paintings
to animation characters. If “Chinese” pop art
or Cyborgs consistently reject stereotypical images of Asia
as meditative, quiet, and spiritual; then traditional aesthetics-driven
art continues to dwell upon such fixed and pigeonholed notions.
In either case, presenting distinctively Asian culture and
Asian art can be selling points for potential buyers as well
as challenges for contemporary Asian artists. Certainly, Chinese
contemporary art influenced by western pop art idioms has
garnered attention in international art markets. Yet, the
appropriation of Mao’s image by itself is not enough
to make an effective political statement, though such a theme
was originally the major point of attraction for western art
critics.
Similarly, while provocative Cyborgs and other animation
characters certainly defy the traditional image of the Asian
woman, her actual rebellion turns out to be less successful.
Such images inevitably end up as modern-day fetishes for the
West’s imagination of an exotic Asian femininity. That
does not mean a nostalgic return to tradition can be solution.
Given the huge influence of Eastern philosophy and Eastern
aesthetics on artists from the West; such as John Cage and
Abstract Expressionists in the 1950s, conventional distinctions
between East and West, where contemporary art is concerned,
seem mute. On the contrary, defining Asian-ness in contemporary
Asian art— in terms of popular trends or tradition—becomes
increasingly risky business. If this fair is any indication
however, that’s a risk worth taking.
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Shanghai
A Practical Guide To The Contemporary Art Scene
By Vivi HE Ying & Tony Fu
What does the city of Shanghai have to offer in terms of
contemporary art? Before the late 1990s there were not many
places here to see art, aside from in traditional art institutions.
But the last decade has seen a proliferation of galleries
and art spaces opening up as the city’s economy kicked
into high gear, following the the start of China’s market
based economic reforms in 1992. With a population of over
16 million, the world’s busiest cargo port and an economy
growing at 12% plus a year, a serious cadre of art collectors
has begun to emerge. Hench the new generation of often quite
young gallerists, curators and artists vying for their attention,
and perhaps a shot at becoming the next art star. Fortunately,
for the art savvy visitor, most of these galleries follow
a similar pattern of development as in other major urban centers
of art and commerce; they are concentrated in a hand full
of self-styled art districts.
First, let’s “visit” M50, (No.50 Moganshan
rd.) Shanghai’s best known art community to date, located
amidst a complex of converted factory buildings on the southern
bank of the Suzhou river. Once the Xinhe Spinning Mill, an
enterprise of the Zhou-family, which supplied merchants from
Huizhou, Anhui province, the complex was renamed Xinhe Cotton
Mill, Shanghai No.12 Woolen Mill (1962), and Shanghai Chunming
Woolen Mill (1994). In 1999, the industrial park reorganized
its assets and began leasing out the former factory spaces.
Today this area has become a hot spot for contemporary art,
and boasts over 100 galleries, design studios, architectural
firms, and the like.
Walking into the open space at the entrance of the former
industrial park, now known simply as M50, you find yourself
immersed in the hustle and bustle of cafés, restaurants
and bookstores. And when you venture further, galleries and
studios are interspersed throughout all of the 21 blocks.
Yes, 21 blocks.
To be sure, the quality of the art shown here varies, but
quiet a few of the city’s top galleries can be found
in the mix. For example, there is ShanghART, one of the oldest
contemporary art galleries in Shanghai. They moved here in
2005, and soon thereafter opened a second space, H Space,
nearby. Another pioneering gallery, Eastlink, is also located
here. These galleries are known for strong, challenging exhibition
programs. There is also Bizart, a non-profit art center located
in block 7. They are known for organizing avant-garde exhibitions
and events for young artists. Recently they split their exhibition
space in half, to make room for a full production studio for
artists-in-residence from other parts of China, as well as
from abroad.
Not surprisingly, other important art communities can be
found near M50. There is, for example, M97 and Island6, located
on the same road, and nearby in a back alley along the Suzhou
River you have, in a seven-story former warehouse, Creek Art.
