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Cigarettes, incense and ash are uncommon materials in the context of traditional Chinese painting. Yet, since the early 1990s, Shanghai-based artist Wang Tiande has experimented with ink painting, transgressing assumptions of tradition to recontexualize the genre with a contemporary visual vocabulary. Creating some of the earliest works of conceptual ink art, Wang has challenged and developed his own form in the medium: in 1996, he created his iconic work Ink Banquet that transformed the two-dimensional ink surface to the three-dimensional sphere; in 2002, he began the “Digital” series in which a confluence of writing, painting and burning with cigarettes and joss sticks melded into one seamless gesture; and in 2006, he incorporated new media with the longstanding literati tradition. By constantly adapting and manipulating the materials of ink and paper, Wang seeks to ensure the continued existence of ink art in the canon of contemporary art and also in Chinese culture. ArtAsiaPacific spoke with Wang, on the occasion of his exhibition “Mountainscapes” at Alisan Fine Arts, Hong Kong, about his early years of studying guohua (“national painting”), his rather serendipitous sources of inspiration, his new works and his unwavering dedication to preserving Chinese ink painting.
WANG TIANDE at his exhibition “Mountainscapes,” Alisan Fine Arts, Hong Kong. Photo by Ann Woo forArtAsiaPacific.
WANG TIANDE, Digital No 14 LBST002, 2014, Chinese ink with burn marks on layered rice paper, Qing Dynasty stele rubbing, 195 × 48 cm. Courtesy the artist and Alisan Fine Arts.
How did you come to practice ink painting?
During the Cultural Revolution (1966–76), I was in my elementary and high-school years. What we encountered most frequently were highly political images of dazibao [“big character posters”] and pi Lin pi Kong [the “Anti-Lin Biao, Anti-Confucius” propaganda campaign initiated by Mao]. It was only later when I entered Shanghai Academy of Fine Arts that I enrolled in a painting class, which had a focus on guohua. After I graduated in 1981, I was determined to enroll in China’s best school for guohua, Zhejiang Fine Arts Academy [now the Chinese Academy of Fine Arts], in Hangzhou, where some of the country’s most renowned Chinese painting masters, such as Wu Guanzhong (1919–2010) and Pan Tianshou (1897–1971), had taught. There were very few students in each class. As a result, four students studied the “flower and birds” subject, another four the “mountain and water” subject, while eight students focused on guohua, which was a larger subject that was divided into xieyi [a freehand, expressive style] and gongbi [a more realistic style]. It was my dream to attend this academy as it placed a strong emphasis on traditional technique and had a long history. As the Chinese saying goes, “One place has its own people.” When people talk about the best place to practice guohua, many speak of the West Lake of Hangzhou because of its water and mountains. It is considered the holy land for Chinese-painting artists.
What uniqueness do you see in the medium of ink? How does it express your creative sensibilities?
Ink art is not only popular in mainland China. The pan-Pacific, Chinese-character-writing countries, such as Japan, Korea, China, Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong and Taiwan, have an inclination toward the calligraphic, an innate spirit for ink and a good understanding of the medium, all of which have developed organically over time due to various influences: firstly, from Eastern religion and culture, which differ from those of the West; secondly, because of the long history of writing with Chinese brush pens; and lastly, an internalization of teachings and thinking influenced by Confucius and Dao. For Eastern painting, artists use lines to create a sense of vagueness and emptiness to structure the composition. The picture plane in guohua is usually filled with imagery and does not act to focus perspective. Instead, it conveys a spirit and an emotion that allows for deeper contemplation. This is different from Western art’s more solid and realistic subject matter and its more rigid rules regarding the combination of perspective and coloring systems. In ink painting, focus is placed on Xie He’s six principles of Chinese painting (c. 550 CE) and on poetry, seasons or even a person’s emotions. Chinese ink painting has very strong Oriental characteristics.
Because of the history of ink art, the genre tends to be considered traditional. What prompted you to translate this medium into a contemporary visual language?
After the New Culture Movement (1910–20), many changes were made to the country’s writing as it transitioned from traditional characters to simplified ones, and also from vertical to horizontal writing. This was significant change for Chinese writing, and influenced the views of a whole generation toward aesthetics. Since I graduated from Zhejiang Academy in 1988, I have never used pure traditional Chinese techniques to create my works. At the time, I believed that, as China was moving forward into a new era, it also needed a new language of expression, a new way of thinking. Earlier on in my career I spent about seven or eight years on a series of round paintings. In late 1986, when I was still in university, I spent some time living in a farm house in the mountains around Zhejiang Academy—it was so beautiful! One Saturday morning, I opened the north- and south-facing windows. Not long after, a bird flew inside from the south window and then flew out from the north window. When I was observing this bird’s instinct to fly north, it made me think that if one creates a natural environment that it can be very liberating. I felt so appreciative of my surroundings! Coincidentally, I was also reading a book by the scholar Hu Shih (1891–1962) that described the Chinese spirit of water and mountain, which inspired me to paint many round compositions, and later, to paint on Chinese clothing and fans.