The Bund, an upscale tourist niche that defines the city’s
historic waterfront, is also vying for the attention of serious
collectors. Alongside top restaurants and luxury brand retailers
some good art galleries are turning up. Upstairs, above the
flagship for Giorgio Armani, you find Shanghai Gallery of
Art. Located at Three on the Bund, this gallery shows mostly
established artists. Walk further along the Bund, just in
the next block, and you have a little, unassuming gallery
called Studio Rouge — on Fuzhou Road. This gallery offers
a fine selection of art works from both established and emerging
artists, and they also have a second space in M50. Then there
is Contrasts, a large gallery on nearby Jiangxi Road. Founded
in Hong Kong by Pearl Lam, daughter of Lim Por-yen, a Hong
Kong textiles tycoon and banker, the premise of Contrasts
references the relationship between oriental and occidental
culture. The Bund is fast becoming Shanghai’s newest
destination for contemporary art.
And of course, where contemporary art leads, museums soon
follow. Shanghai’s art museums, once seemingly relegated
to history, are now in the business of making history.
Housed in a former race course club building, which dates
back to the 1930s, the Shanghai Art Museum at People's Square
— just behind the Grande Theater, links classical architecture
with contemporary art, design and function. Their collection
of over 4000 artworks ranges from the Shanghai school of traditional
Chinese art to modern oil and pop art. The Shanghai Biennale
which takes place here next year, coincides with the newly
launched ShContemporary, the city’s first world-class
international contemporary art fair which held its debut earlier
this year.
Next door to the Shanghai Art Museum, you find The Museum
of Contemporary Art Shanghai (MoCA Shanghai) — located
inside the People’s Park. Originally the park's greenhouse,
the building that houses MoCA Shanghai retains its clear glass
exterior, allowing for lots of natural light. This was Shanghai's
first private, non-profit contemporary art museum. Since opening
in 2005, the museum has gained a reputation for mounting serious,
quality exhibitions.
Finally, there is Duolun Museum of Modern Art, located on
Duolun Road. The street leading to the museum is both narrow
and short, edged by little buildings of various old styles,
row upon row. Though in city maps it can hardly be found,
this area has a significant literary history. Compared to
the other buildings on this ancient street, Duolun Museum
has very modern architecture. And as the first professional
museum of modern art in China, this institution is uniquely
tasked with supporting Chinese contemporary art. As such,
it also serves as a platform for the exchange of culture and
art between China and foreign countries.
Ed. Note:
Vivi HE Ying and Tiny Fu are contributing writers for M, who
live in Shanghai and are active in that city’s contemporary
art scene.
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Making a Home: Japanese Contemporary
Artists in New York
Japan Society
By Natane Tadaka
Two years after the exhibition provocatively titled Little
Boy: The Arts of Japan’s Exploding Subculture, New York’s
Japan Society presents another group show that focuses attention
on Japan’s newest artists. Making a Home: Japanese Contemporary
Artists in New York, features the work of 33 Japanese-born
and New York-based artists. Curated by Eric C Shiner, the
show represents a departure from the didactic survey of subculture
in Little Boy, and examines the Japanese “migrated aesthetic”
from a less intimate perspective. This exhibition is more
like a chaotic, tongue-in-cheek parade that sweeps long in
its path various types of artworks — Sound installation,
video art, photography, drawings, sculptures, wall paintings
and even some relatively conventional paintings. All the artists
share one thing in common — they moved from Japan to
New York to make art. Yet everything else about them, on an
individual level, is as different as can be. The show is structured
to give each artist his or her own booth, and each work is
juxtaposed ironically or privately.
Much of this work is personal, introspective; Nobuho Nagasawa’s
rocking chair suggests a metaphor for the artist’s heartbeats,
with her umbilical attached. There is Momoyo Torimitsu’s
installation, Willingly or Unwillingly You Are Welcome, where
a cooperate office space rebuilds, blurring the boundaries
between personal and corporate space. Satoru Eguchi’s
installation, Studio, is essentially a reconstruction of his
Brooklyn studio space, made from cardboard, paper and photographs.
This work plays off of the nearby black and white photographs
by Mayumi Terada, depicting miniature furniture she made with
paper and cardboard. While Eguchi reconstructs a tangible,
three dimensional reality, Terada delves in the unreal; yet
it is Eguchi’s work that effects an unreal ambience.
We understand, after all, that photographs are “real”.
Throughout the exhibition, deliberate and radical juxtaposition
of artworks heightens the effect. There is suspense. This
is in fact very much in keeping with the image of New York—unpredictable,
independent, and yet powerful.
There are six sectors to the show, these are vaguely divided
as follows: Building Environments; Intimacy and Identity;
Coping with Loss; Meditative Space, The process of Making
and Referencing the Landscape.
The first thing that greets the viewer is a large-scale,
colorful sculpture by Misaki Kawai, Space House. Made from
nondescript materials such as paper, wood, wire, plastic,
this funky colorful flying boat or dream house is populated
with many small dolls, whose faces are affixed with the artist’s
friends’ photographs. There are also small light buttons
that flash, here and there. Is this piece meant to suggest
a kind of fantasy escape from the busy city? Or perhaps the
artist is recreating one little fragment of New York? There
is an innocent, fun feeling to the work that only someone
coming from afar could muster. Juxtaposed with Kawai’s
whimsical world, on the other side of the space, Kaihatsu’s
Happo-Tei Teahouse, assembled with polystyrene foam, looks
like an upgraded homeless container from New York’s
bad old days. This is actually a tea house, as the title suggests.
Here, Kaihatsu recreates a Japanese tradition in a contemporary
context, turning cheap materials into something meaningful,
where tea and intimacy are offered. Nestled between two large-scale
installations, Rain Forest, by Yuken Teruya, modestly swings
in the bamboo grove. From toilet paper tubes, make-believe
tree branches were cut out and hung with the tubes shooting
up vertically. Teruya uses everyday objects as an apparent
critique of consumerism.
On the second floor, the exhibition continues with the Intimacy
and Identity sector. Painted by Aya Uekawa, A Safety Crown,
stands out for its uncanny and cold facial expression. The
woman depicted in the painting wears a black mink-like fur
coat, and braided hair, which forms a crown on the top of
her head. She seems completely detached, suggesting a Noh
mask in Japan, though her ethnic origin is unclear. There
is a sense here of a John Currin painting, in the depiction
of the woman's slightly elongated torso. The painting suggests
a mixed, globalized identity. Hiroshi Sunairi’s White
Elephant, a life-like albeit fragmented body of an elephant,
rendered in white clay, references the city’s most catastrophic
event—9/11. In Asian history, the white elephant is
revered as a symbol of peace. Here, in this context, the sculpture
takes on a more nuanced meaning. By placing Uekawa’s
paintings of loss and detachment nearby, the disembodied elephant
parts affect a feeling of loneliness and despair.
In the Meditative Space sector of the show, the placement
of two works — Akiyoshi’s psychedelic room and
Sugiura’s Monochrome room — again proves crucial
to their respective interpretation. Huge flowers and branch-like
lines, colored in yellow, pink, orange and red fill the installation
space (on the walls, ceiling and floor) of Akiyoshi’s
Flower Garden. In Sugiura’s room, her series, The Artist
Papers, shows portraits of significant living Japanese artists,
along with her colleagues, rendered in monochrome prints;
only the silhouettes of the subjects in white appear against
a black background, with identical objects for each artist.
Hentai culture versus pious culture in Japan? In the entrance
area of the Japan Society, Yoko Ono’s installation,
Wish Tree, gently asks visitors to note a wish on a piece
of paper (provided) and to put this note on the tree branches.
This gesture can be seen in the shrines and temples of Japan
today. Whether the wish concerns romance, health, family or
friends, it is Japanese custom that holds on, even as the
true meaning of religious faith has largely dissipated.
Juxtaposed from Wish Tree, diagonally set on the second floor,
Hiroki Otsuka’s black-and white wall painting, Evening
Calm Union, adds a devilish twist. Catatonic girls are painted
against the New York City skyline; they look sexy and tough,
and they spit out some sort of fumes that appear to cover
the whole city, like in a Japanese monster movie. The work
seems to suggest a not-so-hidden desire by the artist to conquer
the city in a big way. Here, Japanese innocence for making
a simple wish to place on a tree, and Super-Vixen Eros coexist
as never before.
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