More recently, in 2002, on a very warm evening in mid-July, I was working in my studio in France. While smoking, I dropped some ash on the floor and accidentally stepped on it. Right then I thought: God gave me a new idea! I was so happy and spent the whole night walking along the bank of the River Seine. I came back to the studio around at one or two o’clock in the morning and started experimenting with this new idea of using the cigarette to burn the surface of my paintings. I started off using cigarettes but then in 2005, for my Vancouver exhibition, I began using incense instead because smoking is prohibited there. Joss sticks are longer and easier to control. Another advantage of using incense is the dynamic energy it gives off. After burning the paper, the effects on the surface prompt further contemplation and interpretation.
When thinking of creating a new artwork, one has the opportunity to incorporate personal experiences, which ultimately relate to the present. If you completely reject modernity and remain stuck in the past, in traditional forms, you will become extremely passive.
The new works that we see at Alisan Fine Arts are part of your “Digital” series, which you began in 2002. Is there any reason you named it “digital,” as there are no digital components to the work?
The biggest challenge was coming up with a title for these works because they consist of of two layers. The back layer is the traditional ink drawing while the front layer is burned and is considered the contemporary, innovative element. When the two layers are compressed together, they create a new visual language. The traditional is there in the background, sometimes you can see it, at other times you cannot, but it is still there. One can also interpret it as the traditional being present when one needs it, and invisible when one does not. This play with seeing is why I titled the series “Digital.”
These works from the “Digital” series combine landscape painting with calligraphy—what is the source of these characters?
There is no meaning in the calligraphy of the works. We live in an overflowing information age—inboxes and mobile phones are filled with all kinds of messages. One is a part of this information exchange whether or not one chooses to be. So the script I write does not contain any meaning no matter how hard viewers try to decipher it. It’s difficult for people to come to terms with, since in traditional Chinese calligraphy the characters are full of content. For these new works, I combined my calligraphic words with rubbings made from characters on Qing Dynasty steles inside and outside of the temples from the Suzhou area.
There are also some interesting textures in the paper you use. Can you speak a little about the material?
I supervised the making of this paper in a factory in Fuyang. The works are made up of three layers. The first, top layer, is where I use the incense to burn holes to allow the second layer of the ink painting and characters to come through. The third layer is used to support the work from the back. Inside the paper pulp I have also included pieces of corn husk. By using the same kind of paper for all three layers, I am adding thickness as well as a sense of depth to the image.
In 1996, you showed the installation Ink Banquet (1996) at the Hong Kong Art Museum, which marked a turning point in ink painting. Can you speak a little about this work and how your practice continues to challenge conventions?
Ink Banquet is considered one of the earliest works in conceptual ink art. Guangzhou Academy of Fine Art’s Huang Zhuan wrote an article in Jiangsu Pictorial Art Monthly coining the term “conceptual ink art,” which used Ink Banquet as the theoretical model. The art critic Lu Hong from Art Gallery Magazine also spoke of this work in an article he wrote in 1996 called “Crossing the Road.” Twenty years ago there were more two-dimensional ink works and very few conceptual pieces in this genre. If you look at other mediums such as oil painting, drawing, sculpture, they each made this transition into the contemporary very early on, but this was not the case for ink art. Ink Banquet was regarded as one of the first ink works to have “crossed the road.”
The question I often think about is how to prevent ink art from becoming stagnant, but this intention to challenge tradition provoked a lot of debate at the time. Some critics commented that this work was too simple, saying that it was only splashing the ink and wrapping the tableware. But, now in hindsight, they think that this work marked an important moment for ink art.
WANG TIANDE, Digital No 14 CRST004, 2014, Chinese ink with burn marks on layered rice paper, Qing Dynasty stele rubbing, 82 × 50.5 cm. Courtesy the artist and Alisan Fine Arts.
WANG TIANDE, Digital No 14 MHST002, 2014, Chinese ink with burn marks on layered rice paper, Qing Dynasty stele rubbing, 56 × 48 cm. Courtesy the artist and Alisan Fine Arts.
There’s also another series of works I made in 2006 called “Gu Shan.” It’s a group of photographic works where I burned some cursive calligraphy. Using the resulting ash, I form mountains similar to those seen in ink landscape paintings, and photograph them. Then, I digitally composite the individual images into a horizontal photographic work. You can say that I broke apart tradition in 1996 with Ink Banquet, while in 2006 I combined what was broken into a new work. In the digital age, it is difficult to push one’s creativity in ink art just with a brush pen. It is worth experimenting with new-media techniques to see how far we can push the medium’s form.
Even though your works are considered contemporary, you still manage to maintain roots in ink painting’s tradition and history. Can you speak a bit about how you negotiate between the past and present?
Though I am experimenting with these various methods of ink, the traditional aesthetic of the genre remains present, just as a calligraphic energy always exists. In China, traditional culture is so strongly rooted that it will be impossible for the 30 years of contemporary art to erase it. I think that is too ambitious. When people look back at this time 100 or 300 years from now, this period of 20 to 30 years is pretty short. But if people look back with a more narrow perspective, then one can see how our own time connects with history. This linkage of the traditional with the contemporary is just like the fusion of the first and second layers in my work—combined they will create something new, a record of our own time.
“Wang Tiande: Mountainscapes” is currently showing at Alisan Fine Arts, Hong Kong, until May 3.
Sylvia Tsai is assistant editor of ArtAsiaPacific.